#and he showed me this weird thing where after he safely picks her up if he pinches either side of her abdomen gently she goes “numb”
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Fuchsia 😂
#so one of my friends takes care of both insects and reptiles#he's the bug expert in the friend group its a hyperfixation#dude has some of the most highly venomous shit in his collection bug wise#takes real good care of them#anyway he has this black scorpion that just became a mama#and he showed me this weird thing where after he safely picks her up if he pinches either side of her abdomen gently she goes “numb”#looks like she's dead and she'll be limp for a good 5 to 10 seconds#then bounce back all panicked like AYO WHERE THE FUCK DID I GO???#kinda like hypnotizing a chicken#my mind started going what if you did this to a plaga?#funniest shit ever#knock em out give em a little existential crisis when they wake up#lmao#now i gotta find some way for sawyer to do that to plaga!luis/two legs#cause it would be funny as shit if he's walking and she playfully pinches him then he just KERSPLATS#fuchsia is my vent word for good things#duality fanfic#mostly notes to self here#ideas to visit later
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Logan in a rut has me brain rotted. I’d love if you could write something about this. I think he would try and isolate himself not matter what but it gets to the point where he can’t hold back anymore and needs relief. Idk if he would be more possessive and rough or if he would end up whiny and desperate almost subby.
note: this is a younger Logan Howlett who ends up a bit subby. he would 100% beg the reader to help him because he would be too embarrassed and shy to just man up and dominate her (we have different thoughts of Logan almost every day).
we will be worrying more rut!logan once we get caught up with our college work. we wanna make bro nasty…
———
Logan’s time has come. He hoped it wouldn’t show, but every day that passed, it gets worse. The first day, all he had to do was rub one out, but after the second, he knew he was fucked.
He couldn’t help himself. He fucked his pillow. The man was beyond fucked up that night. He had ripped his pillow open with his claws and buried his cock inside, moaning the girl's name like he’s never before.
Y/n and Logan had been friends for years. A little flirting here and there happens. They might even get a bit touchy but never have they sat and talked about what they were. Especially since the man was known for keeping his flirt up with Jean.
Logan wasn’t surprised when the only person he could think of was y/n. She was pretty, her body always sent a shock through his own, her eyes would have him lost in seconds, and she was the only one around here with common sense.
At times, he hated all those good things about her. Like now. He’s sitting across from her in the kitchen, watching her sip on her drink and watch YouTube on her phone.
All the innocent things she does, makes him so damn hard. He can’t help himself. “G-Goodnight,” Logan said as he got up to leave. He needed to rub one out again. Maybe he’d sneak into her room and cum on her sheets. He needed something that was close enough to her.
“Aw, I was gonna ask if you could walk and get some wood with me, but I’ll get it myself. Goodnight, Logan!” She smiled at the man before he turned the corner, needing to get out of there.
He hoped he could get himself to go upstairs without struggling. Without turning back around to beg Y/n, he couldn’t hold it after her thought of her saying she’d be getting wood tonight.
It’s been almost an hour, and Logan is sitting on the stairs, cock pulsing through his thick jeans. He swore his balls were blue already.
He almost got up to get this over with and grab y/n, pulling her somewhere to at least cum on her face, but he heard the lights cut off in the kitchen.
He peaked around the corner, seeing y/n walk down the hallway and out of the mansion to do her night walk for some wood.
“Fuck,” the man groaned, already thinking of how good he’ll be feeling once he gets his hands on her. He needed to touch her. It’s only been a few short days, but he can’t control it anymore.
The man stalked behind y/n, making sure she wouldn’t sense anything behind her as she walked through the woods with a huge bag to carry back a few dry sticks.
Logan shook his head at the sight of her headphones, knowing she couldn’t hear a thing around her. This was a safe place, but now that he was going through this feeling from hell, it wasn’t anymore. At least for her.
Y/n placed her bag down and took her headphones out before picking up thick and dry wood that she could use for the fire tomorrow night. The way she sang, only made the man want her more. He needed her now.
“Hey, y/n?” Logan spoke, making y/n jump from the unexpected presence of someone else. “Oh, god! Hey, Logan,” the girl smiled up at him as he walked towards her, looking down.
“I-I know this is kind of a weird time, but I need to ask you a question,” Logan said, feeling nervous now that she’s right here. “Yes, ask me anything,” she smiled as she shifted her body towards him.
“Fuck, I — Y/n, I’m going rough a rut,” the man blurted out. This was not a part of his plan. He was going to turn y/n around and shove his cock in her mouth before carrying her back to the mansion, but now he’s stuck.
“Oh — I-I don’t really know what that means, but I can still help you,” she said. “Y/n, it hurts,” the man spoke. His voice came off as a beg which made y/n feel sad for him, even though she had no idea what hurt.
“What is it, Lo? Tell me, and I’ll help you,” she went to get up, but Logan stepped towards her and placed a hand on her head, softly pushing her back down. “It hurts,” the man shifted her head just a little, making her realize his print was right in front of her face.
“Logan,” she said, loss of words at the sight of how hard his cock tried fighting through his jeans. “I-I don’t know what to do about that. Maybe take some pills. Cool it down?” She suggested, but he shook his head.
“Need you, y/n. I need you,” the man said low, needing her to touch him. “I-“ the girl cut herself off, taking a deep dive into her thoughts. The man sounded like he was in horrible pain. He was a friend, so this wouldn’t be bad, right?
“Okay, but I don’t know if it’ll help,” she said, not knowing that this would be more than enough. Y/n slowly reached up to unbuckle his belt. She could see his legs shaking a little from how nervous he was.
He had no idea what came over him. At first, he was going to get what he wanted. Use her like an animal, but now — Seeing her like this and willing to help him, made him feel better. She was going to take care of him.
“P-Please hurry,” the man begged as her hands slid down his clothes cock through his boxers after his shorts fell to his knees. “Did you cum?” Y/n asked, confused but the wet patch was only pre cum. A lot of pre cum.
“P-Please, y/n, fuck,” the man balled his fists, trying to keep himself from crumbling right then and there. He needed to leak in her mouth. No place else. Only her mouth.
“Okay, okay,” y/n worried as she finally pulled his cock out, and god, was he hurting. The veins that covered his cock, showed like crazy. His tip was sticky. His balls were stiff and ready to explode.
“Baby, please!” The man begged louder. Y/n quickly wrapped her lips around his cock and sunk down to take him all in. Well, as much as she could. He was very big.
“G-God,” the man breathed out as his head tilted back. “Oh my god, thank you. Thank you so fuckin’ much, baby,” Logan covered his face with his hands as his heart raised, feeling himself close.
“Oh, fuck, baby — yes,” the man moaned as she quickens her paste, slurping and coating his cock with her spit as she sucked a big roughly.
“Baby, please, let me cum. P-Please, I need to cum,” the man begged, wanting her to decide what he could do. Y/n nodded her head, not knowing what else to do, but she wanted him to cum. Have wanted to make him feel better.
“T-Thank you,” Logan moans loudly as his col twitched, spilling down the girl's throat. Y/n continued, sucking the man as his eyes crossed from the feeling of her emptying his sack.
“G-God,” he couldn’t keep himself together. She was so good at this. He wished he could have this every night before he went to bed.
“S-So good, y/n. So fuckin’ good,” the man let the woman know how great she was. Y/n’s glossy eyes looked up at him, feeling herself grow wet, but she knew she could deal with it herself.
“Get up, baby. Needa takes you back to my room,” Logan pulled y/n to her feet. Confused, the young lady allowed him to throw her over his shoulders.
“I can smell you, and I don’t want to leave you leaking for the night,” Logan said as he walked back towards the mansion. “I’ll be fine, Logan. I-I need to head to bed,” y/n spoke, a bit nervous about this all.
She thought that after she did him this small favor, that would be it. He had other plans. He wasn’t letting her go.
“You’ll sleep with me tonight. Tomorrow we’ll move your stuff to my room so you can sleep there every night,” the man thought way further than she thought.
“I don’t know if we can do that. We’ll have to tell Charles about our shared room, meaning everyone has to know, and I don’t know-“ she tried saying, but he cut her off.
“Baby, please. I’m fine with everyone knowing about what happened tonight. I can’t ignore how much I need you anymore,” Logan admitted.
“What if this happened again? What if I couldn’t walk to you from how hard I was? You do this to me, baby, so I need your help — I need you,”
Y/n sighed to herself then accepted what he wanted. Logan gave the girl a small peck on her side as he continued walking towards the mansion.
#logan howlett x fem!reader#logan howlett x you#logan howlett xmen#logan howlett x reader#logan howlet smut#logan howlett smut#sub!logan howlett#james howlett x you#james howlett x reader#james howlett smut#james howlett#sub!james howlett#wolverine x female reader#wolverin smut#wolverine x you#wolverine x reader#wolverine smut#wolverine xmen#wolverine x men#wolverine#sub!wolverine#hugh jackman x you#hugh jackman x reader#hugh jackman smut#hugh jackman#sub!hugh jackman#x men smut#x men x reader#x men x you#18+ minors dni
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Platonic dynamics I want to see more in the (tiny) Rise of the Brave Tangled Dragons fandom:
Jack being like an older brother to Hiccup and sort of seeing an older version of Jamie in him and not scoffing at how nerdy he is ("holy crap you MADE this? Man show me how it works!!")
Rapunzel post-her-movie being all gung-ho and cheery, and Merida trying to get her to stop being so naïve, only for Rapunzel to calmly list all the ways she was betrayed and abused throughout her adventures (and you'd only have to go through the canon events of the movie and show to make this work, btw, girl's been through STUFF) and tells Merida she is upbeat and kind because she chooses to believe that most people are good, because so many people stuck with her through so much and so many people came back to her after betraying her. And Merida is like "well dang ok, wanna learn to shoot a bow"
Jack being calm, responsible, and protective of the others without becoming too angsty in the process- playing harmless little pranks to bring everyone's spirits up, that sort of thing
Merida being annoyed by Jack at first, but it's because she misses her brothers, not because she categorically dislikes the pranks. She tells Jack this and he asks her to join him doing pranks. She has much more fun after this.
Rapunzel is good at many things, but not so much inventing, as we see in TTS; her trying to assist Hiccup and him being good-natured about it but entirely accidentally outclassing her
Jack very deliberately keeping his past and loneliness to himself, and the others figuring out something's off because they never catch him sleeping, he's pensive when he's not interacting with them, he's got such wide and extensive experience, and he starts admitting bits and pieces like "I'm older than I look" etc etc
Jack never openly getting angry with the kids because they're kids and he's a Guardian, so instead when one of them is upset or trying to pick a fight with him, his staff will glow brighter or it'll get cloudier or windier or snowier- his magic responds, but Jack refuses to, making his calm all the more scary.
Jack being the first to realize Rapunzel has been through Stuff and sitting down with her when the other two are asleep "what happened to you?" entirely gently and patiently because HE'S A GOOD BIG BROTHER DANGIT I WANT THIS SIDE OF HIM TO SHOW MORE-
Hiccup worrying/getting upset/doing that I Have To Stand Alone thing and Rapunzel approaching him like "you're not the only one who grew up alone, you know. It's okay to rely on us, we won't let you down"
Hiccup doing the I Have To Stand Alone thing in general cause I don't see that a lot in crossovers or at least the arts
The others finding Jack in weird places because super-balance go brr
Jack being reluctant to touch any of the kids for any reason because he doesn't want to see the way they treat him change once they realize how cold and inhuman he really is
Merida recognizing Jack immediately as the only other obviously competent fighter by the way he moves (she was raised around all manner of warriors and guards, after all) and immediately setting about allying herself with him because Heaven knows they all need as much protection as they can get
Merida helping Hiccup to have a moment like he has in the HTTYD books where he realizes he's actually a really amazing swordfighter when he actually uses his dominant hand
Hiccup and Rapunzel asking Merida and Jack what siblings are like
Jack just treating them all like his little siblings
Jack and Merida gathering ingredients together and, depending on the region, Jack teaching Merida the safe local vegetation and herbs because he's been everywhere. Also, Jack teaching the others how to cook with local ingredients
Jack knowing a lot about herbal medicine and helping and teaching the others
After much internal deliberation, Jack choosing Hiccup to hold his staff while he takes care of two-handed tasks
Jack knowing how to style hair because of Mary, and he and Merida helping Rapunzel tame her hair
#rise of the guardians#rotg#jack frost#rotg jack frost#tangled#tangled rapunzel#tangled the series#brave#pixar brave#brave merida#how to train your dragon#hiccup horrendous haddock iii
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hi i don’t know if you’ve seen this already but i saw it and immediately needed to show it to someone who would understand.
![Tumblr media](https://64.media.tumblr.com/2c29c0c4f4ed17b4d254094d0bd61625/1383d95f80da5b9a-5b/s540x810/377a1f4e92cae2c5a3d65ed1d4df9e31b240a931.jpg)
lowkey could possibly be warped into a soulmates tattoo au
look it too me a while to decide how to respond to this because I couldn't decide what joke I wanted to make but I eventually settled on making no jokes and writing this instead. and rest assured there were many jokes I wanted to make
---
The joke, Ushijima had come to learn, was relatively misogynistic. He had not been aware, when people had first laughed when they saw the messy, scribbling Miss Kitty faces over his wrists, that it was at the subject matter rather than the circumstances. He had apologized for the lack of professionalism, but in a world with shared skin, everyone was pretty forgiving of what someone might have drawn on. Especially someone who hadn't met his soulmate.
The rest of the team doesn't really try and explain it to him. Semi halfheartedly explains that seeing such a big guy covered in what is effectively a little girl's obsession is generally amusing to people - they're laughing at him for having to interact with the media at all. He, after all, is a big, strong man, and should not be around the cute little cartoon.
They make judgements on his soulmate. They call her Miss Kitty and make jabs about what kind of girl she is - she probably wears a lot of fluffy skirts, and cat-ear headbands, and pink and bows. He nods along with this, until he realizes that they are making fun of him - and his soulmate - again.
"Because it would be funny for someone like me to be with someone like that?" Ushijima tries, and Semi has to think about it for a moment before saying: "No, more like... it's cliche. A big, strong guy like you, volleyball superstar, falling for a cute little pastel chick in a short skirt? Well, it's just a little... you know."
Ushijima does not know.
The Miss Kitty obsession is weird, though. He tries to hide it not from shame or guilty - he can barely comprehend why it's funny in the first place - but because he wants to protect her. He thinks, maybe, if she is trying to connect with him over something that she likes, he does not want anyone mocking her for it. So he covers it up, as much as he can, when everyone else is around, just to be safe.
In the evenings, though, late at night, if he stays up that long, he can see it get rubbed off. It works quickly, the way they fade, so he can imagine the girl scrubbing at her arms until they're red, as if she's angry at them. He feels bad.
Maybe she is being made fun of. Maybe she is ashamed of her own interests - maybe she feels bad for him. He tries to make her feel better, by using a pen to carefully draw the cat's face on the inside of his wrist. What he gets back is a garbled, messy set of disconnected lines, and a question mark. That's what happens when someone tries to write words. Like a bad connection. But he knows what the poor girl is asking.
Where are you?
His care in disguising the marks are not infallible, however, and eventually they have to play on a live stage, he has to put on his volleyball uniform. He had tried to tell her - he'd drawn the little volleyball over and over on his wrist, drawing a little camera, trying to tell her that he would be visible to the whole world. He doesn't know how to tell her that they laugh at her, that they think she's stupid and immature and too feminine. That those are, apparently, bad qualities. It doesn't work, though. If anything, actually, they get even worse, almost as if she's daring the world to judge her.
He smiles at that - he cannot help it.
And he tries not to hear the whispers of his team. It's not so bad, actually - there are a handful of guys who haven't met their soulmates that have designs drawn up their arm, mostly hearts and other things - the four-leafed clover, a popular pictogram way of saying 'good luck' where words weren't allowed.
He knows the camera can pick up the weird little marks on his arm, he knows the announcers will be curious, and he knows, for sure, that there will be some kind of news article circulating in volleyball circuits about his cute little soulmate and her childish obsession. He hopes they are kind to her.
But staring or no, it doesn't affect his game. They manage to pull through with the win, and retreat to the locker room to cheer and celebrate and talk about going out for drinks. Ushijima agrees to go along, pulling on his street clothes and jacket and tucking the Miss Kitty marks safely away, but - there's a new one. He must not have noticed, in the heat of the game, that his soulmate had scrubbed clean a patch on her their skin, and replaced the Miss Kitty designs with a winking smiley face. That was new.
He hides it anyway, not wanting to deal with the gossip of his teammates, and hurries to follow them outside and take the short walk over to the bar that they liked.
"Ushijima Wakatoshi."
It's a voice he's never heard before. He turns, frowning, as he lets his eyes take in the tall, lanky, rather odd looking young man, lips curled in a self satisfied sneer, eyes heavy. He is... weird, Ushijima decides. He does not hold himself like most people do.
"Can I help you?"
"You are not an easy man to track down," he adds, before tugging up the sleeve of his own jacket, holding out his arm so that Ushijima could see the winking face on the inside of his wrist, the surrounding skin littered with fading Miss Kitty designs.
Oh.
Wait-
"You are not what people said you would be," Ushijima says, quickly, trying to reconcile the expectation that an obsession with Miss Kitty must surely equal a young, cute woman with a penchant for childish toys. This man was as tall as he was, and dressed down, rather lazily. Ushijima would not have guessed him to be his soulmate, based on that. "You're... you're the person who's obsessed with Miss Kitty? I assumed you'd be a woman."
"Ah," the man says, clicking his tongue. "Sorry about that one, yeah... How else was I supposed to find you? Everyone in the world is wandering around with hearts and clovers and pretty designs on their arms. I needed to make sure I could identify you, even from afar. And I like the stupid cat, sue me."
"I would not sue you over this," Ushijima replies, alarmed immediately.
"Wh-what? No! I just meant-" and his soulmate breaks into a cackling sort of laugh that Ushijima quite likes the sound of. He seems thoroughly caught off guard by his sincerity in the matter. He wanders closer still, and holds out his hand. "Tendou Satori," he says. "Thanks for giving me a warning about the volleyball game, wouldn't have thought to check sports coverage otherwise."
Ushijima reaches to take his hand. "Thank you for trying so hard to find me."
"Eh. Selfish reasons for doing that."
"I'm still grateful for it. I'm... on my way to meet up with my team, celebrate the victory... would you like to come? I have a feeling that they are all going to be very... very interested in meeting you."
"Oh? Well who am I to deny. Lead the way."
#your honour ushiten are soulmates of the highest calibre and in every regard#the one true love of their lives#accepting no arguments#haikyuu fanfiction#haikyuu#haikyuu ushiten#ushiten#ushijima x tendou#ushiten fanfiction
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Do You Want to Go with the Strange Man, Buddy?
Divergence from chapter 13, where tía Pepa is forced to drop Christopher off at the 118 while Eddie is at the academy, because Abuela isn’t feeling well and she has to work. This leaves Buck with a surprise introduction to make to everyone.
On AO3.
Ships: Buddie (pre-slash)
Warnings: mentioned minor character death, mistaken child abduction
~~~
Buck had been working out on his own. It’s a slow shift – almost q-word, but he’s not saying it – so he actually took a decent shower after. He doesn’t know what it is about the shitty showers, but they’re homely to him.
Anyway, when he gets out and back into uniform, he checks his phone to see he’s missed a call from Pepa. She’s supposed to be dropping Chris off at Abuela’s house right about now, so he frowns and quickly calls her back.
“Oh, Buck, good. You’re on shift now, right?” she picks up.
“Yeah, I am. Is everything okay? Is Chris?” Buck asks worriedly.
“Christopher is fine,” Pepa tells him and his muscles unclench slightly. “We’re outside your work now, can you be there quick?”
“I can be there right now,” Buck says, starting to move towards the doors without a moment of hesitation. “And you’re sure everything’s alright?”
“It is, it is. Mama just can’t watch him today, she came down with a stomach bug,” Pepa explains.
At that point, Buck is at her car, quickly looking inside and waving over to Chris. However, he doesn’t immediately go over to him, because Pepa has gotten out of the car and closed to door behind her, a clear sign she wants to talk to him real quick, before Chris can hear.
Lowly, Pepa says: “Mama can’t watch him and I can’t take him to work right now. I can when I’m off, but not before. I tried calling Eddie, but he wouldn’t pick up. Is he safe here? Can you get off?”
Buck knows checking your phone at the academy has a high chance of getting yourself yelled at, so he gets why Eddie wouldn’t see the call. Mentally he makes a note to send Eddie a text about it all, before he assures her: “Of course I can take Chris. My Captain’s pretty chill, he’ll give me off or make me man behind or something. I’ll figure it out.”
“Gracias, gracias,” Pepa says, kissing his cheeks. “I have to go rush back before my lunch hour is over now.”
“Of course,” Buck blushes, still not entirely used to the warmth of this part of the Diaz family. He takes Chris’s bag from her, slinging it over his shoulder, before letting her get in the car, while he goes to get Chris.
Pepa has said her goodbye to him by the time he gets to his door, so he’s just focused on Chris when he opens the door. “Hey, buddy! Excited to hang out with me today?”
“Yeah,” Chris cheers.
“Good,” Buck smiles, unbuckling Chris from his seat and lifting him out of the car. He puts him on his hip while reaching in for the crutches, then the two of them wave goodbye to tía Pepa.
With her car out of the parking lot, Buck suddenly finds himself alone with Chris. At work. And it hits him that this is going to be a very hard thing to explain. Hell, he doesn’t even know how to begin, because how the fuck is he going to play this off?
It seems like frat boy Buck is dying today and he hopes they’re not going to be too weird about it in front of Chris. He’s never wanted his own issues to touch Chris. However, it’s also going to be heartbreaking to introduce him to everyone as his son, knowing that won’t last forever.
Subconsciously, he hugs Chris a little closer, before forcing cheer into his voice saying: “Well, I gotta introduce you to everyone then talk to my Captain for a bit, but then I can show you all the trucks and equipment. How does that sound?”
“I get to see the trucks?” Chris asks excitedly. With Buck sharing stories over dinner or breakfast on an almost daily basis, he’s gotten very enthralled with firefighters, so it’s dream come true.
Buck’s heart melts at the sight and decides that no matter how today goes, he’s going to make fucking sure Chris can see those trucks up close and personal. “Yeah, Superman, of course. Let’s go. Wanna be put down?”
Chris shakes his head. He has quickly realized that they first need to get through boring adult stuff before he can see the trucks and he wants to speed the whole process up. Which means he is perfectly fine where he is, getting to look around while papi does the walking for now. He’ll be independent when they get to the cool stuff.
So, Buck apprehensively makes his way up the stairs with Chris in his arms. He’s unsure what kind of reaction he should be bracing for when the finds the others hanging around the couch with their mugs, pausing when they see him.
For a moment, all of them just look at each other.
Then Hen cautiously speaks up: “Uh, Buckaroo, where- where did you get the kid? Did someone… Did he get lost?” she corrects herself, knowing Chris can hear her and not wanting to implant the idea that he was abandoned before they know more.
And Buck knows he should explain, but just going ‘no, this is my son’ feels weird when it’s not forever and this set up is just too funny. So he doesn’t explain and instead shrugs: “No, I just saw him while I was at work and took him.”
Everyone’s eyes get wide and they all freeze, as if they can’t believe that they’re hearing that and aren’t sure if he’s joking or not. They know Buck can’t lie, but since it’s technically true, it doesn’t read like a lie, which is hilarious to Buck right now.
He keeps a straight face as he turns to Chris and says: “Isn’t that right, Chris? I just took you off the streets.”
Chris – a little shit after his own heart and a better liar than his papi – just grins and nods: “Uh-huh, you did.”
Chimney must decide that he’s fucking with them, because he rolls his eyes: “Alright, sure. Was there anyone with him?”
“Yeah,” Buck says. “She wasn’t paying attention. I mean, I took this little guy here right out of her car and we waved at her when she left. Didn’t even blink. Probably didn’t care I did, did she?”
“That’s right,” Chris chimes in again.
At this point everyone is starting to get actually concerned. Buck is a little offended that they are, but he also gets it. Who knows if he snapped or something? A child abduction case should always be taken seriously. So, he should probably also stop now. Maybe a bad joke to make to begin with.
“Buck,” Bobby says, getting up slowly and holding out his hands as if calming a distressed patient. “I am asking you, if you can give the child to me. Okay?”
And look, he should just explain now, because this has gotten out of hand – story of his life, he supposes – but he can’t let this moment pass. It’s an educative moment, a cautionary tale if you will. So he turns to Chris on his hip and jostles him slightly, before quirking a brow and asking: “Do you want to go with the strange man, buddy?”
In the background, everyone is just getting more and more concerned with Hen and Chimney also rising to their feet and putting their mugs down. Buck half thinks one of them might sneak away to grab a tranquilizer or something, a true sign he should have never done this, but it’s too late for that now.
Luckily for everyone, Chris puts them all out of their misery by giggling: “No, papi.”
“Good answer!” Buck cheers, pressing a kiss on Chris’s cheek as he hugs him closer. “That is right, do not go with a strange man.” He turns to everyone else, who is still staring at him, perplexed. Buck has never seen someone blue screen like that. Ignoring it, he just goes: “And that’s how you teach stranger danger, people.”
For a few seconds it’s silent. The three others in the room blinking at him as they try to wrap their heads around the sharp turn that has just happened.
Not wanting to wait around for the explosion, he barrels forward, talking to Chris again as he goes: “So, let’s make them not strange people. This is my Captain, Bobby. Do you remember me talking about Bobby?”
“I do, he’s the Captain with the nice food,” Chris tells him.
Buck blushes a little, saying: “He is indeed the Captain with the nice food, but that was our little secret, remember?”
“But, papi, you’re not supposed to lie,” Chris counters.
“It’s a non-serious lie,” Buck defends himself, feeling a little called out anyway. “But you’re right. No lying. Want to say hi and thank you for the nice food?”
Chris nods and Buck makes his way over to Bobby, so Chris can shake his head. “It’s nice to meet you, Captain Bobby. I’m Christopher. Thank you for the nice food.”
Bobby now remembers Buck sneaking leftovers out the fridge. He always let him, figuring the kitchen in his frat house sucked and he didn’t feel like cooking there. Having the sudden knowledge that his food has instead been shared with this kid. This son Buck has apparently had this whole time, twists something inside him.
A little shellshocked, he shakes Christopher’s hand, saying: “Uh, yeah, call me Bobby. It’s nice to meet you too, kid. I’m glad you like my food.”
Chris smiles at him, but Buck moves on to the others before Bobby manages to form his face into a semblance of a smile back. It hits him all over again. Buck is a father.
“This is Hen, the badass paramedic,” Buck says, gesturing to her first and she waves at Chris and Chris waves back.
“Hi, nice to meet you,” Hen smiles, shaking his hand when he holds it out.
“It’s nice to meet you too,” Chris says politely and chipperly.
When Chris looks away again, she gives Buck a wide eyed look and quirks a brow. Buck sends a half grimace, half smile back. Then he moves onto Chimney saying: “And this is Chimney, the one with the funny name.”
“Hey! I’m also a badass paramedic,” Chimney exclaims, playing it up and snapping out of his funk, while Chris giggles. “Nice to meet you, kiddo.”
“It’s nice to meet you too,” Chris says.
During the introduction, it’s clear that both are obviously trying to hide how weirded out they are. Buck is starting to realize it might have been a little dumb of him to lean into the frat boy thing, but in his defense, it will probably be true soon. And that doesn’t hurt at all, no sir.
Shaking the gloomy thoughts off, he asks Chris: “I have to go talk to Bobby for a bit, do you wanna hang out with Hen and Chimney while I do? They know everything about the ambulances, I’m sure they’d love to answer your questions.”
“And then we can go look at the trucks?” Chris asks hopefully.
Buck just melts and he gives Chris a soft smile: “Yeah, buddy, then we can go look at the trucks.”
“Okay.”
