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tropes-and-tales · 2 months ago

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For Good News, Read Front

(Frankie "Catfish" Morales x F!Reader)

CW: Mostly fluff; some crude language.

Word Count: 3313

AN: This was requested by the lovely @justreblogginfics for the April Showers event!

Civilian life hasn’t been kind to Frankie Morales.

Addiction, divorce. Nearly bankrupted dealing with both. He only sees his little girl half of the time, and each time he drops her off at her mom’s house, he feels like he’s been lanced through the heart. He lives alone in a shitty apartment, and if it wasn’t for his job, he might go entire days without seeing or speaking to other people.

More immediately, though, he hasn’t been taking care of himself. He’s lost the rigor of military life. He’s put on some weight and barely exercises. According to his annual physical, he’s got high blood pressure, high cholesterol.

He wouldn’t care so much except for his daughter. He wouldn’t bother if it was just for himself. The thought of checking out early and not being there for her big moments—graduations, marriage, whatever—is enough to spur him to action.

He eats better, or tries to. He cuts most of the red meat. He cuts much of the mindless beer drinking he does at night in front of the TV. He takes a multivitamin each morning.

He starts running for the exercise.

At first, it’s pathetic. He’s winded almost immediately, his knees ache, and his muscles burn. What happened to the Frankie who breezed through Basic Training? What happened to the young buck who could hoover down four cheeseburgers and run with a loaded rucksack like it was nothing?

He got old, Frankie thought. He got old and used up and left behind.

But it gets easier. The running gets easier. He starts to chew up miles on his long runs. He wears out a pair of shoes and needs another. He buys a stupid reflective vest so he can go out early mornings and run to race the sunrise. As the running gets easier, so do other things: he sleeps better, breathes better. His mood improves marginally.

Maybe civilian life can work after all.

-----

He still makes stupid choices all the time.

Like this evening: the weather forecast showed rainstorms. He checked it three times, but he still laced up his running shoes, queued up a playlist, and left his apartment. In a surge of unfounded confidence, he figured he could outrun the weather.

Frankie figured wrong.

He’s almost exactly as far from home as he can be when the skies open up. His favorite running route takes him into a quiet neighborhood full of old Florida-style homes with rambling lawns and big trees. It’s usually charming, but now? In the middle of a rainstorm that is increasingly dangerous—thunder rolls overhead, lightning cracks in the distance—it’s foreboding. The light in the sky takes on a pearl grey cast, washing everything in a funereal pall.

Sheets of rain soak him in seconds. He turns around, pounds back down the street, his waterlogged sneakers squelching with each stride. His clothes cling to him uncomfortably, and a moment later, his phone dies, his playlist cutting off mid-song.

Then a bolt of lightning splits the sky in front of him—way too close for comfort—and Frankie knows he has to find cover.

He thinks of who he knows nearby. He comes up short when he goes through the obvious: Pope is somewhere in South America, both Benny and Will are on the other side of town in the opposite direction. Frankie has a cousin nearby, he thinks, but then he remembers that she moved to Virginia last year, according to his mother. He doesn’t know where any of his coworkers live, or anyone from his NA meetings—

The only person he can think of is you. He’s only met you a handful of times, one of those flimsy acquaintances situations. You were friends with a girl that Benny was dating a while back, and you had come to some of the group hangouts with her. You had been quiet, hung at the margins like Frankie, and the two of you had shared some pleasantries. Not enough to be friends, but you had also hosted a cookout a few summers back and invited the guys, so Frankie remembers where you live. Nearby, thankfully.

It'll have to be enough, those handful of paltry conversations he shared with you. Hopefully you’re home. Hopefully you’ll answer the door to the near-stranger soaking wet on your porch.

It’s Frankie’s lucky day, it turns out. You are home, and you do open your door to him, first with a look of puzzlement, then with a bemused smile as you usher him inside.

-----

“I’d offer you a shower, but you probably shouldn’t since there’s lightning,” you tell him.

He’s standing in your kitchen, dripping all over your tiled floor. You hand him a towel and watch him, that smile curving your lips as you watch him dry off as best as he can.

He’s also interrupted your cozy evening in. You’re already in pajamas, contacts out and glasses perched on your nose. The TV in the other room is paused, and the screen shows what looks to be a period drama of some sort. The entire house has the warm scent of something delicious recently baked, and when Frankie glances over at the counter, he sees a pan of brownies cooling.

“I appreciate this,” he replies. “Sorry to bust up your evening.”

“No worries. It’s just solo movie night.”

“Good weather for it.”

You chuckle. “Certainly better than going for a jog.”

Frankie smiles. “I thought I could outrun it.”

You smile back at him, then shift your gaze over his shoulder and to the window. The storm is only picking up in intensity; the smaller trees bend in the wind, and rain comes in sideways with each gust.

“I’d also offer to drive you home, but I’m not good at driving in bad weather,” you say, the smile ceding to a grimace. “I’m kind of a baby about it.”

“Or you’re just sensible,” he counters.

He runs the towel over his head. Instead of being soaked, now he’s uncomfortably wet—his clothes stick to him, and he feels clammy and gross.

“I could call Will, maybe.”

Frankie shakes his head. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out his phone, which was already outdated and nearing its end of life. “I don’t have his number memorized.”

“Maybe Benny?” You pause. “Though since he dumped Emma, I’ve been sworn as his enemy. You’d have to keep it on the down low.”

“I don’t have his number memorized either.”

There’s an uncomfortable beat of silence, then Frankie says, “if I could just wait out the worst of the storm…if I could just even sit on your porch and not bother—”

You cut him off. “Of course you can hunker down here. Don’t be ridiculous.”

“I don’t wait to ruin your evening—”

You cut him off again. “You aren’t. Solo movie night is flexible on the ‘solo’ bit.” You gesture to the pan of brownies behind him. “There’s plenty of snacks to go around.”

Frankie should feel bad, but now that you’re in motion, he doesn’t quite have the time to sink into any bad feelings: you snatch the soaked towel from his hands, and you take his elbow lightly and lead him down the hallway to your bathroom. You push him gently inside, then pivot to snag some fresh towels from the linen closet. You toss those at him, and the entire sequence happens so fast that he blinks in surprise.

“Go ahead and dry off,” you tell him. “I think I have some clothes that will fit you. I can run your wet stuff through the dryer.”

“You’re sure you—” he starts to say, but you’re already closing the door on him, giving him privacy, and he hears you padding down the hallway away from him.

It’s only a few minutes later that you knock on the door again. He opens it—still fully clothed—and you’re standing there with spare clothes for him.

“Okay, so you won’t get style points,” you say. “But these should fit you.”

Frankie makes sure to look you in the eyes when he thanks you. He wants you to know he’s appreciative. You didn’t have to let him into your house at all, yet here you are, clothing him, offering to feed him, and you don’t really even know him beyond the handful of conversations you had at group events.

“I appreciate it,” he says. “I owe you one.”

You wave that off. “No worries. Dry off, get changed. The washer and dryer are off the kitchen. You can throw your wet stuff in, then we can relax and wait out the storm.”

-----

Frankie has questions.

Firstly, there’s the grey sweatpants. Obviously men’s sweatpants. Obviously they belonged to some guy, though Frankie has only ever known you to be single. He knows that sometimes women keep their guy’s shirts after a breakup because they are typically bigger and cozier, but he can’t picture you wearing these sweatpants yourself. You’d be swimming in them—yet they seem to be lovingly preserved, scented faintly of fabric softener, and folded neatly when you hand them over.

Secondly, there’s the t-shirt.

It’s big, and while it’s clearly been worn, it’s not worn. It’s a joke t-shirt, obviously, but Frankie is dying to know the context behind it.

The back of the shirt reads “For good news, read front.”

When Frankie flips it over, he is startled by the laugh that it draws from him. It reads, “Big dick is back in town,” and an unsubtle red arrow underneath the text points downward.

So Frankie has questions.

-----

“Okay, so the t-shirt is from a bachelorette party,” you tell him around bites of brownie. The two of you are on the couch, and the tray of brownies is between you. There’s also a bottle of Merlot, which Frankie would have never thought of, but it pairs really well with the brownies.

The movie plays on the TV, but it’s long forgotten: first, from laughing at him when he emerges from the bathroom, then from his barrage of questions that you answer diligently.

“The maid of honor got us all joke t-shirts, and we had to do a blind pull from a bag. That’s the one I got,” you continue.

“And you had to wear it out in public?” he asks, incredulous.

You nod. “In Vegas too.”

“Brutal.”

“Could’ve been worse. One girl pulled a t-shirt that looked like a concert shirt with dates and locations on the back, right? But the front read ‘Chlamydia World Tour 2008.’”

It’s strange how easily the formality between the two of you melted away. It’s probably just the perfect blend of elements: the raging storm outside, the coziness inside, the wine and sugar, the ridiculousness of Frankie’s outfit. You each sit turned towards each other on the couch, far closer than Frankie’s been to you before, but it feels natural. It feels nice, in fact, to be with someone like this—comfortable, joking.

And maybe a hint of flirting.

Frankie takes another sip of wine. “So was it?” he asks.

“Was what?”

“Was it back in town?”

It takes you a beat, but then you get it. Your laugh—Frankie’s never really heard it, he guesses, but it’s delightful and contagious, makes him chuckle along with you.

“Obviously,” you reply. “When big dick comes back to town, you even go to the effort of printing up a shirt about it.”

Frankie could get used to this, he thinks. He likes how easy it feels to talk to you, and he really likes the glint you get in your eye when he makes the joke. He never really noted you before, when you turned up to group events, but Frankie never really noted anyone back then. He was too busy trying to stay afloat in his life.

“Makes me wonder where big dick goes when it’s not in town,” he muses.

“I have to imagine it’s like a carnival. Goes town to town.”

“Winters in Florida when it’s cold.”

“And like a real carnival, when you know it’s in town, you’re excited to go see it, but also a little scared because you just know everything about it is under the table and off the books.”

Frankie laughs. “Big dick can’t be regulated.”

You laugh too, and you swallow down the rest of the wine in your glass. “Nor should it be. Big dick deserves to run free.”

There’s a hundred different, filthy things Frankie could say to that. Maybe you have the same thought because you glance at him, catch his eye, then look away. And maybe he’d drop one of those filthy lines on you if he knew you better, but suddenly he feels like he’s behind with you—that he should have taken advantage of all those group hangouts to get to know you better.

“What about these?” he asks instead, gesturing broadly to the sweatpants he’s wearing. “Another bachelorette thing?’

The story of the sweatpants is sadder, but more revealing to your history. The atmosphere turns a shade more somber: the sweatpants belonged to your ex-husband.

“I didn’t know you were married,” Frankie says.

You shake your head. “I haven’t been, for a long time now. We married young and divorced young.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It happened. It’s old news.” You shrug, but Frankie can see you turning a bit sad, maybe introspective.

It’s a chance to build a connection. Frankie nods knowingly; he knows this sort of pain.

“Still hurts though,” he tells you.

Another shrug, but you look at him like you’re considering him in another light. You make the connection. “Yeah, that’s right,” you reply. “You’ve been through it too, huh?”

“Two years since it was finalized.”

You settle deeper against the back of the couch. “How are you doing?”

The question warms him. No one ever asks him how he is. Pope, the Millers…they have a unique closeness that comes with being brothers-in-arms, but they don’t ever probe each other’s lives or feelings. They check in with each other, but they suffer in silence.

“I’m okay,” he replies.

You narrow your eyes. “You sure?”

“I’m sure.” He smiles, and he reaches for the bottle of wine on the coffee table. He pours you another glass, and he tops his own off too. “It’s only tough with my daughter. Not seeing her every day, you know?”

It warms him even more, how you nod sympathetically but then encourage him to talk about his little girl—you ask a ton of questions about her, and Frankie finds himself suddenly chatty, talkative, his free hand not wrapped around the stem of his wine glass gesturing as he relates stories about his daughter, and you laugh at the funny stories, coo at the cute ones.

The evening cedes into night. The hours melt away like nothing. The movie on the TV ends, and the streaming app switches automatically to some reality show about rich people on boats, but you and Frankie talk. You break away to pull together a dinner cobbled from what you have on hand: grilled cheese, a salad of mixed greens. Then you both settle back on the couch with another bottle of wine, and the hours unspool into the early morning. Frankie doesn’t even notice because he’s too busy marveling at how easy, how unexpected this all is.

He only wanted a moment of shelter from the storm—which has gentled down into a light, steady rain. What he got was dry clothes, good food and drink, and better conversation. He considers it a gift, this moment: he’s gotten this chance to know you better, and he finds that you’re someone he wants to know. Someone he wants to count as a friend, and he can see a future where he might want to count you as someone more.

You’re the one who cracks first. You yawn, and it makes you check your phone.

“Shit, it’s late.” You run your hands over your face and look at him. “You wanna just crash here for the night?”

“I don’t want to put you out.”

You smile and glance at his chest, say “Big dick never puts me out,” and it takes Frankie a too-long beat to remember what he’s wearing. It’s embarrassing that for a too-long moment, he thinks you’re blatantly coming onto him. He gapes at you before he catches on, but then he flushes because you are flirting.

He flushes too because you realize exactly what he’s thinking. “You forgot about the shirt for a moment, huh?” you ask.

“I did!”

You laugh, and you stand up. You stretch a little, twist at the waist to unkink some tightness in your back, and then you look down at him.

“The couch is pretty comfortable. You okay with that?”

He nods. “You sure I’m not putting you out?”

Another laugh. “I think you probably worry too much, Frankie.” You disappear for a moment, then come back with pillows and blankets.

“I can drive you home in the morning,” you offer. “Whenever you need to be back.”

Frankie takes the bedding from you, and the moment has a charge of intimacy: you’re standing close together, separated only by an armful of blankets and pillows. The rain drums steady outside, it’s dark and late, and it feels like you’re the only two people awake in the world at the moment.

And he hasn’t felt this good in a while. Usually, an evening of nonstop talking would leave him drained, his social battery low, but this is different somehow. He feels like he’s peeled back a layer of himself, exposed an inner bit of himself to you, and it doesn’t horrify him at all. It makes him feel seen. Conversely, he feels like he knows you far better now, and he doesn’t want any of these good feelings to evaporate when the sun rises.

“Can I take you out for breakfast?” he asks. He drops his voice in volume, reluctant to break the spell of friendly intimacy that’s been woven. “There’s a really good cafe if we take the scenic route to my place.”

You seem to misunderstand him. “Oh, you don’t owe me anything,” you say.

In his civilian life, Frankie has often played it too close to the vest. He’s let life carry him along, too passive with things both big and small. He’s let thing happen to him rather than trying to drive the direction of his life.

He knows this moment can tip either way. He can let the chance pass, and you can go back to being just someone he knows, someone he passed a pleasant evening with while a storm raged outside.

Or he could lean into his Delta Force days, maybe just a little. He can be decisive. He can be clear in his objective.

“No,” he replies, shaking his head. “I’d like to take you out.”

Your reaction is enough to bolster him. First you say, “oh” and blink at him, but then you smile and add, “I’d like that.”

-----

Frankie never seems to sleep very well, but you are right: your couch is comfortable, and the sound of the rain soothes him too. He finds himself dropping right off, his sleep deep and restful.

His last thought before he does, though, is I can’t wait for morning.

And then it is morning, dawn about to break and the sky a pearly grey. Frankie stands up and stretches, and he stands by the big picture window by the couch and watches as the sun breaks the line of the horizon and brings the new day with it.

It brings something else too: for the first time in his civilian life, Frankie feels something like anticipation. Something like hope.

#tropes and tales #JolapenoAprilShowers #frankie morales #francisco morales #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales imagine #frankie morales x you #francisco morales x you #francisco morales x reader #francisco morales imagine #triple frontier

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magicalrocketships · 15 days ago

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Rivers of Light || Max/Daniel || part 15 ||

(reminder that this in its entirety contains mpreg, reference to giving birth, Max Verstappen's bad dad, past abuse, and on-track accidents. Continue suspending that disbelief. Anything that's wrong we can just pretend is true in mpreg world. For those of you that don't know, this is a Henry Hoover.)

All previous parts can be found in the masterpost here. This chapter is on AO3 here.

Bastiaan is upset at the world tonight, and Max understands. He's been much older than Bastiaan and full of fury and anger and rage that he didn't have anywhere to put, and he at least had the benefit of a voice and a racing car to drive. Bastiaan just has his daddy's arms, and it's clearly not enough.

Part 15

The first time Bastiaan wakes up that night, he wants a nappy change and a cuddle and a feed. He's happy enough to be comforted by his daddy, Max barely needing to fully wake up as he goes through a nappy change by rote, turning the lamp on in the bedroom afterwards so he doesn't fall asleep nursing and forget to put Bastiaan back in his Moses basket on the bed next to him. Bastiaan barely needs telling that they have a friend staying out in the living room, that Daniel is here and it's nice to let him sleep instead of waking him up with crying. He settles, feeds, then falls asleep mid-way through. He doesn't stir as Max puts him down.

The second time doesn't go so well. Bastiaan is just a little baby with a wet nappy and a sore tummy, his cries pitiful and loud. He doesn't let up as Max changes him, and keeps on crying as Max tries not to count the few remaining nappies left in the pack. Max tries to tell Bastiaan that it's nicer with a clean nappy, that he won't be uncomfortable any more and he doesn't have to cry, but it doesn't help. He doesn't want to nurse, and he doesn't want to be changed, and he doesn't want to sit down with Max in bed. His crying is unrelenting, and Max gives up hoping that Daniel will be able to sleep through it.