He puts Chris down, encouraging: “Strong legs,” hovering a moment until he’s solid, before handing him his crutches. Then he points to the kitchen and says: “I’m going to be right there the whole time, so you can just call out if you need me, yeah?”
“I know, papi,” Chris assures him, a little bit of attitude that he totally gets from Eddie shining through.
“Alright, alright,” Buck grins as he shakes his head. Behind Chris’s back, he sends Hen a questioning look and a thumbs up, silently asking her if it’s okay. She gives him a reassuring smile and he relaxes a little with the relief.
He stays for just long enough to see Chris move towards them without any shyness, before making his way over to the kitchen. Bobby is right behind him and Buck feels very uncomfortable about the whole thing. Exposed in a way he usually tries to avoid.
So, before Bobby can say anything, he starts talking himself: “I know, I’m jumping this on you and I’m so so sorry. He was supposed to stay with Abuela, but she isn’t feeling well and tía Pepa can’t take him to her job and she couldn’t reach Eddie. But I can try to see if I can reach him, or stay behind and use my PTO or something. I totally understand if you can’t accommodate this right now. Again, I’m so sorry.”
“Buck, breathe,” Bobby says, brow creased worriedly. He places a hand on his shoulder and makes sure Buck is looking at him, then says: “We’re here to work with you. I’ll need to clear it with the Chief, but I’m sure we can figure something out until you figure out childcare.”
“Oh, that’s- that’s really nice,” Buck stammers.
Bobby still isn’t sure where the kid came from, but Chris is clearly Buck’s and he is panicking. As much as it hurts to think about it sometimes, he still recalls how stressful and scary being a parent can be. Of course he’s going to support him, even if he still hasn’t processed everything.
He squeezes Buck’s shoulder, searching for more words of support, finally settling on: “Of course.” He wants to ask more about the how and when of the kid, but before he can, Buck’s phone starts ringing.
“Fuck, that’s Eddie, I have to take this real quick,” Buck says, turning away, but not really moving away as he picks up: “Eddie? Hi, yeah, Pepa said she called you.”
Buck has never mentioned an Eddie before today and he doesn’t know how to feel about him, remembering what he almost fired Buck for. Maybe it’s more recent than that? Even if that seems even more ridiculous. God, Bobby hopes it is though.
He can’t hear what Eddie says. However, he does hear what Buck responds: “Everything’s fine. Abuela’s not feeling well, so she dropped Chris off here, until her workday is done.”
Then Buck listens briefly for a moment, before nodding, despite Eddie not being able to see. “Uh, yeah, that’s okay. Everyone here is super nice and helpful. Bobby says we can figure something out. So, I’ll keep him for now, no worries. We’ll look at the trucks and he’ll be thrilled. You just focus on training, I doubt your instructor will be pleased with you taking calls like this or missing out.”
Something in Bobby’s heart clenches at how soothing and worried Buck sounds. He gets the feeling he can now be reasonably certain he knows who Eddie is; his partner. Another thing they all missed. Buck has had a family this whole time. And they don’t sound strained, which is a relief. Though maybe also a bad thing?
That feeling is further confirmed when he sees a small shy smile on Buck’s face as he responds: “No problem. We’re a team, remember? Bye.”
He hangs up, before facing Bobby again face still slightly red. “Uh, sorry about that. Hope you don’t mind me promising that to Eddie.”
“I don’t. It’s okay, Buck, truly. We’re a team here too,” Bobby says, which makes Buck relax. He seems really anxious about this whole thing and Bobby worries about what makes him feel so on edge. “Are you okay?”
“Me?” Buck asks, taken by surprise. Then he smiles awkwardly and unconvincingly says: “I’m fine.”
Bobby levels him with a look and Buck looks away. Deciding that stern probably won’t work on Buck, he goes for compassion when he says: “Look, clearly this was something you didn’t want to share. I get that it’s scary and I just want you to know that we support you, no matter what. You’re safe here.”
Buck’s eyes widen momentarily, before his smile becomes more real. “Thank you. It’s not exactly like that, but thank you.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. I just assumed-” Now it’s Bobby’s turn to be awkward. He could have sworn Buck was just coordinating with his… spouse? Partner? Boyfriend? Husband? His Eddie. Maybe it’s a nickname? Maybe it’s something else that would explain the sleeping around. He hopes it will explain the sleeping around.
“Oh, no, Eddie is my husband,” Buck quickly assures him, which clears up exactly nothing. In fact, it makes it worse.
“Now, I’m confused,” Bobby tells him honestly, praying Buck will give him more information that will turn him into someone Bobby recognizes, someone more than a cheater, who lies and hides.
“Uh, it’s- it’s a bit of a long story. Me and Eddie are married as friends, for Chris’s sake. His mom walked out and I kind of stepped up. So, I adopted him when Eddie had to go back into the military. He is training to be a firefighter right now. When he’s stable, he, uh- he’ll probably divorce me. Kinda hard to bring that up,” Buck grimaces apologetically.
Bobby blinks a few times, that is indeed a long story and that’s with probably most of the details missing. However, it does clear up the sleeping around situation, so he’ll take it. Still, unsure what to say, he asks: “So, how long have you two been married then?”
“Coming up two years, but living together and raising Chris for three,” Buck answers, looking over to Chris with a melancholic note in his voice.
Okay, so this isn’t just a recent thing for a last tour, but a years long thing. Bobby knows what it is like to lose a kid, but to know they’re still out there? God. He doesn’t know this Eddie, but that is an awful thing to do to a person. He frowns: “And you’re just going to disappear when he is stable?”
“Uhm, yeah, probably. I mean, we haven’t really discussed it,” Buck rubs the back of his head, then admits: “I’ve been too scared to ask.”
“Buck…” Bobby breathes, unsure how to even begin to tackle all this.
“I know,” Buck sighs before he can figure it out. “I know I should talk to him. I know that. But if I know, I can’t cling to the possibility of it not happening, you know?”
He looks devastated. It’s only in his eyes, his face keeps that helpless half smile, but his eyes carry a deep grief that Bobby knows. He has already given up on keeping a professional distance, so he just pulls Buck into a tight hug and holds him close when Buck melts into it.
When he pulls back, he says: “The not knowing is killing you too. Talk to Eddie, tell him this. If he is a friend, he’ll understand and want to help. We’ll be here for you whatever happens.”
“Thank you, pops,” Buck says with a crooked grin, sounding a little choked up. He hasn’t called Bobby that since his second month there, but the nickname brings back a wave of nostalgia, and – treacherously – a voice in his head flirts with the possibility of being a grandfather, before Bobby represses it.
“Of course,” is what he ends up saying. His smile feels a little more forced, but he sounds genuine when he says: “Go show your son the trucks, I’ll call the Chief.”
Buck’s eyes sparkle when he says ‘your son’ and he nods eagerly: “I will. Again, thank you so much,” then he bounces off to the couches.
At the couches, Hen and Chimney have stared at Chris for all but two seconds. Neither of them have a clue what to do with the surprise news that Buck apparently has a kid. A kid that is now staring at the two of them with big eyes.
“Uh, so how old are you, Chris?” Hen finally asks. A standard question to ease into it.
“I’m seven,” Chris tells her proudly.
Hen quickly does the math. That makes Buck nineteen when Chris was born. She shares a look with Chimney, who did the same math as her. With Buck’s record of sleeping around, that doesn’t entirely come as a surprise. However, the well adjusted kid speaks to a lot more maturity that his recklessness would indicate.
“That’s already really grown up,” she smiles at Chris, who beams with pride.
Both of them are used to working with kids, so Chimney takes over: “Buck mentioned you were interested in the ambulances?”
Now Chris lights up even more. He sure is a happy kid, Hen thinks fondly. Apparently Buck is a good dad, that’s nice. And it becomes increasingly clear that he raised Chris, because when he starts launching questions at them that are truly impressively detailed, his face is the exact same one that Buck makes when he’s learning things and curious. It’s truly adorable to see.
They answer his questions the best they can, getting very charmed by this kid in front of them. They can almost forget that Buck pulled a kid out of thin air. Still, every time he does something Buck-esque they’re reminded all over again.
Hen wonders if there is some drama with the mother, since she now recalls Buck knowing a lot about custody. If Chris had been an accident, then they might not be together anymore and Buck has had to go to court about it. Maybe it had been a whole thing?
Chimney meanwhile realizes why Buck canceled so much on them at the start. Still does, they’ve just gotten used to it. At the time he’d been so jealous thinking he must have more fun parties or hot dates, but he probably was just going home to his son. Obviously childcare is an issue.
He wishes the kid had just opened his damn mouth about it. He remembers how rough it had been for Hen and Karen when they first adopted Denny. How it’s still difficult sometimes. They could have helped. Chim finally got the babysitting gig down. He has had practice.
It’s a bit of a mindfuck to have to reframe Buck from a frat boy to a teen parent. However, the pieces do fit in a way. The flashes of maturity, the way he can flip the switch to being responsible, the way he’s gold when there are kids on a scene.
So, yeah, Buck is a dad. That’s a little new.
But it’s only new to them, clearly it’s not new to Buck. Because when he’s done with his talk to Bobby he swoops back in, hauling Chris up over his shoulder as he says: “LAFD here to rescue you!” which makes Chris shriek with delight.
Buck puts him back down and ruffles his hair, matching big smile on his face. “Are you ready to look at the trucks now, Superman?”
“I am, I am,” Chris says, bouncing up and down.
“Alright, then, let’s get this show on the road,” Buck exclaims, gesturing for Chris to lead.
The four of them make their way downstairs, all of them smiling at Chris’s excitement at seeing the trucks. Despite being older than him, they all remember that same feeling from their first day.
It’s obvious that Buck takes much pride in his work and the fact that Chris thinks his career is cool. As he shows everything with much gravitas and importance, not to mention a matching thrilled sparkle in his eyes.
Chris gets to try on his helmet and sit in the rig, while Buck takes a billion pictures. After he’s snapped one in particular, he grins at Chris: “Daddy’s going to be so jealous of you, getting to sit in a real fire engine before him.”
“He will,” Chris grins slightly mischievously.
Behind the duo, both Chimney and Hen freeze. Daddy. There is a second parent involved. With what they know of Buck that is almost more unexpected than the kid thing.
Hen wonders if maybe the other dad is trans and it’s still what she first thought, while Chimney immediately grimaces. He doesn’t want to judge Buck too harshly, I mean, he didn’t for Hen, but it’s different with Buck. So, he can’t help but judge a little.
“Daddy?” Hen asks, deciding it’ll be better to just find out. If it puts Buck on the spot, they can pretend to buy whatever excuse he comes up with for now and interrogate him later.
“Uh-huh,” it’s Chris, who answers, “he’s becoming a firefighter like papi is!”
Buck on the other hand looks less enthusiastic and more like a deer in headlight, blinking two times, before quickly explaining: “Eddie is Chris’s dad – other dad. Bio dad? – uhm, he’s my husband, but we got married as friends. It’s a bit of a long story.”
“They made them kiss,” Chris informs the other two firefighters there a bit too gleefully. “It was really silly.”
“Chris was with us for the wedding,” Buck clarifies with a blush. “It’s a thing they expect you to do.”
Both of them just nod. Hen is sure that there is a much more detailed and much more stupid story there to explain all this, but honestly, she doesn’t feel like figuring it out. Chris is still right there and Buck looks like he’s going to kneel over if they ask more. She’ll wrangle it out of him when he’s had more time to get his head on right.
At that point the alarm goes off and Buck freezes a little. However, Bobby appears at the top of the stairs, about to go down the pole. Before he does, he calls out: “Buck, get yourself into gear. Kid’s coming with us.”
“Aye, aye, Cap,” Buck says, relieved to get some clarity. Then to Chris he goes: “You hear that, bud, you’re going to be a firefighter today.” Chris cheers. “Stay right there, okay, I’ll be with you soon,” Buck promises, before hurrying off to get into his gear.
When they’re driving to the accident, Chris has a thousand more questions and eagerly listens to all their answers and explanations. As well as to the little jabs and teases they throw at Buck. He takes them like a champ, rolling his eyes as he takes more pictures.
At the scene, Bobby sends Buck out there, keeping a close eye on Chris for him and walking the boy through everything that’s happening. He makes sure to pay extra close attention to Buck and explain what he is doing to Christopher.
Bobby tries not to, but he can’t help but wonder if Robert Jr. would have been equally as invested if he’d ever been able to go with him to work. He always misses his family, his kids, the most on days like these. On calls with kids, or when classes come in.
He puts it out of his mind though. Buck is closer to being his kid on most days and he has made some peace with it, even if he won’t acknowledge it yet. However, it makes it easier with Chris than with another kid. It doesn’t feel like he’s replacing his own, it’s a relationship he hasn’t had with anyone before yet. New is good.
After the call, Chris is in high spirits, excitedly rerunning every moment to everyone and asking more questions. He is very much Buck’s child. However, this also means he’s easily distracted by the video games they have and the pinball machine.
For a snack, Bobby asks if he liked one leftover in particular, making sure to whip that up, much to the boy’s delight.
By seeing Buck around Chris so much, it normalizes itself in their brains that Buck is a dad. The shock and newness wears off and they can appreciate this side of their probie they hadn’t seen before.
Buck is still basically an over excited puppy, but he matches Chris’s energy pretty well, never going further than he wants. He also has gotten the balance between letting Chris be independent and preventing him from doing something dangerous down to a science.
It’s very interesting to see traits they know he has being dialed up or down to suit this situation. How natural it looks on him, despite their previous assessment of him being a frat boy.
However, it’s also very obvious to all of them, that he is still a kid himself, raising another kid. None of them – bar Bobby – have a general idea of how long he’s been doing this, but they can all gather that Chris is older than most kids people Buck’s age have.
Of course he’s a firefighter, but he tosses Chris around like it’s nothing, keeping up easily with his boundless energy, and saying stuff like: “High five, Superman!” when Chris tells Chimney that his movie quote was weird.
All in all, Chris is having a blast and so is the 118.
They’re all helping Chris slide down the pole, grinning as he goes, when a brown haired man comes wandering into the firehouse. He stops short when he sees the whole spectacle, then smiles.
Out of everyone there, only Hen has spotted him. At first she thinks he might need help, but they have to focus on Chris’s safety first. However, when she sees him stopping to watch, she knows that must be Eddie. Buck mentioned them getting married as friends, but looking at him smiling at Chris and Buck, she doesn’t know how much truth there was to that.
Her theory that this is Eddie is confirmed when Chris is safely on the ground. Buck is grinning down at him, not paying attention to anything else. Then Chris spots Eddie and smiles widely: “Daddy!”
“Hey, buddy,” Eddie smiles back.
Buck immediately turns to look at him, a love struck look coming on his face when he says: “Eddie, hey!”
Fucking hell, she was so right that there is a much more detailed and much more stupid story there. It is obvious to her that if these two are married as friends, they’re both lying to the other and maybe to themselves about it.
“Hey, Buck,” Eddie greets back unnecessarily. “You two look like you are having fun.”
“We are,” Chris answers for them, bouncing up and down. “I got to try on papi’s helmet and sit in the rig and then we went to this crash and the sirens were on. We had these headsets and I got to see papi work. He saved this lady from her car. It was so cool!”
“That sounds very cool,” Eddie tells him, the utter adoration for his son clear in his eyes. He cards his hands through Chris’s hair and hugs him close.
While that happens, Buck has also come to circle the two of them. He says: “I thought tía Pepa was taking him today. You’re here early. Everything okay?”
“Yeah, everything’s fine,” Eddie assures him. “Instructor let us go early today. I think he’s getting soft on us.”
“Pff, of course. LA training is soft on you all,” Buck teases.
Eddie rolls his eyes, apparently familiar with this particular taunt as he replies: “Here we go again. Let me guess, in Texas they forced you all to sweat through it like tough guys.”
“You got it,” Buck grins. “Anyway, I’m being rude. This here is Bobby, my Captain.”
Bobby steps forward, shaking Eddie’s hand as he says: “I’m Eddie Diaz, it’s nice to meet you, sir.”
“Likewise,” Bobby smiles. “And no need for sir. Just Bobby is fine.”
“This here is Hen and Chimney,” Buck moves on introducing both.
They shake Eddie’s hand too, telling him it’s nice to meet him while he returns the sentiment, though he adds: “It’s so nice to put a face to the names,” as he does. Whatever hiding Buck was doing, it was a one sided hiding act. However, none of them mention it. Not in front of Chris.
“So,” Buck claps his hands. “Did you come for a tour of the trucks too? I told Chris all the facts, he could probably give you a great tour. You know, since he’s been in an actual rig.”
“You’re full of it,” Eddie tells him, but he’s smiling too much to mean it.
“I know,” Buck replies simply and Hen wonders if they know they’re flirting.
Before either can figure that out, however, Chris tugs on Eddie’s hand, pleading: “Please, daddy, I can show you everything. There are loops on the hoses, just like papi said. Do they teach you that too?”
Eddie looks a little caught out, trapped between Chris and the 118. Carefully he says: “I’d love to, mijo, but papi and his team have people to save and help. We should give them space to work.”
“It’s okay,” Bobby says, before Chris can even pout properly. Much like his papi, Chris has got him wrapped around his little finger. “We have the house on low priority calls for the time being. You staying a little longer won’t be an issue.”
“You’re sure?” Eddie checks anyway.
“I’m sure.”
“Thank you so much,” Eddie says, before turning to Chris: “Well, then I would love a tour.”
Excitedly Chris directs Eddie to the trucks, telling him everything he’s just learned, while Buck chimes in from time to time with other tidbits or words Chris has forgotten. Throughout it all, Eddie listens with great pleasure. He’s clearly not as much of a talker, but it seems Chris and Buck more than make up for that.
While they all watch the family from the sidelines, Chimney asks: “So, does anyone know more about what their deal is?”
Bobby – the savior with actual information – answers: “From what I understand, they got married after Chris’s mom walked out so Buck could be there when Eddie had to go back into the military. They’ve been living together for three years, married two.”
Chimney whistles lowly, then checks: “And we all heard him say they’re married as friends, right?”
“Oh yes, we did,” Hen replies, sounding a little pained.
Next to her, Chimney cocks his head, watching Buck and Eddie bump shoulders every time they walk, because there is no space between them. Slowly, he asks: “And… are we… believing that?”
“Oh, definitely not,” Hen says.
“Come on, guys. Let’s not speculate too much. Buck hasn’t been comfortable sharing, we should respect that,” Bobby butts in, trying to be the responsible Captain.
That earns him a double judgmental look from both Chimney and Hen, before they ignore them and turn back to their conversation. “I don’t think Buck would do the whole sleeping around like that thing, if they were actually already together,” Hen says.
“So, we’re betting on pining.”
“Of course.”
“Okay, they’ve already been doing this for three years… That denial runs deep.”
“Yeah, it definitely does,” Hen agrees. “Did Buck mention anything about their communication to you, Bobby?”
Bobby sighs and rubs his brow, then decides he’s really no better than either of them. So, he admits: “It is their plan to divorce one day, but Buck hasn’t talked about it yet, because he fears Eddie will just cut him out.”
“…Now I don’t know if I should laugh at him or feel a deep sympathy,” Hen comments with a jikes grimace on her face.
“I told him to talk to Eddie about it. Clear the air,” Bobby offers.
“Twenty dollars on them figuring it out when Buck brings it up,” Chimney says confidently. “There is no way, Eddie is going to not kiss him about that.”
“Hmm, I don’t know.” Hen appraises Eddie again, squinting as she tries to get a read on him. “Twenty on them not figuring it out for another three years. And another forty on them never getting divorced.”
“Uhm, you can’t bet on things that are basically facts,” Chimney complains.
“Hey, you don’t know that!” Hen exclaims, knowing he is right, but she doesn’t care if it’ll get her forty dollars. They’ve been eyeing new cutlery.
“Ugh, fine! But I’d like it on the record that I protested it and I want my counter bet to be that they do a vow renewal instead,” Chimney says.
“Alright, deal,” Hen nods, shaking Chimney’s hand as they seal the deal.
They all return to watching the three at the trucks again. Buck has lifted Chris onto his shoulders, so he can properly point at all the things he’s talking about. Eddie is listening to him, sure, but he is definitely more focused on Buck.
After a few beats, Chimney wonders: “Hey, now that we know Buck adopted Chris and they met a few years ago. Do you all think there is some truth to him snatching Chris story?”
“God, I fucking hope not.” … “Five bucks says there is.”
“Ten says it’s an exaggeration.”
They shake on it.
“Fuck it,” Bobby mutters, then says: “Five on it being wilder than that.”
They shake with Bobby too, then wait until the tour is done. They haven’t gotten to speak with Eddie much, but it’s okay. Everyone has gotten the chance to observe him and he seems nice and polite when they say goodbye.
Buck stands there like a mom on the very first day of school, waving at them until they disappear when they do leave. The others kindly do not call him out on it. There is a bet now, so no interfering.
Still, the only reason they don’t ask, probably actually is because the alarm starts ringing so they have to go and focus on an emergency instead of Buck’s newly revealed private life.
Throughout the course of their shift, they do learn more details about how Buck got into that situation. When he tells them about dating Eddie’s ex-wife and meeting her while she shopped for eggs, is something they have a fucking filed day with. And it earns both Hen and Bobby some money.
They also learn about Eddie’s chopper getting shot down and Buck nursing him back to health. He chokes up a bit there and Hen rubs his shoulder.
As she does, she feels a little bad about the self satisfied grin she tucks away. If they can go through that and not confess, she was definitely right in placing her money on three years.
However, overall, it doesn’t change too much.
Still, when Buck comes in for his next shift, they all eagerly turn to him, wondering if he’ll turn back into over-sharer Buck now that the cat’s out of the bag. They need to know more about this nonsense he found himself in.
Buck does not disappoint. He eagerly hollers: “Eddie is not going to divorce me!” which turns the heads of everyone who hadn’t been there last shift. Seems like Buck is going to have to explain it all over again. And the betting pool will grow. Hen is so getting that new cutlery.
~~
A/N:
Credit to Memememe8989, who suggested this idea in the comments, I had a different idea that is somewhat related to this (which granted, I might still write), but this was just so iconic that it immediately gave my brainworms <333
Llsdkghdhkf there was so no reason for Buck to do pretend to have kidnapped Chris, but the idea was just too funny and you can’t tell me he wouldn’t in his awkward insecurity
The full phone convo for those curious:
B: “Eddie? Hi, yeah, Pepa said she called you.”
E: “She texted me to call you. Is everything okay?”
B: “Everything’s fine. Abuela’s not feeling well, so she dropped Chris off here, until her workday is done.”
E: “And is that okay? I don’t want you to get in trouble of this.”
B: “Uh, yeah, that’s okay. Everyone here is super nice and helpful. Bobby says we can figure something out. So, I’ll keep him for now, no worries. We’ll look at the trucks and he’ll be thrilled. You just focus on training, I doubt your instructor will be pleased with you taking calls like this or missing out.”
E: “Okay, that’s good. Thank you.”
B: “No problem. We’re a team remember. Bye.”
E: “I do. Still, thanks. Bye.”
#rr writing#the i do verse#9-1-1#9 1 1#9 1 1 show#9 1 1 fanfiction#911#911 show#911 fanfic#buddie#buck x eddie#evan buckley#eddie diaz#christopher diaz#buckley diaz family#bobby nash#hen wilson#chimney han#the 118#118 firefam#tia pepa#tw: minor character death mention
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The blue IV (JJ Maybank x Reader)
Series summary: JJ has a secret, and he doesn’t know how much longer he can hold onto it. He discovers his breaking point when his best friend starts to show interest in you, his step sister, who he’s already fallen hard for
Series tags: step brother!jj, dual pov, jealousy, one sided john b x reader, drinking, inappropriate relationship, public sex, oral sex (f receiving)
Series masterlist + OBX masterlist
As you laid in bed, staring at the ceiling, the touch of JJ’s lips against yours still lingered.
You could feel the ghost of his presence, it didn’t matter that he was across the hall, locked behind a door in his own room.
You lifted your hand, your fingertips brushing against your lips. Your face felt warm and you jerked your hand away, but it didn’t stop the memory from keeping you awake all night.
You couldn’t fathom that JJ had kissed you. You should’ve felt betrayed or something, after all he’d always been something akin to a brother to you, but you didn’t. Not really. You were mostly just confused about why you weren’t upset, and you weren’t sure what to do with that feeling.
In the morning you contemplated hiding in your room or fleeing from the house. You weren’t sure you could face JJ—what would you say to him?
It wasn’t like you had done anything wrong, so why did you feel so weird about it? He should feel weird if anything. He kissed you, not the other way around.
Did you kiss back? Even for a second? You were trying to remember.
It’s not like he was a bad kisser. The opposite, actually, but you couldn’t get over asking yourself why he did that.
You couldn’t even feel relief in solving the mystery of what was up with JJ and John B.
Jealousy was hell of a motivator.
Kiara texted you, and you came to a conclusion to your debate. She was up earlier than usual but hey, it was the perfect excuse to get out of the house.
You pulled on fresh clothes for the day and swung your door open.
The universe had a sense of humor, because JJ did the exact same thing. At least, the second part.
He was standing in his doorway across from you in only his boxers. You averted your eyes when you realized that.
“You’re not usually up this early.”
He sounded just as awkward as you felt. You swallowed, eyes flicking anywhere but his tan, exposed skin.
“Neither are you,” you replied, familiar warmth rising to your cheeks. “I’m going to Kie’s.”
“Do you…” JJ trailed off, swallowing back the words.
His instinct was to offer you a ride that way he could make sure you got where you needed to go safely, but it was too soon for both of you evidently.
You took a breath and met his gaze. You could feel him watching you.
“I don’t really know what to say here,” he admitted, scratching the back of his head.
“That makes two of us.”
The silence that followed felt so thick, filling the air around you.
“If you hate me now, I get it,” he said, voice low, and you could tell he was giving himself hell for it.
You almost laughed at the notion. Almost, but didn’t.
“I’d never hate you, JJ, don’t be stupid.”
Just the thought was absurd—how could he even think that for a second?
“I’m kinda running that department right now, actually.”
“What if we just… forget it?” you offered after a moment.
JJ’s brows twitched up. He hadn’t expected that.
You hadn’t planned on it either, but you didn’t know what else you were supposed to do. Scream at him? Ask him to do it again? No, ignoring it and going back to normal was the only logical choice.
“Okay,” he agreed.
There was something hesitant lingering in the background. You felt it too.
You took a breath. “Okay.”
“So do you want a ride to Kie’s then or…?”
“She's gonna pick me up,” you informed, maybe a little too quickly. JJ got the hint.
“Right. Got it,” he replied in the same tone.
You nodded a little, then turned down the hall. You were going to wait on the porch, that way you could make a clean getaway. If you got in her jeep quick enough maybe she wouldn’t try to stick around to say hi to JJ.
“Hey Y/N?” JJ called right before you turned the corner. You looked back at him, noticing a hint of worry before he masked it with the smallest of smiles. “Thanks for… y’know, not hating me.”
Again, you nodded. You then disappeared, and then wished you had said something, but you were already on the porch. You weren’t going to go back inside, back to the uncomfortable conversation you had just left.
Instead, when Kiara’s jeep eventually appeared, you climbed in and didn’t look back. You just needed to get your mind off of things, and a girls day would help with that.
Except Kie wanted to talk about last night, because of course she did.
The two of you ended up sitting on her bed leaning against the wooden headboard. The Youtube video on her laptop had been long forgotten as she persisted in getting an answer from you about what happened with JJ. You wouldn’t give her details despite how bad she wanted them.
“Are things good now at least?” she finally asked instead.
You swallowed, resisting the urge to lick your lips. JJ had taken up residence in the back of your mind the entire day.
“Yeah, it’s cool,” you replied vaguely, not quite meeting her eye. “He was just being protective of me. You know how it’s been.
Kiara hummed, seemingly agreeing. “He seemed way more pissed, but if it’s cool then it’s cool. I don’t get the big deal anyway, you’re your own person,” she started. “The ‘protective big brother’ thing can’t last forever.”
As she said the words, paired with air quotes, you cringed. Overnight you decided you didn’t like that title for him anymore, not when you knew what his lips felt like.
“He’s not my brother,” you muttered, more so to remind yourself of that fact. It wasn’t exactly cut and dry perfectly fine, but it could be worse right?
Kie gave you a look of concern. She heard, and hadn’t been expecting it.
“Are you sure everything is fine?”
You nodded, forcing out a chuckle. “Yeah, I already told you.” You nudged her with your elbow and she let herself smile, but it appeared to be cautious.
You ended up deciding to spend the night at Kie’s, texting JJ in the afternoon what your plans were. As strange as things felt, you didn’t want him to worry about where you were all night. He read the text but didn’t respond. At least he knew. You didn’t bother notifying Luke, you never had and it had never been a problem. He didn’t care.
You did worry about JJ though, hoping that nothing awful happened in your absence.
Your stomach was still churning with guilt when last minute Kiara asked if you wanted to go to an outdoor movie when the sun started to set.
“Yeah, sure,” you agreed, starting to feel claustrophobic in her bedroom anyway. “What movie?”
“Not sure, but Pope and JJ are going so if it sucks we can all make fun of it,” she replied.
A part of you was glad JJ wasn’t home alone with his dad (a big part, actually). The other part felt a rush of anxiety at the prospect of seeing him. What would you say to him? Could you two actually pretend everything was normal?
You’d seen JJ tell pretty believable lies, but he wasn’t exactly a professional at being able to hide his emotions.
Then again, he’d kept his real feelings hidden from you for who knows how long.
It was too late to back out. Kie was already searching for her car keys, with shoes on and her hair up, ready to go.
You were quiet in the jeep, which she might’ve noticed if you hadn’t requested to blast music with the windows down. Anything to drown out your thoughts and Kiara’s potential questions.
When Kiara pulled into the parking area of the field, the sun had already set. Perfect for a projector movie night.
That was one of the fun things about living in Kildare, the random little events that went on. Movie nights were common in the summer. Everyone would bring their own chairs and blankets, a projector would get set up, and concession sales would fund the whole thing. It was on the Kook’s side of the island where Kiara lived, but it wasn’t uncommon for both sides to attend, and it was peaceful for the most part.
You and Kie each grabbed a chair from the back of her car. They were dinky little beach chairs, but it was better than sitting in the grass.
It was a little crowded when the two of you began to weave through people, searching for the two boys, your main light source being the large projector.
Finally, towards the middle, you saw Pope stick his hand in the air and wave. You had just enough light to confirm it was him.
“Hey, they got a decent spot,” Kiara commented, leading the way to the them. You only hummed in response.
Pope and JJ already had the area set up. A blanket they both sat on, a cooler that JJ leaned his back on, and a big bag of pretzels Pope probably snatched from his family’s cabinet.
“You guys made it just in time,” Pope said, smiling up at you and Kie. “They’re starting in a few minutes.”
Your eyes flicked to JJ, who had adverted his gaze from you. He seemed really interested in the loading screen up ahead.
Kiara set her chair down next to the blanket, and you opted to put yours next to her. It was inconspicuous enough, no one would think you were putting space between yourself and JJ (even if you were).
“Is John B coming?” Kie wondered, asking no one in particular.
Pope glanced to JJ, which you only noticed because you had done the same thing. Had JJ told Pope?
No, definitely not. Pope would’ve had something to say about it for sure. He wouldn’t have asked you all to hang out in such a casual manner if he knew.
“Don’t know,” JJ said, opening the cooler and fishing out a beer. He popped the cap off and took a long drink. “Did you guys let him know?”
“No,” Kie said, dropping down into her chair.
“Well, there’s your answer,” JJ said with a shrug.
Kiara made a face.
“So you still have an attitude?”
“Can we just watch the movie?” you jumped in, sitting down in your chair.
The movie coming on a few seconds after your words halted any argument that could transpire. You were relieved to say the least.
You focused on the movie, trying to get into it, not letting your gaze wander. You made back and forth comments under your breath with Kiara, and sometimes you’d lean past her when Pope had something to say. JJ was quiet, which was abnormal for him. He was always talkative during movies, cracking jokes alongside you. If it wasn’t for the tension lingering between the two of you you might’ve forgotten he was even there.
You thought about trying to make a joke to get him involved in the little conversations, but you couldn’t bring yourself to. Nothing sounded clever enough to say aloud to him. You used to not think about how your words would sound to him, but now you concerned yourself with it. What you’d say to JJ if you could manage it, or if he was at least overhearing your comments to Pope and finding amusement in them—you cared too much about that all the sudden. Did he think you were funny?
Trying to be normal with JJ around was significantly harder than you thought it would’ve been, despite being the one who suggested it.
How were you supposed to be casual around your step brother who kissed you? You hadn’t thought it through in the morning, and it became clear to you that both you and JJ knew things weren’t copacetic. Problem was you didn’t know how to fix it.
You could feel JJ looking at you every once in a while, but you avoided his eyes. Not only did you not know what to say to him, but even if you did, the two of you couldn’t exactly talk about it in front of your friends.
After about an hour into the movie, the opportunity arose when JJ stood up out of nowhere.
“I’m gonna get something to eat,” he mumbled, making his way to the little building nearby.
“We have pretzels left,” Pope offered, but it fell on deaf ears. He looked at you and Kiara once JJ was out of earshot. “Is he still mad at John B about yesterday? He’s been weird all day and John B isn’t even here.”
When Kie turned to face you, you realized he was just talking to you.
You shrugged and said, “I wish I could tell you.” Neither of them looked convinced. “Don’t look at me like that, I’m not his keeper.”
“No, but you live together and you’re the person he trusts the most,” Pope acknowledged, worry in his tone. “If he would go to anyone it would be you.”
“He hasn’t said anything to you?” you asked.
Pope shook his head.
“They’re best friends, even when they argue they get over it,” Kie reminded.
“Did he ask you to not invite John B?” you continued questioning Pope, remembering JJ’s comment from before.
“No, John B’s working tonight. Something with the Cameron boat.”
“He definitely still seems mad at him,” Kie said, a knowing tone in her voice as she looked to you. “You never told me—what did he say to you when you got home?”
You could’ve lied but your brain wouldn’t come up with anything.
“Nothing really. Can we just watch the movie?” you asked instead. “Please?”
Everything had been fine just a day ago and now it was all so overwhelming.
Pope and Kie exchanged a look, but didn’t discuss further. It took about ten minutes for Pope to speak up again.
“JJ still isn’t back…” he noticed aloud. He craned his neck to look towards the snack line, but it was definitely no use. “Maybe someone should go find him.”
Someone. He meant you, didn’t he? You gave Pope a look, and he shrugged.
“Do you want me to go?” Kiara offered.
You shook your head. “It’s fine.”
It wasn’t, not really, but you got up anyway.
You crossed your arms over your chest as you walked to the small building, searching around for a sign of something familiar—blonde hair, his shirt or anything to tip you off. It took a bit of wandering, but you eventually found JJ. He wasn’t in line, but around the back of the concession building.
He was alone, sitting on the ground, a flask in his hand, and his back against the stone wall.
“You disappeared,” you commented, drawing his attention. You approached him, leaning on your side against the wall next to him.
Blue eyes turned up to you.
“They send you to find me?” he guessed snarkily. “I’m fine, thanks. You can go.”
You scoffed at his tone. “This is your plan, then? To hide back here and get drunk?” You guess whatever was in the flask was stronger than beer.
Something between a look of sadness and frustration crossed his features.
“What else am I supposed to do? Clearly you can’t stand to be around me,” he shot back, glaring up at you.
You were taken aback, jaw falling slack.
“I was the one that said we can forget it and go back,” you reminded.
JJ scoffed at that, getting to his feet, leaving his flask to fall to the ground.
“Then why can you barely look at me?” he asked, gesturing with his hands, defeated. You proved his point as you failed to meet his gaze directly. “I mean seriously, even Pope knows something is going on.”
If this had been a regular conversation, you might’ve laughed. Even with how smart he was, Pope could be oblivious sometimes. It was one of the running jokes amongst your friends. But now didn’t feel like a time for jokes.
You straightened up, standing across from him, holding your ground.
“I’m looking at you right now,” you stated, albeit with much less conviction than before. You did indeed meet his eyes, but it was forced, and meant you had to see the pain in them. You hated seeing JJ in pain. “It’s not too late to pretend things are normal.”
JJ laughed. It carried all the hurt he was struggling to keep in, the sound lacking nearly all humor. He took a step closer.
“Don’t you get it? There is no normal. Not for me,” he confessed, deeper emotion creeping into his voice. “There never has been and you—you act like you can’t even be around me now so I don’t know what the fuck I’m supposed to do.” The whole time he had been moving toward you absentmindedly, only noticing the close proximity when you had to look up to meet his gaze. He took a shaky breath, eyes pleading with you. “I can’t stop feeling the way I feel so just—just tell me what to do.”
“JJ…” you started softly, not knowing what to say to fix this. He must’ve been carrying this around for so long and all you wanted to do was help.
You weren’t sure who was more surprised when you pulled him into a hug, JJ or you. But he fell into your embrace regardless. He circled his arms around your waist when you wrapped yours around him. He held you tight, pressing his entire body to yours, like you could slip away any second. JJ’s head fell to your shoulder, and you couldn’t help but run your hand soothingly across his back. You could feel his heart racing in his chest and smell the fresh alcohol on his breath. He didn’t sound buzzed but it would’ve been his goal if you hadn’t interrupted.
“It’s gonna be okay,” you assured quietly.
Something about your words made him straighten up. You saw how his eyes glistened and the pout on his lips. The bruise on his cheek still lingered. A strand of his hair had fallen into his face and you brushed it back into place.
You always knew JJ was handsome, but right now, looking at him, the word beautiful came to mind. There was something about him that made it hard to look away.
Your eyes fell to his lips, recalling how they had felt pressed against yours.
You and JJ hadn’t always been close, but now you could hardly remember a time when you weren’t attached at the hip. It didn’t matter how recent that change had happened. He was always there to make you smile or comfort you in his own way, and you did the same for him. He always looked out for you, and you took care of him when he needed it the most.
Your relationship had never been very sibling-like the more you thought about it. Siblings weren’t close in the way you and JJ were. Why did it take you so long to realize that?
The proximity had to be clouding your mind. You felt overwhelmed by JJ’s presence and just… you glanced around, making sure no one was around to see. You two were alone behind the building, the movie and people sounding miles away.
Ever so delicately, your hand rose to his uninjured cheek. You heard JJ’s breath hitch as you leaned in. He lowered his head and let you kiss him softly, meeting you halfway.
You didn’t know what had come over you, but heat filled your body at the way his hand fell to hold your waist.
JJ made an attempt to deepen the kiss, and you let him. His tongue tasted yours and you couldn’t help the soft moan that escaped you.
That triggered something in him. JJ turned the both of you, backing you against the wall. Your back hit stone as he pressed himself against you. His kiss became more desperate, like he was afraid he was dreaming and might wake up. You tangled a hand into his hair and he groaned into your mouth before kissing you harder.
What the fuck were you doing? This was about the last thing you had planned and you didn’t even understand why it was happening. It was like the moment he kissed you just a night ago your brain was sent in a confusing spiral trying to place what you felt for him now that another option had opened up.
But had it really? This was wrong, it didn’t matter how good or how natural kissing JJ felt. It didn’t matter if you had come to the realization your relationship was more complex than you initially assumed. You both knew you shouldn’t be doing this, it was evident from the way you hid what happened from your friends, so how could it be okay?
You let your hand fall from his hair the deeper you sunk into contemplation. Your body pressed further back into the wall. You were retreating, and JJ could tell. He parted from you, noticing the way you turned your head away as if to prevent him from leaning back in.
“What’s wrong?” he asked carefully, nose nearly brushing your cheek.
“We…” You were trying to catch your breath. “We can’t do this. I’m sorry.”
You heard him swallow, stunned.
“You’re sorry?” He stepped back, face shifting between a flurry of emotions as he tried to figure out what to say to you. You wouldn’t know what to say to you either if you were JJ. “First I kiss you and you ignore me, now you kiss me and you’re sorry?”
You met his gaze, begging him to understand. Tears stung at your eyes and you blinked them away. You had a lapse in judgment and you knew you fucked up.
“I know, and I—“
“Don’t apologize!” You winced at the way he raised his voice, but you guessed you deserved it. You really wanted to sink back into the wall when his eyes filled with sorrow. You’d never been the cause of him looking at you in such a way and it felt awful. “Are you trying to hurt me?”
“That’s the last thing I want,” you professed, throat thick, but he shook his head.
“Then tell me what you want.”
What did you want? It shouldn’t have been a question that puzzled you, but in that moment, you found yourself without a true answer.
So, your mind went to the default, trying to preserve some sense of morality.
“We just need to forget it, alright?”
JJ scoffed. “You said that before and look how well that worked out.”
Your heart clenched in your chest as you said, “I mean it this time.”
JJ eyed you for a long time, silence heavy between the two of you. He was trying to figure out what to say to that. Obviously he didn’t agree, but how could he argue?
“Whatever,” he finally muttered.
JJ scooped his flask up off the ground. His hand pressed to his chest and you knew how deeply you messed up. He didn’t spare you another glance as he stormed off, leaving you teary eyed and alone against the wall with the knowledge that you screwed things up worse than he had before.
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élan part five: y/n's first night out since the gala couldn't be that bad. right?
wordcount: 14.4k+
—————
(Y/N) couldn't help the frown that landed on her face as she looked in the mirror.
While her time in Paris had been the best she'd had in a really long while, it wasn't necessarily showing. At this point, she'd missed three of her facial appointments, her skin beginning to cry out from the lack of treatment. Her nails were barely hanging on, her acrylics grown out past the point of comfort. While her mental state was beginning to grow to a wholly positive place, the rest of her wasn't really catching up.
To top it off, her makeup wasn't cooperating either. Maybe she should really get a glam squad like Harry thought—at least then she would have a chance at being on time for events with a fully formed face.
With Emma joining them in Paris for the weekend, Francesca had insisted they go out and visit the nightlife. Of course, the one night she knew there would no doubt be photos caught of her just from the way her friends were still very active on their social medias, would be when her makeup cooperates the least.
Letting out a rumbling groan, (Y/N) was that close to calling off the night as another smudge of mascara blobbed on the crease of her eye.
Like always, Harry popped his head inside her bedroom, a pinch in his brows appearing as he took in the otherwise safe room.
"What's the matter, hm?" he asked, stepping inside her room. His reflection was made in the mirror, a clear view of his eyes stitched on her as she gazed at him through the glass.
It was a bit petulant, her reaction, with the way she puffed out her bottom lip with a pout. "My skin doesn't look good, and my makeup is only making it worse." Before she could even finish her statement, Harry was shaking his head, lips thinning as if he was bored with the fact she couldn't see facts right in front of her. "Harry, really," she argued against his silent protest, "My makeup looks so weird, right now."
(Y/N) watched as he settled in behind her, his arms crossing over his chest. His eyes flittered over the mirror, ever-observant.
"You're very funny sometimes, you know that?"
That only strengthened the frown on her lips and pinch in her brow. "I'm not being funny right now."
Dropping his gaze, his features facing the floor, Harry shook his head again. Down the slope of his nose, she swore she saw the edges of an easy smile. Looking up, only traces of amusement lingered on his lips.
"That's what you think," he countered cryptically, "Let me know when you're ready."
With that, Harry popped out of her room as quickly as he joined her. Sweeping her eyes away from the doors he exited through, returning to the mirror set in her vanity, she took in the planes of her face.
Though she could still see texture and bumps, pores and blemishes, it didn't bother her so terribly for a moment. Even the sight of her outgrown nails with dull edges didn't pick at her nerves.
If Harry didn't think she looked silly, even after he witnessed the glamour she preferred in New York, then maybe it wasn't so bad.
Even if he didn't say he thought she looked pretty, he thought her complaints against her features were outlandish enough to laugh at.
Suddenly, she didn't feel like agonizing over her skin anymore. She looked just fine, she decided.
—————
"Tell me again how you're going to tell me if you're uncomfortable or want to leave."
Outside the windows at her back, the underground of Paris whirled past, the train moving quickly under the treasures on the surface. The car was on the quiet side for the night, the hour still early before others drunk on champagne would be stumbling through.
Looking up at Harry through the fan of her false lashes, she repeated the same thing he told her at least five times before leaving the penthouse: "If I can, I need to come and tell you right away. But, if I'm in a situation where I can't reach you, I'm going to look at you and nod three times."
That slow blooming smile touched the corner of his mouth, sot lips curling as he gazed down at her. "Perfect," he praised her, adjusting his hands from where they were curled around the rail on either side of her, "Jus' remember that for me, please. You're going to have a really fun night, I jus' want you to be safe."
"Okay," (Y/N) nodded pliantly, gaze dropping down to the slope of his neck, "I—um—I also don't want to drink a lot tonight."
"Okay," Harry answered cautiously, voice trailing off.
"I know that's not a rule or anything, but I just... I don't want to get too deep tonight or anything," she explained in a small voice. While she wanted to unwind and play with her friends, she wasn't interested in stumbling around or blabbing things to anyone willing to sit and listen. She hoped she wouldn't have to worry about any photographers, but that didn't mean some couldn't pop up and take pictures of her with glazed eyes to feed into the narrative being spun back in New York.
Understanding, Harry nodded his head, the green of his eyes softening as he allowed his gaze to slide across her features. "Okay," he said, "We can do that. I'll keep an eye on you, but if y'change your mind, that's okay, too. Whatever is going to make you happy tonight."
Overhead the feminine French voice blinked over the intercom, arrival times appearing on the small screen at the head of the car. Harry looked over his shoulder taking in the printed times. As much as she teased him, he really was making progress in understanding the language, enough so that he was readily taking on the details of the night and keeping track of her.
Allowing her eyes to skip over the line of his profile. Dressed low-key as usual, dark colors to help him sink into the background, the softer tones of his skin were left to jump out. The brown shades of his hair made way for sun-dappled blonde strands to make their way through, highlighting the swirling curls. His eyes were bright and clear, framed by dark curling lashes. His skin was creamy and warm, a gentle tan from the summer sun being highlighted from the dotted freckles on his nose and the rosy flush on his cheeks.
"Thank you," she blurted.
"Hm?" Harry hummed, turning to face her once more, brows raised.
(Y/N) felt her skin heat as she processed her action. She hadn't meant to say anything.
"Thank you," she repeated, "For doing all of this. Helping."
"It's m'job," he answered simply.
That was a fact (Y/N) couldn't forget, that thin veil between being a constant barrier. "I know, but," she swallowed, feeling a bit silly now knowing that he noticed that line just as much as she did, "It's just a nice feeling—like you care, and all."
The contact he made with her gaze was easy and open, unwavering. "It's because I do care."
Just then, as convenient as ever, their arrival was announced. The train slowed to a stop, passengers readying to exit the car.
Letting go of the rail, Harry wrapped an arm around her shoulders. "C'mon," he murmured, keeping her close as he guided them into the fray of the moving passengers.
(Y/N) followed absently wherever he needed, her heels hitting the ground in quiet clicks. She wasn't sure what the squeeze in her lungs and stuttering in her chest meant, but feeling Harry at her side made it that much more prevalent.
—————
Looking ahead, (Y/N) spotted the line leading up to Francesca's club of choice for the night. Waiting patrons were roping around the sidewalk, chattering with cigarettes in hand, impatient at the wait time. Even from where they were, out on the sidewalk leading up to the bouncing building, pumping music could be heard. (She's ninety-eight percent sure it was a Dua Lipa song, but she couldn't hear it exactly).
Harnessed in neon pink tubes was the name of the club: Rêve.
At her side, Harry ignored the end of the line, taking her to the front just as Fran had instructed.
A burly bouncer sized them up, already doubting them after they cut the wait. (Y/N) offered her tabloid bunny smile, Harry the structured pillar at her side.
"Salut! Nous sommes ici pour rencontrer des amis sur un stand VIP, l'un d'entre eux ayant réservé pour la nuit," she chattered, keeping her eye contact with the bouncer.
The bouncer didn't look entirely impressed as he listened. His gaze inched from hers to land on Harry. "Nom?"
"Francesca Polair—nous sommes deux de ses invités."
The bouncer's eyes tripped down her form, taking in her shimmery dress and lengths of skin on display. "Pièce d'identité?"
While she reached for her small bag with her ID inside, the bouncer unclipped a small tablet that was hung from his belt. Handing over her passport, she watched as he squinted at the American identification. Nonetheless, her name inevitably matched that of what was on Fran's guest list.
"Vous êtes prêt à entrer. Est-il avec toi?" He asked, eyeing up Harry at her side.
"Oui, cela devrait également figurer sur la liste. Harry Styles."
This time the bouncer didn't properly look at the tablet, instead, taking her word for it though he still shot Harry a suspicious look with the way he lingered at her side.
Holding open the door, he nodding at (Y/N) to push past. "Les tribunes sont au fond, derrière la piste de danse."
"Merci," she murmured, stepping past him with Harry just a step behind.
Inside, the bass of the music that could be heard outside was that much louder, lyrics in French that were too loud for her to focus on enough to translate in her head. The space was dark, leaving only strobing beams of multicolored lights to throb through the club, the only stable beacons being that of the bars lining some of the walls.
Concentrations of people were found on the dance floor and the bars, leaving walkways in between to travel through. Staff and bottleservice workers traipsed through, fluorescent drinks with herbs perched on the rims were stationed on trays next to full bottles of sparkling liquor and beers that probably had no business being as expensive as they were.
The VIP section was a straight shot down to the back, easy to spot given the second bouncer manning the entrance and the stream of bottle service staff making their way there. Harry reminded her of his presence with a hand hovering on the small of her back, over the glittering fabric of her dress.
"Alright?" he asked, dipping down close to her ear in order for her to hear.
"Mhm," she hummed, nodding her head with stray baby hairs tickling the borders of her face, "We just need to get back there to Fran and Emma."
Harry followed her line of sight towards the booths lining the back. In that way he always did, a reflex that had to have come from years in his line of work, he took inventory of the path to the back, noting the bodies in the way and the easiest route back.
"Okay," he murmured, looking determined when he positioned himself in front of her with his fingers looping around her wrist.
He took the lead then, ensuring her path was clear as she stepped behind him. She couldn't hear if he was speaking over the sound of the music, but she wondered if he was muttering something to those around them that had them parting, no one able to even brush against her as she slipped through the crowd. She could feel eyes landing on her back as she stepped through, but no one stopped her, no one raised a camera at the spectacle.
Before they could even reach the bouncer, a pitched scream that careened over the pumping music had (Y/N)'s eyes snapping up the raised level that the booths were situated on. Glowing like a mermaid with big waves in her hair and slinky blue dress adorning her body was Francesca, bright smile that much whiter under the lights as she spotted her best friend. The almost empty drink in her hand was perfect evidence of just how she was able to pitch her voice so high.
"(Y/N)!" she bubbled, racing out of her chosen booth on Bambi legs, "You're here! I missed you so much—come here, come here!"
She all but pushed the bouncer aside as she met them at the entrance to the section, the top of the small trio of stairs being where she stopped. The bouncer didn't stop them as Harry pulled her into the safety of the VIP area. Francesca barely glanced at her bodyguard before she had (Y/N) wrapped up in a hug, her glass precariously teetering on her shoulder.
"Emma brought Stavros so she's been all over him," Francesca whined, "I was scared you were going to leave me with her."
"I told you I was on my way," (Y/N) giggled, peeking through the fluff that was Fran's hair to spy Harry standing off to the side in wait of her. She shot him a look, widened eyes with a quiet smile as if to let him in on the inside joke that was her friend's drunken blubbers.
"I know, but I forgot. It doesn't matter, though, everything's okay now," Francesca rushed out, pulling away from the hug to pull (Y/N) towards the chosen booth for the night. Suddenly, she seemed to finally notice Harry was there as well, despite the fact that he had been the one leading her into the section in the first place. "Harry! Hi," she bubbled, waving at him with her drink in hand.
"Hi, Francesca," he said, giving her a nod in greeting before his eyes met (Y/N)'s. It was his turn to give her a small look, their own moment of amusement over her.
"Are you partying with us tonight?" she asked, eyes bright at the idea of Harry joining in on the fun.
Harry shook his head, features schooled away from that quiet look he shared with (Y/N). "Not tonight—'m on duty."
"That's a bummer," Fran pouted. Turning towards (Y/N), she seemingly forgot what had her bummed in the first place, instead replacing her sullen pout with a mischievous smile. "But, are you ready for a drink? We have a couple bottles at the table if you want to do shots!"
Before (Y/N) had a chance to properly answer, Fran led them to the secluded booth off to the corner of the roped off section. There, Emma and Stavros were canoodling away in the padded corner just as Francesca had complained, Emma with her hand sitting on the bare section of chest her boyfriend had on display with his barely buttoned shirt. He looked a little too satisfied with her attention, the way he was sinking into the leather booth and spreading his legs as if inviting Emma further. (Y/N) couldn't blame Fran for panicking at the idea of being left alone with the lovebirds for the night. As happy as they were for lovestruck Emma, the public intimacy was a bit much.
True to her word, on the round table in the middle of the half-moon booth were two bottles of expensive liquor. Tiny shot glasses were standing in a stack by the bottles, a pair already having been used.
Just as Francesca moved to pour (Y/N) one of her own small glasses, she was stopped with a hand on her arm. "I don't want to do too much tonight, Fran," she told her in her ear, hoping she could hear her over the music, "I have pilates in the morning, then I was going to hunt for a new nail studio."
"Oh!" Fran chirped, the remains of her drink sloshing in her glass, "Why didn't you say so? We'll just get you a vodka soda then, so you stay hydrated."
Before (Y/N) could even laugh at her friend's well-intentioned solution, Francesca was already flagging down one of the bottle service workers to place another order. (Y/N) didn't try to stop her, more than willing of this to be her drink of choice for the night instead of a round of shots.
Emma, suddenly breaking out of her love bubble, noticed (Y/N) for the first time despite having been standing by their table for a handful of minutes now. "(Y/N)!" she cheered, eyes glazed and lips puffy, "Look, Stavros, (Y/N)'s here!"
"Hi Emma," (Y/N) greeted, reaching across the table to give her a short hug, "Hi Stavros."
"(Y/N)?" Stavros repeated back to Emma, a confused pinch between his brows.
"You met her at the Gala, remember?" she answered, attempting to jog his memory, "She was in the pink dress with the little bag."
"Oh, yes!" Stavros perked up, looking to (Y/N) with recognition in his eyes, "The crying girl, yes?"
Underneath her skin, (Y/N)'s blood simmered with embarrassment. With Harry being the only person she'd been around since leaving New York, and Francesca being well aware of how unnecessary that night was to bring up, no one had brought up the Gala and the contents of the night to her face. She knew that was what many people in attendance were going to remember her for, but she didn't think it would be so blatantly broadcasted to her face.
Emma shifted her gaze to (Y/N), most likely knowing through Francesca that the Gala was a topic that was off limits for the time being. The silence between the trio lasted a beat too long for (Y/N)'s comfort. She swallowed down that prickling embarrassment, instead giving a smile.
"That was me," she laughed it off, "Hopefully I'll stay out of trouble tonight."
That seemed to be enough to quell the lovebirds' nerves, allowing Emma to smile and laugh along while Stavros gave a peal of laughter that was too enthused for (Y/N) to believe he actually understood what she said. Nonetheless, the awkward beat had been extinguished and now only lived in (Y/N)'s head for the time being. At least no one else was listening, Francesca too busy with her ordering and Harry just a few too many feet away to catch specific conversations.
"How have you been, (Y/N)? I've barely been able to talk to you since you left," Emma started up, leaning forward to give (Y/N) all of her attention.