Bastiaan is tired and overwrought and piteous. It's like nobody has ever loved him or cuddled him or held him, even though Max has never loved anyone or anything like he loves his baby, and Bastiaan has spent the majority of his short time alive in his daddy's arms so he has to know that.

"You're very safe, little one," Max tells him, taking advantage of the tiny amount of available space in the bedroom to pace three short steps one way, turn around, back the other way. "You've got a new nappy and you're not hungry and you are very loved. I don't know why you're so upset."

Max could get upset too. His lovely little baby, who doesn't know how to express what he needs, and Max, who doesn't know what to offer him. He kisses the top of Bastiaan's head, then misjudges the distance in his pacing and bangs his knee into the little bedside table; it upends his glass of water and it goes all over the floor and his leg and his foot. It probably gets in the extension cord with his phone plugged in too. Fuck.

Bastiaan's wails intensify. Max wants to join him. The glass has a big piece of missing from the rim, which means there's broken glass on the floor and Max is barefoot and can't see it.

"It's okay," Max says, kissing him. "You don't need to be scared, I know that was a big noise. And we both jumped, didn't we?" He cradles Bastiaan closer, because Bastiaan is upset at the world tonight, and Max understands. He's been much older than Bastiaan and full of fury and anger and rage that he didn't have anywhere to put, and he at least had the benefit of a voice and a racing car to drive. Bastiaan just has his daddy's arms, and it's clearly not enough. "You can be awake if you need to be. It's okay. You don't need to be so sad about it. We can just be together." Max ends up scrubbing his fist across his eyes. It comes away wet.

"Are you okay?" Daniel is outside the door, knocking, talking quietly. "What can I do?"

"You can come in," Max says. "I broke a glass."

Daniel pushes the door open. He's in the same t-shirt and shorts he slept in last night. Barefoot. The light shines in from the hallway.

"Okay," Daniel says. "Anyone hurt?"

Max shakes his head. "But I don't know where the broken bits went."

"All right," Daniel says. "Are you okay if I turn the main light on?"

He switches the light on when Max nods, then crouches down to look at the floor by Max's feet. He stands back up with one tall glass with a v-shaped gap at the rim, and one v-shaped bit of broken glass.

"Be careful. There might be little bits. Come out and into the living room. Anyone close enough to be disturbed if I run the vacuum over it?"

Max frowns. Nobody stays here in the farmyard, and the farmhouse is up the road. "No."

"Okay," Daniel says. "Go on."

"He won't sleep," Max says, and for a moment his voice betrays him, the desperation that comes with endless loneliness. It sounds like a whine. His dad didn't suffer whining. Max learnt that the hard way. He'd had to learn it more than once. Sometimes with Max the lesson didn't stick. "I don't know what's wrong."

Daniel does some poor approximation of finger guns because he's holding broken glass. "I didn't sleep through the night until I was five."

Max blinks. "Is that supposed to make me feel better?"

"My mum doesn't have enough people who feel sorry for her," Daniel says, shuffling Max and a crying baby down the hall and into the living room. Max's sleeping bag is unzipped on the sofa; Daniel's clearly been using it as a blanket instead of a bag. "Sit there a minute."

Max obediently sits down. He rearranges Bastiaan so that he's crying on his shoulder, stroking his back. Bastiaan doesn't like him sitting down, so Max resumes pacing. He can see Daniel battling with the cupboard in the hall and coming out with a stupid red vacuum cleaner with a smiley face on it.

"Shush, little baby," Max says, rubbing Bastiaan's back. "There's going to be a big noise for a minute but it's okay. You don't have to be scared. Daniel's just clearing up for us."

Bastiaan's only response is to cry.

Daniel turns the vacuum on, and Bastiaan cries louder, startled.

Max kisses his soft hair. He shushes him, swaying back and forth.

Then, amazingly, Bastiaan's cries start to soften. He hiccups into Max's shoulder, a little wriggle. A whimper. His face is red from crying and there's still a big tear sliding down his cheek. His eyes start to close.

Down the hall, Daniel turns the vacuum off, and Bastiaan's eyes open again. He gears up for another cry.

Max marches down the hall and hisses, "Turn it back on." He sees Daniel's startled look, so he adds a desperate, "Please? I think the baby likes it."

Daniel, bewildered, turns the hoover back on. He runs it awkwardly over the carpet between their feet.

Bastiaan stops crying. Max looks at Daniel. Daniel looks back.

He moves the hoover back and forth. Bastiaan stays quiet.

"I guess I'll just… clean up, then?" Daniel says. "At—" he checks his watch. "Three in the morning? Sure."

"Sure," Max says, and watches Daniel vacuum first his bedroom, then the second bedroom where Max keeps all of Bastiaan's things, then the hall and the kitchen and the living room. By the time Daniel's moving Bastiaan's blanket out of the way so he can hoover the living room floor, Bastiaan's flat out in Max's arms, and Max is half asleep himself.

Daniel asks if he can stop now, or if he needs to start vacuuming the sofa cushions.

"Keep going until I put him down," Max says grimly, and is dutifully followed down the hall by Daniel dragging the vacuum cleaner after him.

Daniel hoovers the carpet outside the door again, and Max carefully tries to put Bastiaan down in his Moses basket. Bastiaan doesn't stir. Carefully, quietly, Max backs away. Daniel reverses backwards down the hall with the hoover still going, and only when he trips over the cable and almost goes flat on his face does Max indicate he can turn it off.

"So," Daniel whispers, shoving the hoover under the table in the kitchen and out of the way. "That was weird. Not that it matters how, he's asleep now and I've got rid of the glass and now you can go back to sleep too."

Don't go, Max thinks. Please, please don't go.

"You okay, Max?"

"I'm fine," Max says. "I'm of course fine."

Daniel looks at him. Max doesn't understand what it means. He's too tired. Too much of a mess.

"I'm always fine," Max says. He doesn't think he sounds it.

Daniel tugs him into a hug. It is just a quick one, a back slap and a loose arm around his shoulder, but Max, who has barely been touched in years, who got pregnant after an encounter that probably lasted less than four minutes, who gave birth alone and who only has his baby for company, makes a sharp, desperate noise in the back of his throat. He wraps his arms around Daniel.

After a moment's indecision, Daniel hugs him back.

Max squeezes his eyes shut and tries to catalogue every single thing about this hug so he can recall it later. Learn it like a racetrack. Play it over and over in his head.

He has to stop wanting what he can't have. Daniel's leaving in the morning, after all. It's just him and Bastiaan. Daniel hadn't stuck around when Max had been injured; he's not going to stick around now when it's just Max and his baby. His lovely, perfect, wonderful little baby.

It'll be okay. Max will be okay. He always has been before.

He'll just hold on a moment more. No one will notice. It'll be fine. He'll be fine.

"Night," Max says, pulling away quickly. He goes back into his bedroom, quietly pulling the door closed behind him. He gets into bed next to his baby's Moses basket. He swipes at his eyes.

If his hand comes away wet, there's no one around to see.

He's used to being alone.

#rivers of light #my fic #maxiel #max/daniel #the mpreg train is leaving the station #(again)#prominent role played by Henry Hoover in this

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ghoulfuckersincorporated · 1 month ago

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Happy pride, y'all!

Is now a good time to drop my possibly hot/possibly lukewarm Joshua Graham x Caesar thoughts?

Those two never slammed ham, not once. Never even got close. Though I can see the appeal, and even the justification, in some people thinking they had a long-term relationship (or some other sort of entanglement that involved sex), I disagree. I think their relationship was a lot more fucked-up and pent-up than that, honestly.

Edward Sallow, aka "Caesar", is clearly gay. Even more clearly, he's a self-hating gay man, what with all the rampant homophobia and misogyny that perpetuates the entirety of the Legion. Homosexuality being punishable by death within the Legion—as well as all his preaching about self-sacrifice—co-existing with him buying Arcade as a boy pet (which is 100% what it is, you won't convince me otherwise) given the opportunity really seals the idea in my mind.

Joshua Graham is, at the very least, deeply bi-curious, but the New Canaanites were sure to hold onto the "God hates gays" rhetoric of their Mormon predecessors, so he's never acknowledged those feelings outside of burying them deep inside. By the time he's reached young adulthood, he's begun to acknowledge that he'll simply always have this secret yearning, and he tells himself he's fine with that. In his eyes, it's just one of the trials God has decided to give him in order to strengthen his faith.

Their relationship starts out as a quickly blossoming friendship (though Sallow definitely thought Joshua handsome from the beginning), a mutual admiration for one another's strengths and skills. Joshua admires Edward's charisma, his ability to take charge and make things happen. Edward thinks Joshua has a fascinating mind and commends his capacity for self-control, decorum.

While these two never slept together, they did share a closer physical intimacy than many folks around them; sharing all their meals together, being constantly hip-to-hip, sleeping on bed rolls right beside one another. Spending every moment of every day together for years on end will do that to you. Joshua appreciates having a close friend, as he always struggled to properly socialize in his youth. Edward also enjoys their proximity, but things are quickly becoming complicated for him.

While I can't imagine the guy who would later style himself as Caesar putting himself fully out there to possibly be rejected, especially over feelings that had grown so deep, I also can't imagine him keeping mum or being particularly subtle about his attraction. There are times where Joshua, too, "struggles with sin" and finds himself wanting to be really close to his companion, and Edward is quick to pick up on these "lapses in judgement". Maybe they kissed at some point, maybe they didn't; personally, I lean towards "they didn't, but there was one point where they both could very clearly feel that Joshua was thinking about it a bit too long".

These "near miss" moments accumulate over time, each one another small wound to both of their egos, another pound of weight on their friendship.

Edward's jealous, possessive, and only increasingly so as the years tick by. Though Joshua has a critical role in the overall function of the Legion, he's not really allowed to get close to any of his subordinates or advisors, lest they disappear, sent to other Legion outposts or worse. Bad things tend to happen to the (typically enslaved) women he has sex with, even if him doing so only happens sporadically. After all, it's still a sin, even if it's not with a man, and the much-feared Malpais Legate has a reputation to uphold, anyway. Even when he tries to keep his dalliances under wraps, though, somehow the mighty Caesar always manages to find out. Eventually, Joshua is effectively living in celibacy once more, and out of nothing but pure desire to avoid Edward's wrath.

Things begin to deteriorate long before the Battle of Hoover Dam. The two men are still close, but less like good friends and more like a toxic, codependent couple who refuse to break up. Joshua resents that he feels like he can't be close with anyone, even Edward, without there being major consequences. Though he'd never admit it out loud, he's deeply lonely and also sick of feeling like he constantly lives under the other man's thumb. He resents, as well, that Sallow continually insists on pressuring him into acknowledging a side of himself that he's perfectly happy to take to the grave.

Edward, on the other hand, resents feeling strung along and is driven crazy by the idea that he's managed to claw himself up to the position of a full-on dictator but still, somehow, can't have the man he wants. There's a part of him, as well, that dislikes not having full and total control over Joshua, given how much he knows about his secrets.

The reeling response across the ranks after the loss at Hoover Dam was not an initial incident; it was a final straw. Already deeply frustrated by his constant perceived rejection (and possibly sensing that Graham might've been searching for an exit door in the wake of his increasingly restricted lifestyle), Caesar found it rather easy to decide to make an example out of him. Besides, just putting him to a very public death is an easy enough way to ensure Josh can't tell people how truly weak he is.

I imagine he cried when he was finally alone that evening, coming to terms with the fact that the love of his life (or, the person that could've been if he'd just seen sense) is gone. There's not much joy in it for him, though, when he begins to hear whispers about the Malpais Legate surviving the fall.

#even if they did get together they both think they're tops so they would've had to deal with that drama #joshua graham #malpais legate #edward sallow #caesar fnv #caesar's legion #fallout new vegas #fnv

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rebouks · 1 year ago

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Previous // Next

Hiiiii Robin aka Bird Boy!

Sorry I took a bit longer than usual to reply but dad suddenly decided he’d had enough of the forest and we went back home! I thought maybe it’d be fun to wait a bit longer and show you our house and stuff. I don’t really like moving around all the time but I guess it kinda gives you lots of new stuff to talk about so that’s something.

This is our house! It’s not as big as yours looks but there’s only two of us and we’re not always here so it makes sense that it’s not massive. Dad usually rents it out whilst we’re not here cos he says it’s better for the house that it’s looked after but I know he means it’s better for his bank too lol!! I guess it works out for me though cos he says I can put as many plants as I want in my room as long as I keep them alive so they’d die if we left it empty every time we left. He says it’s like I brought the jungle inside hahaaha, I like it though!

The last person who rented the house was one of dad’s old work friends and he left this cool telescope for me to play with since I’m “so keen about the stars and shit” HIS WORDS! I know you’re supposed to use it at night but it’s kinda fun to spy on people during the day too. Like I’m pretty sure our neighbours are getting a divorce cos I overheard the guy moaning about the lady to my dad once and sometimes you can hear them yelling and see them waving their arms at each other through the window or on the balcony (don’t tell anyone though hahaa!)

I think dad’s kinda happy to be back (look how bushy his eyebrows are though ahahhhahah) he spends a lot of time fishing but I know it’s only a matter of time until he gets itchy and runs out of money again. Half of me wishes he’d get a good job here so we wouldn’t have to move around all the time but the other half is glad to leave. I guess it’s kinda nice here AND I was born here but I don’t even like swimming and there’s water and beaches EVERYWHERE ugh..

I guess I don’t really think Sulani feels like home anymore, not since mom died. It’s pretty and it’s nice but something is always missing so it’s kinda lame too if that makes sense. Maybe that’s why dad likes to leave sometimes too, I’d ask him but he’d probably get upset so maybe not! I was gonna leave that part out cos it’s a bummer but we don’t really keep many secrets from each other so I said it…

Anyway, dad’s a pig and never cleans ANYTHING and I think he got bored of me complaining about how big and heavy the vacuum is cos he got me a cool mini one (it’s a “sorry we move around so much but here’s a present so shh” present but I’ll take it hahaa) he took it off me for a few days after I hoovered some crumbs out of his bed and sucked up his headphones by accident but that’s his fault for eating cookies in bed when he should be sleeping.

Oh and since there’s not many fun rocks to find or dig up here I decided to start up my shell collection again. I found a few nice ones I guess but I really want to find a conch! Dad said they’re pretty rare but you’d think with all the stupid sand and beaches around here that I’d be able to find at least ONE even if it was a tiny one but not yet! I’ll let you know if I do though!

Anyway, I’m kinda sad we left Granite Falls in the end cos it was so close to the holidays I hoped maybe your family would go camping again and we’d be able to explore together again. Hopefully next time we move we’ll move even closer to where you live so there’s more chance we’ll get to see each other! A bird pooped on me the other day though which dad said is supposed to be lucky so I decided to believe him and hope we get to hang out again one day SOON (after I had a shower anyway because EUGH!)

Hope you’re okay and glad to be done with school for the summer!

Love Alex :)

#ts4 #sims 4 #simblr #ts4 story #sims story #forever in between #fib #alexandra sampson #brodie sampson #alex letter wooooooooooooo #🤸‍♀️#imagine the spying her n robin could get up to with his abilities and that telescope #sdkjsk

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chocolatemoneyrascalparty · 3 months ago

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Tori doesn't like birthdays. At all. Getting celebrated and getting presents, being cheered on and loud 'happy birthdays' screamed right into her ear. The happy birthday messages on the phone that is supposed to be answered with a heartfelt 'thank you' and a heart, is frankly disgusting. Being the center of attention isn't nice, she would prefer being curled up in her room with her blog, and it doesn't help that family arrives from the entire country and Spain. It's awkward, most times, with the whole family at one place. Too much talk about Charlie's sexuality or eating habits. When will he get a girl? Not eating much, are you haha? Too much talking about Tori's life. What will you do after you graduate? So.. no boyfriend yet? How's the driving lessons going? Dinners and a candlelit cake and fake enthusiasm over bad presents. She doesn't want more books. She doesn't read anymore.

When she was little it wasn't like that. Or atleast, she didn't think about it. Didn't have to worry about Charlie. When she was little she liked birthdays, liked having parties and getting gifts. Harry Potter books and pokémon cards. Oliver seems to like parties, always has a big one at his birthday. Invites all his schoolmates with personally written invitation cards, on paper and everything. He enjoys getting gifts and gets genuinely happy about what he gets, always a happy smile. Tori isn't jealous of him.

Charlie doesn't do family parties at his birthdays anymore. Doesn't do family parties for his birthday, ever. Goes out with his friends instead, takes cheeky pictures with Nick and posts them on Instagram. Drinking milkshakes and playing at the arcade. Their parents allows him, not wanting him to get upset or ruin his mental health. They've gotten softer on him, since his diagnosis. On everything except food.

Tori asked their mum if she could skip having a party, just this year. Doesn't want to speak to granny about her life is going. Would rather be curled up in her room, watching The Breakfast Club or Little Miss Perfect instead.

Her mum had sighed, stopped loading the dishwasher. Sauce dropped from the fork she was holding. Tori lingered by the kitchencounter, red clock digits on the oven showing 21:38. Oliver sleeping since long upstairs, Charlie doing whatever in his room. Dad not home from work yet. Her mother had looked at her, bent over the dishwasher, said-

"It's your 18th birthday, Victoria." She had said, as if Tori wasn't aware. The fork gets put down into the dishwasher, staining the other utensils somewhat. The chili in the dinner made the sauce red. Tori fidgets with her hands, pulling skin.

"I don't want a party this year." Tori repeated, nails digging into skin. She doesn't like the attention.