Though she was sure it was a way to fill in the gaps of the conversation and pave over the bump Stavros left in the night, (Y/N) was grateful for the change in subject, recounting her time in the city. Francesca eventually settled in beside her in the booth, giving her own commentary on the things (Y/N) had already shared with her over dinner. Harry was stationed a few feet away, allowing her some space and privacy for the night though she could still feel his eyes landing on her every now and then as she gesticulated through the story of their day of sightseeing.
Soon enough, drinks arrived at the table along with a wish for their group to have a fun night. Her vodka soda bubbled in hand, the first sips holding the aroma of the rosemary sprig that was lanced through the cubes of ice. Francesca and Emma on the other hand downed a pair of shots while Stavros cheered on his girlfriend.
By the time the burn had left Francesca's throat and she unclenched her eyes, (Y/N) had only made it through a couple of short pulls of her light drink. Francesca looked at her with bright eyes, the strobes from the dance floor tinting them a vibrant blue.
"Let's go dance, c'mon!" she bubbled, already standing on her wobbling legs before she finished speaking.
Peeking around her, she found the dance floor crowded but nowhere near packed in the way some of the spots in New York could get at this hour. The music was good enough, and she didn't plan on wasting her first night out with friends over a throw away comment from Emma's boyfriend and the fear that she might embarrass herself again.
Allowing Francesca to sweep her away, Emma and Stavros unsurprisingly staying back for a moment, (Y/N) found Harry's eyes for a moment. He looked at her with that solid eye contact he never wavered on when it came to her. A slight pinch lingered between his brows.
She shot him a small smile and a single nod.
She was going to have a good night. Harry didn't need to worry.
—————
"I love this song!"
(Y/N) let out an easy, boisterous laugh at Francesca's bubbling comment, throwing her head back with her eyes closed. Did she even know this song? Given the fact Fran's French was nowhere near as refined as (Y/N)'s, there was a high chance she didn't understand a single syllable pumping through the speakers. Nonetheless, (Y/N) kept dancing along with her friend, hands twisting high above her head with her hips swaying.
More than one drink had passed through her hands, a couple passed the limit she set for herself at the start of the night. She would be fine, though, she was sure. She was barely even tipsy, she thought. The Cosmo in her hand was slick against her palm, having replaced the vodka soda she started with.
Across from her Francesca was having the time of her life with Emma and Stavros rounding out their group. Harry was somewhere in the distance, keeping an eye on her. More than once, he checked in from across the room, even sending for another drink for her when he heard her complaining of needing another. He treaded around her carefully, ensuring he didn't infringe on her night while doing his job to the best of his ability.
At the top of the night, she noticed a few eyes on her, some whispering with those wandering eyes landing on her a few too many times. Though she would love to assume they were only speaking of her dress or sharing comments about the state of her dancing, her years in the light pushed her to speculate these were people who recognized her. As more drinks started flowing, her inhibition for the night waning, she let it go when she caught glimpses of phone cameras trained in her direction, a few people even daring to make their way closer to her on the dance floor.
Harry kept a careful eye on the situation, watching her movements and keeping track of those around her. (Y/N) was sure a few of the times he stepped in to grab her another drink or check in on her, it was nothing short of a tactic to separate her from the others on the floor, reminding them that she wasn't a gazelle to be preyed on.
Suddenly, a pair of hands slid around her waist. She jumped in her skin for a moment, her heated skin erupting in goosebumps. Though her dancing lagged for just a moment, she honestly didn't really care about the touch. With her eyes closed, and head trained towards the sky, she halfway figured it was Emma who was dancing with her, having abandoned her boyfriend to cuddle up for a moment.
Until she heard Emma's tittering laugh from a space away. In front of her.
Blinking her eyes open, (Y/N) took stock of those around her. Emma was stretching up to her tiptoes as she sealed her lips to Stavros', her hands locked in his hair, only pulling away when he whispered something to her that made her laugh. Francesca was off to the side of her, making moony eyes at an unfamiliar man in front of her, there chattering silent under the thrumming music. On her waist was the hand of someone she didn't know.
Stumbling in her spot, she tried to whirl around in an attempt to see who exactly it was that was behind her. The hand on her waist tightened, steadying her as he leaned down with his mouth by her ear.
"Sorry, chérie," an accented voice said over her shoulder, "I didn't mean to scare you."
Unable to help the peal of laughter that fell from her lips, (Y/N) realized something just then.
She was drunk.
In a different moment, with a different drink in her hand (probably water), she wouldn't have been quite so welcoming to having someone touch her and use a pet name so casually.
Instead, she didn't really mind. She could only laugh and hang onto his hand, keeping herself steady as she tipped her head backwards to see him.
"It's okay," she slurred, "I just wasn't expecting that." Blue eyes stared back at her, topped by black brows. He smelled like smoke and vodka Red Bulls. "Who are you?"
The man laughed at her blunt question, the sound mixing with the music. "I am Marc," he told her, eyes shifting over her head to where Francesca was standing, "And that's my friend, Alain. We thought you and your friend were beautiful, so we wanted to introduce ourselves."
"Oh, okay," she sounded, matching his line of sight a little too quickly with her hair fluttered around her face. Much more stable on her feet again, she spun on her heels, facing her mystery man—Marc—properly. "Nice to meet you," she bubbled, taking an absent sip from her drink, "I'm (Y/N)."
Dipping down, Marc pressed a swift kiss to the soft of her cheek. "Nice to meet you, (Y/N). I've been having to work up the courage to come talk to you since I first came in here."
While in the back of her muddled mind, (Y/N) knew well that he was feeding her nothing but lines, she wasn't sure if she cared. There had been enough times she had been seduced by a French accent and enough wine to know that this was just one of those things. French men were much more romantic in her experiences, their lines matching the intimacy they were seeking from her.
Was it such a bad thing to revel in the niceties, though? The last time someone had openly flirted with her now ranked in the top five worst nights of her life, so it felt a little more than nice to have someone piling compliments and cushioned flirting. Was it such a bad thing to indulge herself? To soak in a second of outside validation?
Though the standard wasn't that high, at least he wasn't grabbing her face and demeaning her.
Letting her hesitations go, drifting to the back of her mind with the help of the alcohol train running off the tracks, she leaned towards him with a giggling smile. "Well, I'm happy you did," she beamed, her eyes hooded.
Taking another pull of her drink, her straw hit the bottom with only ice clinking against the glass. She almost wanted to whine at the sight. She had been hoping for more.
"Do you want me to get you another?" Marc asked, nodding towards her drink when she looked up at him.
"Um, hold on," she told him, already craning her neck to look around him in hopes of spotting someone else.
(Y/N) scanned the blur of bodies for Harry. It didn't take long to see the only sober person in the crowd, his gaze sharp and commanding through the strobing lights. He stood off the dance floor with his arms across his chest. Raising his brows, he matched her gaze. Canting her head, she raised her glass over her head as if that was enough of an explanation.
Harry gave her a small nod before she was looking back at her new friend.
"One of my friends has been getting me drinks tonight, actually. So, thanks, but I've got it." A hiccup punctuated her words.
Marc looked over his shoulder, surely spotting Harry who was making his way through the crowd to her. "You said he's your friend?"
"Uh-huh," (Y/N) sounded, wanting to see Harry herself but instead opting to sway to the sound of the music. He'd be here soon enough. "He's technically my bodyguard, but he's my friend.
"Bodyguard?" Marc repeated, looking back towards (Y/N).
Even though her vodka-soaked thought process, she noted the way he didn't seem too put off by the fact she had any kind of security detail. Maybe, that was that French disposition—the inability to care that much—but that wasn't something she was able to think about for very long.
"Uh-huh," she answered nonetheless, a hiccup making her pause, "It's a long story. I'm from New York, and there's been a lot of stuff going on, so, yeah, he's my bodyguard."
Speak of the devil, Harry popped in then, having elbowed his way through to stand at (Y/N)'s side. He didn't pay Marc a single moment of attention, looking only to her with his secure gaze.
"Y'want another, or water?"
While she couldn't deny she was reveling under Marc's attention, it was also very clear to herself how much she preferred Harry's eyes on her opposed to her new companion. There were sparks of relief upon seeing him within touching distance again, knowing that he was right there. If there was anything she needed, he was there now to remedy her situation. She knew he was taking note of everything, uncaring of whether or not her makeup was intact, assuring that she was safe and taken care of.
But, Marc actually called her pretty. He won for the night, (Y/N) decided.
"I think I want another, but then I want water," she shouted over the music, giving Harry her glass for him to discard at the bar.
Raising a dark brow, Harry gave her that amused look. "That's what y'said last time."
She laughed easily at his prodding, her grin stretching wide over her lips and head dropping backwards. "I know," she sang, "But I mean it this time."
"Whatever you say," he teased, "But I'll get you another. Jus' stay right here and wait for me."
"Merci," she crooned to him, suddenly remembering Marc's presence when he squeezed at her waist.
Before (Y/N) could offer for Harry to grab Marc a drink while he was at the bar as well, Harry was already off. He made a quick detour, checking on her friends then sinking into the thick of the crowd once more.
She hadn't even known she was watching the space he disappeared into until Marc snaked his hand up the line of her spine, palm flat against her back as he pushed her into him. (Y/N) turned her attention to him, mouth in a small gape as he matched her gaze head-on. His eyes were a lot icier than she remembered.
"Do you maybe want to go sit down for a second somewhere?" he asked, dipping down to press his cheek against hers with his lips by her ear, "It's hard to hear you out here."
"In a second," she answered, hiccuping against his chest, "I need to wait for him."
"You have a booth for the night, though, right? Up in the VIP section?" he pressed, seemingly not catching her caveat in sneaking away.
"I-I do, but Harry—my drink."
"I'm sure he'll be able to find you up there, don't worry," Marc insisted, herding (Y/N) off the dance floor and towards the sectioned off dais.
Though her footing wasn't the most stable at the moment, (Y/N) still attempted to dig her heels in and stay put. Harry told her to stay here. She had promised him she would keep his job easy while in Paris, and she knew that sneaking off wasn't something that would abide by that promise.
Out of nowhere, Francesca's hand clasped around her shoulder. In her other hand was Marc's friend's arm, her eyes hooded and glazed.
"Let's go up to the booth," she drawled, words a little slurred.
"Are you sure?" (Y/N) asked, the slightly more sober of the duo, "Harry is supposed to come back over here; he told me to wait."
Francesca shook her head with her fluff of styled hair. "He'll"—hic—"He'll be able to find you. It's okay."
It wouldn't be so bad if Francesca and Emma were up there with her. Harry wasn't stupid either, the next place he would look after the dance floor would have to be the booth, right? it would be okay.
Giving a nod to Fran, (Y/N) allowed her to lead their small group towards the VIP area, Marc and his friend happily intermingling with the group and Emma and Stavros bringing up the rear.
Despite her hesitancy, she did feel a bit better by the time she scaled the small set of stairs. She was nowhere near sober and the music wasn't much quieter than down on the floor, but at least here she wasn't stuffed between bodies. She could open her eyes and see stretches of the floor, her body touching non-humid air again.
She was happy to see the booth once more, grateful to take a seat and get the pressure off her feet and the heels she had strapped around her ankles. Though Marc didn't slide in beside her like she expected. Instead, stood at the head of the table and lent down to speak to her.
"I have a couple of other friends I brought tonight. Do you mind if I go get them? I'm their ride so I don't want them to worry," he told her, looking innocently with icy blue eyes.
"Friends?" (Y/N) asked, unsure if it was the alcohol or the outlandish request that wasn't computing.
"Yeah, just a few. They're down there," Marc recited, casting a thumb over his shoulder. "I'll be right back, okay?"
With that, he was heading back down the entrance of the VIP area, leaving (Y/N) and the girls behind.
Fran, little black straw in her mouth with water finally having been poured in her glass, lent across the booth, gently touching (Y/N)'s shoulder. When she turned, she caught the woozy smile on Francesca's face.
"Your guy is really cute," she said, her words dissolving into laughter.
"Yeah," (Y/N) answered absently, "But, did yours tell you that they're bringing friends over here?"
"Yeah," Fran simply repeated, taking another long sip of her water.
While it didn't particularly soothe her that Francesca didn't seem to care about the new uninvited guests, she figured there wasn't much else she could glean about her thoughts while in her drunken state. Instead, she let Francesca insert herself into Emma and Stavros' conversation, while (Y/N) searched for Harry. Soon enough, she spotted him approaching the dais, pink drink in hand and water in the other. There was a particularly stern set in his jaw, clearly disappointed.
Coming to the booth, he ducked down to place the duo of drinks in front of her, the water closer to the foreground. He looked at her through the fan of his lashes, lips a stern line as he lent across to talk to her.
"I thought y'were going to wait for me down there," he told her, lips by her ear.
"Um, yeah," she responded, dropping her gaze to the cranberry juice heavy Cosmopolitan she ordered, "That guy—my friend��, he said he wanted to talk to me here so it was a little bit quieter. But, now he's getting some friends he said he didn't want to leave behind."
(Y/N) didn't have to see Harry to know he was particularly unimpressed with this new information. "He said he's bringing friends? To come and sit up here with you?"
"Yeah," she told him, voice small with a nod of her head.
The more she said it out loud, the less and less of a good idea it sounded to her ears.
"Okay," he sighed, pulling away to match her eye contact head-on, "'M going to be right there, then." Behind him, he pointed at the glass railing that reinforced the boundaries of the VIP section, a good place for him to take up post and keep an eye on her. "Make sure y'stay with Emma and Francesca, okay? Don't let them get separated from you. Remember what we talked about that I need you to do if you're uncomfortable."
Swallowing, (Y/N) nodded her head, looking at him with wide eyes. Though the scene around him blurred a little too much, vodka-tinted vision, she made sure she locked eyes with him. "Okay. I remember."
That seemed to quell him enough, though that set in his jaw never loosened. "Good. I'll be right there, just grab me if y'need me."
With Harry blending into his post, his eyes unwavering on her form, (Y/N) attempted to settle herself with sips of her water. Soon enough, a larger group of people infiltrated the VIP section, their access to get through having been the fact two of the members had been previously seen with (Y/N) and Francesca.
The group of friends looked a lot different than what (Y/N) had expected. Two more men had joined the fray, along with three women. The entire friend group being that of seven people, adding into the group of four that were (Y/N) and her friends.
"Thanks for letting me bring them up here," Marc said, sly smile on his lips when he slipped into the booth beside (Y/N), "They really wanted to meet you guys."
"Y-Yeah, of course," she stuttered out, though Marc clearly stopped listening before she even started.
His eyes wandered to one of the women he brought up, watching as she flagged down a bottle service worker. (Y/N) could hear her rattling off orders in French, pointing back at Francesca and (Y/N) settled into the booth. While she was busy, the others had descended upon the liquor already on the table, draining the bottles.
"What's wrong?" Marc asked, voice a tad too sweet. As if he didn't have a single idea of what she could be bothered by.
"There's just a lot of people," (Y/N) answered, clutching her glass of water tight. If she had the attention to spare, she would have looked towards Francesca for assistance, to see if she was the only one thrown off. But there was too much happening, and she couldn't even see Harry through the new mass forming in their booth.
Marc waved her off carelessly, "Don't worry about them. Just have fun, chérie. The night is still young."
Around her, she saw the maelstrom that had begun. Drinks were flowing, Francesca happily distracted with Alain, Emma and Stavros in their bubble, and a few of the new additions to the table pairing off with affectionate hands. There was only one woman left—the one that had initially flagged down the bottle service worker—who was carefully watching Marc at (Y/N)'s side.
Everyone was having fun, she figured. The two bottles they had on their table had been drained with Francesca a moment away from catching her man for the night in a kiss. Even the woman with eyes on Marc was swaying to the music, empty shot glasses in front of her.
(Y/N) did want to have fun.
"C'mon, dance with me," Marc persuaded, standing up with his hand held out for her to take.
After a beat of hesitation, (Y/N) took his offered hand and joined him, paying enough attention to the music above to let everything go just a hair. With Marc egging her on, a hand landing on her waist, she swayed along to the beat, hanging more fun the less she thought.
It wasn't until she took a sip of her water that Marc interrupted her.
"No, have fun, chérie," he pressed, taking the water out of her hand and reaching for the abandoned Cosmopolitan.
"I don't know," (Y/N) started, intending to reject the drink until it was shoved into her hand.
"Don't be boring, chérie," Marc chided, as if he were close enough to her to tease, "Don't let it go to waste, at least."
While it wasn't solid logic considering (Y/N) was the one paying for her drink, it was enough of a persuasion to work on her muddled brain. She pliantly fit the thin black straw between her lips, allowing herself to drift into the moment. It wasn't so bad, she decided. The extra people weren't so bad in their sanctioned area. It didn't even bother her that much when three more bottles were delivered to the table, sparklers and all with a procession of excited staff fueling the fire.
"I told them it was alright to order some bottles for the table," Marc sounded over the music, looping an arm around her shoulders to press her to his chest, "I can pay you back though if you want, I just kind of figured it would be okay since you're from New York and all."
Looking to the table, she saw as the rest of his friends swarmed the table, Alain even abandoning Francesca to join in the rounds of shots. (Y/N)'s name wasn't even officially on the table, but they'd still managed to put things on her tab.
Floundering over her response, (Y/N) could feel her mouth gape before closing once more. In this moment, more than anything she wished she hadn't drank so much. This wouldn't be much of a struggle if she could manage to focus or not dredge through miles of muddy tracks in her head. It was easier to let things go at the moment instead of allowing the bubbling blow up that would have transpired earlier in the night.
"Um—Just, don't order too much," (Y/N) conditioned, her brows coming together in a loose pinch.
"It'll be alright," he assured her, that arm around her shoulders tightening to get her eyes back on him, "C'mon let's finish our drinks."
Marc's free hand came up to urge her drink up to her mouth. (Y/N) hesitated for a moment, contemplating for a split second. While it was annoying, the extra bottles ordered in her name at the table, but it wasn't so bad. The night was going fine enough, and Marc was nice. She didn't want to ruin anything or make any kind of scene in the middle of the club. Harry's eyes were no doubt trained on her.
Even with her father countries away at the moment, she was sure he'd find a way to punish her accordingly if Harry had to report anything unpleasant back.
Pliantly, (Y/N) pulled the thin black straw between her lips, taking down her Cosmopolitan.
—————
Unsure of how she got here, (Y/N) couldn't help but to stare wide eyed at Marc and his—surprisingly enough—girlfriend dancing on the table.
At least she assumed that was his girlfriend, with the way his tongue was down her throat and hand was on her ass.
Honestly, she couldn't be that surprised, considering this woman was the same one that had been staring possessively the whole time Marc was interacting with her. But, how they ended up on the table, dancing to some French song she was not sober enough to understand, (Y/N) did not know.
Around the table, the rest of that friend group had grown just as rowdy. The floor was sticky with spilled drinks, the waitstaff offering dirty looks from the amount of times one of the couples had attempted to smoke, and the neighboring tables were beginning to lose patience with their chaos.
Francesca was definitely out of her head for the night, every sip of alcohol definitely hitting her system heavily. While she may have had qualms with the etiquette of their unwanted guests if she were sober, she definitely didn't with the way she was willing to ignore as much in favor of dancing and playing with Emma when she wasn't busy with Stavros. Emma's boyfriend, being the most sober of the group, was less than impressed, whispering something into Emma's ear that (Y/N) hoped was a game plan to get out of here.
Searching through the mass that had been created around the table, (Y/N) tried to spot Harry. She wanted to get out of here. There was no reasoning with the way these people were behaving, and she wanted to get out of here before she was pushed too far.
Suddenly, a strong hand landed on her shoulder. Turning on her heel, she startled at the touch.
Harry stood behind her, his jaw set and brows in a furrow. Dipping his head down, he told her, "We need to leave."
Even with her head swimming, (Y/N) jerkily nodded her head. "I don't want to be here anymore," she answered, "Th-They're being crazy."
"Yeah." His answer was simple and stern, flicking his gaze up to the couple dancing on the table. His eyes blazed at the sight of Marc, definitely having played with (Y/N) through the night to get up to this section. "C'mon," he prompted, using his hand on her shoulder to help guide her through the booth before meeting him on the other side.
Despite her drunken legs, she dug her heels in. "But, Fran and Emma."
"I'll call them a car, we jus' need to leave before this gets any more out of hand. Tell them we're leaving."
Nodding, Harry let go of her before she tried to swim across to catch Francesca. Even when she grabbed her hand, Fran kept dancing, on a different planet that kept her eyes plugged and head drowning.
"Francesca!" (Y/N) shouted, trying to be heard over the music.
"(Y/N)!" she answered, barely glancing at her with a flip of her hair before she was dancing on an odd rhythm.
Attempting to catch her attention once more, (Y/N) was stopped as Marc leaned down, his lips swollen and eyes glazed.
"You're not leaving, right?" he yelled over the music, his words watery and slurred, "You're supposed to stay and party with us, New York!"
(Y/N) stammered over an answer. "I—um—"
"We've seen those pictures of you, we know you like to have a good time! You can't leave yet!"
Worrying her bottom lip between her teeth, part of her chest felt a little too tight. Of course, they knew who she was. Of course, they'd seen photos of her.
"I'm sorry, I don't feel good," she responded, uncaring if he could hear her over the music anymore.
Something shifted in Marc, then. His features morphed almost before her eyes, his eyes darkening and brows tightening. "How are we supposed to pay for all of this, if you aren't here?!"
"I'm sorry, but I'm not staying here," she affirmed, shaking her head, "I'm grabbing my friends and—"
"Wow," he spat, cutting her off, "You really are a bitch—just like everyone says,"
Stepping up behind her, Harry placed a stern hand on Marc's chest, pushing him out of (Y/N)'s space.
"Back off, unless y'would prefer to have a problem," he started, his rough voice heavy over the music. Marc teetered off balance, the woman at his side having to steady him as he looked at Harry with offended eyes.
"Who a—"
"We're leaving," Harry cemented, ignoring whatever Marc was going to try to say, "You are going to find a way to pay for all of this, or you'll be hearing from me again. You're not going to be taking advantage of her."
There was no room left for Marc to argue before Harry wrangled up the girls, Stavros helping to guide both Fran and Emma out of the booth.
"C'mere," Harry said, offering (Y/N) his hand to help her climb over the back of the booth.
She happily took his hand, carefully stepping over the faux-leather with Harry grabbing her waist to help her over the structure. Tottering on her heels for just a moment, Harry didn't linger for very long before he was rushing her out of the VIP section. She could feel dirty looks on her back from the staff, but she didn't care at the moment.
Instead, she clung to Harry as they caught up to Francesca and Emma, Stavros heading their line on his much steadier feet. The closer they ventured to the exit, the more and more drunk she felt. The more removed she became from the pumping music and the other alcohol-soaked bodies, the more the real world was not suited to her current state.
"Careful," Harry murmured in her ear, righting her from a stumble she hadn't realized she made. Slipping an arm around her waist, he curled his hand around her hip.
"Sorry, sorry," she answered, fixing her gaze on her feet in hopes of staying cautious like he asked. Absently, she grabbed his hand on her hip, laying her palm against the top of hand with her fingers curling in-between the gaps of his.
Harry pulsed his hand, both her hip and fingers cradled in his hold.
Stavros pushed the exit door open for everyone to follow, the first light of the outside world glimmering into the otherwise dark club. Even with the alcohol muddling her thoughts, (Y/N) still caught the way Francesca stumbled back when she stepped out, her hands blindly reaching up to cover her eyes.
(Y/N)'s steps slowed, bright flashes pinging out on the sidewalk. Those people—the ones who stole their table and tacked (Y/N)'s name on the end of their bill—they wouldn't have posted about her, would they? While she might not be as hugely followed out here compared to New York, there were definitely international publications that enjoyed snapping her photo and selling it off.
Heading up the rear, Harry continued to pull her towards the exit, even when (Y/N) saw another round of flashbulbs go off when Emma made her appearance out on the concrete. Shouted questions in French could be heard, bubbling just over the sound of the music.
"Stay with me," Harry murmured to her, "There should be some cars waiting, jus' stay steady, (Y/N)."
She wanted to listen, she really did. But, the shuttering cameras and bright blinking bulbs was enough to get her hesitating just enough that she couldn't keep up. She didn't want to be seen like this, not after the way this night had turned out.
As attentive as Harry was, always observant, he was on a mission and that didn't include (Y/N) dragging while he tried to get her to a safe place.
As he tugged her over the threshold of the door, Stavros still holding it open, she stumbled against Harry's pulling, her heel catching just right. Flashes twinkled in her face, cameras blinking as photographs were taken of her stumbling outside, clinging to Harry with her breath caught in her throat. The toe of her pump dragged over the concrete, her lost balance weighing her down until Harry righted her, steadying his grip around her waist with his free hand reaching for her hip.
"Y'alright?" he murmured to her, suddenly breathless as he helped her back onto her feet.
"I'm okay," she told her, voice a peep under the bright attention.
Pressing questions were spewed in her direction, many asking who Harry was, why she was in Paris, and how drunk she was. (Y/N) ignored them all, focusing on following Harry who now led the group towards the waiting cars.
"I'm sorry," he whispered, voice low for her ears only, "I didn't mean to trip you."
(Y/N) shook her head. "It's okay," she assured him, eyes on her feet to calculate her steps, "I just want to go home."
"We will." Harry's simple answer was just that before he quickened his pace, allowing (Y/N) to keep up as they pushed through the throng of photographers waiting outside the club.
With Stavros heading up the back of their procession, many of the paparazzi were unable to follow any of the girls without getting through him first. As kind as he was, she could tell he used that Greek glare to his advantage, acting as if he couldn't believe they were following him while being an oblivious block in the road.
That extra distraction allowed Harry to lead the group somewhere safe, around the side of a building a little too narrow for anyone else to follow. Two black sedans were parked against the curb.
Without hesitation, Harry adjusted his grip on (Y/N), practically hugging her to his chest. She curled into him, fitting her forehead against the column of his throat with her arms a bundle between them. Harry cradled her with his arms around her waist, keeping her safe with him after the chaos that erupted.
She could hear him speaking over her head to Emma and Stavros, ensuring they were going to take care of Francesca and that he had taken care of the fees of their reserved vehicle. She wanted to participate, tell Emma she was sorry for the night's turn and assure Stavros that every night (Y/N) was involved in didn't dissolve into a scrambled mess, but instead she kept herself warm against Harry's chest and let him do the talking for them. She would call Emma later she decided—maybe text her if her hangover didn't allow phone calls in the morning.
"That one's yours," Harry directed, (Y/N) noticing his words only when he unlinked an arm around her to point, "It was nice to meet you. Get home safe."
Stavros answered back in broken English while Emma was busy herding Francesca along with them. Muttered discussion could be heard with the driver of their vehicle before car doors were opens and slammed shut. The sound reverberated for a moment, before silence settled.
"Our turn?" (Y/N) asked, pulling away to look up at Harry holding her.
His lips were thin, eyes downturned as he gazed at her. "C'mon," he responded, loosening his hold in exchange for leading her towards the single waiting sedan
He took charge, speaking to the driver through the rolled down window, even if his French was less than stellar. Once all the details and verifications are figured out, Harry helped her in the backseat, pushing her in first before leaning in and helping her buckle up. While (Y/N) had anticipated that cushion of space to be between them as usual, he surprised her by sliding in right at her side, a long arm laying across the top of the seat behind her head.
Peeking through the rearview mirror, (Y/N) caught the driver eyeing she and Harry, her brown eyes fluttering with recognition. (Y/N) curled into herself then, dropping her gaze to her hands in her lap while Harry's dropped to the cuff of her shoulder. In French, he reiterated the address of the penthouse when their driver didn't immediately pull away from the curb.
Once the road was under their tires, the sound of the gear shifting and setting them off away from the club, (Y/N) felt herself begin to relax. Even if their driver knew who she was, it was a less daunting experience than waiting outside of a paparazzi litter club while waitstaff inside were no doubt spinning rumors about her low class and patrons were spitting over the fact they had to foot the bill they ran up.
Casting her memory back to the front of the night was enough to exhaust her into slumping against Harry's shoulder.
"I want water," she blurted out, nestling into the divot between his shoulder and chest.
Harry pulsed his arm around her frame, keeping her warm against his chest. "I'll get y'some water as soon as we're back, yeah?"
"I want to take my makeup off, though," she mused, a pinch appearing between her brows though her eyes fluttered closed.
"We'll take your makeup off when we get back, yeah? First thing."
"I want food, too."
A breathy laugh disturbed where she was cuddled into him. "I'll get y'something to eat when we get back, yeah?"
Mulling it over for a lingering second, (Y/N) agreed with a nod of her head. "Yeah," she parroted, pleased enough with his operation.
The gentle motion of the turns and slow stops the car made was enough to settle (Y/N) into a light trance, her head filling with sleep-puffed clouds. She forced herself to stay awake, hoping the elapsed time was as long as it felt.
"I didn't get to say bye to the girls," (Y/N) said, hoping to keep herself awake enough for Harry to get her water, food, and her makeup off like he promised.
"I told them you'd call, or you can text them later," he explained, shifting over the leather of the seat.
"You don't think they're mad, right?" she pressed, voice quieter, "That I ruined everything with those guys?"
A pause of silence sat as the third passenger for a moment, heavy before Harry spoke. "Of course, they're not. 'S not your fault any of that happened—you're jus' too nice sometimes, that's all."
"No one's ever said that about me before." (Y/N) couldn't help the short smile that tickled the corners of her mouth.
"What do you mean?"
"That I'm too nice," she beamed, snuggling closer to Harry, "Usually it's the opposite."
Perfect timing came in the form of their cab stopping outside of the building, easy French words coming from the driver as she turned to talk to Harry. (Y/N) could vaguely hear him thanking her and sending payment off through his phone, before he was sliding across the leather with her in tow.
"Careful," he crooned, offering a hand as she followed in teetering steps.
(Y/N) laced their fingers together without a second thought. Harry solidified the hold in a pulse of his fingers around hers.
She was a step behind him with a blinking flutter of her lashes, forcing her eyes to adjust to the world once more after being shuttered for the duration of the drive. The warm lighting of the building helped her find her footing in the real world, no longer neon like the club or fluorescent like the flashbulbs of cameras. Harry kept a steady grip on her hand, taking her to the leisurely paced elevator.
Staying stuck to his side, huddled into a single corner of the whole cubicle, soft music filled the space between them while (Y/N) recounted the night. While she definitely was not sober, stepping away from the high paced environments allowed her mind to iron out some of the details she didn't think twice about earlier.
"I don't like when people talk to me like that," she murmured, the number on the carousel just blinking past two.
"What do you mean?" The warmth of his gaze landed on the side of her face, his hand heavy in hers.
"That guy," she started, her breathing stuttering through the beginning of a hiccup she swallowed down, "The one at the club. He was mad that I wasn't going to be there to pay for what he and his friends ordered. I think he knew who I was even though he pretended he didn't. He called me a bitch." A beat passed. "I think that girl was his girlfriend, too—the one on the table with him."
Harry stood quietly at her side, the ever-sturdy pillar. He listened, observed. Took everything in, as he always did.
That silence stuck with them as the elevator chimed as they reached their floor. The doors parted for Harry to usher her through, taking her to the door before unlocking the knob and helping her forward. It wasn't until they were alone, in their private space, that he spoke again.
"I did hear him say those things," he murmured, his voice tight.
"It was mean, wasn't it?" she asked, kicking her shoes off by the front door, her toes aching after holding her weight for the night.
"It is," he affirmed, waiting for her to grow steady on her feet before he started towards the kitchen. True to his promise, he started with a glass of water for her, setting it on the counter before he was raiding the cabinets for a snack. He didn't look at her when he spoke again, keeping his attention forward. "You know none of that is true, though, right?"
"Hm?" (Y/N) hummed, sipping her water with her eyes trained on his back.
Returning with leftover gougères from the day before (Harry had become really fond of bisqué now that she showed him it didn't matter the season, soup was always a good choice), he set the cheese-baked pastries as her side before he leveled her gaze.
"No matter what he said,'' Harry started, his words slow and deliberate, "You're not a bitch,"—he all but choked around the word—"It's not up to you to pay for him and his idiot friends. He was trying to take advantage of you."
"I know," she swallowed, the words hitting a soft part of her muddled brain, "B-But now there's another person that thinks I'm bad."
"I don't think that, though," he said after a beat, his voice considerably softer, matching the moss of his eyes, "Fran and Emma don't think so—neither does Sully. We all know who y'actually are, and I think that counts for something."
Standing quietly, bare feet against the tile of the kitchen, (Y/N) allowed his words to swim in her brain. She soaked them in as much as she could, the weight of them heavy.
"You really don't think so?" she pressed, dropping her gaze to the collar of his fitted shirt, "Even after... everything, and all the stuff my father told you?"
Harry shook his head, a loose curl splaying across his forehead. "What your father says, means nothing to me. Everything I've seen, is y'trying your best. You're put in hard situations, and then expected to know how to handle them on your first try, all while everyone watches. It's not fair."
Overloaded, (Y/N) tried to cling to every word he was saying. She dearly hoped she would remember this in the morning, or at least the feeling of it all. The feeling of that light hope in her chest, brighter than that of whatever French bisqué she made or fanciful purchase could inspire.
Harry understood her.
"That's exactly how it feels sometimes," she confided in him, blindly reaching out in hopes of catching the hem of his shirt before he did her one better and bundled both of her hands in his own. "I love Fran, I do," she told him, letting his gaze with her own soft eyes, "But, she doesn't understand me like that—like you do."
"I wish more people understood you," Harry murmured, his words quiet enough (Y/N) wasn't sure if she heard him right.
"You're like my best friend, now," (Y/N) responded, hoping he could catch her sincerity even if she was a little plastered.
Those searching eyes traipsed around the planes of her face, skipping along every contour and highlight. She wished she knew what was going on in his head, what thought he had when he catalogued her like a fine gown.
"C'mon," he beckoned her, unlacing one hand from hers only to grab the plate of gougères, "Let's eat, then we'll get ready for bed."
(Y/N) pliantly followed, the Eiffel Tower glimmering through the windows of her balcony.
—————
Slipping out of her bedroom, (Y/N) cast her eyes around in hopes of finding Harry lounging about.
Last night was a whirlwind that ended with her snuggled in her bed, makeup off and hair braided back but still in her dress. She woke with a half eaten gougère on her bedside table, alongside a glass of water and a small bottle of aspirin. While parts of the night were muddied, many things were still clear—including the way Harry handled her and helped take care of her friends.
That also meant she remembered the small string of photographers that had waited outside the club, cameras flashing as she stumbled over her own feet.
Against her better judgement, she couldn't help but to check her phone after blinking the sleep out of her eyes, wanting to see what exactly—if anything—was being written by her.
The photos were the first things she saw, many of them favoring headlines featuring a specific shot of her clinging to Harry as she almost fell, the hem of her dress riding up and Harry's grip strong around her waist. The nature of their relationship was once again called into question, as if his hold was anything but protective. Some even captioned the photos of him whispering to her, apologizing for tripping her, as him whispering sweet nothings into her hair.
Honestly, many of the articles were on the tame side, the headlines being nothing more than clickbait. The worst they spoke on was her "leg-baring dress", while much more of the pieces were spent speculating about Harry once more and recounting the 132 Gala news.
She'd definitely seen worse about herself. While none of this was the preferred outcome, it was one she could get through. Hopefully, with the time zones, her father wouldn't see the news just yet.
After washing her face and brushing her teeth, she left her phone on her bed while venturing outside the suite. Instead of finding Harry like she hoped, she was instead left with a view of an empty apartment, a single glass of her purple smoothie left on the counter.
A smile bloomed on her fatigued cheeks when she noticed the dirtied blender in the sink, scraps of fruit having been tossed in the trash with a freshly wiped down countertop. Harry had to have made this one.
Maybe that was why it tasted that much sweeter when she took the first sip. Even without the matcha and collagen she usually requested, she felt much more awake.
Straw tucked between her lips as she sipped her smoothie, (Y/N) debated tracking down Harry to his bedroom, wishing so badly she could see him again in the right-frame of mind.
Those reassurances he uttered to her the night before were sitting in her head, perfect like a present waiting for her to wake up to. Perhaps that's what had made the sensationalized stories about her much more palatable. What did it matter what they and anonymous blogs said when Harry reiterated how many people in her life knew her and cared for her.
Turning back towards the living room, she spotted him through the crystal windows on the balcony doors, coffee in hand as he made a home in the lounger. She tried not to overthink it all as she crossed the room, gently knocking on the door before pushing it open.
"Morning," she murmured, stepping out onto the balcony with him.
Harry's posture straightened, his sleepy eyes gazing up at her through the shadow of his lashes. "Morning. How are you feeling?"
Taking a long sip of the smoothie, she hoped he caught the way almost a third of it was gone already. "Definitely been better. So much for not drinking, right?" she joked, taking a seat beside him in her own lounger.
"Y'weren't too bad," he answered, his own amusement leaking through his words. "Y'don't feel sick or anything?"
Turning her gaze towards the city, she watched the sun rise over the Eiffel Tower, remembering what it looked like with all the twinkle light just hours before.
"No, I'm alright. Thank you for getting me food and medicine and everything."
"Of course," he answered simply, taking a sip of his own coffee.
From the corner of his eye, his gaze lingered on the smoothie in her hand. The ghost of a dimple touched his cheek.
For the first time in a while, especially after everything she had read being posted about them—about him—, she didn't feel the need to explain or apologize.
Harry knew her. He knew her enough to know the difference between tabloid features and facts. Even knowing what would undoubtedly be said about him if he were pictured so closely with her—whether it be because of his job or the fact she felt she could call him a friend—he didn't shy away from holding her tight and making her feel safe in the midst of everything.
Instead of offering any kind words, (Y/N) scooted her chair that much closer to his, eyes on the Tower.
—————
"(Y/N), how many times do we have to talk about this?"
Without missing a beat, (Y/N) kept cleaning up the kitchen after having made lunch for she and Harry, her father's voice nothing more than dull background noise as she left the call on speaker. The mute feature was being utilized as he raged at her, not a second thought in her head being spared over his grilling.
It was a waste of time, she decided. That was the kind of mood she was in today, and that was the kind of daughter he would be getting. Though, to notice at all, would mean that he would have to actually pay attention and let her speak instead of spilling off rhetorical questions before hitting her with insults once.
It'd been a full day since the articles had been posted about her, more and more photos resurfacing of her stumbling outside and being led away with Harry, while blogs were posting grainy photos from the inside of the club before things went downhill. She knew a phone call like this was coming.
The only new addition to this particular berating, was the silent audience that was sitting on the couch.
Harry, leaning against the arm of the couch, had his arms crossed, one hand at his side in a heavy fist with the other cupping his chin, elbow bent to rest on his other wrist. His gaze was unfocused, a piece of flooring holding his attention while he listened to whatever it was that her father was serving up for the day.
From the way his features pinched and this fist as his side progressively tightened into a white-knuckled grip, she could only imagine the kind of things her father was sharing. He didn't even know there was an audience there to listen in, let alone that it was Harry. No filter was being applied as he spoke.
Wringing out her washcloth in the sink, (Y/N) tuned in just enough to hear a question that had her hands stuttering.
"Is Harry not enough for you?" her father asked, disappointment dripping from his tone, "Do I need to find someone else to look after you? Do you need a whole team to keep you in line?"
She rushed to pick up her phone, taking the call off speaker and mute as she pressed it to her ear.
"No, no," she interrupted him, uncaring of the snap that would be given back for cutting him off, "Harry's doing a good job, just... You know how I am."
Turning her back to Harry as she spoke, she attempted to find some kind of privacy as if she weren't the only one speaking in the room. He could hear every word—every plea she was about to make to ensure he kept his job with her.
While she took it as a positive that her father wasn't suggesting to replace Harry, she definitely didn't want anyone else added to the mix. Harry is more than enough for her.
On the other end, her father scoffed. "Don't I," he mused, (Y/N) able to imagine the rolling of his eyes through the phone. "I don't know what to do, (Y/N)," he started, heaving a sigh, "I've reached out to publicists and handlers, and anyone in the industry to help. No one wants to touch your reputation. It's preceded you at this point, no one wants to work with a brat. I don't have many options left."
Grateful for the fact her back was facing Harry, she felt a warmth hit under her skin. It was a humiliating thought—knowing that others all around her had spoken so lowly that even publicists that deemed any publicity as good publicity wouldn't touch her.
"I know," she conceded, swallowing around her dry throat, "But, I don't think any more security is a good idea. It would look bad, don't you think?"
She was grasping at straws a bit, hoping to dig into the image he held so dear. The one thing he cared about when it came to her.
A beat passed before he spoke once more, his voice distant and musing. "Now, you're thinking. I think I might have another idea, then."
"Oh?"
"Yes, I think I have an idea," her father perked on the other side, "Let me make a few calls and then I'll get back in touch."
"Okay, u—"
"In the meantime, (Y/N)," he cut her off, "I'm going to make it especially clear—again—that you need to have your head on straight. You're not making anything easy on anyone when you act like this—myself and Harry included. Stop being selfish and think before you act."
His tone was definite. Everything he said was nothing more than a slightly different variation of everything he'd already told her. She needed to try harder not to make everything her fault.
"I know," she answered, a detached response that had been drilled into her, "I'm working on it."
"Good. Talk to you later."
With that, before she had a chance to utter her own goodbye, her father hung up. Dead air filled the kitchen as she pulled her phone from her ear, slipping the device into her back pocket.
"What was that?" Harry asked, not waiting for her to face him before firing off.
Taking in a deep breath, (Y/N) turned to look at him, fiddling awkwardly in the middle of the small kitchen. "He said he wanted to get you more help—like, more security—, but I was able to get him off that idea. Now, he says he has another idea, but he won't tell me about it until he calls later. He said he had to talk to a few people first."
Unimpressed, Harry hummed in response. His gaze finally focused when it landed on her face, his pupils exacting and calculating. "Does he always talk to you like that?"
That wasn't what she expected of this inquisition. She suddenly felt uncomfortable under his eyes.
"Sometimes," she answered, trying to keep her features a blank slate, "Only when I mess up, though. It's not a big deal, I never listen anyway."
His gaze was unflinching, unwavering. "Are you sure?"
"I'm sure," she said automatically, no longer wanting to speak of her father or his words. "Anyway, I feel like he's just going to open a foundation in my name or something—that's his big idea. He does it every once in a while, just to make us all look charitable."
Harry traipsed his eyes over her form, taking in every detail of her body language and every minute frame of an expression. She felt exposed the longer he watched her.
Eventually—finally, finally—he released her, standing from his station on the arm of the couch with a sigh. "Whatever he comes up with, I'll be there, yeah? We'll work it out together."
Even Francesca, her best friend and closest person, hadn't been able to promise what Harry was giving her. She knew he really would be there with her, every step she took now coming with a pair.
(Y/N) allowed a gentle smile to bloom on her features, watching as he softened some.
"Yeah."
—————
Unable to help herself, still curious to the fact this person had found her Paris address, (Y/N) opened the flap to the newest letter that had been dropped in her mailbox.
The admirer's newest perspective came in high quality photos from the club. There were photos of her dancing with Marc—though his face was marred with markings she was too scared to investigate further. There were photos of her sipping drinks with Francesca and Emma before the night devolved, Harry noticeably cropped from the shots though (Y/N) knew he wouldn't have been that far away. Similar markings to what had marred Marc's face reappeared, this time sketching around her face in rudimentary hearts and shapes. Those made her feel the most queasy.
On the backside of some of the photos, it seemed this person felt they had inside information, claiming to know she hadn't wanted to dance with Marc. They apparently knew she hadn't wanted to go out at all, that she was much too private for this kind of scene and someone had to be forcing her to do this for some reason. It hadn't been her fault that she had stiffed the table (a fact that was far from the truth, seeing as how no one from the club had contacted her or Francesca. Something had to have been worked out). It hadn't been her fault that she left with Harry the way she did, curled into his arms and clinging to him like a vine. She would have never touched him if it was up to her own accord—at least that's what the admirer claimed.
Everything was written in short, messy sentences, barely legible as if written with the author's non-dominant hand. The rest of the story lay in the typed letter she knew was tucked inside the envelope, the musings of someone determined to fit her into the box of their liking.
Her palms felt sweaty as she looked at a photo of her face, the lens having zoomed in to catch the pucker of her lips around the cocktail straw, eyes glazed in alcohol.
How someone had snuck a camera in and Harry hadn't noticed—or at least mentioned it to her—she didn't know. And a part of her didn't want to.
It was easier to ignore this whole thing, she decided. Bundling the pictures back into the envelope, (Y/N) rushed to place it in her room, the bottom drawer of her vanity gaining a new addition.
—————
Staring at her phone, (Y/N) couldn't feel anything but dumbfounded as she reread her father's messages.
Dad
�� I have a friend from the country club that is interested in taking you out on a date. He's planning on flying out to Paris by the end of the week, and I expect you to go out to dinner with him, to show him and the world why a man like him would be willing to go out with you.
He's a successful philanthropist with a good reputation. I think he's the perfect person for you to get to know, and learn how to behave with. It will be good for you to be seen with him.
Be on your best behavior.
This was not at all what she could have ever imagined his big plan would be. More than a little far off from the suspected charity Gala that would be thrown in her name.
She'd been set up before with the sons of investors and introduced to men he thought would help further him in his dealings. All of those instances had been made in the name of his business—made for his best interests. Never had he set her up with the intention of strengthening her reputation or showcasing her for nothing other than publicity.
Though, from the way her father spoke, she doubted the other man knew it had anything to do with her reputation. As far as he knew, he was being set up with a friend's darling daughter for a romantic evening in Paris.
The thought had (Y/N) cringing.
She was supposed to go on a date? To convince people she wasn't a bitch?
(Y/N) was angry. Uncomfortable. Upset. Anything that was the opposite of happy was pulsing through her veins. What was her father thinking?
Did Harry know anything about this?
Heavy in her middle, (Y/N) wanted to rush to Harry's side, ask him if he knew anything about these plans. If he did, she wanted to assure him that she had no feelings tied to this man or this date—that he was nothing to her mind. She wanted to tell him she didn't want to go on this date, that she was being forced to see another person despite having purely opposite feelings.
She wasn't sure why exactly she felt it was so important to make that much clear, but it was enough to get her off of her bed and out to the living room.
Sitting on the couch, was Harry with a book in his hand, the cover showcasing the name of a famous French designer. He bookmarked his place with a finger as he looked up at her, taking in her shower-softened form and silky pajamas on her form.
"Going to bed?" he asked, the gauzy curtains having been dropped around the windows to the balconies.
Suddenly, she felt a bit silly having bustled out of her room the way she did. What did it matter if Harry thought she wanted to go on a date with this man? Why would he care about who she dated? All he needed to know was where she was going and if he would be needed for security.
"In a minute, but—um—" she started, fiddling with her phone in her hands.
Shifting on the cushion he'd taken up, he narrowed his gaze with a pinch to his brows. Properly marking his spot, he left his novel to be placed at his side, the full of his attention placed on his client.
"Is everything alright? Did something happen?" His gaze skipped over her form, examining for any bit of her that needed his help.
"I'm okay," she assured, shifting on her feet, "It's just..." Harry waited patiently-impatient, unwavering eye contact. "My dad texted me," she blurted.
"Yeah?" he pressed, his elbows setting on his knees as he leant towards her, "What did he say?"
Swallowing, she tried to shrug in nonchalance. "You know how he said he had an idea after those pictures of us at the club?" she questioned, listening for Harry's hum of acknowledgment before continuing, "I guess his side was to set me up with someone he knows from the country club. For a date. This weekend."
Forcing the words through her throat, she watched and waited for Harry's reaction. Though he was much better than she ever would be as keeping a poker face, everything internalized.
"Yeah?" was his only response.
"He said this guy has a really good reputation, with charities and all. He's hoping that being seen with him will help make me look better—PR and all." She struggled around the next bit of information, unwilling to say it out loud as if it would make it real. "I think he really wants me to date him, though—this friend. I don't think he knows my father's setting it up the way he is.
Contemplative and deliberate like always, Harry waited before pressing, "Do you know this man? Or would this be the first time you meet him—for this date?"
"I-I'm not sure who it is, but if I knew him already I think my father would have said so. I think this weekend would be the first time." She was more than embarrassed the more he asked. What kind of child had to be set up on playdates so they learned how to behave?
"This isn't the same man that made you uncomfortable before, then?" Harry's voice suddenly held an edge, recalling Barron at the 132 Gala.
"No, not him."
"Okay," he mused, the gears in his brain almost visibly grinding away as he thought through every and any scenario. "Do y'want me to be there with you?"
The edge of her phone case became the most interesting thing in the room then, her fingers picking at the molding. She swallowed, remembering that trapped, angry feeling she had when she read his messages the first time.
"I don't want to go at all," she started, fitting her bottom lip between her teeth. "I don't know, maybe we could go out this week, and I'll make a scene or something? It could make him mad enough that he calls the whole thing off, and we won't have to deal with it at all."
"No, we're not doing that," Harry immediately intervened, frustration lacing through his tone, "'S not worth him getting upset with you over."
"I know," she told him, a defeated slope to her shoulders, "But, I don't want to go. Especially not with him—whoever he is. I-I'd rather stay with you."
The air softened around them as the words hung between them. Peeking through the fan of her lashes, she caught the easy stare he gave her.
"It's going to be alright, (Y/N)," he assured her, his frustration having melted into something soft and pliable, "I'm going to be there with you."
"I'm sorry," she reflexively shared, her tongue working before her brain.
"What for?"
For going on a date with someone that isn't you.
"I don't know," she answered, "For taking up your weekend with something stupid, I guess."
"And what else would I have done instead?" Harry countered, his tone anything but biting, "Y'act like I'm not here jus' for you."
While she knew he didn't mean it the way it sounded, there was a small hand in her heart that clutched at the idea.
"Don't worry about it for now, yeah? Jus' sleep on it, and we'll take again in the morning. If there's anything else we can do, we'll figure it out then. Okay?"
He was always so in control, the voice of reason she lacked in these moments.
"Okay. Thank you."
"I've got you," Harry answered simply, reaching for his book once more. "Goodnight, (Y/N)."
Sparing one last glance at her bodyguard huddled on the sofa of her Parisian apartment, fashion book in hand, (Y/N) inched towards her bedroom feeling a touch lighter.
"Goodnight, Harry."
—————
s'entendre is a French word for the feeling of understanding someone; to get someone
only a few more parts! thank you sm for reading, sorry for any mistakes, and if you have any ideas or whatever please send them in!
#writing#harry#harry styles#harry one shot#harry imagine#harry blurb#harry au#bodyguard harry#harry x reader#harry styles one shot#harry styles imagine#harry styles blurb#harry styles ay#bodyguard harry styles#harry styles x reader#love on tour#pleasing#harrys house#as it was#satellite
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Hi! Could i request Feixiao, Boothill, and Argenti with a s/o who has panic disorder (or panic attacks in general). Just generally how they react and such :)
@dragon-anon
A/N: Surprisingly I found this a little difficult IUESJhief I have a lot of experience with. having anxiety when I was younger. I think I was even diagnosed with it at some point ? Which is weird because I’m not diagnosed any longer and I no longer really get anxiety attacks so idk what the fuck that was erm. Anyways that’s beside the point. I really struggled to make Feixiao and Argenti different because I think they would handle it similarly (hence why Argenti’s part ended up so much shorter than the other two, cause I didn’t want to just. Repeat Feixiao’s whole part.) and I’m a little worried Boothill is ooc because I haven’t done the new quest and it seems like it showed a lot of his backstory so forgive me if I’m not up to date on that. Sorry about rambling I’ll get on with it now help
Reader has an anxiety disorder
Characters: Feixiao, Boothill, Argenti
Cw: anxiety/panic attacks (descriptions kept brief, not very detailed), slight mention of self-harm inflicting behaviours in Argenti's part (only reader unintentionally scratching themself, not necessarily done out of a desire to harm oneself).
Lmk if there's anything else I should add !
────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────
╭──────────.★..─╮ Feixiao ╰─..★.──────────╯
Oh she’s great
Amazing at picking up your signals, amazing at assessing what course of action would help you most, amazing at following through with it
She can tell what sets you off, even without you telling her, and she has a lot of firsthand experience with handling other people’s anxiety (both from more intimate relationships and from soldiers she doesn’t exactly know on any personal level). It’s not hard for her to figure out what calms you down most quickly.
Your episodes have never been shorter than they are with her around 🙏🙏
I’m not sure exactly how I imagine her handling it, because I think it switches a lot depending on what she knows about you. If she knows you find physical touch comforting, she’ll hold you and gently talk you down. If you’re the type who doesn’t need much reassurance, she’ll firmly remind you of where you are, that she’s with you, that you’re safe, etc, etc. She’ll find whatever solution works best for you.
Apart from being great with damage control if you do have a panic attack, she’s also pretty good at preventing them from happening in the first place.
If she recognises you’re stepping into an environment you’re likely to have an attack in, she’ll either steer you out of it if she can or she’ll make sure you’re in there for as little time as possible. Like, for example, if you’re bad with large crowds, she’ll usually just find a less packed road to take around the mass of people.
Obviously it’s unavoidable sometimes, and she won’t always be able to adhere to you completely because she does have a very important job that she can’t really put on hold for your sake, but like I said, she’s great at handling it then too.
If something needs to be done but you can’t do it, she’ll do it for you (after gently trying to encourage you to face your fears and do it yourself — but she does quickly relent if she notices you really, really don’t want to)
10/10 would recommend she’s amazing
╭──────────.★..─╮ Boothill ╰─..★.──────────╯
I feel like Boothill would be absolutely dogwater at preventing any anxiety attacks from happening, but he’d be great at stopping them once they do happen
Like obviously he won’t trigger you on purpose but he won’t tiptoe around the things that put you off either. Both because he doesn’t usually have much choice in the matter considering his line of work, and because he believes in exposure therapy. And because he maybe sort of kind of forgets. ����
But he’d be great while you’re in the middle of an anxiety attack ! So that counts for something !!!!
He always manages to snap you out of it pretty quickly. Takes you out of the situation once he recognises the signs that the attack is coming, then gets you present in the current moment again. How ? That’s very simple. He confuses the fuck out of you
You know that tip about making someone having an anxiety attack bite into a lemon ? Yeah
(If you haven’t heard about it: a way to snap someone out of a panic/anxiety attack can be to make them lick a really sour lemon without any warning. The sensory input is really overwhelming and the person having the episode might be so shocked by it they kind of just snap out of it because who the fuck makes you taste a lemon when you’re at your lowest like that ???)
You’re curled up in a ball, hyperventilating because there are too many people, too many sounds, too many what-have-you ? Not anymore, now you’re too busy being confused and lowkey angry at him for shoving an ice cube down your throat. Like wtf are you doing my guy
Usually his little stunts do the trick to get you out of that headspace, and then he can just verbally talk you down so you’re nice and calm again. Will let you cool off while he solves whatever issue it was that led to your anxiety attack. Don’t worry about it anymore, he’s got this.
If he can’t confuse you out of it, though, he’ll just do whatever you’ve instructed him to do while lucid. If it’s hugging you and talking gently until you’re calm, he can do that. If it’s to just take you into a quiet space and let you ride it out, no problem. If it’s to just continue on and let you just stand next to him, sure.
Only thing he won’t do is to avoid your triggers altogether. He can give you a heads-up when possible, he can let you sit it out if you really need to, but he won’t (in his words) “baby you”. In his opinion, you’ll never get over it if you just avoid it forever.
He says it in a kind of harsh way, but there’s genuine care in his tone and his expression, so you know he doesn’t mean it like that.