Her mother sighed, again. Stood straight to grab the pot the rice was cooked and served in. Put it down in the dishwasher, made space for it. "Your father's parents has already bought flight tickets." Her mother said and Tori didn't feel like fighting. Didn't feel the need to argue. Turning 18 is big, after all. Parties are for celebrating. She should be happy people love her.

She thinks about calling Micheal. To talk, or to invite him to the party. Finger hoovering over the call button. Hesitates, because she isn't one to call people. She isn't the one that reaches out. Doesn't call, in the end, because she doesn't know what to say. She's upset over the fact she gets a party. She can't even invite her boyfriend to a family party. It's ridiculously childish.

Michael turns up anyway, unannounced. Hours into the party, with somewhat drunk uncles and snotty small cousins, he's at the porch holding a cupcake.

"Hi," he says. As if he's expected. His hair is wet, curls up against his head. He must have showered recently. "Heard you needed rescuing."

Tori squints her eyes at him. Doesn't like that he knows that. He smiles, somewhat unsure, with crooked teeth. "Charlie told me," he explains.

"He talks too much," she says and he laughs. Shoves his hands and the cupcake inside his trenchcoat's pocket. She looks back into the house. The adults are laughing a little too loudly to be sober, the small cousins are running around chasing eachother, Oliver lays under a table with his dinasours. Charlie has disappeared since long, messaged her that he went to Nick's.

Tori shrugs. Grabs her coat and her shoes. They walk. It will take some time before anyone realises she's gone. Michael takes her hand, as if it's normal, and she rubs her thumb over the back of his hand. Silence doesn't get awkward with Michael and she's grateful for it.

They stop at the wooden bridge. Water pouring under them, birds chirping. Green trees, green grass, soft sunlight. She gets splinters in her skin from the bridge's fence when she rests her hands on it. He hands her a cupcake, honey and white chocolate. It's slightly crushed. He gives her a soda, citrus flavoured.

Michael looks out at the water, sunlight hits his face. "Happy birthday, Tori," he says. And maybe, he should come to more family parties. Maybe, presents and attention are nice when it's with Michael.

#michael holden #victoria spring #tori spring #charlie spring #heartstopper #nick nelson #osemanversespring2025 #my posts

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hiraeth-ink · 2 years ago

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Could I Be Yours (a Joel Miller fic) Part 3

Pairing - Joel x Married Female Reader

Series Summary - You’ve been married for two years now to your long term man Marcus, but with your dwindling sex life and your marriage on the rocks, you came to an agreement. You're allowed to sleep with other men. The only rules? 1- You have to tell your husband about it. 2- No staying the night, you always leave after sex. And lastly, rule number 3, you can’t sleep with the same man more than once. These rules are in place to avoid feelings blooming, but what happens when you meet Joel, and end up breaking all of the rules? Will it break your marriage too? If faced with a choice between Joel Miller and your husband, who would you choose?

Read part 1 and part 2

Chapter summary - With your feelings for Joel making themselves known you try and make a decision regarding your marriage.

Warnings - infidelity, smut, protected + unprotected piv, oral sex (fem receiving), tiny bit of angst, Joel being a menace, Joel being vulnerable, angry Marcus.

Word Count - 7k+

a/n - Tysm for the continued love and support for this series! So so grateful

Your phone pings with a text notification exactly twenty four hours after you left Joel’s house, exactly twenty four hours after you ran away. You didn’t read it straight away, you couldn’t face what you imagined to be a rejection. So, you turned your phone over so the screen was out of view and busied yourself with a deep clean of the house, you changed bed sheets, cleaned the bathroom and the kitchen, hoovered and mopped the floors but you still saw his face when you blinked, his dark eyes engraved into your eyelids. You showered, washed your hair and aggressively cleaned your body, but you still felt Joel’s trail of lingering kisses burning your skin. Unable to uselessly distract yourself any longer, you picked up your phone and opened the text message from Joel.

Everything ok, sweetheart? You kinda rushed off on me. Call me :)

Reading the text, you struggled to gather your thoughts and make sense of your feelings. It wasn’t a rejection, a hey i don't think we should see eachother anymore text, but it didn’t give you any answers either. He seemed so nonchalant, so blase, as if you hadn’t opened up to him about your feelings at all, as if he hadn't completely and utterly confused you.

Unsure of what to respond, you decide against responding all together, for now, at least. You didn’t feel as though you could call him, you couldn’t even decide on words to send him in a text, there was no way your brain would be able to conjure up a response in real time over the phone. So, you put your phone down again and got through the rest of your weekend, trying not to think about him.

Nothing had changed between you and Marcus, not that you expected it to, you lived like roommates, as if you shared this house and nothing more. He came home late on Saturday night and was out of the house before you woke up on Sunday morning, not even giving you a chance to ask where he was going, although you weren’t sure you would, given the chance.

Monday came and went, with little to no interaction with Marcus, piles of work that you had to get done and a missed call from Joel. You didn’t see the call until an hour later and were too swamped to call back, so you left it. That night after work, you contemplated calling him back, Marcus wasn’t home so you didn't have to worry about him hearing, but you were at a loss for words. You had no idea what to say to Joel, but worse than your lack of words were your nerves. You were nervous as to what his words would be, so you didn’t call.

The next day at work was quieter, you didn’t have to eat your lunch at your desk while you worked so you went for a walk on your lunch break, sitting in the park not far from the office with your lunch. As you sat down, you felt your phone vibrating and, fishing it out of your back pocket, read Joel’s name in bold font across your phone screen. Staring at the writing for a few seconds and taking a deep breath, you answered the phone, unable to avoid him any longer. You held the phone up to your ear and watched a bird fly out of a hole in a tree, internally wondering if it was fleeing the nest, like you wanted to and spoke a quiet, “Hi.”

“Hey, sweetheart,” his gruff voice sent shivers down your back, “what's goin’ on, are you ok?”

“I’m ok,” you sigh, mentally kicking yourself for your inability to just let it out, and pause before continuing, “are you?”

“Yeah, I’m just at work,” there was a brief pause, a beat of silence where you both held your phones to your ears, thinking of the right words to say. “Listen, when we were talking that night, I panicked… I kinda froze, I guess.” His voice was apologetic, his normally confident speech was broken into parts by breaks and pauses, stutters and stammers, as if he had thought of what to say beforehand but had more words on his mind. “I shoulda’ said more, I just got nervous,” you heard him take a sip of a drink before continuing, “it’s been years since I’ve felt anything for anyone and…. It's a little weird feelin’ this way for a married woman,” he released a small chuckle at his words, “but I’d be an idiot not to see what happens.”

“I…. Joel I don’t really know what to say,” you answered truthfully, you wished that words would come to your mind, any words other than the ones you spoke, but none did. You were so taken aback by his speech that nothing was coming out of your mouth. Luckily, Joel filled the silence.

“Sarah’s stayin’ at a friends again on Friday. Do ya’ wanna come over?” He asked before quickly adding, “I’ll cook.” As if you needed any more convincing.

“I’d love to,” you said, your smile steadily widening as you spoke.

“And bring some clothes to sleep in this time,” he added, and although his voice was as deep and gruff as ever, you swore you could hear his smile.

“I’d rather wear your clothes to sleep, honestly,” you retorted before saying your goodbyes, with Joel promising to check in with you in a couple days.

After the conversation, Joel was feeling better. His thoughts were still clouded by you, but they were no longer negative. He no longer worried he’d ruined everything by shutting down that night, but his worries were persistent when it came to his feelings. It had been so long since he had felt anything other than lust for a woman, so long since he had wanted to cater to a woman, so long since the word relationship had crossed his mind. This was terrifying for Joel already, but factoring in the fact that you were married to another man made it so much worse. He knew you were unhappy with your husband but he didn't know your plans, he didn't know what you saw for yourself in the future. He didn’t know if you would leave your husband or stay married to him. Worst of all, he didn’t know if you thought about him, the way he thought about you. Joel could no longer ignore the rush he experienced when you were around. The dam inside him had broken and although vulnerability did not come easily to him, he was willing to be vulnerable for you, willing to be open for you. He was ready to expose his heart to you, rip it out of his chest and hold it up to you to show the speed at which it beat when you were around him. He needed to know that you felt the same. That you had to remind yourself to breathe when you saw him, just like he had to do when you looked his way. He needed to know if your heartbeat quickened when you saw him, if it synced with his when you caught eyes.

Joel had never known a woman like you, a woman so strong, intelligent, funny and witty. Joel had never had sex as good as he did with you and Joel had never felt such a wordless connection. He felt the connection immediately, when he looked around the bar that night and found you already looking at him, he felt compelled to approach you. He felt confident under your gaze, just like he felt dizzy underneath your touch, enchanted beneath your spell.

Joel cringed when his mind circled back to the conversation that was had in his bed, his nervous, thoughtless reaction that caused you to leave so quickly the next morning. Watching you leave like that, almost sprinting out of the house, had him reeling, searching his memories for something that would have caused it. He didn't have to backtrack for long, his short answer and haste kiss on the cheek was now engraved into his brain, his own voice taunting him whenever his mind was quiet. It had been so long since he felt this way that his first reaction was to sabotage himself, but he didn't want to do that anymore, he didn’t want to stand in his own way when he could have you.

After a good day at work on Thursday, you ran into a slight problem after arriving home. You had been relying on Marcus going to his weekly guys night on Friday, so you wouldn’t have to lie about your whereabouts. So, your surprise was evident when he’d asked, almost immediately after you’d walked through the door, “How about we have a night in tomorrow? Just the two of us.”

“I thought you were going to your guys night again?” The first half of your answer was genuine, at least, “I made plans with Carrie for tomorrow,” you lied through your teeth, “think we’re gonna’ have a pamper, self care sort of night. I’m sorry.” Although you really didn’t feel sorry at all. Was he really trying now? Trying to spend more time with you, trying to pay more attention to you again? As soon as you stopped showing signs of sadness at his lack of attention, love and time spent on you, he tried to suck you back in, but when you were upset and trying your hardest to make the marriage work, he was nowhere to be found.

“Guess I’ll go see the guys, then,” he huffed loudly, like a child unable to get their own way, and headed for the stairs. Halfway through the living room, he turned around, pointed towards the bouquet that Joel bought for you, and asked, “By the way, who got you those flowers?”. And fuck, you had completely forgotton that you decided to deal with the flowers later, not realising then that later would be almost a week later, with Marcus shooting daggers at you from across the room.

“Oh… I got them,” you began your lie, “for myself. Saw the florist after work on Friday and, I haven’t had flowers in the house in a while so,” you felt yourself starting to ramble so you cut yourself off with a shrug, your heart beating in your ears as you watched him walk away once again.

That night, when you went to bed, the door to the guest bedroom was closed, and you could see a sliver of light underneath the door. Walking into your bedroom, the bed was empty and completely untouched, confirming your suspicions that Marcus had decided to sleep in the spare bedroom. Months ago, this distance would have clutched tightly at your heart like a fist, your eyes would have welled with tears and you would feel only despair for the end of your marriage. But looking at the empty bed, there were no tears, only a dull ache at the thought of the last 12 years spent with Marcus. A dull ache that solidified that you no longer loved him, a dull ache that announced to you that maybe you were ready to leave him. A dull ache that symbolised your decision finally being made.

Going to sleep that night, you decided that you would talk to Marcus about a divorce as soon as you could, that you would look for your own home to move into, one that wasn’t already filled with your own memories, one that hadn't housed you in your unhappiness for so long. For the first time, you slept soundly that night, and awoke excited at the prospect of being alone, of building and focusing on your own life, rather than building your life around someone else’s.

In a shockingly good mood all throughout Friday, you weren’t surprised that you hadn’t seen Marcus all day, but you figured you would be able to talk to him about going your separate ways later on in the weekend, and instead, focused your efforts and excitement on getting ready to go to Joel’s. Opting for a comfortable outfit of denim shorts and a strappy tank top, you headed to Joel’s, nervous excitement brimming inside you. Parking in his driveway and knocking on his door had your heart almost slamming out of your chest, you thought of the last time you had been here, the way you had wanted to leave as quickly as possible. Faced with the prospect of seeing him again, being in his space, you couldn’t wait to walk through the door.

“Well don’t you look cute,” he smiled as he opened the door, moving to the side, gesturing for you to walk past him and inside the house. Taking a second to take him in, you noticed that his hair was wet, slicked back tidily at the front, but his curls were slowly forming at the back of his head, where his hair was drying quicker. He looked so handsome like this, you loved his hair when it was curly and unruly, but like this, you could see his whole face, completely unobstructed and fuck, he was beautiful.

“You look so handsome,” you said, still taking in his appearance, “did you just get out of the shower?” He wore grey sweatpants and a black, short sleeved t-shirt that was once again, impossibly tight around his shoulders and biceps. His big, broad frame would make any shirt look tight on him, as if it were fighting not to break, not to unravel under the pressure.

“Yeah, I did,” he answered while leading you into the living room, where the tv was playing something you couldn’t quite make out, “shame you missed it.” You were worried that you wouldn’t be able to escape the air of awkwardness, worried that the ending of your last meeting would dull the start of this one, but hearing his words and seeing his smirk reassured you that there would be no such thing.

“There’s always time for that,” you laughed as you sat on the sofa beside him and he quickly placed his arm on the back of the couch, allowing you to sink into him. “I was promised food,” you gave him a pointed look as you spoke, “what are you cooking?”

“About that,” he looked at you sheepishly and paused, a small smile on his face, “the more I thought about what to cook, the more nervous I got so I thought we could just order somethin’.” Your grin widened at his abashed expression, finding his words absolutely adorable, and leaned into kiss him, mumbling against his mouth that you had been craving pizza anyway. Joel hummed in approval against your mouth, leaned into the kiss before pulling away to get up and ordering the pizza. He rolled his eyes when you asked for a hawaiian, but relayed the order over the phone with no complaints.

“Said it’d be around 45 minutes, s’ a busy night,” he held your chin gently with his thumb and forefinger, turned your head to face him and softly slotted his lips with yours. His plump lips moved with yours in an easy, almost lazy rhythm as he opened your legs and moved to settle between them, allowing you to feel his already hard length. You wrapped your legs around his hips, pulling him deeper into your embrace as he licked deeper into your mouth, you were so close, but you wanted more, you wanted him as close as possible.

“Joel,” you gasped as he started grinding his length into you, the denim of your shorts adding to the friction. His lips moved down to your neck, trailing kisses down your neck to your chest, pulling you top down to expose your breasts before landing his lips on your nipple, lapping his tongue around it and sucking it into his mouth as your breathing picked up, small gasps and whimpers being released from your mouth. “Joel please,” you looked down at him as he moved on to your other breast and repeated the actions, “touch me,” you begged.

“I am touching you, sweetheart,” you whined at his cocky response and moved your hips, grinding upwards to add friction where you needed it most. Joel looked at where you were desperately moving your hips and let out a chuckle, a chuckle that made you feel small and almost pathetic, but also made you all the more wet and needy for him. His hand trailed down your body, from your breast to the top of your denim shorts, dipping beneath the hem and circling your skin with a featherlight touch. “You want me down here, baby?” He asked as he undid the button of your shorts and started pushing them down, you instinctively lifted your hips so he could pull your shorts down completely, leaving you in your underwear, with your hard nipples exposed to Joel’s hungry gaze. Lifting your legs so that your thighs rested against your front, Joel directed your hands to the backs of your thighs and instructed, “Hold em’ right here f’me, baby,” before kneeling on the floor, positioning himself so that his face was level with your clothed pussy. Joel growled as he looked at the wet spot rapidly growing on your underwear, and you watched him with wide eyes as he ran his nose down your seam, from your clit to your hole and back up again and, to your complete surprise, unabashedly inhaling your scent. Your hands moved from holding your legs to holding your face, covering it in embarrassment, but Joel would let you do no such thing. He grabbed your elbows from his position below you and pulled them down. He moved your underwear to the side, licked a stripe up your pussy.

“Don’t be embarrassed,” he said before harshly sucking your clit into his mouth and stopping to speak again, “I love everything about this pussy, baby. The taste, the smell,” he said in a low growl, before beginning his attack on your centre. He alternated between licking and slurping passionately at your clit, wrapping his lips around it and sucking it into his mouth, and pushing his tongue inside you. You couldn’t keep your moans to yourself, your body was reacting to his touches loudly and openly, your moans loud and high pitched, while your legs shook every time Joel’s mouth wrapped around your clit.

“Joel,” you gasped, your voice shaky as your eyes fluttered shut, unable to keep them open as Joel continued his merciless attack. Your breath hitched and your eyes shot open when you felt a finger prodding at your entrance, before thrusting in and out of you at a fast pace. “Joel, please,” you said, louder this time, “I wanna come, Joel, please,” you continued in an unstable voice as you looked down at him. Joel didn’t answer with words, but with growls and groans of his own as he tasted you. His fingers curled at that spot guaranteed to make you scream, and his hand moved to your lower stomach, sprawled out adding pressure. You were hurtling towards your release, and recognised a feeling only Joel had pulled out of you before. “Joel stop I’m gonna make a mess,” you spoke quickly, the words coming out jumbled together as your breath quickened drastically.

“I want you to make a mess of my face, baby,” Joel said quickly before reattaching his mouth to you, pushing you further towards release, before speaking again, “give me what I want.”

His words made you give in immediately, no longer caring about making a mess, you gave in to Joel’s movements, your whines becoming more and more high pitched as he continued his movements. You couldn’t speak, only let out incoherent whines and pleas, before your mouth opened in a silent scream, the only sound leaving you was that of your breath hitching and the squelch of the wetness between your legs as it gushed out of you. Joel muttered, “good girl,” as you came down, your breath violently being pushed out of you as you watched him rise from his knees, the bottom half of his face soaked with your juices, as was his forearm. You bit your lip at the evidence of your orgasm that covered him, leaving a shine on his skin.

“I need you inside,” you whispered as he hovered above you, overcome with desire to be full of him. He quickly put on a condom and returned to his position.

“You’re so beautiful,” he muttered as he kissed your temple and leaned back to line himself up with your entrance. “Love watching you come for me,” he said as he pushed the tip inside, the last word of the sentence trailing off into a low groan as he felt your warmth enveloping him.

He pushed inside slowly, allowing you to adjust to his size, before wrapping his arms around your thighs and lifting them up, your feet in the air next to his head, leaving only your shoulders and upper back on the sofa. When he was happy with the position, he started thrusting all the way in and out of you quickly as he held you still by your legs, until the sound of your skin slapping could be heard throughout the room. A moan was forced out of your mouth with each thrust, your throat opening up to release a breath each time Joel filled you to the brim, he fucked you hard and fast while he let out grunts and groans of his own, inbetween strings of praise.

“This pussy feels so fuckin’ good,” he exhaled, and while his voice showed signs of fatigue, his body showed no signs of slowing down as he placed your back flat on the sofa and pushed your legs down so that your thighs rested against your stomach once again. This time, he didn’t instruct you to hold them, but held them down himself as he fucked you. The change in angle allowed him to push inside and reach deeper than before, knocking the wind out of you as he brushed the spot only he could reach. He watched as your eyes rolled back and fluttered closed, your mouth opening to let out loud whimpers and whines at how deep you felt him, and he whispered, “that’s it, baby,” before slowing down slightly, allowing you to feel every inch of him grinding into you. “This pussy takes me so fuckin’ good, you’re such a good girl.”

“So deep,” you replied breathlessly, his praise making your head spin. Joel’s hand suddenly settles at your neck, only applying slight pressure, pressure that, mixed with the fullness his cock gave, made you gasp in pleasure.

“I know it’s deep but you can take it, right?” he asked and you nodded your head erratically, as best as you could with his hand around your neck. “That’s right, my good girl takes it all.” You involuntarily clenched around him at his words, his smirk returning to his lips as he felt the effect that he had on you. “Touch your pretty little clit f’me,” he ordered, his voice breathy but still dominant, “make yourself come on my cock.”

You moved your hand down towards your centre and felt where your bodies met, where he was stretching you out like no one had done before, and surely like no one ever would again. Moving your fingers upwards towards your clit, you moved your fingers in tight, steady circles in an effort to make yourself come, wanting to do everything he asked of you, if it meant hearing even a morsel more of his praise. Your moans grew louder as you grew closer with each grind of Joel’s hips and each flick of your fingers. Between whines and gasps you tried to speak, “Joel, fuck, I’m gonna’,” but the words came out jumbled and broken, “Oh my God, you’re gonna make me,” you broke off in a high pitched moan, the noise accompanied by the squelching sound of your wetness gushing out of you as Joel kept thrusting hard, and he didn’t stop until he emptied into the condom with a low grunt and an extended fuuuuck.

Catching your breath, you watched as Joel ran to grab a cloth, still completely naked, and returned to gently clean you up. He put his boxers and sweats back on, but threw his shirt towards you, grumbling about how that would be comfier than, “those tight ass shorts,” before going to the kitchen. While he was gone, you got up to put your underwear back on and slipped his shirt over your head, feeling comfy and safe, enveloped in his clothes that still held his scent. Joel came back with a glass of water in his hand, “Just realised I didn’t even offer you a drink when you came in,” he placed the glass in your hand before sitting next to you and pulling you close.

“Your southern hospitality’s awful,” you giggled, “fucking me without even asking if I was thirsty?”

Joel opened his mouth to answer but was soon stopped by the doorbell ringing. “‘S probably the pizza,” he mumbled as he got up and walked to the door, paying the man and grabbing the pizza boxes in his hands before turning around and kicking the door closed. He settled next to you on the sofa again, placing the pizzas on the table and opening them up.

The tv was on, but you were hardly paying attention to what was playing, some re-run of an old show with an obnoxiously loud laughing track, you preferred to listen to Joel tell you about his week. He told you about his brother's mistakes that angered him to no end and the shock of his daughter asking him if he was seeing anyone.

“She asked you that?” He nodded at your question as he took a huge chunk out of his slice of pizza, chewing obnoxiously.

“Yeah,” he said, “she’s a little suspicious, I think Tommy might’ve mentioned something.”

“You talk to Tommy about me or something?” You asked teasingly, sitting back on the sofa and huffing at how full you felt.

He threw his last crust onto the pizza box, chewing his last bite before answering, “Had to explain why I kept checkin’ my phone somehow.” He sent you a wink as he spoke, smiling at you as you yawned and quickly tried to cover your mouth with your hand.

“You tired?”

“No,” you said sheepishly.

“C’mon, let’s go to bed,” he held your hand and began tugging you up off the sofa.

“I don’t want to sleep yet,” you whined, not wanting the night to end so quickly.

“We can just relax in bed for a while, baby,” he tugged you towards the stairs, gesturing for you to walk up first. He gave your ass a couple light slaps as you walked up, earning giggles from you. You brushed your teeth side by side, stealing glances at each other in the mirror and Joel left for the bedroom while you used the toilet.

Crawling into bed beside Joel, you inched closer towards him and found comfort in his outstretched arms. You lay facing each other, one of his arms resting underneath your body, allowing you to be as close as you could. He held you with a gentle grip, his big hands were outstretched, one spread across your back underneath his shirt and the other rested on your bicep. His hands were momentarily still, allowing you to feel the warmth of his hands, the heat being transferred from Joel’s body to yours through his soft touch. He continued to look at you as he started moving his hands, his fingers gently moving along your skin, as though he was connecting constellations in the stars. Your eyes followed his fingers carefully, your eyes traced their every move, just as the tips of his fingers traced every curve of your body, every bump or scar on your skin. And under the trace of his fingers, under the gaze of his eyes you felt truly seen. Has anybody seen you the way he saw you then? His gaze was heavy, his stare intense, but you didn’t shy away from his eyes, you didn’t flinch from his featherlight touch, you returned his stare and you returned his caress. Your fingers started moving along the skin of his arms, along the lines in his face, as if off their own accord. You subjected him to the same heavy, all consuming gaze as you looked into his eyes. You subjected him to the same featherlight, earnest touch as you ran your hands down his back, his sides, his arms, his face, anywhere you could reach. Because in that moment you saw him and he saw you.

You moved your hand up to Joel’s now dishevelled hair and ran your hand through it but Joel was quick to stop your endeavour. He grasped your wrist in his hand and turned it around, so that your palm was facing you. You watched as he looked at your hand with a furrowed brow. You couldn’t understand why your hand had captivated him so intensely until his other hand came up to join yours in front of his face, and he traced your wedding band with his thumb.You opened your mouth to speak but no words left your throat, and Joel’s words lingered in the air instead.

“Take the ring off.” He was now looking at you rather than at your ring, his eyes bored into yours as a shocked expression overtook your features. “Please,” he added, almost desperately, his voice nothing more than a whimper. “Just for tonight, I wanna’ pretend you're not his, that you’re mine.”

His confession almost broke you. You had struggled while coming to grips with your feelings but hadn’t thought about how Joel must feel, seeing a married woman, sleeping with a married woman, knowing that she was going home to her husband eventually. You carefully slid your wedding ring off your finger and moved from the bed to place it in your bag. When you climbed back into bed, you placed your left hand, now lacking your wedding ring, onto his cheek and, looking into his eyes, told Joel what you wished was true, “I’m yours, Joel.”

Joel’s lips met yours in a tender kiss, and when they departed, Joel spoke into your mouth, “I’m yours too,” his words left his lips, travelled down your throat and into your body, and devastated you from the inside out, “I’ll still be yours when you go back to him.”

You couldn’t speak, no helpful words came to your mind as you looked into Joel’s eyes. They looked into yours with a sad longing, one that you were sure was reflected in your own eyes. Unable to conjure up the words, you put your lips to his and kissed him deeply, pushing all the words you couldn't say into his mouth, willing him to understand you through your touch. His palm came to rest at the back of your neck, softly keeping you in place as he kissed you back, his tongue licking into your mouth as his other hand went to your lower back and pulled you closer towards him until your front was flush with his. His mouth left yours and placed kisses down your neck while his hands went to the ends of the shirt you were wearing, pulling it up and over your head. You did the same to him, wanting to feel his skin on yours, with nothing between your bodies.

He went to position himself further down the bed, further down your body and slowly spread your legs, but the sudden feeling of emptiness that dominated you made your arms lower to his, and your hands pulled at him to bring his face to yours again. The emptiness could be felt throughout your body, and you knew it would only be satisfied by Joel filling you up. “I just want you inside,” you whispered when his face was level with yours again.

“At least let me open you up first,” he said with furrowed brows, not wanting to hurt you, but pain was the last thing on your mind at that moment. You just wanted him. You wanted to feel him everywhere.

“Please,” you asked, “I need it.” He said nothing in response, only reached over your body to get into the bedside drawer, pulling out a condom. Your disappointment was evident in your face, and you let out a quiet, “no,” that was barely above a whisper. He turned his head to look at you and raised an eyebrow.

“I want to feel you, Joel,” you said, your voice still quiet, “all of you.” Suddenly worried about his response, you added, “I’m clean, I got checked last time I was at the gynaecologist.” You took a deep breath before continuing. “I haven’t been with… him since then.” Your voice was timid and nervous, unsure how to explain that it had been weeks, months even, since you had slept with your husband. You were anxious to bring him up in such a conversation, unable to say his name, you knew he would know exactly who you were talking about.

He grimaced at your words, at the mention of your husband, but quickly hid his distaste, “I got tested after the last person I slept with, I’m clean too” his soft voice matched your quiet words as he placed the condom back in the drawer and pulled you close again. “Are you sure?” he asked, his eyes searching yours for any aversion, any discomfort, but only found a pleading want as you nodded your head and whispered a yes.

He positioned himself in between your legs and kissed you softly while running his fingers through your folds, gathering your wetness onto his hand, circling your clit teasingly once, and spreading your juices onto his cock. His lips didn’t leave yours as he positioned his tip at your entrance and pushed himself inside you, moving inch by inch, creating a delicious burn as he stretched you out and filled you to the brim.

“You feel so fuckin’ good, sweetheart,”

You wrapped your legs around him in an attempt to pull him closer, although it felt impossible. He stayed fully seated inside of you, completely enveloped by your warmth as you both let out gasps and groans at the feeling. When Joel started moving, it was a slow, steady grind. Barely a movement, but enough to cause a delicious friction for both of you. You let out high pitched gasps of his name and he released grunts of yours. Your back arched as his tip kissed that spot so deep inside of you and his arms moved smoothly under your body, wrapping around you and holding you tight. You wrapped your arms around his neck, your fingers running through his hair and pulling as he pushed heavy breaths out of your lungs.

In a messy, close tangling of limbs that was both greedy and unhurried, needy but not rushed, you felt him deep inside of you. You felt his whole length inside of you as he ground further into you, barely leaving the warmth of your cunt, only wanting to feel close to you, not wanting the separation that came with a full thrust.

“Joel,” you gasped, “Joel, please,” your mouth started to babble, the words involuntarily leaving you as he grunted in your ear, the sounds only heightening your wetness, your pussy clenching around his cock each time you heard him.

“What is it, sweetheart?” He asked with a hard grind of his hips, pushing impossibly deeper inside.

“I want you to fill me up, Joel,” you begged, your voice cracking with need.

“You’re already full o’me, baby,” he chuckled into your ear, taking your earlobe in between his teeth, licking and nibbling while continuing the rhythmic grind of his hips.

“No, Joel,” you were cut off by a loud moan leaving your throat as his hand slipped between your bodies to your clit, his fingers moving in tight, unfaltering circles to match the press of his hips. “I want you to come inside me.”

Joel groaned loudly as soon as the words reached his ears, gasping your name in equal parts shock and contentment. He pulled his head back to look into your eyes, his eyebrows raised in a wordless question.

“I have an IUD,” you said while pressing your hands into his lower back, wanting him, needing him deeper. His fingers moved quicker on your clit as he groaned at your admission, his hips faltering slightly.

“Such a fuckin’ good girl for me,” he grunted out, “lettin’ me stuff you full.” You moaned at his words and clamped down around his cock. The steady grind of his hips had now faltered and he was thrusting in and out of you slowly, but he was just as deep as before. This change in movement caused his tip to brush that spot over and over, in a quick procession. This, mixed with his words and grunts in your ear and his finger running firm circles on your clit made you come completely unannounced. It hit you like a wall and there was nothing you could say, you came with your mouth open in a silent scream, your walls clamped around his cock and fluttered gratefully. Your chest moved up and down with heavy breaths as Joel continued to fuck into you, pushing so deep inside and moaning your praise.

“That’s my good girl, fuck,” his grunts were becoming louder, deeper as he hurtled toward his orgasm, his hips stammering the closer he got. “Tell me you’re mine,” he said, his voice a mix between a plea and a command. “Fuckin tell me you’re mine,” he repeated, louder than before.

“I’m yours, Joel,” you said through moans, he was fucking you hard and deep, messy and hurried. “I’m yours,” you repeated once more before pleading, “come inside me, Joel.”

He let out a low growl at your words, and pushed himself deep, so that he was fully seated inside you, and let go, coming inside of you before pulling out to watch his spend trickle out of you, pushing it back in with his fingers before it could go far.

Exhausted, you lay down and closed your eyes, feeling the absence of his presence for a moment, until he returned to clean you up and got into bed beside you. You had read and read but never understood the feeling expressed in Jane Eyre of feeling so close to a lover, of being bone of his bone, and flesh of his flesh. You had certainly never felt that close to Marcus. But in that moment, lying there with Joel, with your wedding ring thrown to the side and forgotten, your skin connected to his, your legs tangled together, as if you had tied yourselves to one another in an effort to keep each other near, you felt it, you understood.

The last thing you remembered before falling completely asleep was Joel placing a soft kiss on your temple.

You woke to an empty bed the next morning, the sheets crumpled and still warm to the touch on Joel’s side. Getting out of bed, you put on Joel’s shirt again and brushed your teeth in the bathroom before walking towards the stairs. At the top of the stairs you were met with the sight of Joel walking up, with a cup of coffee in each hand.

“Go back to bed,” his soft command was met with a look of confusion from you. “My plan was to wake you up with coffee in bed,” he explained, “so go back to bed.” You giggled at his thoughtfulness and upon hearing Joel’s quiet, “please,” turned around and walked back to the bedroom, settling into bed once more. You listened to the patter of his footsteps up the stairs and towards the room and the sexy gruff of his voice wishing you a “Mornin’, darlin’,” as he walked in, as if he hadn’t already seen you that morning.

He placed a cup of coffee in your outstretched hands and sat in bed beside you, wrapping an arm around your shoulder and kissing your forehead.

“Thank you, Joel,” you whispered, smiling up at him, leaning up and pressing your lips against his. Last night was still at the forefront of your mind and you were overcome with emotions you couldn’t quite explain.

“Listen,” Joel began, “I meant what I said last night,” his words came at exactly the right time.

“I want you,” he explained, “and not just like this, I want all of you. But I need to know what your plans are, I need to know I’m not getting invested for nothing.” He took a deep breath before continuing, “You might be mine for now but when you go home to him, I still belong to you. So I just, I need to know.”

“I’m not staying with him Joel. It’s just, it's a big thing, a long process.” You wished you could give him more reassurance, but you weren’t sure what you could say that would put his mind at ease. You looked into his eyes and said, “I want you, not him.”

Joel’s hand came up to your cheek, lightly stroking the skin next to your ear with his thumb, “I don't want to put pressure on you, I just need to know that this is going somewhere.”

“It is,” you promised, “I’ll talk to him.” You pressed a kiss to his lips, as if you were sealing a promise, and felt nothing but happiness and safety.

The rest of the morning passed in pure domestic bliss, Joel cooked breakfast and you both drank another coffee while you talked over the show that was on tv. When it was time for you to leave, you reluctantly got dressed and gathered your things and climbed into the car, rolling the window down. Joel stood next to the window and leaned in to kiss you goodbye. Unable to leave yet, the goodbye kiss turned into an I don’t want to go kiss, full of uncertainty and words you wanted to say but couldn’t quite articulate. Pulling away you settled on a meek, “bye,” while Joel promised to call you soon. Joel watched and waved as you reversed out of his driveway and drove away, both of your minds full of possibilities for the future.

Your drive home was uneventful. You felt positive and excited, you were finally clear on your plans. You knew that you had to speak to Marcus about your marriage, suggest a separation and request a divorce and although you knew this would be difficult, your happiness was worth it, with or without Joel in the picture. You expected to arrive back to an empty house, like you normally did. What you didn’t expect to see was Marcus sitting at the dining table, facing the door, as if he was waiting for your return.

With shock evident in your voice, you let out a weak, “Hi,” but upon noticing the expression on his face you added, “are you ok, Marcus?” He looked disappointed, his hand held the bottom of his face and his brows were furrowed together.

“Where were you last night?” His question threw you off, and you scrambled to answer.

“I was at Carrie-”

“I know you weren’t at Carrie’s so I’ll ask one more time,” his voice was raised and firm, “where were you last night?” He spoke slowly, the anger he felt slowing down his speech. You knew then that the expression on his face wasn’t disappointment, it was anger, fury. You felt frozen on the spot, your mouth sewed shut with shock, you didn’t move or speak, only looked down at your feet, nervously bringing your hands together and fiddling with your thumbs.