All in all I think Boothill is really great if you’re the resilient type and you have the kind of anxiety that can actually get better through treatment, but if you’re sensitive and need someone who actively helps you avoid your triggers I definitely wouldn’t recommend him 😭
╭──────────.★..─╮ Argenti ╰─..★.──────────╯
Obviously amazing at handling it is there anything he’s not good at ? 🙄 (/j)
He immediately becomes very serious when he realises your control is slipping, falls silent and looks at you worriedly. He recognises surprisingly quickly what’s happening, and steps into your field of view and crouches down, makes sure you can see his face. Takes both of your hands in his, wishes he didn’t have armour so he could let you feel his heartbeat.
He calmly talks you out of it. He sounds so sure of everything he does, to a point where you’ll question afterwards if he has firsthand experience with this.
(He does. He used to experience a lot of anxiety and panic attacks as a child, it is only natural when you grow up surrounded by war; you’d never guess just looking at him now, though.)
He’ll obviously switch how he handles your panic attacks if you ask him to, but his default is to hold your hands (both to prevent you from accidentally scratching yourself, and to remind you he’s there) and to softly reassure you
I think he becomes sort of hyper aware of what triggers you, and does as much as he can to avoid it. Lowkey starts to baby you a little, but just a little, and even if it’s annoying it’s done with love, done out of a desire for you to be happy. It does put him in some tough spots though, considering it means he sometimes tells you to sit an adventure out, but the plan was for it to have the both of you and it’s harder to handle a lot of things alone 😭
Overall super good though I love him <3
────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────
My inbox is open, feel free to send in asks or requests, I'd love to ramble about things <3
#[rawbin]#[feixiao]#[boothill]#[argenti]#[by me]#[rawbin headcanon]#feixiao x reader#boothill x reader#argenti x reader#feixiao#feixiao hsr#feixiao honkai star rail#boothill#boothill hsr#boothill honkai star rail#argenti#argenti hsr#argenti honkai star rail
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dayum, i cant just not be liked by joel bro, its heartblade
petition to now make the ver. where u are like almost another daughter (almost because it'll be kinda weird 😝) to joel while dating/flirting his actual daughter
i got uu
the door swung wide open as you and ellie came in exhausted from patrol. it was still day but the cold had ran you guys from outside to the warm, isolated interior of joel's house.
ellie dropped her bag and flopped onto the couch. she stared at the fireplace longingly. "there's no way i'm sleeping in the garage tonight." she almost shivered at the thought.
"there's no way i'm letting you do that." you moved ellie's legs to sit on the bottom of the couch. "you could just sleep in my room." you said casually, slipping her shoes off and setting them by the couch. you lived with joel, but he wasn't your dad. not biologically, but after finding you almost freezing to death in a blizzard, he practically was.
ellie sat up. "grumps is not gonna like that," she tried not to show how your offer had peaked her interest. she barely got the time to be alone with you the way joel insisted on keeping the door open and being careful-all the trademarks of a dad speech.
"he doesn't have to." you said with a hint of mischief in your voice. that same mischief that ellie loved and joel most definitely didn't. "c'mon." you intertwined your fingers with ellie's, pulling her off the couch and up the stairs.
"you're gonna get me in trouble, just being in here."
you gasped. "now, i'm closing the door." the door shut with a soft click. " it's punishable by death. whatever shall i do?" you fell back on the bed dramatically.
"oh come off it." ellie smooshed your cheeks between her hands, hovering her face over yours. you could feel the developing calluses on her fingertips against your cheeks.
"never." you whispered, pecking her lips.
ellie would never get used to affection you shared now that you were dating. it took a minute to even realize that you weren't just best friends and another to get joel on board (luckily, you did with the promise that you'd be safe and never hurt each other.)
she wanted more. ellie chased your lips as you pulled away. her hands fell down to support her weight. she almost pouted. “we can’t kiss upside down.” you sat up, ellie did the same.
“why not? spiderman does it.”
“surprised you know who he is.”
“i’m gonna pretend that isn’t hurtful and kiss you.” and she did. it was as gentle as she always was, but not hesitant. she’d kissed you enough times to know you wouldn’t break if she wasn’t the gentlest person in the world.
so she let her hands roam. one on your jaw, like always. she liked being able to feel your speeding heartbeat there. the other was on your thigh doing nothing too crazy, just a slow rub across the skin.
not that she hated short kisses, but she found the extra time your lips across hers was usually the exact thing she needed. maybe that’s why did she didn’t notice joel’s voice yelling downstairs or his footsteps getting closer.
you were quick to split as the doorknob was turned. you had forced on your headphones and ellie had picked up a book on your nightstand.
“hey, you okay—” joel froze as he took in the sight before him. you were on opposite sides of the best preoccupied with things that weren’t each other, which let’s be honest, was never the case. he knew something was up. “huh.”
“hi pops.” you said in your best attempt to not sound outta breath.
“hey. y’know, i do remember saying something about keeping the door open-“
“heard.”
“loud and clear.”
joel felt placated. the whole reason he’d been hesitant on you two dating was just how close you were. that kind of thing, so young and fast, was worrysome for him. so yeah, he wasn’t ignorant to what two teenagers in love were doing behind a closed door. he would have words for that later, but seeing you both grinning like you held some secret he wasn’t privy to, made it okay for now.
thank you for reading!
#ellie williams#ellie x reader#ellie x fem reader#ellie the last of us#ellie willams x reader#ellie williams x you#ellie williams x female reader#ellie williams x y/n#ellie x y/n#ellie x you
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(Ramos)
(Wren belongs to @fungal--wastes)
(You gripped the windowsill and looked out on the rainy courtyard. You, Bonnie, Mirabelle, and Siffrin had all returned not too long ago and the whole place was in a panic. After Sif and Mira left, you and Bonnie had convinced Wren, Vixul, and Polaris to help you with the eventual sadness after you fixed Pols mind craft. After that Bonnie got worried about Mirabelle and Sif, so you trusted the three strangers with keeping everyone safe and ran.)
(You found Siffrin passed out, Mirabelle protecting them, and that sadness fighting a couple of strangers.)
(Strangers you knew.)
(You knew their faces, but couldn't put names to them. You couldn't put memories to them. Whatever they did to your head, the connection of what they did and who they are was severed. You know factually they're the ones who controlled you, but. . .)
(. . . They're gone now, and everyone was safe. You had to carry Siffrin back, but that was alright. He was surprisingly light, actually, and his cloak was really soft!)
(There's a knock on the door.)
"Come in." (You sigh, and step away from the window. Isabeau opens the door.)
"Hey Rams." (He says with a weak smile.) "Uh, Sif's feeling better. Do you, want to, uh, visit him?"
(Isabeau had been acting weird, but once you were back he was same as always. You checked everyone for mind craft, but there was barely a trace. You could tell by Isabeaus tone he was asking more for his own nerves than for you to check on Siffrin.)
"Uh, sure!" (You agree.)
"Thanks. . ."
(You exit the shared room and walk down to Isa and Siffrins. Isa knocks on the door, and the curly haired, dark skinned boy called Wren opened it. He was wearing a scowl, but aparently that's how he always looked.)
". . Come in you two." (He left the door open and walked back inside. Following him in, you saw Siffrin lying in bed, his breathing shallow, and a few bandages where there were cuts. Wren walked to one side of the bed and picked up a book, standing to read. Mirabelle sat in a chair on the other side, she was adorned with more bandages than Siffrin. She stood when you two entered.)
"Oh- are you two okay?!? Is everything-" (She starts.)
"Sit down, madame." (Wren interupts, not looking up from the book.) "Or you may open a wound."
"S-sorry." (She sat down again, sighing. Isa walks over to her, you stay at the foot of the bed.)
"Nervous?" (Isabeau asks, kneeling down next to her.)
"V-very." (She took a breath.) "Scared, too, and still a bit angry."
"Because of. . ." (Isabeau prompts.)
". . ." (She huffs.) "Because of those two crabbing idiots who caused this."
(You can related. You want to comment, but you don't. It felt wrong.)
". . We'll catch 'em, Mira." (Isa reassures her.)
"I, I know, but, what if we can't beat them??"
"You beat The King. No?" (Wren comments again from behind the book.) "A man who not only broke a fundimental rule of crafts, but on a continent wide scale? Why are you worried about two overzealous archaeologists."
"Too true!!" (Isa chuckles, patting Mirabelle's back.) "We beat the King! So I know we can do anything!"
"By the looks of things, you already had Perci on the back foot when me and Bonnie showed up." (You finally jump in.) "So, then, I don't think he could beat everyone."
"I-I think most of that was the sadness, to be honest." (She replies sheepishly.)
"Speaking of." (Wren interrupts again.) "You are absolutly sure it isn't a threat? And that it really did just, dissolve into a sugary smelling stone?"
"I'm positive."
"Mhm." (Wren looks up finally, then looks at you.) "Hmm. Ramos, you know mind craft, I'm sure you could check inside Madame's mind to make sure there is no sadness ready to strike."
"H-HUH?!?" (You're taken aback.)
"W-woah! Wait a second!" (Isa waves a hand, worried.)
"N-no no, it's fine! I-I understand."
"But, it's, well-" (It's that you have a bad record with using mind craft on people.) ". . . Do I have to?"
"I encourage it." (Wren replies.) "While I know a fair bit about physical, mental, and craftomical maladies, I cannot work mind craft. So I cannot make sure myself."
". . ." (Isabeau looked to the side.) ". . . If, if Mirabelle is alright with it. A-and, I trust Ramos."
"It'll be alright, Isa." (Mira reassures.)
(You sigh.) "A-alright. I'll, I'll try and be quick, and, not do anything."
(You walk over to Mirabelle and Isa, and kneel down next to her. The look on your face must have given away your nerves, because she smiled wider at you in support. You smile back.)
"Ready?"
"Ready."
(You reach up and make your hybrid rock/scissors sign, and place it against her temple. Show. Danger. Sadness. Show. Danger. Sadness. Show. Danger. Sadness-)
(In a click the world fell into a soup of sounds and sights that you had to focus to tune out. Show. Danger. Sadness. Mind. You focus. Signs of sadness. . .)
(. . . The ebb and flow of Mirabelles mind was chaotic and shifting. You felt like a deckhand holding onto a ships rigging for dear life. You saw glimpses of her memories, of schools, of sadness, of joy, of- stop that, focus. You reach a bit deeper.)
(. . . . . . . You feel something. You did reach to the sadness' mind when you first fought it, but it was nothing but screaming and emotion. You feel a bundle of that emotion, knotted, bouncing around her head at it's own will. But it didn't feel dangerous. In fact, it passed through you, and you felt. . . afraid? Afraid of what.)
(And just as it came, it passed. It wasn't a danger, just emotions. You let go of her mind.)
(Back to reality. You stood up, a faint smell of mint in the air. You shook your head.) "Whatever it once was, it's nothing now. Just a ball of emotions, I've seen it before in other peoples heads."
"Other peoples?" (Wren raises an eyebrow.)
"I-it was for a test!" (Isabeau jumps to your defence.) "Just, y'know, training and all."
(Wren didn't look convinced. Or at least you assume so, since his face didn't even change.) ". . . If it's not any trouble, would you kindly do the same for Siffrin?"
"Is, that nessesary?" (You ask, glancing nervously at the resting rogue.)
"It might be. He was fighting a master of mind craft, after all."
(He has a point, you look to your companions. Mira and Isa both gave you a nod, so you turn back to Siffrin, gulp, and place your hand to their sleeping mind.)
(. . . . Mind. Protect. Explore. Mind. Protect. Explore-)
(The world clicked again and everything melted away, you took a moment to tune your senses out, then focus on Siffrins mind. You had to look for-)
(You're standing at the foot of a favor tree. Bellow you are stairs leading to a black sand beach, above, the sky is lightless and filled with stars. Everything seems lucid yet foggy. It was so, so detailed.)
(Most minds you entered where abstract, some had a bit of physicality, but this was differen't. It was like a whole world inside Siffrins mind. You took a step, you looked around, you could walk. You could still feel your body over Siffrins bed, and move in this, mindscape. It felt like everything was flickering in and out of focus.)
(You reach out, focus, you had to focus. Mind. Protect. Explore. Mind. P-)
(You felt a hand around your throat and you felt yourself slammed into the favor tree. It was blurry, the world still flickered, but you could tell who was holding your neck and was looking at you with murder in their eye. Null.)
<What. Are. You. Doing. Here.>
(I, I was asked to, check, and make sure S-siffrins- your mind was- You feel the grip on you tighten, it, it felt so real how, how is this, possible?!?)
<Get. Out.>
(The figure got clearer. He, he looked like Siffrin, but, taller, and a bit more muscular. They had a a ponytail, a cloak only over one shoulder, and no eyepatch. You were terrified.)
(J-just, I'll be gone just, I need to check, if, there isn't, any mind craft here, or-)
<There isn't. Get out.>
[Oh my! Caught a rat, my dear friend Null?]
(Voice, you, almost recognised it. You look up, a figure jumped from the tree. A lightless body, and a bright, blinding head. They turned to you, eyes staring daggers into you. Loop.)
[Oh not even a rat, but a stupid, blinding flea!!!]
(P-please wait I'm-)
<Here to ensure we aren't effected by mind craft? I heard you the first time.>
[Oh is THAT why you're here? Well in that case then the only pests in our mind is you.]
(Loop walked towards you. You felt your legs quiver, you felt numb, your body felt numb. Loop reaches to you, a knife coming from nowhere and in your face.)
[I have so wished to be able to scream at you personally, Ramos~]
<Agreed.>
(I'll, I'll leave! I'll leave right now!! T-there's no need just-)
[Say, if I stab you, what would happen?]
(Your eyes go wide, breathing fast, you shake your head. Loop nods.)
[Oh yes, what WOULD happen! You see, we can't exactly die~ We just come back after a few days rest as peachy as before! But what would happen to someone like you-]
{Enough. Out.}
(You stumbled back away from the bed, falling on the floor, back to reality. That third voice threw you out, shoved you from the mind. You couldn't make it out, you could only make out, Null, Loop, some dark figure who appeared for only a moment, and, a-and, Siffrin? Did you see Siffrin peaking over the edge of the staircase?)
(You grasp at your throat, breathing heavily. Change, it, it felt so real. You felt like someones hands had been at your neck, someones knife at your throat, but, but your necks fine. Your bodys fine. It's, it's all fine.)
"R-ramos are you alright?!? Is Siffrin alright?!?" (Isabeau rushed over to you and helped you off the floor.)
(You shook your head, stars it felt hot.) "H-he's fine, j-just, I had, a-an interesting experience."
". . . Care to elaborate?" (Wren asks.)
(You look between Mirabelle and Isabeau. It was that private, personal thing you were all asked not to share.) ". . . I, well, it's private."
"My lips are sealed. Tell." (He was giving you A Look.) "I have already kept a number of secrets. If it's no danger to my friends, it wont leave this room."
(You hesitate, waiting for one of the other two to make the decision.)
". . . . You can say it, Ramos." (Isabeau finally speaks up.) "If, it's to make sure Siffrin's okay."
"A-alright. . ." (You breathe in, and out.) ". . . Siffrin has a mental disorder that, well, they have multiple differen't people in their head-"
"Dissasosiative Identity Disorder?" (Wren interupts. Again.) "Or some other non-specified identity disorder. Or do you not know." (You all shook your head.) "Reguardless, I know what this is and how important a secret it is to keep. Continue."
(Hmm, you wonder what that implies.) "Okay, well, when I went into their mind, it was, well, a place. A beach with a favor tree. Most minds are abstract but, not that. I started to poke around and I got slammed against the tree by, uh. . . I-I think it was, Null."
"O-oh!" (Mirabelle perked up.) "I-I mean, I'm, sorry that happened, b-but also, well, glad that, he's okay?"
"I don't think I've met Null. . ." (Isabeau ponders.)
"W-well, well, they told me that there wasn't mind craft, then, a star headed someone showed up-"
"Oh! Loop!" (Mirabelle smiled.)
(You nod.) "Yeah, Loop. They threatened me, I tried calming them down, I heard another voice I couldn't place and, I was kicked out."
"Fascinating. . . You will have to teach me mind craft, Ramos." (Wren looked back in his book.) "That's all I wanted to. . . . Are you sick, Ramos?"
"H-huh? No?"
"Really?" (Wren looked up again with the slightest of smiles.) "Your cheeks are off-shade, is all."
"H-HUH?!?!?" (You slap a hand to your cheek, burning hot?!?)
"Ramos?!?!?"
"A-are you BLUSHING?!?"
"N-NONONONO I'M NOT!!" (You hold up your hands and back away) "N-not blushing here!! Not at all no way now how I don't know why I'd be BLUSHING y-you guys must be seeing things!!"
(Isabeau looked at you, eyebrow raised, arms cross, and a slight smile.) "Do you uh, have something to talk about buddy?"
". . . . . I-I didn't think I did-" (You mumble.)
"Alright, that's enough you two." (Wren waves a hand) "Go have your lovestruck thoughts on the rogue away from me. Gods Polaris is already bad enough."
(You swiftly make your way out, head down. Once out you lean against the wall, panting hard. What, what the crab. Why are you blushing? WHY ARE YOU BLUSHING!?! You, y-you didn't, you weren't attracted to him like that were you?!?)
(You're so caught up in your thoughts you don't notice Isabeau trying to talk to you untill he has his hand on your shoulder. You jump, and turn.) ". . . S-sorry I- I- oh Change Isa I'm so sorry-"
"Woah buddy." (He put his hands up.) "Calm down, you're okay! I'm not mad or anything! Just, checking in!"
"You're, y-you're not?!?" (You were trying your blinding best to keep your heart under control.) "B-but, I, I, wasn't, didn't mean to-"
"Hey, breathe with me? Talk after."
(You pause, but nod. You follow his leade, and breathe in. . . . . And out. . . . .)
". . . Good?"
". . . N-no, but, better." (You rub your shoulder, looking away.) "I, just, o-okay. . ."
". . . . Soooooooooooo." (Isabeau leaned down to be face to face with you.) "He's cute, right?"
"H-HUH?!?" (WHAT?!?)
"What, am I wrong?"
"I-I, I mean n-no! I mean- well, he, uh, maybe, b-but-" (You had to take a second and shake your head.) "I, o-okay well, he, he is kind of cute." (You mumble out the last part.)
"Hmm?" (He was wearing that smug smile of his.)
(You cant look at him, tugging up your bandana to hide your face.) "I-I mean he's, he's cute but doesnt everyone think that?!?"
"Well, kinda?" (Isa put a hand to his chin.) "Sure he gets called cute, but for Odile she said it's more 'wow that's cute' then move on, same with Mira."
". . . ." (Oh no.) "A-and, they, don't dwell on it?"
"Nope!"
". . . A-are, you sure-"
"Positive! You got something in mind?"
(You sink down into your shoulders, tugging your bandana up more.) "U-uh. . . . Well, uh, how, how he, he holds a mug with both hands and takes a big drink?"
"And how he he always has a big stain on his face after?!?" (Isas eyes light up.) "Isn't that the cutest?!?"
(You laugh a little.) "Y-yeah! O-or how stretches before training or a long walk?"
"Oh be still my beating heart. . ." (Isabeau dramaticly holds his chest and mocks a faint, making you laugh a bit more.)
"What about when he's making a fire-"
"'Please be warm please be warm please be warm-'"
"Exactly like that!! It's so cute!!!"
"Oh! Don't forget those chubby cheeks!"
"How could I ever forget those chubby little cheeks-"
(You cut yourself off. You were about to list off every tiny little detail you had noticed about them. The hands, the legs, the hair, the cloak. The way he laugh, the way he yawned. The way they ran and fought. The way they carved. Just, just everything. Dread filled your stomach as it hit you.)
"O-oh, oh stars."
"Heh." (He had that smug smile again.)
(You turn around, headed back to the shared room.) "I'm going to go jump off the roof."
"No!!" (Isa catches up to you, walking side by side.) "How will you ever express your unrequited looooove~"
"Shut uuuup." (You sink down again.) "I'm going through the stages of grief give me a break."
"Oh absolutly not. I survived months of Madams teasing, it's about time I gave back."
"Months?" (You finally got back to the shared room, looking at Isabeau as you enter.) "It took you months to confess to him?"
"H-hey! We were all under a lot of pressure!" (Isa follow you in.) "And hey! That means if you confess to Siffrin soon you'll beat me byyyyyyoooohhiMadamegoodtoseeyou-"
(You turn around. To your unending horror, the Researcher was on her bed reading. Well, she WAS reading, now she was looking at the two of you.)
". . ."
". . ."
". . . Does being a defender make you particularly weak to short, white haired rogues?"
"Isabeau, please kill me." (You mumble.)
(Isa coughs into a fist.) "I don't think that'll save you."
"It wont." (Odile responds flatly.) "Do you two know how loud you were being in the hallway? By now the whole inn must know your 'secret.'"
"I'll just wipe my own memory that'll work." (You put your head in your hands.)
"Oh it'll be okay buddy, you'll survive!" (Isa pats your back.)
"No you wont." (Odile was back to her book.) "Mirabelle alone will be talking your ear off. Isn't that an entire genre in romance novels?"
"Enemies to Lovers, madame!"
"Exactly."
(You stomp over to your bed collapse. You're doomed. You close your eyes.)
". . . . Who were those guys anyway." (Isabeau ponders.)
"From what Mirabelles description, they both seemed skilled and educated on Island history." (Came Odiles response.)
"Not a lot of people who know about the island."
"True, that could narrow it down. What were their names again?"
"Perci." (You reply, sitting up again. Thank change the conversation moved on.) "Perci and Merlon."
". . . . . Hah! Haha!" (Odile was, laughing?) "Perci had messy hair, didn't he? And a fancy looking vest?"
"Uh, yeah? How'd did you-"
(Odile closed the book she was reading, and turned the cover for you to read.)
("History and identity of Mwudus lost funeral rites." Written by. . .)
"WHAT?!?"
". . . Huh!"
"Percival Monet and Merlon Monet." (Odile reads aloud.) "They have some reputation in historical and craftomical studies. Publishing historical accounts, reporting details on old ruins; they're known to travel the world for their reports."
". . ." (You stare in disbelief.) ". . . They're historians?!?"
"In some way. Perhaps Perci got far too invested in his work."
"Maybe. . . ." (You lay back down and roll to your side. Facing away.)
(They were just, historians.)
(You closed your eyes. You had, a lot to think about.)
#HEHEHHEHE YAAAAAY#isat#in stars and time#art#isat art#isat fanart#isat spoilers#siffrin system au#isat au#sifstem#isat siffrin#isat mirabelle#isat isabeau#isat odile#isat ramos#ramos#wren
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Hey, can you write something for Matt simmons? I love him. He and the reader are together, he never visits her apartment bc she a big nerd (actionfigures, books, DVDs, games,..) and she insecure about it (somesone said terrible stuff about it) but Matt is really interest in the stuff. Maybe with lots of fluff? I think that doesn't require a special season but i think the latest criminal minds seasons, where he is a part of the team is good! Thank you 🩷
plus size fangirl!reader, wc: 651.
a/n: slowly but surely getting around to my drafts!! this has sat in there for so long almost finished and i apologize for that! matt is a character i've never written for before, but i find that's easy to capture his personality. thank you for your request!! :]
Living by yourself meant that you could decorate your home with your most prized possessions, but you choose to surround yourself with your special interests instead.
You loved your apartment, it was your safe space, your solace. There wasn’t an inch of your place of comfort that wasn’t covered by your most treasured memorabilia; posters, funko pops, action figures, you name it. If there was a kind of merchandise, you have it.
That’s why it felt like you were living a double life when you were with Matt; by day, you were his super cute – albeit basic looking – girlfriend. By night, you were a fangirl.
Your boyfriend had never been to your apartment, most of the time you had chosen to either go over to his place, or be picked up outside of your neighborhood. He never really questioned it, just smiling and saying ‘Hi’ after placing a sweet kiss on your lips.
So that begs the question: What the fuck was he doing here?
Standing by your front door dressed head to toe in a mix of your favorite fandoms – the pants your favorite tv show, and your shirt the other – you stared out of the peephole at the absolute meal that was your man.
You took a moment to look around; your living room was in utter disarray! Oh God, when was the last time you did laundry or the dishes?
He’s going to take one step in here then hit the ground running!
Matt has already knocked twice, and you watch as he reaches into his pocket and pulls out his phone, tapping on it for a moment before the one in your hand begins to ring.
You could ignore it yes, but you really wouldn’t put kicking the door down past him if he thought that something was wrong. Gulping, you answer and hold the phone to your ear, your singular eye still trained on him outside.
“Hi.” You wish your voice wasn’t as breathless as it sounded. “Hey.” You could hear the amusement in his voice, and with the way he had that cheeky smile on his face.
There was a moment of silence, “So… are you going to let me in?”
“...No.” He just laughed, and finally looked up at the peephole, causing you to move away from it.
“And why is that?”
“Because…” You spared a look around the room, “It’s embarrassing.”
“How is me coming to see you embarrassing?”
“It’s not that! It’s just- I have a bunch of stuff like… everywhere. I don’t want you to make fun of me.” You watched as he sighed.
“Baby,” He began, “When have I ever made fun of you for anything?”
He was right, and you hated it. “Fine, but don’t say I didn’t warn you.” With that, you hung up and unlocked the door.
Matt examined you from head to toe, his cheeky grin spreading even wider into a full blown smile. “Well, don’t you look cute.” He teased, pulling you into his arms to place a sweet kiss on your forehead.
“You don’t think it’s weird?” You mumbled into his strong chest.
You can tell he takes a really good look around your apartment before responding. “Nah, I’m glad you have hobbies, y’know?” Matt says. “You promise?” It was such a petulant thing to ask, but you knew that it would quell your anxiety.
His laugh is hearty, his chest reverberating due to the vibrations. “Of course sweetheart. Now, is there any other cool stuff you want to show me?”
You pull away and look at him with lit up eyes, “Yeah!” You tug him inside and lead him to your room where your other memorabilia lies.
Little do you know that Matt is taking note of everything you’re showing him, he’s even thinking about getting you guys matching pajamas. He thought you knew how much of a geek he was alongside you.
#✰ ― meau's inbox !#matt x reader#matt simmons x reader#matt fanfiction#matt simmons fanfiction#matt simmons#matt simmons fluff#matt simmons x plus size reader#plus size reader#x plus size reader#x chubby reader#plus size!reader#chubby reader#fanfiction#fluff#special interest#matt simmons imagine#matt simmons oneshot#matt simmons drabble#matt simmons blurb#matt cm#matt simmons cm#matt criminal minds#matt simmons criminal minds#criminal minds#cm#criminal minds fanfiction#cm fanfiction
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five times danny's english class learned that he was phantom (and one time he had to reveal it)
2- paulina & star
paulina and star became inseparable at the start of the highschool. they talked about everything and anything. ever since phantom started to protect amity park they both admired him. paulina even had a crush on him only for her to realize it was just a comphet crush. when phantom saved paulina she noticed something about him. they way he talked was familiar.
she brought this up with star on one of their everyday gossip session. star never really noticed anything but promised to try to catch it.
star loved languages and how people talked. everyone had their own individual way to speak, putting emphasis on certain words and taking different times to breathe. she loved hearing everyones differences. and she would always info dump to paulina. hearing star talk too much about the differences between everyone's way of talking paulina also started to notice it. and hearing a familiar way of speaking from phantom was a weird experience.
paulina told star about the familiarity but couldnt understand why and they laughed mostly. still it did piqued star's interest.
next time star was on the attack range was on the park rather than in the school. phantom was fighting a ghost with a motorcycle and his shadow. star gave in to her curiosity as she hid behind a tree and listened to the fight.
"wheres kitty? did she dump your sorry ass again?" phantom asked with too much sass.
"no, we're going really steady right now. i even thinking about getting her some roses after i kick your ass." the ghost said and shadow attacked phantom.
"dude get her her favorite flowers to show that you care. roses are a safe option but favorite flowers are so much personal." phantom grunted out as he defended himself from shadow. johnny looked at him confused but he looked like he was considering what he said.
"i have a sister remember? i pick up a thing or two." johnny agreed and attacked him right after shadow.
star knew she heard enough to understand the speech pattern.
in the evening she called paulina to tell her what she gathered and what she heard from phantom. they laughed about it and continued to talk about other things. they didnt really pay it too much mind. they just thought it was cool to have that familiar feeling with a hero.
next day at school the first class was english. star sighed as she entered the classroom about five minutes earlier than mr lancer. dont get her wrong, english was her favorite class but as a first class? it was like a lullaby that was sang for them to fall back to sleep.
she sat next to paulina with a smile. paulina looked energetic even in the morning. star envied paulina. she always had energy. maybe it was the cheerleading but star knew even though herself was also more energetic than most people she still felt dull next paulina.
"you seem happy" star stated.
"how can i not be? after our talk last night i went online and bought that eyeliner you told me about. i cant wait for it to be delivered." paulina squealed. they talked about everything and anything until mr. lancer came.
"good morning kids. i hope everyone get enough sleep because i dont want anyone to fall asleep. your exams are close and today we'll get through the most important-" mr. lancer was cut by the late student.
"im so sorry mr. lancer."
star didnt have to look who it was to know that speech pattern. it surprised star to hear phantom and not any squeals though.
"let me guess mr. fenton. overslept?"
wait a minute. what? she turned to the source of the sound.
what.
after an awkward chuckle danny walked to his desk and sat quietly.
WHAT.
"as i was saying before being interrupted. this lesson is important-" star stopped listening. she was only thinking about the speech patterns. she was sure of it. danny and phantom had the exact same pattern. but that was impossible right? she was wrong. she had to be.
after the bell rang star was still going through phantom's pattern in her mind. she had to be wrong. she probably heard fenton wrong, yeah that must be it. then she heard him again.
"im going insane. jazz wont leave me alone about my 'trauma through neglectful parents'. as if she is not my sister." danny vented to his friends, maybe too loud for his taste.
star's eyes widened. she didnt hear wrong. even the words were the same.
"paulina" she said shocked. paulina turned her attention to her.
"are you okay? you look like youve seen a ghost." paulina asked her best friend with concern.
"technically i may have." she mumbled close to a whisper. before paulina could pester her, star dragged paulina from the arm to the bathroom. star checked the bathroom booth before talking.
"star whats happening? im getting nervous."
"ive heard him. and im so sure, it sounds crazy but i am sure and honestly it makes so much sense now that im thinking." paulina looked at her with confusion. moved her hands like she was saying 'elaborate'.
"okay so you know how yesterday we talked about phantom. i heard him." paulina's eyes widened.
"what? who? is he in our class?"
"yes, its fenton." star exclaimed earning a dissapointed look.
"you sound like wes." paulina stated unimpressed.
"first of all, OUCH. second, do you really think i would lie to you about speech patterns? third, OUCH how dare you" star said slightly offended. paulina looked like she was considering something then her eyes widened again.
"holy shit."
"yeah!! so what do we do?" star asked for their next step.
"nothing." paulina sounded more sure than ever.
"what?"
"we tell no one. we do nothing. i dont trust GIW nor do i know his parents that well. i dont like fenton that much but as phantom he protected all of us more than those nosy ghost hunter wannabes." paulina explained earning a nod from star.
"still we're going to distract people more so he can go his ghost things right?"
"oh yeah sure. he may not be lucky all the time."
both girls decided protect phantom in their own ways. whenever there was an attack they would scream loud so the attention would be on them and not on danny. they would distract everyone whenever wes made sense a little.
1 2 3 4 5 +1
#danny phantom#danny fenton#paulina sanchez#danny panthom star#5 + 1 things#its posted on ao3 too!!#aphelynx writes#dp
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(steddie | explicit | 1.1k | tags: established relationship, sub!eddie, top!eddie, dom!steve, bottom!steve, porn with feelings, Good Boy Eddie | @steddielovemonth Love is liking the version of yourself you are with them the best by @tinytalkingtina | AO3)
Eddie has been called many things in his life. Some good, more bad.
He's been called a good friend, a herder of lost sheep, a dungeon master, a rock star, even a hero.
But he's also been called a pariah, a coward, a waste of space, a fuckup, trailer trash, a freak, a murderer, a monster.
But no one had ever called him a good boy. Not until Steve.
Ever since he was a little kid, Eddie had learned to fit in, to become whatever someone needed him to be.
When his ma got sick, he learned to be her sweet little boy, quiet and uncomplicated instead of loud and wild. To take up as little space as possible, one less thing for his mama to worry about.
After she died, Eddie learned to be self-reliant. An adult in a child's body, able to take care of himself because who else would. Whenever his father was around, he adopted the Munson charm, the easy smile and empty flattery. He learned how to hot-wire cars, pick locks, steal, lie.
In the process, he learned to hate himself and even more the path his father was trying to set him on.
It wasn't until he started living with his Uncle Wayne that he didn't know who to be, because his uncle never asked him to do anything but be himself. Which should have been a relief, but by then Eddie had almost forgotten who that was.
So he began to reinvent himself in ways that made sense to him.
A storyteller, like Tolkien, spinning tales through his campaigns and having his party hanging on his every word.
A rock star, like Osbourne, van Halen, or Hammett, who played his heart out and made himself heard through his music.
A rebel, like Bowie, who stood up for those who, like him, were on the fringes of society, being their shield and offering them a safe place and a community where they could be their wonderfully weird selves.
Those versions of him were all Eddie, but at the same time they weren't. Not all of him.
Not the soft parts, the sweet and sincere and quiet parts he thought he lost when his mom died. Being all that for her hadn't been enough, it hadn't saved her, so Eddie buried that part of himself with her and became someone else. Someone the world couldn't break so easily.
Until Steve.
Brave and reckless, kind and bitchy and oblivious, self-sacrificing and self-centered, vain and dorky Steve. An enigma if Eddie ever met one. One he couldn't get enough of, each layer a new but pleasant surprise.
With Steve, Eddie doesn't have to reinvent himself, doesn't have to be any of the stories or boxes or labels.
With Steve, Eddie can let go.
With Steve, Eddie can stop looking over his shoulder.
With Steve, Eddie can let down his guard and show his soft belly.
With Steve, Eddie can be a good boy, sweet and obedient and sincere.
"You're doing so good, baby, so good for me. Fucking me so well, so sweet, feeding me that thick cock of yours. Can feel it in my throat. All for me, my good boy treating me so well," Steve coos with his mouth right next to Eddie's ear. They've been at it for what seems like hours and Eddie is so far gone, trembling in Steve's arms as he keeps rocking his hips, the only thing on his mind is Steve. Being good for Steve.
He's already made Steve come down his throat, lapping up every single drop like the good boy he is, before opening Steve up with his fingers and tongue. He pulled another orgasm out of him as he kept stroking across his prostate while licking messily inside him where he had spread him open on his fingers.
Eddie thought they were done, but Steve had other plans as he gathered up his own cum to spread over Eddie's cock, intention clear. Eddie had hesitated, afraid to hurt Steve because it was too much. It was only when he told Eddie to fuck him with a smoldering look from under his lashes that he finally, carefully, pushed inside him.
He's been hard and aching ever since Steve pushed him to his knees and made him nuzzle the bulge in Steve's tight Levis.
He's been ready to come since Steve's cock hit the back of his throat, moaning so prettily as it fluttered around him.
He's been holding himself back from coming by the skin of his teeth since Steve started clinging to him, overstimulated and loving and everything Eddie could ever want, cooing the sweetest and filthiest praise as Eddie slid in and out of the hot, tight grip of his body.
"What do you want baby, tell me, I'll give you everything my sweet little thing, just tell me what you need." Steve's soothing voice washes over him and he realizes he's whimpering into the sweaty skin of Steve's neck.
"You," Eddie replies without hesitation. "Just you, wanna make you feel good, 's all I need, just you." He's babbling, too far gone to be anything close to coherent. Reduced to his soft, needy core. "Love you so much, wanna stay like this forever, never wanna leave you." Things he never thought he'd say out loud spill out of his mouth and he can feel Steve tighten around him, impossibly so and he's so close but he can't, not without -
"Eddie, baby, don't stop, 'm so close, I love you too," Steve pants before whimpering, "Oh God, you're making me come again, kiss me, please, baby, kiss me."
He can't really feel his body anymore, his mouth clumsily seeking Steve's, but he could never deny him anything. Especially not when he's begging him so sweetly.
They both come within seconds of each other, no more words needed. Steve, whose legs and arms are wrapped around Eddie so tightly that it's impossible to tell where one ends and the other begins, is the first to spill between their bellies. The fluttering of his hole, the bucking of his hips and the rhythmic way he clenches around him makes Eddie follow suit.
It almost hurts in its intensity after holding back for so long and he can't help the pitiful whimpering or the overwhelming tears.
Cradling Eddie's head in his giant hands, Steve wipes away the tears and kisses the whines from Eddie's trembling mouth. More tears follow, his love and devotion and gratitude for being loved in this way running down his cheeks as salty droplets, and Steve kisses them away as well.
"You were perfect," he whispers between his kisses, "I love you so much."
When his face is clean, the tears finally stopped, Eddie sinks back down onto the man beneath him. The man who gave him back this side of himself, a side he missed and mourned without even knowing it. A version of himself he has learned to love, to like best, thanks to Steve Harrington and his unwavering love for Eddie.
#steddie#steddie smut#steddie fanfiction#stranger things fanfiction#steve harrington#eddie munson#steddielovemonth#day 22#Love is liking the version of yourself you are with them the best#my writing#nsft
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I am having Scott Summers brainrot someone call the X-men so I can give them all hugs and stuffed animals.
X-men doing a publicity thing maybe? Like when celebrities go to puppy adoption shows to encourage people to attend, but this is probably mutant/children related instead. Helping fund a new program that helps mutant kids in the system? Something like that.
Anyways! X-Men go, and in my brain it’s like.. Scott, Jean, Logan, Ororo, Charles, Kitty, Rogue, Gambit, Kurt, and Jubilee? Hank and the others stayed behind for important reasons probably. Or maybe only some of the X-men were invited. Doesn’t matter.
They’re meeting all the kids and staff and getting to know them, and it’s super cute and people are loving it (and cheques as being signed), and they bring out a surprise. The kids picked out stuffed animals for them! Cue awws. Each of them are called forward and given the plush toys, and everyone laughs when the kids shout ‘I picked that one!’ ‘No I did!’. Scott goes last, because he’s enjoying watching, and also because he wanted to watch everyone’s back as they went up.
It’s very cute, all in all. And all the toys are surprisingly suiting. Scott had to bite back a rather indignant snort when Logan’s was definitely not a wolverine, but was, in fact, a rather unshapley looking Sloth. What did he say? Suiting.
Scott went up onto the small stage they had set up, and knelt down to accept his plush from one of the kiddos, who held it out shyly. “Thank you,” he murmured, gently taking it and giving her a small smile. She blushed and whispered a quiet “you’re welcome” before scurrying off stage. Scott held up the- he stared at it for a moment. It was a ram, or sheep? It had horns, which makes it a ram, doesn’t it? It was cute, and he stroked the fur for a moment as he showed it off to the cameras with a bright smile. It was really soft.
After they had all returned home, Jean set her plush- a red panda- down on her dresser and Scott knew he should do the same but…
(“You look pretty cozy there,” Jean had told him on the flight home. Kurt was piloting, and Scott had the goat-ram-sheep tucked firmly in his arms, where he could rest his chin on it, if he so desired. Not that he did but, he could if he wanted too, and that felt nice, did some reason.
“I am cozy,” scott replied, a bit too soft, a bit to childlike, a bit to gentle for the hardened person he had become, and Jean had softened too, and given him a kiss on his temple.
“Good.”)
Scott set the plush creature down in their shared bed and gave Jean a hesitant look. Is this okay? He wants to ask. She kisses him again and tells him she’s going to shower. Don’t worry about it, she tells him without words.
He worries about it.
That night, long after he would have normally been asleep, he was stroking the soft fur of the sheep- it was a sheep, he looked it up online, sheep could have horns and he said it was a sheep and not anything else- and contemplating. He couldn’t recall ever having stuffed animals, apart from when he was still with his parents, but even that is not a specific recollection, and more the knowledge that he probably did, because it would have been weird if he didn’t.
After the crash though… well, by the time he came to the institute, he was too old to want them (to have the courage to ask), and his life got way more complicated from there, and he’d never thought about it, until today. But he liked them, stuffed animals, and they felt.. safe. Comforting. Jean mumbled in her sleep and wrapped an arm around him, pulling him closer. Scott obliged and folded himself against her, keeping the sheep close to his chest. He fell asleep soon after, and dreamt of fuzzy memories that he weren’t sure were actually memories, that might have simply been the creation of a memory he wants to have, about his younger childhood.
Scott woke up warm. And content. And with a sheep tucked firmly in his arms.
/
Okay that was something um. Scott! Please send me asks about him I promise to be not insane
#star writes#agere#age regression#fandom agere#sfw agere#x men#cyclops#scott summers#cyclops agere#scott summers agere#jean grey#jott#cute
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A Small and Tall Collection | Chapter Fifteen | Candle Lit Christmas
~~~~~^*^*^*^*^~~~~~
Chapter Fifteen | Candle Lit Christmas
First thing the next morning, one thing was absolutely certain – it was freezing. Ashlynn huddled under her blankets in every clothing layer she possessed and still she was insufferably cold.
Were her thoughts occupied with the dangers of her interaction with the three brothers last night?
No.
Was she thinking about how to keep herself safe and to avoid any unnecessary confrontations with the three humans she had decided to trust?
No.
Was she considering the possibility of returning?
No.
All she could think about was how cold it was.
What on earth is going on? It’s absolutely frigid! Did Soren turn off the heat? Is there something wrong with the heater? Is this some kind of human ploy to get me out of the walls? What time is it even?
Ashlynn dared to poke her head out from under her layered blankets, brow and eyes instantly stiff with an unforgivable chill, as she looked around her home. It was here that something caught her eye – her lights weren’t on. The little lights she’d tapped into and borrowed from the neighboring apartments were completely out.
That’s weird. The chances of this being a simple fix dwindled fast. What made it weird was that the power for the lights came from lots of different places. If there was a short or something along those lines, just one strand would be affected. Did this mean something happened to the power in all of these places?
It was with regret and reluctance that Ashlynn bundled up and hauled herself out of her bed, the imprint of warmth left behind in a perfect silhouette of her body. She shuffled over to the plugs and places she’d wired together just in case, but found nothing in the light of her hip lamp that indicated that the wires were bad or that something had burned out. Bulbs tested. Wires checked.
Ashlynn watched her breath form a steaming fog with every breath out, and every breath in felt like she little icicles were jabbing her lungs from the inside. She quickly retreated back to the warmth and safety of her bed, relieved her warm spot was waiting for her, and extinguished her lamp.
Just a few minutes longer, and then if nothing happens I’ll go check and see if the boys are here. Maybe Soren is doing something with the electricity. Then again, I haven’t heard them all morning. Hope everything’s okay…
~~~^*^*^~~~
And, for the boys, everything was more than okay. It was great!
First thing, early in the morning, Soren woke up his brothers and showed them the fresh layer of snow spread across the yards. Layers and layers of gray snow already scraped from the road was once again concealed by a duvet of white, frozen flakes. He usually let his brothers sleep, but sledding on Christmas Eve day was too good to pass up.
So, he picked out the warmest clothes they had and bundled them up into the car to go to his favorite secret sledding spot. It was a treasured place. Sometimes hard to get to, and rarely visited since everything happened, but it didn’t diminish the special meaning it had for Soren.
The trio set out into the snow, unaware that moments after they left that the power would go out for them and the rest of their neighborhood.
“Soren? Where are we going?” asked Dorian, interrupted momentarily by a yawn, as he peered out the window.
“Sledding. I told you that,” reminded Soren as he glanced back at his brother.
“I know, but… you turn left to go to the part; or we walk. You… see? You took a right,” pointed out Dorian. Rey’s eyes gleamed as he attempted to bounce and squirm. His efforts were severely thwarted from his layers of puffy winter coats and the seatbelt protecting him.
“Oh! OH! I know! I know! We’re going to The Hill, right?” grinned the youngest brother. Soren couldn’t hide his smile.
“Maybe.”
“Oh! I knew it!” cheered Rey.
“Wait. The Hill? Really?” Dorian chimed in eagerly.
The Hill, as Soren called it, was a place that he and his parents used to go to whenever it snowed because it had the best hills, hence the name. There was a park he and his parents used to enjoy when he was younger right next to a thick, wooded area. The park was an old-fashioned one, with rusted spring bound horses and metal slides. The swing set rocked back and forth due to years of abuse and the earth leveling beneath it.
It also had the best places to sled down. Old trails took you to several quiet, steep hills. It was here that Soren and his father, Aaron, had the all-time record for hills to jump. If you started at the top of one, you could crest over some of the smaller ones beside it, and Soren and his dad had managed to make it all the way to the end during one particularly icy snowfall.
That was before he got sick…
As if the brothers behind him could read his mind, Dorian asked, “Isn’t this the place your dad brought you to?”
Soren had to clear the tension in his throat before responding, “Yes, it is.” His eyes flicked up to the rearview mirror to see Rey and Dorian exchanging elated glances.
“Just like you’re dad took you!” Rey smiled. Soren swallowed hard and continued to nod rather than respond.
“But you’re not our dad,” stated Dorian in a matter-of-fact tone. It made Soren chuckle.
“No, I’m not. I’m something better – your pesky older brother,” he said as he glanced over his shoulder at his brothers. Rey started giggling before going off into his own side tangent.
“Soren? Soren? Do… wasn’t that so funny yesterday? When Ashlynn was like, ‘Isn’t Soren your dad?’ And! And…”
“That definitely was interesting,” admitted Soren. In a way, Ashlynn wasn’t wrong to guess Soren’s roll here in the family. He had taken on quite the heavy mantle after the accident with the boys’ father and their mother. It still made his blood boil, the way it all had to happen.
Brady should’ve never been behind the wheel. Soren’s grip tightened on the wheel. Serves him right. Drunken scumbag.
He was so focused on his loathing that Soren almost missed the turn. Quick jerk to the left with a little skidding that made the boys giggle and squeal and, all of a sudden, Soren felt like he was back in a memory. He followed the unplowed road through the arcing trees up one road and down the next before, just like before, he saw the all-too-familiar sight of the place he’d adored as a child.
“We’re here!” the boys cheered in tandem.
Yes… yes we are.
“Alright you two, unbuckle and let’s get going. We have some sledding to do.”
Soren hoisted the sleds onto his back and led the way around the park, over the creek, and then began the trudge up the series of small hills. He and his brothers paused frequently, mostly because of Rey wanting to eat icicles and draw smiley faces in the undisturbed winter around them, until they saw it.
The Hill.
It towered over them, a mass of white that made both boys pause and look up with their entire bodies since their bundled bodies couldn’t simply move their neck. The motion reminded Soren of the original Batman costume, but the reference would be lost on his brothers.
Maybe we’ll watch that if they don’t want to watch something else more Christmas themed tonight. Soren thought.
“Alright. Final push, and then we slide down,” huffed Soren.
“Soren? I’m tired. Could you carry me?” asked Rey. Soren looked over his shoulder to see his brother standing pitifully in snow almost to his knees with his lower lip puckered out. Whether Rey knew it or not, Soren could never say no when his brother made that face.
“Alright. Get on,” he relented as he knelt in the snow.
“Hey! Can I go too?” Dorian asked.
Figures. I knew this would happen. I did the same thing at their ages.
“Pile on!”
It took some finagling, but Soren managed to get both his brothers onto his back while dragging the sled behind. With both boys secure and Soren realizing this was going to be quite the challenge, the eldest forced his quaking knees to push him upright as he began the climb. The boys knew better than to flail and bounce. They knew Soren would make them walk if they weren’t going to behave themselves, so they remained motionless and fastened tight, clutching onto Soren’s shoulders for dear life.
Step after step, Soren ascended The Hill.
Each step made Soren feel stationary. No matter how much he pumped his legs, the top was nowhere to be found. He didn’t relent. Everything worth having was worth working for, and his brothers deserved this. Finally, out of breath and a bit achy, Soren crested over the top and partially as a joke and partially because his legs were screaming in protest, fell face first in the snow.
“Soren! Are you okay?” Rey squeaked.
“Did you get hurt?” asked Dorian immediately after. Soren rolled over and, in the blink of an eye, had grabbed his brothers and rolled them into the snow. The chorus of laughter erupted as the three were now covered in snow.
“Ugh, just crushed by you two. When did you decide to get so big?” groaned Soren as their laughter died down. The boys opened their mouths to protest, but paused as they saw the look in their brother’s eyes. It was unidentifiable for the youngsters, but it was unlike any way he’d looked at them before. Pride? Nostalgia? Realization?
Their mom had that look a few times…
As fast as the moment came, it went and soon Soren was on his feet and setting up their three person sled.
“Okay, Rey first, Dorian, and then me. Let’s go!” Soren’s commanding voice set the boys to action immediately. If only I could get them to do chores that easily, thought Soren sarcastically. Snow crunched under their feet as they assumed the correct order. The oldest remembered how his father did it, and now he was going to do the same. “Alright. Hang on tight and don’t lean, bounce, or let your feet drag. Ready? Set!” On “Go,” Soren pulled the sled back and ran with it, only jumping on at the last moment as it careened off of the edge.
The boys’ squeals were caught in the top of their throat as the frigid wind whipped past their faces. They held on tight, death gripping the edge of the sled by the improvised handles Soren made for them last Christmas. The weightlessness carried them down the hill and over the first two bumps before sliding to a stop on the third.
Almost! Thought Soren. Gotta get the record though. Not worth the trip without it.
He turned around and, using the handle, began dragging his brothers back up the series of hills. Thankfully, the boys didn’t make the next few climbs difficult, stomping through the snow beside Soren instead of getting a free ride off of his back. It wasn’t until the fifth try that, finally, the snow was flat enough for them to make a proper run of it.
“Ready? Set! GO!” Soren sprinted as he pushed the sled, his muscles aching in the cold, as he leapt on at the last moment. They soared over the first hill and the second, caught air on the third, and coasted through the last one all the way to the tree line before coming to a skidding stop right before the creek.
“We did it! We did it!” cheered Rey, bounding like a puppy in the snow with Dorian cheering right beside him.
Yeah… we did. See that mom? Dad? Keeping the tradition alive.
“Ready for another round?”
“Yeah!”
~~~^*^*^~~~
Hours passed in the freezing cold before, finally, the boys returned home. Everything felt numb, but neither boy could stop talking about what an awesome time they had. Now, a promise of hot chocolate and a warm bath lured them back to the car to make the drive home.
Soren had to admit that he could also use some time in a nice hot shower, but hot chocolate and getting the boys warm took precedent. They would pass out like played out puppies and nap the moment Soren left them alone for more than a minute, and it would be better if they were already PJ’d up and ready for a night in than trying to wake them later.
They rounded the final corner to their neighborhood and up to their place. Soren tapped the garage door and, to their surprise, nothing happened. Twice. Three times. Nothing. Soren put the car in park and stepped up to the keypad to press the frozen through buttons when he noticed the light failed to come on.
“Oh no,” he grumbled. This wasn’t good. He tried once more, just to be safe, and sadly received the same result.
The power was out.
How long has it been out? We’ve been gone for a while. Please tell me the pipes haven’t frozen. Looks like it’s improv time.
“Soren? Is everything okay?” Dorian had unbuckled himself and was leaning out of the car, concern etching its way into his thawing features.
“Maybe. I think the power’s out. Storm must’ve taken out the power lines and the generators,” replied Soren, who returned to the car and shut it off. “We’ll have to go in through the front. Come on.”
He guided the boys inside and, to keep them from tracking in snow, quickly undressed at the front door step so he was in nothing but his long pants and long sleeved shirt before picking up one boy and then the next, shoving them in the garage to rid themselves of their snow covered gear. The moment he stepped inside, Soren could’ve sworn he could see his breath. Evidently, the power had been out for a while, and that wasn’t good. The emergency flashlights flooded the room with small beacons of light, but that was all with the blinds closed and curtains drawn.
At least I remembered to keep the curtains sealed. It would be unbearable if I’d thrown open the blinds first thing.
He was prepared, as always, for emergencies, but it would add time and, sadly, the boys wouldn’t be getting a bath today unless the power came back on. Jammies on the boys and his own gear drying in the garage, Soren set to work.
“Soren? Why is it so cold in here?” asked Rey as he shivered and pulled his sleeves over his fingers.
“Well,” sighed Soren as he grabbed one of his own jackets and slid it onto his brother, instantly dwarfing the youngster, before pulling up the hood to cover his head. “When the power goes out, that means there’s no electricity. The heater runs off of electricity, so no power means no heat.” Soren pulled Dorian closer and slipped one of his jackets on him, zipping up the front all the way to Dorian’s chin.
“So… does that mean…” Soren knew where Rey was going with this.
“Yes. Operation Survival. You know where the flashlights are,” grinned Soren, biting back a shiver as he pulled a hoodie over his head.
“Yeah! Tent city! Campfire burner! Candles and fire! Let’s go!” Dorian cheered as he and Rey scampered off.
“Flashlights first!” Soren called. He rolled his eyes and stared at the kitchen sink, daring to reach forward and flicking the tap on.
Nothing.
Curses. Either the pipes are frozen or the backup generator is out too.
Soren crouched and opened the cabinet to see if he could find any signs of freezing pipes when he heard something on top of the counter directly behind him.
“S-s-soren?”
He glanced over his shoulder to see Ashlynn bundled in blankets to the point he could only make out part of her face.
“Ashlynn, hey,” he breathed.
“Wh-what’s g-going on?” Ashlynn’s teeth were chattering hard. “Is the p-power out?” A million things were going on in his mind to help get everything prepared for a potential power outage long haul, but pausing for a second to explain wouldn’t do any harm.
“Yeah, unfortunately,” Soren grumbled. “Usually, there are generators and stuff to kick everything back on, but this snow storm must be hitting a lot of people all at once. So, we’re going into what myself and the boys affectionately call ‘Survival mode.’ We’ve also called it pioneer night, but operation survival motivates the boys.”
“Ah, I s-s-see,” muttered Ashlynn. “Explains the c-cold.”
“Oh… oh yeah, wow. So… gosh yeah, that would probably affect you more than any of us since you probably don’t have access to direct heat, huh.” Soren saw the small woman nod sheepishly. I couldn’t imagine not having access to electricity and modern tech. Basically every night is like pioneer night for someone like her. Soren shuddered to think of what it would be like to have to take care of him and his brothers if he were Ashlynn’s size with basically nothing to his name.
It made his heart ache, but then an idea hit him.
“Well, I don’t know what your plans are for the evening, but you’re welcome to join us. Dorian and Rey are going to be back here in a second and I’m going to set them on tent duty, which is basically a giant fort made of blankets so we can all be together and keep warm if the power doesn’t come back on. If you want to join them, I’m sure they’d love to have you,” suggested Soren. “Or not. Whatever you prefer. You might’ve just come down to figure out what was going on.”
“And… what are you doing?” asked Ashlynn.
“Me? Checking for leaks and breaks in the water pipes, but I don’t see any here and I can’t do much else except wait and see if there are any leaks,” replied Soren as he ducked back into the cabinet and, using his keen eyes, started seeking for any seam splits.
“Why can’t you do much else? Why wait?” asked Ashlynn, who knew the dangers of water leaking for more reasons than one. If there was a leak in the pipes, walls and floors were instantly torn up. She’d seen it happen to a friend’s family when they were growing up, and they had to move shortly after. The damage water could do was also dangerous. It could lead to mold and would ruin everything if not dealt with properly.