Your heart jumped at the next words from Marcus, his booming voice only adding to the thumping acceleration of your heart.

“Why aren’t you wearing your ring?”

Thank you so much for reading!! Comments and reblogs are always appreciated :) Part 4 soon

Taglist - @untamedheart81 @smol-beb @harriedandharassed @southernbe

@urfknlame @sheepdogchick3 @csarab615 @janellesbody @anoverwhelmingdin @milly-louise@joeldjarin@mumma-moonchild@faith-alons26

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alettesletters · 1 month ago

Text

ORGANISED - C. KENT

boot!reader

Clark. The love of your life. The disorganised, clumsy, messy love of your life.

You. The love of his life. The borderline OCD, organised messiah of his life.

You walked into the apartment most nights, seeing things in a little bit of a state, the bed never made if Clark had been the only one home. You would get your clothes for the next day ready before going to sleep while your boyfriend would even forget to brush his teeth.

This particular night, though, you entered the apartment to find Clark sat on the couch, in the middle of a spotless home.

“Clark!” You squealed, running over and throwing yourself at him. “You cleaned!”

He grinned as you squeezed him tight.

Your perfectionist tendencies were a pain in the ass to everyone around you but instead of being awful to you like a lot of others, he considered how it felt to suffer from it first hand.

Clark chuckled and wrapped his arms around you, hugging you back tightly.

"Thought I would try and be a little bit more organised," he admitted, grinning.

He was the most organised he'd ever been. Every book in correct alphabetical order, clothes put away, the floor hoovered, the washing up done...

There was even a bouquet of your favourite flowers on the table.

"I even cleaned underneath the couch," he said, rubbing your back soothingly. "There was no dirt left for me to sweep up."

He pulled away from you and looked directly into your eyes, a soft smile on his face. "I know you've been stressed lately, and I wanted to make sure you didn't have to worry about anything tonight."

You could feel your heart melting. He had no idea how much this meant to you, he was trying so hard and you loved him so much.

You leaned in and kissed him tenderly, hands grabbing onto his biceps.

He kissed you back, arms sliding around your waist. This wasn't just any kiss, it was a kiss filled with love and appreciation. His lips moved fervently against yours, his fingers tracing patterns on your hips.

Pulling away from you, he nuzzled his face against your neck, kissing you there softly. "I did something else as well..." he said, his breath warm against your skin.

You raised an eyebrow in surprise, intrigued by what else he had done. "What did you do?"

Clark took your hand in his and gently led you into the bedroom. When you stepped inside, you could’ve dropped dead. There were candles everywhere, their warm glow illuminating the room and casting romantic shadows on the walls. Your bed was made, with fresh sheets and a new comforter perfectly placed on top. On the bedside table was a box of your favourite chocolates.

"Oh, Clark..." You breathed, completely in awe of the scene in front of you. It was so beautiful, so romantic. “Clark, baby, you didn’t have to do this.”

Clark, ignoring the last comment, wrapped his arms around you from behind, his chin resting on your shoulder. "Do you like it?" he asked, his voice filled with hope.

You turned around in his arms, reaching up to place your hands on his chest. "I love it," you said, looking up at him with adoration. "It's perfect."

He smiled, happiness radiating from every inch of him. Then, he took your hand and led you to the bed. As you sat down on the edge, he kneeled in front of you, taking both of your hands in his.

"I know how much you struggle with your… problem..." he began, his tone sincere. "And I know it causes you a lot of stress and anxiety. But I also know how hard you work to manage it, and I wanted to show you how much I appreciate that."

He brought your hand up to his lips, pressing a gentle kiss to each knuckle.

"I wanted to show you that I'll always be here for you, no matter how messy things get or how stressed out you are." he continued. "And I wanted to create a space that's safe and comfortable for you — a place where you don't have to worry about anything."

His gaze never wavered from yours as he spoke, his eyes filled with love and understanding.

You could feel tears prickling at the corners of your eyes. His words were so sweet, so thoughtful. He knew exactly how to make you feel loved and cared for, and you couldn't have been more grateful.

You let out a shaking breath, trying to keep your emotions in check. "I don't deserve you," you whispered, your voice wavering. You cupped his face in your hands and pressed kisses all over his face. “You’re so good. You’re *good*. You’re so good, Clark.”

Clark grinned and pulled you onto his lap, holding you tightly against him. "You deserve everything," he said, his grip on you firm yet gentle. "You deserve happiness, you deserve love, you deserve peace of mind."He ran his fingers through your hair, his touch sending chills down your spine. “And… I want to be the one who gives all of those things to you.”

You buried your face in the crook of his neck, breathing in his familiar scent. "Oh my God, you are getting so lucky tonight.” You murmured amusedly, your lips brushing against his skin. "So fucking lucky.”

His chest rumbled with laughter as he gently pulled your heel off of your foot. "Yeah? Maybe I should clean more often.”

#clark kent #superman #fanfic #fanfiction #alettesletters #alette

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nixie-writes-aot · 2 years ago

Text

Reactions to S/O with Abusive Family

Warnings: mentioned abuse, abuse of power/status, hurt/comfort, fluff

Characters: Reiner Braun, Bertholdt Hoover, Zeke Yeager

Author's Note: This was written purely because I wanted some hurt/comfort fjndkdmd. There are two other parts because theres like 9 characters I wrote this for

Reiner Braun

Oh boy

Family is something that means a lot to Reiner. Especially s4 Reiner. He would do anything to protect his own so someone hurting their family member?

He can't fathom it

Reiner just wants to hold you close, shield you from everything that would dare even try to hurt you

Reiner is a broken man in many aspects but you make him feel whole, you make everything okay do seeing you hurt is not something that Reiner ever wants

When you come to him? Hurt and even scared? He wants to know why, he wants you to know he's there and always will be

Reiner is stunned when you tell him the stories, the way you feel around your family, how you felt the end to always always apologize or people please just to avoid conflict

Reiner decided then and there that he hated your family, that there was no excusing how they had been adults around you and instead of nurturing you, destroyed any semblance of a child that had existed within you

He pulls you close, enveloping you in a hug and let you sob and cry into his chest

Reiner had decided he would do anything just to help you move on from them

Although Reiner could barely hide his relief and a touch of disappointment when you said you hadn't seen them in years

Reiner was half tempted to mention his desire to make them suffer using his rank as Vice Chief but opts to keep that from you. For the moment, at least. Time and place and all

Bertholdt Hoover

When you tell him, Bertholdt is quiet at first. He's the kind to process things a touch slowly

But he is horrified

Bertholdt became a Warrior for his sick father, not unlike Pieck, so when you tell him that you admire that but could never do the same for your family? That some fathers never earn the love of their children?? Bertholdt is stunned

Not because of the "but family is family" bullshit no no. Bertholdt is stunned at how you're opening up and with him of all people and the fact that anyone would dare hurt you

Bertholdt mutters about wanting to hurt them for hurting you

This is a man who was pushed into killing hundreds just because he was convinced that Eldians were devils and those who were on the island were the worst of the worst

You can't tell me when faced with the story of how your abusers are still alive, he would be kind

Well. To you, he is kind

To them? He wants to feed them to the titans

Bertholdt slowly but surely pulls you close, buring his face in your chest and whispering positive affirmations that you are worth loving, deserved so much better, and are one of the best people he had ever met

Zeke Jeager

When you tell Zeke about it, he remembers his own parents

How only his grandparents earned his love and how his father especially received his ire

In Zeke's mind, Tom Ksaver is still his real father. Even if he had to eat him in the long run

Zeke is an odd man and he doesn't really emote much but he takes a hit off his cigarette, puts it out and turns to you. Zeke offers you a sympathetic nod, an apology, and pulls you close

Zeke, unlike Reiner, would absolutely use his position as the Warchief against the people who hurt you most

Zeke would lull you to sleep, letting you sleep in his bed and feel all the perks he gets as a Warchief that can actually speak during meetings with Marleyans

His sweet nothings persistent until you've drifted away and then he steps out, probably finds Yelena while he leans beside him with a cigarette

"Find two people for me. Full name and everything, then frame them. Make them suffer. They've hurt someone I care about greatly."

Yelena doesn't even have to ask who that person is, she knows its you so she does so without question nor fail

When you hear the news, you climb into his lap and sigh, kissing him sweetly and thanking him for the small amount of justice you get to see served

Zeke would do just about anything for you, he's sure of that much

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x-just-another-fanfic-writer-x · 9 months ago

Text

The Neighbour Down The Hall

Chapter 5

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x F!Reader

Summary: Meeting up with your friends and family provides some much needed distraction

Word count: 2.1k

AO3

You spent the rest of the week working late. Not out of necessity, but because you didn’t want to go home to Justin. But because of that, the dishes piled up… The laundry basket overflowed. And the bloody bathroom was in a state by Friday morning. You couldn’t take it anymore. You skipped your gym session and whizzed around the flat, not giving a damn if the clattering of plates or whirring of the hoover woke Justin up. And feeling even more irritated that it didn’t.

You slammed your apartment door shut when you left with a loud growl, then leaned back against it, sighing. You noticed Bucky in your peripheral, hovering outside his apartment.

“I’m fine,” you muttered preemptively, waving a hand dismissively as you dashed into the stairwell. You were determined not to have a conversation about that childish outburst with him. It wasn’t until halfway down the stairs that your brain clocked onto the fact he looked like he had a black eye. You paused. Should you go back and ask if he’s okay? But you’re already late. You’d underestimated how long it would take to clean the bathroom and didn’t want to stop midway through. But the man has a black eye. But you’re late. You groan and stomp the rest of the way down the stairs. You’ll ask when you next see him. It’s the only option.

You wondered about Bucky off and on all day at work. Did he get into a fight? Was he okay? What kind of people did he associate with that could cause him to get hurt like that? Was he in trouble? If he was, should you offer to help? Are you getting ahead of yourself simply because the man showed you kindness by letting you sleep on his couch?

When you returned to the building just before 10pm, Bucky was there again.

“Another late one?” he asked as you walked into the lobby. Your gaze immediately honed in on his face.

“Yeah…” you said vaguely, too preoccupied with the fact his black eye was almost… gone? Did black eyes heal that fast? “You look…” you began, unsure if you should say it. “You have a black eye?” you questioned.

Bucky shrugged, saying nothing. Your eyes remained locked with his, the two of you clearly not saying what you were thinking. Your brow furrowed. You wanted to ask more, but it would be too forward, right? It would be rude to ask ‘How did you heal your black eye’, right? And now you’ve been staring at one another for too long.

“Well, stay safe…” you said awkwardly, needing to break the tension. He nodded, then walked out the building. You whipped your phone out as you climbed the stairs, Googling black eyes. It made no sense… 2 to 3 weeks normally, it said. Weeks. You unlocked your door as your eyes remained glued to your phone screen.

“Hey babe,” Justin said from his usual spot on the sofa. You didn’t fully register his greeting. “Are you still mad at me?”

“Did you see our neighbour today?” you asked, not looking up from your phone.

“Which one?”

“Bucky.”

“Oh your crush? No.”

“He’s not my crush,” you retorted. “But fine,” you muttered, then sat down at the dining table.

“What’s for dinner?” Justin called from the living room. You didn’t answer, still too busy falling down your rabbit hole of black eye healing methods. “We could have a takeaway? It's super late and I’m starving,” he continued. “I’m so tired, work was stressful by the way.” You still didn’t reply, you knew you were being rude but you were still irritated at him. “And I put the washing on again, by the way.”

Your gaze snapped up, looking through the open doors to where he was lying on the sofa. “Did you even notice I tidied up the entire fucking flat for us?” you snapped.

“Jess, what the hell?” he said, sitting up to look at you. “No need to be so rude.”

You clenched your jaw and took a deep breath. “Fine. I’m sorry. Well done for doing the laundry,” you said patronisingly. He rolled his eyes and flopped back to lie on the sofa.

“I’m getting a takeaway,” he muttered.

You stayed in your designated rooms until the delivery arrived half an hour later, then he finally left the sofa to fetch it from the lobby. Once he was settled and eating in front of the TV, you begrudgingly sat on the sofa and asked him if you could have some food too. He agreed, passing you a chicken strip like some kind of peace offering. The more food you ate, the more laughter you shared watching Rick and Morty, the more the tension left. By the end of the night you were lying against his shoulder, sharing a packet of cookies. Dysfunctional, much?

“Have you ever had a black eye?” you asked him as the credits rolled on your fourth episode of the night.

“No? Why?”

You shrugged gently. “Just wondered. I saw Bucky had one this morning, but it was almost gone by the time I saw him again when I got back.”

“You saw him today twice?”

You rolled your eyes. “Yeah I can’t help that I keep bumping into him. But seriously, that’s not normal, right?”

“I have no idea, I’m not a doctor, Jess.”

You sighed. “It’s just weird…”

“Why don’t you ask him if you two are so chummy?”

“Justin,” you warn.

“What?” he scoffed. “I’m just saying…”

“Saying what? Are you jealous? He lives in our building, if anything it’s odd you haven’t bumped into him ever.”

“Sure,” he said vaguely. You knew what that meant, and you didn’t have the energy to try and pull teeth anymore. You dropped the subject, and watched Rick and Morty until Justin was fast asleep on the sofa. You turned the TV off, draped a blanket over him, then tiptoed to the bedroom.

While Justin slept like a baby, you slept restlessly, waking up almost every couple of hours. Stupid fried chicken. Your weekend was fully booked with plans with your friends and family, leaving Justin to his own devices for both days. The older you got, the harder it was becoming to spend time with them. Everyone was always either busy, or taking time to recharge in between their busy lives.

You were never any good at the latter. One of the first things your closest friend Anna said after greeting you was; “You look tired, Jess.”

“Thanks,” you replied sarcastically as you hung your coat on the back of your seat. The restaurant chosen by Liv, your oldest friend, was quite upmarket, but this was supposed to be a treat to yourselves. Anna had just been dumped again, and Liv had been promoted at work. But you? You didn’t really have a reason for a treat. “I may look tired but I don’t feel it,” you continued. Liv and Anna exchanged a look, and you frowned. “What?”

“Are you working too hard again?” Anna asked.

“No...”

“Mhmm. And until what time have you been staying in the office?”

“That’s not- okay this week I’ve been staying late, but not because I’m working too hard but because I didn’t wanna go home.”

Liv was about to reply when the waiter handed the three of you some menus, then politely left.

“Are things still a bit… you know, with Justin?” she asked as she looked over the list of wines.

“Yeah no, everything’s, well the same.”

“You’re better off without the guy. Men are just dicks. All of them,” Anna said, putting her menu down already. You knew she would be bitter, having come out of her seventh failed relationship in as many years.

“Well not all of them…” you said quietly.

“Okay not all, because the good ones have all been snapped up.”

“You’ll find someone eventually, Anna,” Liv said gently.

“When? It feels like I never will and I’ll just have to settle like Jess,” she said, gesturing towards you.

“I’m not settling,” you protested with a mildly offended chuckle.

“Really?” Anna deadpanned, the both of them looking at you unbelievingly. “Has Justin suddenly become prince charming? What’s he been doing lately? Has he started pulling his weight at home? Quit being a lazy git?”

“He put the laundry on a couple of times?” you offered pathetically, then snorted with amusement. “Yeah okay he’s still being a bit shit, isn’t he. Actually he’s being slightly weird about our new neighbour.”

“Who is she?” “Is she hot?” the two of them said at the same time, making you chuckle gently.

“No, not a she, a he.”

“Didn’t know he swung that way,” Liv joked.

You smiled even more. “He doesn’t. It’s this new American guy. Really hot.”

“The guy you texted me about a few weeks ago?” Anna asked. You nodded. “Good he’s jealous. Shows he cares.”

“No, not good, it shows he doesn’t trust you,” Liv said.

“Either way, it’s still irritating.”

The waiter came over and took your order. It was a bit early in the day for you to start drinking, you were there for lunch, but Liv ordered a bottle of wine for the table. You shrugged, and went along with it. You noticed Anna watched the waiter walk away before turning back to the table animatedly.

“She stayed the night in the neighbours apartment, you know,” Anna said to Liv.

“Why?”

“I forgot my keys and Justin’s phone had died and he didn’t hear me knocking,” you admit, embarrassed.

“Jess, come on. He didn’t even care to stay awake until you got home? What time was this at?”

“After midnight…”

“Why were you out so late?”

You sighed. “Because I was working late…”

The two shook their heads. “You’ve got to sort out your priorities, Jess.”

“Okay enough about me. Either Liv, tell us about your promotion. Or Anna, what the fuck happened with Daniel?”

“The floor’s yours, Anna,” Liv offered. She took a deep breath before launching into a long rant about her ex.

The rest of the dinner continued with little focus on you, thankfully. The food was delicious, the wine was refreshing, and you ended your long lunch feeling tired but overall good. Your friends got a couple of warning comments in about Justin when you bade each other goodbye, but you knew they were just looking out for you. For the most part you had a spring in your tipsy step as you made your way to your next social event; a theatre trip with some of your extended family.

Justin was invited, but had declined the invitation. Despite you asking nicely, despite you trying to guilt trip him that he should go as he’s your boyfriend who you now live with. He said he didn’t want to spend 3 hours watching a bunch of 18th century revolutionary French people sing non stop. You officially gave up trying to get him to agree after he reacted so badly to the price of the ticket.

You walked into the foyer of the theatre and found your family at the bar.

“Jess! You made it!” your aunt said enthusiastically. You resisted commenting sarcastically of course you would have made it.

“Hey, Aunty Sandy,” you replied as she pulled you into a hug. Everyone else called her Sandra, but the nickname you had given her as a child had always stuck. “You alright?” you asked, slipping into the usual small talk. You greeted the rest of your extended family, exchanging polite pleasantries before progressing into light hearted banter. You always liked seeing this part of your family, it partly made up for having no siblings. It was just a shame Justin usually skipped out half the time…

You had another glass of wine, courtesy of one of your cousins, then took your seat. You texted Justin to let him know you were at the theatre, on the off chance he wondered if you were okay. A short while later, just before the lights went dark, you checked your phone one last time before putting it on flight mode. A text had arrived from Justin.

“Bucky seems nice.”

The lights went dark. Your phone illuminated your face. For fucks sake.

You wanted to reply, you needed to know what he meant. If he was being sarcastic or genuine. But the blaring brass sounds of the opening number played and your aunt shot you a warning look. You sighed deeply and put the device away. Damn you, Justin.

Next chapter

#marvel #marvel fanfiction #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x f!reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes fanfiction #fanfic #fanfiction

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bearcina · 3 months ago

Text

WIP Whenever!

Tagged by @captastra

Tagging: all my Moot's reading! I hope y'all have some to share!

Hello again!! I have this unfinished WIP to share!

I found this old thing collecting dust in my onenote when I was cleaning it out, and it feels like such a shame to leave it there-- so many of my classic Elisavet lines came out of this draft.

I really wanted to explore with writing her past before the beginning of the game, and that ended up coming back around to Sylvia and their trade caravan. Elisavet never dreamed of New Vegas's glittering lights and casinos, she was just happy with her girl and their little shack out in the desert together. She just had to finish one last job to finish paying it off. Then, she'd pick up the deed, the ring, and they'd be wed.

However, getting shot in the head really scrambled Elisavet's brain. She never would make it home.

After three years passes, and the Second Battle of Hoover Dam with it, Elisavet finally makes the decision to chase after the wispy memories and vivid dreams that haunted her.

I included the entire doc under the cut, I'm reworking it now after nearly 6 years! So, if you see something like this later, check it out!

It felt like she was hundreds of miles away from her home. She could see the lights of New Vegas all the way out in Goodsprings. It wasn’t the same.

The pack weighed heavy on her heart, it was packed up with her sleeping bag, her quilt, and enough food and ammo to last an army a month.

Her canteen clinked against the plate of armor haphazardly strapped over her traveling pants.

Clink. Clank. Clink. Clink.

It was dark now. She was sat down in the shallow grave again, fumbling for some alcohol and a Nuka. It was her birthday, might as well celebrate with the Nuka-cola she had bought off a trader; the Mojave didn’t have much of either of those right now. The drink had always been a Sunset Sarsaparilla, it was the most popular thing before the war, after all. And as for the traders? They don’t really get out to the Strip all too often, especially with NCR to the left, and even more untamed land to the right. NCR traders didn’t step foot in Nevada, they knew that NCR shenanigans weren’t welcome.

Her alcohol was strong, and surprisingly her soda wasn't flat. It was going to be a good enough birthday drink. Her pip-boy played away in the quiet air of the night, one of her favorite songs managing to come on.

She didn’t remember how old she was turning, somewhere near twenty seven? Thirty? Couldn’t be any older than thirty five, anyway. Not like it really mattered anymore, she was old enough to drink some alcohol, and make her own decisions.

Her memory was spotty at best, some memories floating up every once in a blue moon, visions of a redheaded girl, the laughter of someone making her heart flutter, and an off-key birthday song, they all seemed to be pieces of scenarios that stuttered about in her brain.

At least this trip was going to help out those memories. Hopefully.

Elisavet would only have one drink that night, before she pulled out her sleeping bag and her favorite quilt to hunker down in her hole for the rest of the evening.

Morning came quickly. The sun rose up over the horizon, catching the metal of the fence, and shining on the lantern that turned off during the night. She put up her sleeping bag and headed back on her way, past the charred remains of Nipton, past the drive up theater, and further and further.

Elisavet barely stopped for dinner, managing to nestle herself under a cliff with just enough shade from the sunset to sip her water and gnaw on dry jerky. She barely picked up the broadcast from Mr. New Vegas, static clouded most of it.

The sound of a distant brahmin was the only thing she heard. Sounded like a caravan. She could use some more ammo, if it was coming her way. She looked down the path, and sure enough a single pack brahmin and a figure was headed her way.

“Hey! Over here!” Elisavet called, putting the cap on her canteen as she got up. “I’m interested in buying.” She stated, hoping it would be enough to make them stop.

A redhead finally came into focus, the sun finally being obscured by clouds just enough for Elisavet to get a good look at the trader. She stopped, blinking dumbly. Did she know this trader.

“You, uh, ever been to the Vegas area? You seem familiar.” Elisavet muttered, embarrassed that she couldn’t recall where she had met the trader before.

The trader didn’t respond, only scrunching up her face with confusion and distain. Elisavet didn’t know what to do, she was tense and exhausted.

“Haven’t been farther than Nipton in three years.” The trader finally stated, putting a hand on her hip. “Bet you were a courier, probably seen me around during a run.”

“Oh. I, well, don’t remember.” Elisavet sighed, mimicking the same stance as the trader. “Had an accident about three years ago.”

“I see.”

“Well, it’s true.” Elisavet muttered. “Even got the scars to prove it.”

“Yeah?” The trader smirked. “How about we go on to my shack and we trade off stories?”

Elisavet flinched, shocked at the straightforward redhead. “I, I could do that.” She stammered, ducking her head down.

“Surprised you didn’t see it already, it’s just on top of that cliff you were under.”

“Take a seat, I need to put the brahmin up and then we can have some sort of dinner. I think I’ve got some alcohol put away.” The trader sighed, unlocking the door to the homey shack. “Don’t mind the mess, I’ve been out a while.”

“Can’t be any worse than how I left my place looking.” Elisavet sighed, letting herself in and settling in on a well-used couch. It was familiar in a distant sense. She uncapped her water again, took a sip and hummed. Some things were familiar looking, and she would squint at a quilt across the room every so often, wondering why it reminded her of her own quilt.

"Well, I've put up the brahmin." The redhead sighed, dusting her hands off on her pants. "Are you passing through or plan on staying out of the city for a while? Keep heading out that way you might not find anything for a few days."

"I don't know yet. My map doesn't keep going that way," Elisavet sighed, playing with the map on her pip-boy, "I'm already many miles outside of the map bounds on mine." She sighed, before muttering a quick, "Yessie will be so worried…"

"Well, I happen to have a map from the last courier who was out here." The woman sighed, rummaging around a rusty trunk. "She left it with me, saying she wouldn't need it anymore, wouldn't be gone long."

"Well, would you mind if I copy it into my paper map?" Elisavet hummed, digging out her paper map she had been working on. "I'll have to get Yessie to expand my pip-boy's map when I go home again." She dug in her pack for her makeshift dip pen and glowing red ink.

"Not at all. I think she would've been happy to pass on her map." She smiled, unfolding the map onto the table. "Her notes are on the back, and don't mind too many of the lines, those were her favorite routes for walks."

"I've been needing a good hiking trail…" Elisavet hummed, looking at the map, before squinting and looking between the map she had already and the one on the table and scrunching up her face. It looked like her handwriting. "Hm." She put the new points on her map, scrawling out names of places in shorthand and making a mental note of how close the writing was.

The redhead left Elisavet to her business, clanking around with some dishes and a hotplate and miniature makeshift wood-burning oven. "Well, you're welcome to stay and eat with me."

Elisavet was engrossed in reading the notes on the back, muttering and shaking her head. "No, no, that's not right." she would mutter every now and again. "That doesn't exist anymore," or, "can't remember why that would've been important…" Like she was remembering something she had seen in a dream. "Can't remember…" She would sigh, shutting her eyes as she compared notes on the back of her map.

"Well?"

"Ah! Sorry… sorry…" Elisavet blushed, embarrassed at how hard she had to concentrate to read. "It takes a lot to read…" She muttered, scratching at her nose.

"Did you want to stay for some food? I could let you stay on the couch or outside in the barn if you need to, it's been getting uninhabitable at night outside this way, going into early fall it gets cold up here."

"If I wouldn't be intruding, I would really appreciate it. I have the caps, and some goods on me, I could trade you." Elisavet smiled, embarrassed. "I think I also have some food I could chip in if you'd like."

"If you have some potatoes it would really bulk out the food, my plants didn't take this year." She sighed.

"Of course." Elisavet dug into her bag, pulling out two large potatoes. "Mine went well…" She sheepishly offered the potatoes. "I have some more, but they're smaller. I don't usually keep produce on my way out of Vegas… seemed I got lucky with thinking to bring something else with me than my usual pre-war foods."

"Ah! Gorgeous potatoes." The other woman smiled, quickly taking care of the potatoes and adding them to the dented pot of water she had on her hotplate. "You must live somewhere with such good soil."

"Ah, thank you…" Elisavet was thoroughly red. "It took a lot to convince myself to even try."

The food was great. It was like coming home after a very, very long vacation.

"I can't thank you enough. Is there anything I can do?" Elisavet asked, washing up the chipped plates. "I can get you almost anything you'd want. Alcohol, food, or caps."

"No. I don't want anything. You just remind me so much of someone I've lost… You coming out here was enough of a payment." She hummed, watching her guest clean up. "So much like them."

"I couldn't possibly leave you without giving you some sort of payment." Elisavet frowned. "I can't let that stay on my conscious, you've been too hospitable, and you didn't even ask my name or where I'm from."

"Well… I could use some help. I can tell you used to be a courier, after all." She hummed, working on a piece of a quilt. "I know it may be an unconventional request, as you probably only delivered letters or packages, not looked for somebody."

"I've tracked a man across the desert, I think I can handle that." Elisavet chuckled. "Wouldn't be the strangest thing I've done in memory."

The redheaded woman sighed, putting down her scissors and needle. "I've been looking for my fiancée. She went missing three years back. I just want to know if she died at this point. I've looked for her myself, but I haven't had luck."

"Well, if you can write it out I'll do what I can to find her." Elisavet gave a somber smile. "I think I understand what it's like to lose somebody so close." The year and a half Yes Man was gone was heart-wrenching, and the longing she feels after the dreams with the woman always made her feel like she was empty inside without them. "I'd be lost without knowing my Yes Man was back at home and safe."

"See… She looks a lot like you. Minus a few head scars." She hummed. "Wit like no other, could charm the pants off the tightest of prudes." She closed her eyes. "Could walk for days, determined like no other. Luck like you'd never have known." She sighed wistfully. "Blue eyes like the clearest sky in July…"

Elisavet hummed and scrunched up her face.

"I think you might have met her once or twice, having gotten around to New Vegas often. She had a penchant for getting into places she shouldn't be…"

"Well, could I get a name to the face?" Elisavet chuckled. "She must've been a real ring-a-ding gal."

"Elisavet," She sighed.

"Well, yes?" Elisavet responded, it going right over her head.

"That was her name."

Elisavet was silent, blinking like an idiot. "I, uh,"

"Elisavet went missing three years ago, on a run out to New Vegas, a very important package. Strange little silver thing…" She sighed, watching her guest with a sharp eye.

"Like, uhm.." Elisavet sweated, instinctually putting her hand over her breast-pocket where her platinum chip was. "Like, uh…"

"Little thing. Like a little poker chip."

"I," Elisavet stammered, her fight or flight kicking in, her mind going blank and the rushing of blood in her ears was deafening.

"See, I think you get what I'm saying." The redhead sighed, keeping her cool, although her cheeks were damp with tears. "Elisavet,"

"Ye-yes?" Elisavet stammered, feeling like a trapped animal. "I, uh, that's my name."

"I know." She sighed. "I thought you would have remembered me."

"I don’t," Elisavet gulped. "I don't remember much of my previous life-" Her voice was wobbly. "I, um, I got.. Shot. In the head."

"I heard a package courier got shot outside of Goodsprings. I had hoped it wasn't you."

"I… I was. I was shot there, yes." Elisavet whimpered. "I was shot outside of Goodsprings, on my way to New Vegas, to deliver the platinum chip."

It was all starting to make sense. It was the girl in her dreams, the house from her dreams. Elisavet shook, on the verge of hyperventilating. They weren't dreams after all.

"You could have written home."

"I don't- I don't-" Elisavet gasped, "I seriously don’t remember. I really did-" her knees were weak, she gabbed onto table behind her. "I did get shot- I don’t-"

"Do you remember anything at all?"

"I.." Elisavet gasped, shaking as she held onto the table tighter. "I had… dreams."

"You need to sit down, you're going to pass out." Sylvia sighed, watching Elisavet shake and tremble with her eyes clenched shut.

"You're. You're the girl." Elisavet muttered, groping for a chair with her eyes clenched shut, her head hurting like she had gotten hit with a bat. "I've been away for so long."

"You really have been."

#wip wednesday #bear babbles #elisavet #fnv

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sisterspooky1013 · 2 years ago

Text

Gaslight, Chapter 21/48

Rated X | Read it here on AO3

King of Prussia, PA

He’s up early, already showered, dressed, and sitting in the kitchen with a steaming mug of coffee by 6:30 am. He’s trying to read the newspaper, but his mind just keeps spinning and spinning, circling around the few sparse facts available to him and attempting to assemble them into something that makes even a modicum of sense.

His mother did not seem to be obfuscating when she denied the possible existence of a twin. His next consideration is a clone, though that theory contains many gaps. For one, to the best of his knowledge human cloning is still many years away. And even if it were available now but obscured from the general public, a clone of himself would not be an adult working for the FBI, he’d be a child, maybe even an infant. And that’s sidestepping the fact that of all the humans to clone, he doubts that he’d be the first choice. His last supposition is the phenomenon of identical strangers, a rare but not impossible occurrence. But if said identical stranger, this Mulder, had gone to training at Quantico, surely the instructors would have noticed the resemblance. Surely they would have reached out to him to ask if he has a brother. It still just doesn’t quite add up.

He desperately wants to go down to DC. Perhaps if he walked around the Hoover building, someone would recognize him and put him in touch with his doppelganger. He could clear his appointments, make a day of it. He could put to rest this nagging feeling that there’s something missing, or someone.

He feels like he’s trapped in a mirrored maze, trying to find the way out but running up against his own reflection over and over. He knows that Diana wouldn’t understand. She’d think it was all a cover for something more nefarious, and he just can’t afford to take any risks regarding her trust right now. He won’t be given any more chances.

“Hey, early bird,” Diana says, still in her pajamas as she rounds the corner into the kitchen. Her hair is messy and her face unmade, and his heart swells with affection.

“Morning,” he replies, turning in his chair and opening his arms to receive her. She steps into the space between his thighs and drapes her arms around his shoulders.

“What are you doing?” she asks, and he detects an edge of suspicion in the question. He can’t so much as break from his daily routine without sending up red flags for her.

“I just couldn’t sleep,” he explains, pushing her hair behind her shoulders.

She hums and kisses his forehead before she moves to the coffee pot, her back to him as she assembles her very precise mix of sweet and low, coffee, and vanilla creamer.

“I have to head down to Washington for a day or two,” she says groggily, and he perks up.

“Oh yeah?” he asks, feigning minimal interest. “What for?”

“Work stuff. Pretrial. I won’t bore you with the details.” She turns around and leans against the counter, considering him. “Will you be okay without me until the weekend?”

He smiles at her and shrugs.

“I could go with you,” he suggests casually. “Maybe we can stay the weekend, do the tourist thing.”

Diana purses her lips and looks down at her cup.

“I don’t think so, Jeff. I’ll be gone all day and you’d just be bored,” she says.

“I can do my own thing while you’re working,” he counters. “I know you hate The Mall, so I can just check it out on Friday by my—”

“I said no,” she says firmly, and he’s taken aback by the severity in her voice.

“Okay,” he aquiesces, hurt and confused. “I’ll just stay here with Frenchie then.”

“Yes,” she says much more lightly, “you need to be here to take care of Frenchie. It’d be impossible to book a kennel on such short notice.”

He can think of half a dozen people who would be happy to take Frenchie for a couple days, but he knows that’s not really the point. She doesn’t want him there, and he can’t help but wonder why.

“When do you leave?” he asks, defeated.

“This afternoon,” she says with a sigh. “I’ll be staying at the Embassy Suites. I’ll forward you the information in case you need to reach me.”

He nods, his eyes on the counter. He stays there like that, lost in thought, as she goes back upstairs to get ready and pack. When she comes back down, she’s suited up and made up, her messy hair carefully combed back. He dutifully loads her luggage into her car, trying not to let his sour mood show. It will only lead to more questions, more suspicion. It’s beginning to feel like he’s walking on eggshells around her.

“Give me a call when you get home from work,” she says, standing just outside the open car door. “From the landline.”

He clenches his jaw but nods. He has no right to be upset with her for doubting that he’ll be where he’s supposed to be. Twice bitten, infinitely shy.

“And please take your blood pressure medication,” she adds, giving him a pointed look.

Again, he nods. He can’t quite bring himself to walk around the car and give her a kiss goodbye. He’s afraid that all the frustration and tension in his body will be transmitted to her through his lips, and she’ll take it as something other than what it is.

“Bye, love you,” he says, pushing his mouth into a smile.

“I love you, too,” she tells him, then she climbs into her car and is gone.