“Well, a lot of that stuff is either under the house where I can’t reach it right now or it’s in the walls,” explained Soren. It was like a bolt of lightning struck them both, giving the same idea at the same time. “Ashlynn…”
“Soren… er…” They accidentally started talking at the same time. They both chuckled as Soren gestured for Ashlynn to go first. “Well… if you need someone to check the walls, I could do that. It’s easy enough. I’ve already mapped out most of the pipes and stuff. It’s how I… well… er… let’s just say I know how to check for that kind of stuff.”
Soren’s smile was nearly from ear to ear.
“That would be great. Seriously, Ashlynn, thank you.” It felt like a boulder had been lifted off of Soren’s chest. With Ashlynn checking the walls, I can get everything else going. If she finds something, it’ll be a quick fix. If not, I’ll know it’s a generator. “Come back as soon as you’re done.”
“Sure,” Ashlynn replied. It was the first time she actually felt useful, like she was paying back a debt that wasn’t being asked for.
She’d almost made it to the walls when she heard Soren’s soft, “Oh.” She paused and looked back at him. “By the way, what kind of hot chocolate do you like? Have you… had it before?” Ashlynn had heard of this drink, but had never had a chance to borrow any. So, she shook her head. “Little of a few different ones then. Good to know. Thanks.”
Ashlynn clicked on her hip lamp and, like the shadow she was, slipped into the darkness in search of a leak.
Soren, in the meantime, gathered up a few pots and set them on the gas stove to start boiling snow for hand washing and other miscellaneous things. He had drinking water reserved in the closet and the garage. He retrieved the electric generators from the shelves and set to work making a big bowl of ramen for lunch and then soup for dinner.
When he told the boys Ashlynn would be joining them, they just about lost their minds.
“Twice? In two days!” They cheered as they set to work on the tent, saying, “Let’s make this one the best one ever so Ashlynn will be impressed. She’s probably never been in a fort before.”
Ashlynn determinedly began scouring the walls for every water pipe she could remember in the apartment. Up walls. Down corridors. She placed her hands on each frigid pipe and examined it up one side and down the other looking for bulges or poking out ice. She even made sure her area was secure before snagging a few things she would need if she was going to spend the evening with Soren and his brothers.
Brothers. Ridiculous. I should’ve seen it. They just… whatever. They look related, but not by much. Dorian and Rey must take after their actual father or Soren just really takes after his. Ashlynn crouched and flipped over some of the nearby pipes when she heard something.
*Hiss… Drip… Drip…. Drip…*
Everything stopped. She held her breath. Every little motion froze in place. Ashlynn listened as hard as she could, turning her head one way and then the other to tell where it was coming from. She picked up the pace, following the sound down one corridor and having to crawl on all fours under a support beam, but still finding nothing.
“Well, shoot,” she muttered, hands on her hips and reaching up to scratch the back of her neck. “Where are you? Sounds like it’s coming from… hm…”
She had an idea.
Ashlynn had a good sense of direction, and she knew this part of the house was near the outside of the house. If I’m right… Ashlynn slid down a line she’d secured when she first arrived in case of emergencies and, instantly, felt the bitter cold freezing her solid. It was the passage that led to the outside, and she was beginning to wonder if this was such a good idea.
Just a peak. Just a pe-AK! Ashlynn was halfway down the line when, suddenly, her foot hit solid ice. The jolt made her lose her grip and, as she slid down the rest of the line, she saw the culprit.
The water hose on the outside had indeed burst, and the spray had coated her emergency line in a thin coating of ice. Ashlynn plummeted straight down into a frozen mud pit, water spraying over her and into her hair. The wind kicked up again, sending millions of tiny snowflakes rushing right past her. The frigid air nearly brought Ashlynn to her knees once she was upright again.
Shoot! This is bad. Curses! Of course this happens to me. Ashlynn thought as she wiped the mud on her pants. She thanked her lucky stars she had her spare line and didn’t have to spend any time knocking the ice off of her safety line. It was that one more second that she needed to get inside instead of sitting outside freezing to death.
Though it took a bit longer to get inside because of her mud slicked hands and pants, Ashlynn was finally back inside and certain the pipes were alright.
“Great. Now I just have to get back and be a muddy mess for the rest of the night,” mumbled Ashlynn as she made the long slog back to her bag and the electrical cover on the counter.
~~~^*^*^~~~
“What happened?!” Soren’s voice was saturated with concern as he watched Ashlynn march back onto the counter, mud and ice on her clothes and in her hair. “Are you okay? Did you find a leak? Gosh, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have…”
“It’s fine, Soren,” Ashlynn interrupted, feeling a bit flustered that Soren was fussing over her so much; not that she minded. In fact, she kind of liked it. She reached up and scratched the back of her neck, body still shivering from her exposure to the outside world. “Really. I just need to change and I’ll be good. On the positive side, at least we know it’s just a split hose outside and not something in the house.”
Soren sighed, right hand reaching up and pinching the bridge of his nose between his index finger and thumb, before glancing over at the lit stove where he had successfully melted several bowls of snow.
“Well, at the very least you can wash off that mud if you want. I’ve got some warm water here, and we’ll give you the bathroom to get changed and everything,” said Soren. The mention of warm water instantly made Ashlynn’s body tingle. She’d only ever had warm baths here, and she liked the experience. “Though technically, if you’re cold, it’s skin to skin that is recommended, but…”
Ashlynn didn’t hear the rest. Her ears instantly started ringing and her cheeks began burning hotter than her candle burning stove at the thought of skin to skin with Soren. Gosh! What’s wrong with me?!
“Ashlynn?”
The Borrower woman startled as she suddenly realized Soren’s hand was only a few inches from her. She looked down at his hand and then back up to his features, only now noticing the bowl of steaming water in his left hand.
“Is that… something you’d like?” he asked.
She swallowed hard and, realizing he was talking about the bath, nodded bashfully and stepped onto his fingers as she snagged her bag with her spare clothes in it. The heat radiating off of his palm was soothing, and she was tempted to see if she could just sit there and keep warm. The Borrower thought better of it and let Soren carry her to the bathroom, which was lit with candles.
“Um… there’s soap here and give a shout or come into the living room when you’re done. I’ll leave the door open a crack for you,” stated Soren as his hand glided down to the surface of the countertop to set her down.
“Th-thank you,” she mumbled as she disembarked and watched Soren go. Good grief! I can’t blank out and think about something as ridiculous as skin to skin with a human! What on earth is wrong with me?! Even if I took him up on that, he probably is treating me like he would a little sister. He treats his brothers with this same care. Good grief! What am I even thinking?
Ashlynn stripped and slid into the warm water, dunking herself in the hopes that warm water would cool her head.
~~~^*^*^~~~
Twenty or so minutes later, Ashlynn was squeaky clean with fresh clothes and clean ones drying on the edge of the sink. After getting clean, she scrubbed her clothes free of mud and set them out so she’d have something to get into later if she had another wardrobe malfunction.
Then, she wandered into the living room to see what exactly this “fort” was supposed to look like; and, in all actuality, it looked like a Borrower fort. The blankets were ramshackle and pinned in every which way between the two couches, which were now facing one another instead of being perpendicular. Other blankets and something that looked like foam were on the ground in between the two couches. There were also miscellaneous games and padded boxes that Ashlynn didn’t recognize, but one thing she did know for certain.
Heat was coming from somewhere. Based on the mild glow and the cord going from it to one of those padded boxes, Ashlynn guessed it was the reason there was any semblance of warmth anywhere here.
“Ashlynn!” Dorian’s face peered out from under one of the blankets on the couch as he gave a little wave. “Do you like it? It’s not done, but it will be. Want a grand tour?” Ashlynn spotted Soren not too far away unrolling some kind of plastic thing, so she elected to nod.
Dorian slipped out from the blankets and was at her side in a few simple steps, something Ashlynn would’ve had to short distance sprint to cross in the same amount of time.
“Okay, here you have the grand foyer. This is where we’ll have food and play some games and where the heater is pointed. That’s that thing over there,” Dorian explained.
“Heater? I thought…” Ashlynn’s confusion was evident and Rey, who was carrying in more blankets from Soren’s room, dropped everything to answer.
“Yeah! It needs electricity, but Soren has that covered. This thing here. It’s called a generator. It is like a big battery that Soren keeps charged in case we lose power. It also plays music and can make emergency Morse code signals if we’re in danger.” Rey was beaming with pride at his concise answer, and it earned him a scrutinized look from his brother.
“I was gonna explain that,” complained Dorian. “Any-who! That one there is my couch, so that’s where I’ll sleep. And that one there is Rey’s couch. That’s where he’ll sleep. He’ll probably also lose some of his toys in there because he always loses his toys in the couch.”
“I do not! Not always,” Rey claimed indignantly. “I can’t help it if I like working on my inventions before bed and… well… sometimes I fall asleep and sometimes things fall out of my hands, but that’s part of being an inventor, which… OH! It’s Christmas Eve! We can give you your thing!”
Rey scampered off while Dorian continued to talk about the entrance and how it’s important to have blankets in a particular order because, otherwise, you’ll still be cold even under a mountain of blankets. To Ashlynn’s surprise, she actually found this useful.
By the time Rey returned, Soren had lunch in bowls for all of them, even Ashlynn, as well as a cup of hot chocolate for each of them. It was the first time Ashlynn ever had anything like it. It was warm and sweet and made her insides toasty like warm soup. And then adding marshmallows? Something else she’d never tried?
A Borrower could die happy if this was their last meal.
They finished lunch and played a few games, which Dorian and Rey barely made it through because they were exhausted from sledding, and then decided to lay down while Soren cleaned up. It was admirable, seeing the way Soren diligently tended to his brothers, and Ashlynn couldn’t stop herself from staring as Soren came back and practically collapsed onto something they called an “air mattress.”
But it’s not made of air… just filled with it… whatever.
It was when they woke up that the real, as Rey called them, “reindeer games” actually started. They took turns having Ashlynn on their team as they played things like “Cadoo,” more Pictionary, Jenga which Ashlynn was especially good at since she could climb and maneuver the pieces so well, and a few others Ashlynn hadn’t heard of.
It was only after dinner, yet another meal Ashlynn found herself groaning over, that they celebrated Christmas Eve. Soren did something called praying, which Ashlynn had seen some other humans do, before he retrieved several boxes from under the tree, each wrapped in green or red wrapping paper. He handed three each to the boys and, to Ashlynn’s surprise, one to her.
“Sorry I don’t have the same to give like I do the boys,” apologized Soren. “It’s what I could come up with in time.” It was a beautifully wrapped blue package that was about as tall and as wide as herself. She worried it would be too big to bring back to her own home, but banished those thoughts as she poked a hole in the paper and tore away the sides.
It was a massive, fuzzy blanket with an elegant “A” stitched into the side which was about the size of her hand. One side was a blue checkered flannel and the other was a cloud like fluffy material that was softer than anything Ashlynn had ever touched before in her life.
“Y-you… made this? For me?” she asked, craning her neck to look up into Soren’s golden hazel eyes. The illumination of the flashlights and candles only accentuated the flecks of green in them.
“Yeah,” Soren muttered as he reached up and nervously scratched the back of his neck. “Sorry it’s not much. But…”
“I love it. I… I just…”
“Wait! What about ours!” Rey interrupted as he quickly snagged a flashlight and darted into the darkness of his bedroom.
“Mine too!” Dorian called as he raced after his brother.
Soren chuckled, completely unaware that they’d managed to pull something together, when he heard a little sniff by his knee. He honed in his attention onto Ashlynn, who was clutching the blanket to her chest and shivering slightly.
“Hey… Ashlynn. Are you okay? Did we… do something wrong?” asked Soren. Ashlynn shook her head, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand and along her sleeve. Her voice barely carried through the air, and Soren had to leave over to hear Ashlynn’s mumblings.
“I just… I haven’t don’t anything to deserve this. You’re all just being… being so kind. It’s something I would never have thought a human would do for a B…” Ashlynn stopped herself short before continuing, not finishing the word she had in mind. “You know? You hear these stories about others getting captured or killed. It just makes you so afraid, and then someone like you comes along… all three of you… it’s just…”
“It’s a lot?” Soren ventured a guess after Ashlynn was silent for a minute. When she nodded, he continued. “Yeah, I can understand that. And, please, if this is too much all at once you can just tell us. It’s okay.”
“See? Stuff like that. You’re all just so understanding. I just… I wish there were more humans out there like you. I’d even take more like you for my kind if I’m being honest.” Soren felt a rush of flattery making the tips of his ears burn. It was nice to know his efforts were worth it and that she wasn’t feeling hostile or as secretive anymore.
“Well, as long as you’re comfortable, you’re always welcome. It’s quick, but it definitely feels like you’ve joined the crew, if that’s what you want,” offered Soren. Ashlynn, emotions running wild like a rampant tornado in a jar, found herself nodding. It had been so long since she’d been a part of something – part of a family – and having it happen so quickly only affirmed in her mind that it was meant to be.
“We’re back! Here, Ashlynn! Open mine first.”
“No, me!”
Dorian and Rey both presented their gifts, which were, at the very least, good efforts that showcased the boys’ charm. Dorian had made something that looked like a coat rack out of some pencils and rubber bands. He also claimed it could function as a makeshift tent as he draped a blanket over the edges.
Rey, on the other hand, had managed to create a type of “quick descending” device using a skillcraft lanyard zip and some extra fishing hooks. He was also working on a quick ascension device, but he was having trouble getting it to not lock up.
“I… I don’t know what to say.” It was true. Ashlynn felt at a loss for words to show her gratitude, but an idea came to mind that she knew she had to act on. She stood and, to each of the boys, she went over and hugged their fingers, seeing that was the only part of them she could actually get her hands around. Despite her body shaking with excitement and so many other emotions, she managed to hug and thank each of the brothers.
Soren’s gifts to the boys included one toy they’d both been asking for separately, which was a Lego set of their choosing, something that interested them independently, music box mixing for Dorian and an electronics kit for Rey, and something they could do together, which was two new card games. In exchange, Dorian gave Soren a tool kit with medical and practical supplies, which Soren knew he was getting since he purchased it, and Rey gifted him some homemade flashlight gloves and matching head mount for his flashlights.
So… this is Christmas. I like it, Ashlynn thought as she watched the brothers hug. They crawled into their prospective beds not too long after and, using her new “tent,” Ashlynn found herself turning in for bed too. Both Dorian and Rey were breathing softly in their makeshift beds under a warmed tent, obviously knocked out from the events of the day. Ashlynn wasn’t far behind. Her eyes were just beginning to unfocus when she heard Soren’s signature cough.
“Hey, Ashlynn? You awake?” asked Soren.
“Mm-hmm, yeah,” she replied, sleep saturating her voice. How much time had passed since the boys had fallen asleep? Was Ashlynn asleep? Or that odd twilight between awake and not?
“Thanks for spending Christmas with us, and thanks for checking out the house. You really saved a lot of time and eased my mind at least, and I know the boys would say they had a great time with you tonight. So, thanks.”
Soren’s voice was growing fainter with each passing word until he completely drifted off to sleep. Ashlynn wasn’t far behind. Sleep played at the edges of her vision, eyelids lulling like shades that wouldn’t pull down. Up. Down. Further down. Up again. Closed. Up.
Sleep beckoned her with open arms as she nestled deeper into the cocoon she’d made from the blanket Soren gifted to her. Weightless. Effortless.
It was everything she’d always wanted – to be part of a fam-…
*WHAM*
~~~~~^*^*^*^*^~~~~~
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A Tall and Small Collection | Original Story
#borrower#g/t#g/t community#borrowers#giant/tiny#giant tiny#handheld#tiny#giant#gianttiny#g/t fearplay#g/t related#g/t writing#g/t ocs#original character#fiction#fantasy#angst#handheld tiny#chapter#season one#sfw g/t#g/t author#g/t concept#g/t characters#g/t story#g/t scenario#g/t sfw#g/t fandom#g/t fiction
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Safe Haven: Final Part
Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female!Reader
Word Count: ~2.4k
Warnings: canon violence, canon language, canon talk of death, methods of kill, implied child abuse and rape
Summary: Something is going on with Spencer. He has been nervous and secretive ever since you two posed as a married couple. He tries to throw you off his trail by lying but he knows better than to lie to someone like you. There's not a lot that people can hide from you, but it seems like the ones closest to you hide even the deadliest of secrets.
Season Six Masterlist
Author’s Note: I do not own anything from Criminal Minds. All credit goes to their respective owners. If there are any warnings that exceed the normal death/kills from the show, I will list them.
x
You, Rossi, and Beeks take a trip to the Archer house where, you guessed it, the same yellow energy is lingering about.
"I don't know what you'll find. This was the first crime scene, so believe me, my guys went over it with a fine-tooth comb."
"I'm sure they did but none of them are me," you state. "Plus, we now know Mrs. Archer chose to take the suspect home instead of taking him to social services as she should have. We need to try to figure out why."
"She was a nurse for fifteen years. She would know how to work the system. Maybe she called in favors with social workers or knew some foster parents who could take him in."
The house has been cleaned so there isn't any forensic evidence left behind. Seeing the energy here doesn't help much either because you know exactly what the unsub's goal is. You're looking for anything that would suggest why she allowed the unsub to stay at her house. There is a landline phone on the counter with a blinking "2" on it signaling that there are two new messages.
"They've got messages," you say to Rossi.
"My guys checked it the first day. Those must be new."
You play the first message and a woman's voice comes across the machine.
"This is Brittany at Dr. Olsen's office. Eric missed his 9:00 AM appointment. Please call to reschedule."
The second message plays immediately after the first of another woman.
"Hi. Hello. My name is Nancy Riverton, and your son Jeremy missed his bus at the rest stop on Route 6. He's fine. He's safe. Don't worry. He's with me, but if you could just give me a call... Thanks."
"What were the names of the Archer children?" Rossi asks.
"Eric and Daniel."
"She said she picked him up on Route 6. It's him. He's at another family."
Beeks gets his men on the phone and calls it in. Based on the number the woman called from, the unsub is at Nancy Riverton's house. You have the address. It's only a matter of time before he kills her and her children. Since the team at the police station is a lot closer than you and Rossi, Derek and Emily head over to the address as fast as possible.
The kids are found in their room with their hands tied behind their backs but Nancy is gone. Their father died when the kids were little so it's just been them and Nancy for a long time. The unsub who told the kids his name is Jeremy, said he was going to his aunt's house in Chicago but lives in Omaha.
The weird thing is that when Nancy saw what Jeremy had planned for her family, she told him that he didn't do anything wrong. She told him that he was a good kid and he just made a mistake. The kids don't get why she did that but you do. It's clear that Jeremy has been abused or has trauma from his own family and all he needs is a little bit of love. If she behaved like the other parents, he would have continued to kill. She broke the cycle by treating him like a child who is hurting instead of a murderer.
Nancy got Jeremy out of her house and away from her kids, granting him a deal that she'd drive him wherever he wanted to go.
He told her he wanted to go home.
"Monica called a friend at the Northern Omaha Children's Hospital about an abandoned thirteen-year-old boy. Monica was going to bring him in the next day," Penelope says.
"We need to talk to that friend," Hotch says.
"I already did. Apparently, the children's hospital and child services have a strong rapport. She said the child's name was Niko Bellic and his hometown was Newton, Iowa."
"Niko Bellic?" Beeks asks, confused.
"Nico Bellic is the name of a main character in Grand Theft Auto IV." You, Hotch, Spencer, and Beeks look at Rossi. "What? I know things."
Spencer looks at the map and estimates the direction Nancy and Jeremy are going in.
"Guys, he's headed due east on Route 6. It passes right through Newton. He probably didn't expect the question and gave away his real hometown."
"Garcia, call the Iowa State Police and tell them to be on the lookout for a minivan headed east towards Route 6."
"Will do."
You take out your phone and call Emily who patches you through the car's Bluetooth system through. They're driving around the area to see if they can spot the minivan while also driving in the same direction Nancy is driving in. You connect her to Penelope so that everyone can hear everyone.
"Two thousand, two hundred families in Newton have kids under the age of eighteen. In other words, it's a lot."
"He would have acted out long before now. He's got a juvie record, he's well known to truant officers, and he's probably been kicked out of school, maybe several."
"We thought he was running away, but he's heading home. He's got a plan."
"Taking his rage out on surrogate mothers isn't doing it for him anymore. Now he's ready for the real thing," Derek says.
"Garcia, we need to ID this kid so we can find his mom and warn her."
"Got it." She doesn't even need five minutes to pull up the information. "I have thirty-two kids with juvie records who have been absent from school in the last three days. I can send police to their mothers, I can start calling houses—"
"No, we don't have time for trial by error. We have to narrow it down," Derek cuts her off.
"Okay, the kids at the last house said that the unsub liked to play a game. He liked tying the kids up and scaring them, and he knew what he was doing. He used socks and belts. He's done it before, Garcia."
"You want me to look for kids who've picked on their little brothers and sisters? I'm an only child but isn't that standard for you people with siblings?"
"Budding psychopaths don't just pick on their siblings. They torture them."
"Okay, well, none of them have assault records. Not yet, anyway."
"Is there any way to see if any of the younger siblings have been in the emergency room in the last six months?"
"Medical info like that is molasses slow to get unless I... Please hold for genius." Again, she only needs five minutes. "Got it. I figured a suspicious visit to the ER might end up in a social services report and it did. Ten days ago, the admitting doctor called about a Sayer family at 1365 Hunter Drive. Jeremy Sayer is a thirteen-year-old with a disturbingly long juvie record. Wow. His nine-year-old sister Carrie was brought to the hospital with a spiral arm fracture."
"The kind you get from having your arm twisted behind your back too far," Emily comments. She uses Derek's phone to call Kendra, Jeremy's mother, but she isn't answering her work phone. "Okay, Kendra's boss said she left work already. I have her cell phone. What do you have on Mr. Sayer?"
"He moved to Wisconsin three years ago. I'm looking at the phone records right now. He hasn't contacted the family in ten months," Penelope answers.
Emily tries to call Kendra on her phone but she isn't answering that one either.
"She sent me to voicemail. Twice."
"Keep trying."
She does and eventually gets Kendra on the phone.
"Hello?"
"Mrs. Sayer, this is Agent Prentiss from the FBI. I need to talk to you about your son Jeremy."
"I don't have a son. I don't know what you're talking about," she stutters.
"Mrs. Sayer, it's important that you and your daughter stay away from your home. We have reason to believe Jeremy's heading there now."
"Oh, God. He's here. He's in the house," she gasps.
"Ma'am, do not go inside the house. We'll be there in two minutes."
"I have to go inside. He's got Carrie."
She rushes inside her house but doesn't hang up on Emily so you're hearing everything that's happening. You can only imagine what's going on, and it's not a pretty picture. Even through the phone at the police station, you can feel her fear.
"Carrie! Carrie? Carrie? Jeremy, let her go, please. No! Please, please!"
"Sure thing, but I want you to tell me the truth first," Jeremy grits out.
"Truth? What truth?"
"That you always hated me. Admit it. Admit it and I won't hurt your little sugarplum."
"I don't know--I don't know what me to say. I don't. I swear."
"Say what I heard you telling Father Quincy. Say it! Confess and be forgiven! Isn't that what you always tell me?" he yells.
"I was pregnant with twins. Then one day I wasn't. Is that what you want to hear? The doctor said one fetus consumed the other."
"I wasn't even born yet and you blamed me?!" he screams.
"You are rotten to the core! You always have been!" Kendra screams back.
Emily and Derek arrive on the scene while Kendra is still on the phone. Again, you're hearing everything.
"FBI! Drop your weapon!" Derek shouts.
"Maybe I made you into a monster because I hated you when you were inside me! But I think I hated you because I knew what you were!"
"Don't do it, Jeremy. Do you want to die?"
He must be threatening Carrie with a knife or a gun. Probably knife.
"You won't shoot me when mommy's little angel can get hurt," Jeremy smirks.
"Yes or no?"
"I'll cut her neck open. I know how to do it. I've practiced."
"No, please!" Kendra cries.
"I'm not gonna ask you again, Jeremy."
"You can't shoot a kid."
"I can shoot a killer, and I will. Believe that. If that knife even twitches, I'm gonna put a bullet right through your brain," Derek threatens.
"If I let her go--"
"There is no if," Derek cuts him off.
"Fine. I was only kidding, anyway."
"Turn around."
You can imagine Derek grabbing Jeremy and handcuffing him.
"Aah! Ah! Mom, he's hurting me! Mom, I can't go by myself! Mom! Mom!" Jeremy begs.
He's psychotic but he will be locked up for a long time, you hope. After Nancy drove him to his house, he stabbed her. She was sent to the ER and you hope she makes a full recovery.
"Nancy Riverton got out of surgery. She's gonna make it," Derek says.
"She's lucky. She managed to control him long enough to save her children. She's impressive," Hotch nods.
"Mrs. Sayer asked that she and her daughter be notified if and when Jeremy is released," Emily says.
"The BAU should keep his file handy."
Now that you have some time alone on the plane, you look at Spencer who is reading a book he brought in his go-bag. Derek puts his headphones in, Emily is getting some rest, and Hotch and Rossi are on the other side of the plane.
"So, I talk to your mom."
He snaps his head to you. "What? When?"
"Earlier today. I wanted to know how she was doing. You said she wasn't doing well. She's happy and wants us to come visit soon."
"Yeah, maybe one weekend we can."
You drop your voice a few octaves lower. "Spencer, you lied to me." He sighs. "Is there anything going on? Are... Are we okay?"
"What? No, we're great. Please don't think there is anything wrong here."
"Then why did you lie to me?"
"Look, I know I can come talk to you about anything and everything, and I will, but not right now. I have to figure out some things first. Derek is helping me."
"Okay," you whisper.
"I love you. We're okay. I promise."
You hook your arm in his elbow and rest your head on his shoulder, and he goes back to reading. We're okay.
********
Clarissa doesn't like being in the house when Frank isn't here. To keep her and the kids under control, Frank asked his friend, Rob, if he could come over and watch over everything until he returned. The only reason why Rob agrees is because Frank has a kid that Rob desperately wants. The only reason why Frank hasn't given her over to Rob is because he has someone already interested in her. She's a very popular kid, that one is.
Clarissa is in the same business as Rob and Frank but she doesn't have the same... desires as they do. She never did. She does it for the money and power. Frank gets the have his fun with the kids while Clarissa turns a blind eye and enjoys spending the money they bring in. They've been doing this for decades, way before you had ever come into their lives.
The system works because she and Frank understand the limits they set for their kids. Rob... disturbs that. Rob is a lot scarier than Frank makes him out to be. All of Frank's friends are like this but Rob is the worst one of all. Rob takes what he wants without giving a single fuck about what others think.
There's a reason why Rob goes through so many children.
Clarissa isn't a total monster. She has a heart--mangled and rough as it is--but a heart nonetheless. She likes to give the kids toys while they stay with her and Frank. Her husband doesn't like it when she takes care of the kids as if they are her own. He doesn't want her to confuse reality with her feelings. Rob doesn't give a fuck what she does as long as she stays out of his way. She might be well over the age limit that he likes to play with but he'll fuck her up just the same.
The kids are either doing outside chores or in their room so Clarissa picks up the toys in the living room to give her something to do. Where she is, she has a clear shot of one of the kids' bedroom doors. That's Jessica's room. She's one of the youngest Clarissa and Frank has. They foster kids anywhere from five or six to sixteen or seventeen. If Clarissa isn't mistaken, Jessica just turned seven.
The door to her room opens and Rob steps out of it with one hand clutching the front of his pants. He shuts the door and buttons his pants with a slight smirk on his face. Clarissa is trained to ignore the sounds coming from one of the kids' bedrooms. Rob lifts his eyes and locks eyes with Clarissa who has now frozen in her spot.
"What the fuck are you looking at?"
Clarissa shakes her head and immediately goes back to cleaning the living room. She hates Rob. She wishes Frank was back.
"But I have promises to keep and miles to go before I sleep. And miles to go before I sleep." - Robert Frost
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