He moves through the day in a haze. He sees clients, gets lunch at a little deli around the corner from his office, enters his session notes into his computer. At home, he walks Frenchie, eats a bowl of cereal for dinner, and finally picks up the phone to call Diana around 7:00.

“This is Diana,” she says when she answers, though she should know by the caller ID that it’s him.

“Hello, Diana, this is Richard from MCI,” he says in a nasally pitch. “I’m calling to offer you unlimited calls to Timbuktu and Siberia for the very low cost of $99.99 per month.”

“Excuse me?” she says sharply. “Where did you get this number?”

“It’s me, Diana,” he says, the momentary levity he felt in his attempt to be playful evaporating. “Jeff.”

“Oh,” she says, irritated. “Are you at home?”

“Yes, I’m calling from the landline, as instructed,” he says petulantly.

“Did you take your medication?”

He didn’t, but he still finds her reminder infantilizing.

“Yeah.”

“Okay,” she says, her tone softening. “I miss you.”

Then why didn’t you let me come with you? He thinks.

“Me too,” he answers instead.

“Don’t stay up too late, okay?” she says, and he sighs, knowing that he won’t be able to sleep.

“I won’t.”

They say goodbye, and he sets the phone down on the counter, his foot bouncing nervously. With every passing moment of inaction, he feels the pressure building and building, and he worries what will happen when he finally explodes. Frenchie whines and he looks over at her. Her ears are pinned back, her tail wagging. She’s worried, too. He picks up the phone again.

“Hello?”

“Hey, it’s Jeff.”

“Hey man, what’d your mom say? Do you have a twin brother?” Frank asks hopefully.

“No, doesn’t seem like it,” he answers. “Hey, I need a favor.”

“If you’re going to ask me to be your plus one to one of those therapist conferences again, save your breath,” Frank says, and he laughs.

“Never again,” he assures his friend. “I was actually wondering if you could take Frenchie for a couple days while Diana and I are out of town.”

“Sure, I always like having the French Fry around,” Frank says. “Where you headed?”

“Uh, not sure just yet,” he lies, deciding that the less Frank knows, the better. “It’s kind of last minute. Can I bring her by tomorrow morning, early?”

“Sure, but if it’s before 9:00, just put her in the back yard and don’t bother ringing the bell.”

“Wouldn’t want to disturb your beauty sleep. Thanks, Frank, I owe ya one.”

“I’ll add it to your tab,” Frank grumbles, and they say goodbye.

Diana will be mad, there is absolutely no question about it. He’ll have to pick up flowers and chocolates before he heads over to her hotel, spin it as a romantic surprise, and be ready to deal with the aftermath. All he needs is a few hours in town, just to see what he can find out. He just needs to know who Mulder is, just for his own peace of mind, and then he can put this all behind them. He just hopes that his marriage is still intact when they come out the other side.

Tagging @today-in-fic

#the x files #x files fanfic #txf #dana scully #fox mulder #xf fanfic #x files #the x-files #xfiles #thexfiles

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thegoldheartlocketandkey-blog · 1 year ago

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911 Spoilers Season 3: You’ve been warned. 😅 Buddie Rewatch

Episodes 16-18

Episode 16: The One that Got Away

The 118 is in a burning building. Buck and Eddie are trailing ahead, Bobby is behind them. They are checking every apartment for survivors. Buck finds a man passed out on the ground. The man is barely conscious, is asking about a Gladys.

They assume he is talking about a cat, Buck stays behind looking for the cat, he finds a cat that turns out to be Hoover. Gladys is a deaf woman who is still trapped inside.

Buck wants to do a rope rescue. Eddie isn’t surprised, but knows it is extremely dangerous.

Eddie and Buck are on top of the building next to the burning one. They jump onto the burning, where Eddie secures himself to the top of the building as Buck lowers himself down to Gladys’ window. Buck breaks thru the window and pulls Gladys out.

As they are descending, the roof starts to collapse and Eddie must secure the rope to the building and get off that roof. Buck must descend the rest of the way by himself. The rope catches on fire. The fire cuts thru the rope and Buck and Gladys fall on to the airbag, Buck and Glady’s are safe, a lot of bystanders were recording the rescue.

Buck is celebrating the rescue. He wants to go out to the bars and celebrate properly. Eddie is the first to decline, because Chris is hosting his first sleep over, but he extends an invitation to Buck if he wants to celebrate with a bunch of 9-year-olds.

Hen, Bobby, and Chimney all also decline Buck’s invitation. He decides to go celebrate alone.

Buck walks into the bar as the News is playing his rescue. Buck is proud momentarily, until the older patron he sat near, calls him an idiot. We meet Red, a retired Firefighter.

Buck and Red spend the night drinking. Buck is listening to all of Red’s old stories. With the number of cups and bottles on their table, they are obviously drunk.

Through out this episode we learn about how similar Buck and Red are as individuals. They both made firefighting their whole identity. Buck sees his possible future in Red and that scares him. Especially the part about being alone.

Buck walks Red to his apartment, where he sees photos of Red’s old firehouse and learns more about Red’s life. Red giving Buck the advice of not neglecting his own life.

Buck is talking to the 118 about Red and how his situation is bother him. Eddie and Buck are standing next to each other. Eddie trying to comfort Buck and agrees with him that they will not lose touch.

Buck tries to surprise Red with news that he found her lost love Cindy. Buck convinces Red to go see Cindy to rekindle what they once had. He drives Red to Cindy’s house and get him baseball tickets to go see a game.

It becomes obvious real soon that Cindy is suffering from dementia. Buck’s plan falls apart and Red feels like he can’t survive Buck’s medaling.

Buck talks to Maddie about the situation. We learn that Buck still occasionally thinks about Abby his lost love. Buck also talks about how Maddie doesn’t understand his situation, because she’ s the one that leaves and he is the one that is left behind.

Red is in the hospital; he calls Buck to help him be discharged. We learn that Red has cancer and is dying. Red tells Buck to stop trying to save him and Buck realizes the best thing he can do is sit down and listen to his story.

The 118 surprises Hen with a doctor’s coat after her very unconventional rescue. Eddie and Buck are at the front of the group cheering the loudest. Bobby slightly behind and Chim slightly towards the left. A bunch of extras are in the back.

Buck makes a comment about how they call him a show off. Eddie follows with a joke about field transplants. Chim states that that is why she needs the coat.

Buck and Eddie nearly pressed up near each other. Eddie offering to take a photo of the moment as Buck calls her Dr. Wilson and Chim helps her put on the coat.

Buck continuing to gas Hen up and Eddie taking multiple photos of Hen in a coat. As the team starts to disperse Eddie says he will send Hen the photos. Buck receives a call.

Buck meets Red at the hospital. Buck plans an elaborate discharge that shows Red he is appreciated by the department. The 118 at the end saluting Red and escorting him home in the fire truck.

We learn of Red’s passing and Buck is in tears while talking to Maddie. Maddie acknowledging that Buck was comparing himself to Red’s life and telling him that he will not be left behind.

Episode 17: Powerless

Hot air Ballon: Buck goes on to talk about how dangerous hot air ballons are. Eddie is visibly confused by the comment. Buck clarifies that dispatch gets a lot of calls in relation to hot air balloon incidents. Eddie asking if Maddie told him that and Buck responding with “no, someone else” Cuts to Bobby making a face because he knows that means Abby.

Eddie and Buck standing near each other as the discuss wind conditions and how to get the girl down.

Everyone running to pull the ballon down. Eddie and Bobby grabbing the rope and pulling down as, Buck jumps into the basket to bring her down.

Hen and Karen talking about going out to a restaurant and why Karen was not invited. Hen explains if she invited Karen, Chim would invite Maddie. Maddie would invite Buck and Buck would invite Eddie.

Tree cutter vehicle gets stolen; Buck and Eddie almost getting hit with a spark. They are of course standing near each other. Like I don’t know who often I have to say this, but Buck and Eddie are always standing near each other. Chim and Hen are never on top of each other as much as Buck and Eddie are.

Eddie and Buck pull the victim out. Turns out there is a power outage. Buck runs over to a car accident that happens nearby.

Athena gets attacked. I remember the first time watching this episode, I was so worried and panicked. I didn’t think she would die, but I definitely was at the edge of my seat. I think the most traumatizing aspect of this is everyone, especially Bobby hearing Athena being attached and that single gunshot.

Everyone listening to the attack, they are quiet and concerned to afraid to say anything. The 118 running into the building, even though it is not clear. Them having to call another RA unit to the scene because the 118 was not going to help Athena’s attacker.

Train derailment; Abby is the person to call in the emergency.

Episode 18: What’s Next?

Abby is on a moving train. She is walking to the bar for a drink. We learn about her travels and she acknowledges that Buck has stopped waiting for her.

Buck is overly concerned about Christopher going to summer camp for two weeks. Eddie confused by the over concern, stating he brought this up so they can make him feel better about the situation.

Buck is acting like an overly concerned father. It’s cute how close his relationship is with Chris that he is so deeply worried about his safety. I think it is especially funny because Buck is such a dare devil/ risk taker.

Buck laughing at Bobby’s experience with sleep away camp.

Eddie is grading Hen’s practice test for the MCAT. Eddie and Buck being incredibly supportive of Hen’s desire to go to med school.

The Train derails. The 118 shows up to the scene to help. Buck and Eddie are canvasing the scene.

Eddie approaches Abby and tells her that she cannot go back into the train. She tries to explain that she understands it is dangerous but she has to get into that cart. Buck walks passed and recognizes Abby.

As Abby recognizes that Eddie is from the 118, Buck calls out to her. Eddie looks at Abb, I don’t know how to describe his expression. It’s a mix of disappointment and something else. I really wish I knew how to describe the feeling.

Eddie slightly backing away as Buck fusses over Abby. He is trying to make sure she is alright. Abby is just trying to get him to listen, she is alright and she’s worried about finding her fiancé.

Buck looks heartbroken at the realization that Abby has a fiancé. Eddie cuts in asking for a description of her fiancé, but looking over to Buck to see his expression.

Eddie runs towards the direction of the cart, he is about to pat Buck on the shoulder, but hesitates and just runs off.

Buck starts to get his composure back. He asks Abby for her fiancés name, which is Sam. He tries to shake off. Abby thanks Buck and Buck tells her that it is not necessary, he’s just doing his job. He promises that they will find him and bring him back to her.

Eddie and Buck climbing up the train cart identifying dead bodies and victims.

Buck is the one to find Sam pinned against the cart. He tells Sam that his fiancé is safe on the ground. Eddie is looking at Buck concerned.

The cart shifts with Buck and Eddie inside. They are both tossed up. Bobby makes his way inside with a hydraulic ram. As they try to get Sam unpinned, we hear a woman scream. They pause to access the situation.

Eddie and Bobby accessing who they can save. Because of the circumstances, it’s very likely they can only save one. Buck looking distraught at the realization.

Sam realizing that it’s his life or the girls. Buck reassuring him that they are trying to work on a solution to save both. Sam telling buck about how his wedding is planned for June.

Buck hearing Bobby and Eddie decide to work on the girl since she has better odds. Buck being vocal about how they cannot just do that. Bobby confused by outburst. Eddie to reveal that Sam is Abby’s fiancé.

Eddie in this moment sounds a little jealous and bitter.

Buck is scaling the outside of the train, trying to cut out an exist as Eddie is inside with the victims. The cart shifts as Buck is outside. They are able to pull the girl out safely and turn their attention to Sam.

They are able to safely extract Sam out of the cart and reunite him with Abby. Sam learns that the Firefighter that was helping him is the Ex-boyfriend, Buck.

Eddie standing by Buck as Abby and Sam go into an ambulance. Eddie looking up at Buck and asking him if he’s okay.

Sometimes their height difference is very noticeable, this is one of those moments.

Buck ignores the questions and asks what is next.

Buck and Abby meet up. Sam is doing alright and she thanks him for that. Abby apologizes to Buck about how he heard the news of the engagement. Buck talks about how upset he was over here ghosting him. Him getting an explanation for the situation. Buck finally gets the closure he deserves.

May’s Highschool Graduation party: Buck and Eddie are standing near each other as they cheers to May’s success.

Eddie dancing with Christopher.

Buck and Chimney laughing uncontrollably. Buck and Maddie taking a silly photo together. Eddie and Chris taking a silly photo together.

Buck and Chris signing May’s poster together.

More clips of Eddie dancing with Chris and then Karen and Hen.

Buck and Chris take a cute silly photo.

Buck, Eddie, Chim, and Hen take a silly photo.

This cute Gif moment and my profile photo;

More Buck, Eddie, and Chris adorable photos.

Chistopher getting onto a bus for summer camp. Eddie standing outside of it, saying goodbye.

More Chris and Eddie dancing.

Buck apologizing to Bobby about what he said at the train derailment.

#buddie #911 abc #eddie diaz #evan buck buckely #buck x eddie #911 spoilers #911 show #christopher diaz #911 fandom #911 rewatch

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imaginaryberries · 2 months ago

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Today despite having had under 5h of sleep last night I:

- put new sheets on our bed

- washed and hung out the old sheets

- did another big clothes wash (Jonny hung up some and I did the rest)

- tidied and hoovered our room

- emptied and stacked the dishwasher, twice (!)

- cleaned the kitchen sinks (it's one of those double farmhousey ones)

- deep cleaned Jacob's high chair inc. removing, washing and drying the straps

- hoovered and cleaned the kitchen floor

And yesterday even though Jonny was sick and I had the kids myself (although tbf Leo was just lying on the couch) I made a big pot of risotto so we'd have leftovers for easy meals for a couple of days. Like even at the best of times all this would be an achievement for me and the dishes in particular are my nemesis but - and this is the thing that will come back to bite me - it.... didn't feel that hard. I feel tired now but in a satisfied way, like I spent a good day of doing things but nothing crazy. Except for me it was lol.

Anyway. Now having a nice early night in my lovely fresh sheets 🥰

#note to future self holding yourself to this standard: the inconsistency is the disability!!!!!

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adoracora-elizabeth · 8 months ago

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Music made me love you, chapter 40

The last curl was put up by O'Brien. "Your hair is ready, Milady."

This whole morning Cora was called Milady, and she had a tough time adjusting to it. This woman had hoovered around her, helping her with literally everything. It had come in handy with her dress and she had done wonders to her hair. O'Brien had created a masterpiece.

"Thank you, O'Brien, can you leave her Ladyship and me alone now," Rosamund said, sending Sarah away.

"Can you just send them away like that? It does seem unkind. And I am not married yet, so how come you call me her Ladyship?"

Rosamund stood behind Cora and put her veil in her hair. "For the staff, you are already 'her Ladyship' and yes, once you think they can go, you send them away."

"It does feel very unkind."

"You will get used to it." Rosamund stepped back to look at Cora. "You look like a princess. Robert will be stunned when he sees you."

Cora was relieved that Robert and she would not live at Downton right away. They had found a nice house close to the Chiswick Bridge. It was an old house, built in the 14th century, with a later added Queen Anne facade. The detached house was big, over 7000 sq. ft with seven bedrooms, three reception rooms and two bathrooms. Cora had thought it to be too big for them, but Robert had insisted. And Cora had loved the charm of the rooms.

"Are you going to hire staff once you move to 'West Hall Manor'?" Rosamund helped Cora up and fixed her train.

"Robert does want staff, but I can cook myself. I even like cooking. But I have agreed with a gardener and some girls to keep the house tidy and in order. So, there is more time for me to write and eventually care for little ones."

"Is there one coming already?" Rosamund asked surprised. "Is Peter getting a niece or nephew?"

"No." Cora responded. "Not yet. For now, we enjoy the cuddles we can get from Peter. He is growing up so fast. I saw that he lost his baby roles."

Rosamund got an extremely sweet look in her eyes. "He is growing up so fast and he is so smart already." She looked at Cora. "Now let us go down."

Cora had been installed in the room she would get after her marriage with Robert. Next to it was a small dressing room for Robert. This setup was still from the old times when husband and wife did not sleep in the same bedroom. The room was very spacious, and the bed looked extremely comfortable, tonight she would know how comfortable. Robert had suggested staying the night at Downton before going on their honeymoon.

+++

Music started playing when Cora walked down the stairs. All heads were turned, and she heard a collective aww. Robert was not in her sight yet. Once downstairs, Rosamund adjusted her train again, kissed her on her cheek and wished her good luck. Harold was waiting for her to take his arm.

"Are you ready for this next step?" He asked quietly.

Cora chuckled. "It is a bit late to have regrets."

Harold put his other hand on top of Cora’s. "Are you having doubts?"

This made Cora look up at him and with the biggest smile she answered. "Far from it."

"Good." They had reached the end of the great hall, where Robert was waiting for her. On the chairs, she saw her mother with Sorcha next to her. On the other side of the aisle was Violet with Patrick. Next to them were Rosamund and Marmaduke. She saw some familiar faces from the staff, Mrs. Hughes and Carson were accompanied by other people she had not met before.

+++

Robert felt his nerves getting worse when the guests all turned towards the grand staircase, he heard them gasp audible. He could not see Cora yet and that made him nervous. He was trying to imagine what kind of dress she was wearing. Would she have a big ballroom gown, or was it a very slim-fitting dress? He had not the faintest idea what she had chosen. He had tried to get it out of Rosamund, but he had not had much luck. She only told him the colour. An off-white dress it would be. She gave him a piece of the fabric so he could find a dress shirt in the same colour or a tie.

Finally, she came around the corner, holding her brother's arm. He almost grabbed John's arm, who was standing next to him. She was breathtakingly beautiful; her dress was nothing he could have imagined. It was fitted around her body perfectly, not too slim fitting but also not a ballroom gown. She was gliding towards him it felt. All the faces around her disappeared and he only saw her. Harold kissed her cheek before handing her to him.

Robert felt her gloved hand glide in his and he was relieved she was wearing gloves so she would not feel his sweaty palm. She softly squeezed his hand, while listening to the officiant.

+++

"You can now kiss the bride."

Robert turned towards Cora and carefully lifted her veil. Her lips were coloured with a soft pink. Her hyacinth-blue eyes were shining, she had a soft pink shade of eyeshadow on her eyelids. It was as if time stood still, and he saw every small detail on her face. Her mouth slightly twitched into a smile. Her nose that she crunched and her eyes, oh her eyes were full of love and anticipation. His hand softly on her jaw and cheeks, he pulled her close. He touched her lips briefly. "My wife." He murmured before kissing her more intense.

Suddenly the room around him came back to life and he was startled by the sound of applause. He broke his kiss and looked Cora in the eye. "Hello Mrs. Crawley." He smiled at her.

"Hello, my husband." She smiled back.

Robert felt Cora’s hand on his stomach and a second later she was kissing him again.

+++

Peter was trying to grab Cora’s earring, but she managed to keep it out of his reach. "You are growing so fast." She said in a soft affectionate tone.

"Guests are waiting to congratulate you, can you please join Robert." Violet stood in front of Cora with eyes cold as ice.

"Mama, it is their wedding day. Can you please calm down and be nice today." Rosamund said annoyed while taking Peter back in her arms.

Cora gave her a thankful look. "I am coming Lady Grantham."

Violet huffed and walked away.

"She is lady Grantham, is she not?" Cora was surprised by her response. She tried to address her in the right way, she did not want to mess up, especially not on her special day. But since this morning Violet had been on her nerves.

"She is indeed." Rosamund winked. "Mama is just not used to not getting things done in her way. Especially not with Robert who always followed her wishes, but since he met you, he is finally standing up for himself."

Cora sighed, she had been worried about Violet, and this did not make things better. She walked towards Robert who gave her such an adorable look that she almost forgot about Violet’s treatment of her.

"My dear, let me introduce you to Lord Flintshire, his father is the Marquess of Flintshire."

A good-looking man from around the same age as Robert was.

"Hugh has been a dear friend since we were children." Robert continued. Next to Hugh was a woman, she did not look happy Cora thought.

"Nice to meet you, Lord Flintshire." Cora said formal.

"You can call me Hugh. I am only a Lord for other people, not for friends. This is Susan, my fiancée." Hugh put his arm at Susan's back, who reluctantly shook Cora’s hand. "Robert, I know this is your wedding day, but can we talk for a minute or two?"

Robert looked at Cora for her approval. She kissed his cheek. "I will be fine; in the meantime, I can get to know Susan." Cora hoped that making friends in Robert’s circle would please Violet.

"Is that Lady Lancashire." Susan said, when Cora turned towards her to ask a question. A bit stunned, Cora was left alone. She looked around the great hall. All the chairs had been moved to the side and there was a small dance floor. She had loved twirling around in Robert's arm during their opening dance. He had chosen a slow waltz. A soft hand was placed on her arm, she saw Rosamund standing next to her.

"Time to say goodbye to your favourite nephew." She said, while handing Peter to Cora. "Do not feel bad about Susan. Hugh is a very nice man, but he asked a peculiar woman to marry him."

+++

"Why did you send O'Brien upstairs? I thought you only hired her for the day to help Cora get dressed and styled?" Patrick asked Violet while she wheeled him into his bedroom.

"Cora can use some help getting all those pins out of her hair and that dress is also not easy."

"You make it sound as if it is a nice thing you did. But you realise that it is their wedding night? Robert would love to help her I think."

"Patrick!" Violet said shocked.

"Dear, as if we do not know they enjoy each other company already and how do you think you will get grandchildren."

Violet hummed but did not say a word. She started to untie his shoes.

"Maybe I should ask Carson to help me? Or one of our boys, there are some potential future valets under them."

"You do not want me to help you?" Violet stopped and looked up.

"I want you to leave your son at peace with his new wife. That is all I am asking of you."

"He married the wrong girl; how can you be so calm and just let it all happen. I do not understand you." She pulled the first shoe off.

"Dear, we talked about this. You promised me to be more forgiving and you also promised me that you would not make her uncomfortable or feel unwelcome."

Violet threw both his shoes in a corner. "I just cannot believe Robert did not like Isabella and chose Cora instead. Can you imagine, marrying an American girl, when you can have a nice English Lady."

"Your son made a choice with his heart. And I am positive that Cora is a lady, and she will be an amazing Lady Grantham in the future."

"That we will see."

+++

Robert scooped Cora in his arms, when they reached the first landing on the stairs, this erupted a high-pitched shriek from Cora.

"You scared me." she giggled.

"Let us hurry upstairs, nobody has seen us escape."

Cora sighed, while wrapping her arms around his neck. "It feels like we are escaping indeed."

"Were you able to enjoy this day?" Robert lowered Cora back on her feet when they reached her new bedroom. Mrs. Hughes promised to make the room cosy and romantic for tonight. Cora's arms were still wrapped around his neck.

"I am now allowed to call me your wife, your Mrs. Crawley and that fills me with joy." She kissed him passionately, while reaching for the doorknob behind her. "Can we please get me out of this dress."

Robert growled and pushed Cora into the room once she opened the door.

"Oh my God!"

Robert let go off Cora so abruptly that she almost fell on the ground. He could grab her arm to keep her upright. They both looked in horror at O'Brien who was standing in the room.

"Why are you here?" Robert managed to ask.

"Lady Grantham had send me up earlier tonight, she said that Mrs. Crawley had asked for help taking off her dress and unpinning her hair."

To Robert's annoyance this woman did not even blush and she had a smug smile on her face. "Obviously she does not need help, especially not on her wedding day. Now please leave." he tried to keep his voice calm, but he was steaming. Why did his mother do this, why did she try to ruin things for him. What was it that made her feel she needed to do this.

Cora stepped close to Robert, when O'Brien closed the door, she brushed with her hands over his chest. "Do not let this upset you darling. It does not matter."

"But Cora." he now sounded sad. "It does matter. This shows that my mother does not have respect for you or even for me."

She now started to take of his jacket. She let it fall to the ground, she than pulled his tie lose and with that pulled him closer to her. She raised her chin, her lips hovering in front of his lips. "I only want to think about what you are going to do with me tonight." She kissed him on his lips. She left a trail of kisses when she moved to his neck.

"Oh Cora."

"Now please help me out of this dress." She turned around, in the meantime her hands were reaching for the pins holding up her hair.

"Please Milady. Let me help you to take of your lovely dress, brush your hair and then show you how heaven can be like."

#cora crawley #downton abbey #robert crawley #downton #fanfiction #cobert

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oohnotvery · 1 year ago

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Throwing Good After Bad (Chapter 22)

Mulder

Mulder expects a few things upon their return to D.C.: a procedural ass-kicking served up by OPR; a few official reprimands added to his file; and a suspension, maybe even—God forbid—termination.

He anticipates much of it correctly, and after a heated verbal spar with Skinner and Kersh, he and Scully accept their punishment—four weeks without pay. Leave your gun and badge with security. Don’t come near the Hoover for at least a month. Ignore the rubbernecking from your colleagues as you exit the building in a wash of anger and embarrassment. Forget the fact that Kersh didn’t receive a lick of punishment himself.

“At least,” Mulder says to Scully as they part ways in the parking garage, “they’ve got Evan on attempted murder.”

Scully’s lips purse thoughtfully. “I wonder if the court will take into consideration the fact that he saved your life.”

Mulder shrugs. “Reduction in sentence?”

They nod in agreement. There’s an awkward pause as they stand on opposite sides of Scully’s car, staring at each other.

See you in a month doesn’t seem right, not after what they’ve been through. But neither does please come back to my place so I can fuck the hell out of you.

By some unspoken agreement, they part in a strange middle ground—a friendly wave, a sympathetic smile, a promise to call.

None of it surprises him too much, not at first. He expected their punishment, even predicted Kersh’s absolution of guilt. What he didn’t expect was what followed.

They’re a week into their suspension and he hasn’t seen Scully since they parted in the garage. A few days ago, she told him over the phone that she would be seeing her mother soon. Maybe she decided to stay for a few days?

It’s with an uncharacteristic sense of self-preservation that he refrains from calling too frequently. You’re not supposed to look too eager, right? That’s one of the rules of dating? Are they dating? Fuck if he knows.

Apart from his burns, bullet wound, concussion, and severe dehydration, things had been pretty perfect in the hospital. To the consternation of the hospital staff, Scully had slept in his bed with him every night. They had been inseparable, as they should be. He mostly assumed that once they got home and Scully gave him clean bill of health, they would jump right in, taking this starved thing raging between them and giving it life.

Hell, he thinks as he bounces a basketball aimlessly up and down his living room, everyone at the Hoover building who thinks they’re sleeping together would be in for a fun surprise.

On day seven, he caves and calls her twice, and when she doesn’t answer either her cell or her landline, he starts to fidget.

“What the hell, Scully?” he considers yelling into her answering machine, but claps his mouth shut at the last second.

On day eight, he gives up and calls Maggie Scully. And blessing of all blessings, the woman reassures him that her daughter is staying with her.

“Oh,” Mulder says quietly, suddenly feeling awkward. “. . . . can I talk to her?” He feels like a teenage boy trying to get on the phone with the girl he wants to take to prom.

Maggie hesitates and he feels his stomach clench.

“Mrs. Scully?” he prompts nervously.

She sighs gently. “Fox, why don’t you just come over?”

He blinks. “Okay,” he agrees. “But can you tell me—is everything alright?” If he’s going to do this, he wants to know what he’s walking into.

“I think you’d better just come over,” she repeats evasively.

After a quick shower and an ill-conceived attempt to put some food into his jittery stomach, he’s on the road. Some time later, he stands on Maggie’s front porch, heart clattering in his ribcage. She opens the door with an overly sympathetic smile, and that’s when he knows something is truly wrong.

“What’s going on?” he asks, his eyes scanning the living room and kitchen for signs of his partner.

“She’s upstairs,” Maggie says gently, placing a hand on his forearm. “You can go see her,” she says off his questioning look. “But Fox . . . .”

“What is it?”

Maggie licks her lips uneasily, and it’s like staring at Scully’s double. “She’s not doing well.”

A shadow blooms in his chest and he nods tightly. He takes the stairs two at a time, dipping his head into each room. He’s generally unfamiliar with the layout of the Scully house but eventually finds his partner in one of the back rooms. She’s lying in bed, a remote in one hand, her eyes impassively glued to the T.V., which appears to be playing some kind of soap opera.

“Scully?” he says quietly, tapping his knuckles on the door.

She startles, her eyes growing wide as she takes him in. Her mouth opens in surprise and she scrambles up the bed, a red flush blooming on her cheeks. With profiler’s eyes, Mulder observes her quickly—rumpled, unkempt hair; face devoid of makeup; pajamas still on in the middle of the day; curtains shut tight against the windows.

“I wasn’t expecting you. I would’ve dressed,” she stutters out.

He moves to the bed and takes a seat beside her, twisting to meet her eyes. Her normally bright blue irises have clouded over, and although he can tell she’s trying really hard to excuse her appearance, he sees right through her.

“Scully,” he says gently, lifting a palm to her face. With his thumb, he circles the apple of her cheek before leaning in to press a kiss to her forehead. Her skin feels hot on his lips. When he pulls back, there is a glisten of tears in her eyes. “Hey, hey, what’s going on?”

She presses her lips together and shakes her head. It takes her a moment to regain the composure that she values so highly, and he waits patiently as she breathes through her emotions.

Finally, she swallows, then speaks. “I keep going back to that day,” she whispers. Her eyes flick between his own. “I spent a whole day thinking you were dead.” Her lower lip trembles. “Thinking you had died in this terrible, violent, horrifying way.”

She presses a palm to her chest and sucks in a breath, her shoulders shuddering as she releases it. He leans into her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and drawing her in. He can feel the rapid beat of her heart against his.

“I can hardly breathe with the memory of it,” she confesses softly.

His stomach drops as he considers that she has been silently suffering with this pain for over a week now. She turns her head so her cheek rests against his shoulder. After a moment, she speaks.

“What was it like for you?” she murmurs. “Those final moments, before you knew you were being rescued?”

His eyebrows crease and he pulls back, shaking his head gently. “No, Scully,” he says. “No, I’m not going to relive that with you.”

She grips his hand tightly and her eyes penetrate him, demanding information in a way he’s never seen before. “Please,” she begs. “I need to know.”

He studies her for a long moment, then sighs, dropping his gaze. “Scully, no,” he says with finality. He stares down at her hand for a long time, stroking her knuckles as he considers what she needs. When he’s ready, he glances back up at her. “We’ve spent years being chased by death. We’ve both come pretty damn close a dozen or so times.” He pauses, the words caught in his throat. “But for the first time in my life, I thought I was really, truly, finally at the end.” Scully bites her lip hard. “But I got to keep living, Scully. I got to keep living and I get to keep doing life with you. So I won’t focus on death, or what was almost taken from us. I’m going to focus on what’s living, what’s right in front of me.”

A single tear trickles down her cheek and he waits, wondering if she will accept this or fight him on it. She rubs her thumb into the skin of his hand in endless circles and he resists the urge to subdue her nervous energy. Finally, she leans forward, tipping her head to his chest.

“I keep thinking that if I knew how it was for you in those final moments, I’d have some sort of resolution,” she says.

“I don’t think that’s going to help you.”

She beats her fist into his chest, but it’s without any real strength. “I just keep reliving that moment of Lydia dragging me away from you.”

He pets her hair soothingly. He has received some training in trauma processing and for years, he has known that eventually, one of their near-death experiences would catch up to them. But re-experiencing this event isn’t doing her any good.

“Scully, look at me,” he insists, tipping her chin up. “I’m here. Right in front of you. I didn’t die and I—I believe I wasn’t meant to. Whether it’s due to your God or the Fates or simply the result of very good luck, I’m alive.” He tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. “But you know what I really believe?”

She tilts her head to the side in question.

“I believe that it was you, Scully. I think you saved me. I think you always have.”

She shakes her head critically, her nose crinkling at his nonsense. “I believed you died, Mulder. It wasn’t like during my coma when I—when I had the strength of your belief that I would live.”

He smiles at the memory. “That’s not what I’m saying. What I’m saying is . . . we’re meant to be together. Whatever that looks like,” he quickly clarifies. “And deep down, I don’t think your soul wanted to accept that it had lost mine here on earth.”

She stares at him hard for a long minute, and then, miracle of miracles, rolls her eyes. “Mulder, that is such crap.”

He barks out a laugh, relieved to see some of his Scully returning. He winks. “Just making sure you still have your wits about you.”

She bites her lip, shaking her head with a slight smile. “You’re right about one thing,” she concedes, and the air around them grows serious again. “We’re meant to be together.”

He clasps the back of her head and pulls her into a hug.

Mulder shuts off the soaps on T.V. and after a time, Scully falls asleep beside him. When she’s dozing peacefully, he retreats downstairs to make a coffee.

Mrs. Scully looks nervous as he wanders into the kitchen. “How is she?” she immediately asks.

He smiles to himself, nodding. “She’s going to be fine.”

Mrs. Scully’s shoulders collapse with relief. “She’s only told me bits and pieces, Fox. How bad—how bad was it this time?”

He cringes a little, avoiding her gaze. “Ah, it was not—not one of our better days,” he replies cautiously.

When he looks back up, Mrs. Scully is staring at him with a mix of regret and relief. They sit at the table and share a pot of coffee, both avoiding the topic of Scully and their investigation. He’s about to rise and take a cup of coffee up to Scully when he hears the patter of bare feet on the kitchen tile. He turns.

Scully tips her hand in a quick wave. He’s relieved to see that she has showered and changed into jeans and a long-sleeved t-shirt, which makes her look instantly more like herself. Her mother rises to kiss her on the cheek and then excuses herself from the table. Scully helps herself to a cup of coffee and then tilts her head towards the living room in invitation. He follows her there, settling in beside her on the couch. She sips at her drink for a few quiet moments, and he can’t help but notice the way color seems to be returning to her face.

“It’s nice to see you,” he finally says, hoping he sounds more casual than he’s feeling.

She hides her smile with the dip of her chin. “I think . . . I think it was wrong of me to isolate myself,” she admits.

He stretches and shrugs. He won’t pretend he wasn’t wounded by her long absence, nor will he act like she hasn’t hurt herself by staying away. But now that the concern and fear he felt on the drive here have faded, he feels the return of that familiar tension between them. But this time, it’s strung more tightly than it’s ever been before.

“When are you coming back to D.C.?” he finally asks.

He half-expects her to hem and haw around the issue, to tell him she needs more time. He grits his teeth in preparation. But her eyes flit to his and he sees a slight dance to them, a little mischief there.

She smiles knowingly. “I was thinking tonight, actually.”

His eyebrows rise. “Oh?” He tries his damnedest to sound casual, but he hears the ache and longing in his voice.

She sets her cup on the coffee table and scoots up until their knees are touching. “I don’t think,” she says evenly, “that it’s good for either of us to be alone right now.”

He huffs a little laugh. “I could have told you that a week ago.”

She rolls her eyes good-naturedly. “So, Mulder.” She fixes him with a meaningful look. “Want to keep me company tonight?”

His eyes don’t leave hers. “Your place or mine?”

She grins, and although neither of them is anywhere close to healed, he can see the light returning to her eyes.

“Mine.”

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