#i liked how i kept getting an ad about cheating in marriages while reading it though. it really added to the experience

[fandomnsfw]

Doll House - Stiles Stilinski x Reader

Pairing: Stiles x Reader

Prompt: Doll House by Melanie Martinez

Warning: None really...a little blood I guess? Mainly Fluff

Thank you to my Beta @lets-imagine-fanfics once again for fixing my screw ups! XD

ENJOY!!

******

You walked into the school, a smile firmly placed on your face as the girls spoke about their weekend. Jenny was talking about her date with Mark while Anna was laughing about something Hayley had said. You spotted your brother across the hall and waved as the girls started swooning over him.  

“Hey, big bro. How was practice?” You asked with a sweet smile.  

“It was good. Hey, what time is mom co-”  

“Yo, Xavier, you forgot your phone!” You heard a voice exclaim as he spluttered out the changing room.  

“Thanks, Stilinski.” Your brother laughed before pocketing his phone.  

“Hi Y/N.” Stiles muttered with a grin.  

“Hi, Stiles.” You giggled as he ran his hands through his hair which was still wet, from what you guessed was the showers. You walked off with the other girls who instantly started gossiping about your brother.  

“I dunno about Xavier but Stiles got hot recently.” Anna sighed, fanning herself before bursting into a fit of laughter along with the other girls.  

“Anna’s right, Stilinski buffed up and grew his hair out. He looked like the perfect guy, I mean if you get rid of the spazziness.” Jenny snorted, as she flipped her hair over her shoulder.  

“I gotta go grab something from my car before class, I’ll see you later!” You exclaimed cheerfully before making your way to your car.  

You took out a packet of cigarettes lighting one up before taking a much-needed drag. You felt yourself instantly relax. It wasn’t like you hated your friend it’s just they were very superficial and you had enough superficial people in your life to know that you’d never have true friends as long as you kept them around. You glanced at your phone as you took another drag from the cigarette.  

Mom - ‘Going out tonight won’t be back till late. Use the credit card to eat out.’  

Dad – ‘Working late tonight.’  

You snorted as you read your parent’s texts before throwing your phone into your Prada handbag. As you took another drag you heard someone speak from behind you.  

“You know that’s bad for you right?” You’d recognise that voice anywhere. That voice was attached to the man you’d fantasised about on a regular basis. Stiles Stilinski.  

“You know it’s rude to pry right?” You snarled as you took another drag.  

“Oh, so now that your friends and brother aren’t round you show your true colours.” He snorted sarcastically.  

“No, more like I don’t feel the need to act like a fake Barbie doll now my friends aren’t around.” You sighed as crouched down.  

“I used to know someone like you.” He chuckled, as he squatted down in front of you.  

“Lydia Martin.” You huffed with a laugh.  

“The love of Stiles Stilinski’s life.” You added sarcastically.  

“Oh, so you heard about that?” Stiles laughed, running his hands through his slowly drying hair.  

“Everyone knows. It’s also like everyone knows not to touch Lydia now because it’s like a written law that you two will end up together. Small town. People gossip.” You scoffed irritably.  

“Lydia’s in love with someone else. I’m over her. We’re friends. I know you were dating Kieran and everyone kept saying you two were the perfect couple that you’d marry each other straight outta high school but last week you broke up.” Stiles retaliated softly with a sad smile.  

“He didn’t know the real me. Seemed cruel to keep leading him on.” You muttered with a frown as you thought about your parent’s marriage.  

To everyone in this town your family was perfect and rich but behind closed curtains, your entire family was fucked. Your brother smoked weed constantly, your mother was an alcoholic and your father was a cheating piece of shit that brought his mistresses home.  

It’s not a family if you have to pretend.  

“You’re different from what I thought.” Stiles whispered, more to himself than you.  

“Why? Because I’m not perfect?” You huffed with a dark laugh.  

“No. You seem less…Doll-like…I feel like when I see you I’m staring at a fragile doll-like if I touch you or stare too long you’ll break.” Stiles sighs sadly, causing you to stare at him in shock. He hit the nail on the head. You put out your cigarette before glancing up at him with a sad smile.  

“Sometimes the things that go on behind closed doors are things that have to be hidden for the sake of the family.” You replied the words taken from something your mother once told you.  

“If you can’t be true to yourself then you’re not living. You’re just breathing.” Stiles shot you a sympathetic smile that should have pissed you off but somehow it made you smile back.  

“My mom drinks…” You started as you stared at the ground.  

“She does it to forget my dad’s infidelity.” You laughed your tone dark and hateful.  

“That’s fucked up, dude.” Stiles huffed angrily.  

“You’re telling me…My brother started smoking weed last year to deal with it but now it’s like half the time I see him…He’s fucking stoned out his mind.” You whispered, the pain now evident in your voice.  

“I’m the first person you’ve told about this aren’t I?” Stiles muttered as he stood up, holding his hand out so he could help you up.  

“Yeah. I’ve seen you with your friends…You’re loyal. I feel like I can trust you.” You stated as you stared into his eyes looking for any sign you’d just fucked up by telling another person about your fake family.  

“I won’t tell a soul.” Stiles chuckled a big grin on his face.  

“Thanks, Stiles. You’re lucky to have friends and a dad like the Sheriff.” You commented shyly.  

“You know my dad?” Stiles commented confusion in his voice.  

“Yeah, he’s brought back my brother stoned or drunk a few times. Your dad never books him for it because I have a feeling he has an idea what goes on behind closed doors. He’s a good man.” You muttered softly as you remembered the conversation you had with the Sheriff.  

“Thanks. I think so too.” Stiles huffed proudly. You giggled at his expression before walking off.  

“Bye Stilinski!” You chuckled over your shoulder earning an excitable wave from the boy in return.  

Over the next few weeks you hung out with Stiles after school, occasionally some days he couldn’t come due to plans with his friends but if he couldn’t hang he’d text you constantly. You’d grown closer and it made you happy to be able to talk to someone about your problems.  

You got out of your car grabbing your white leather Chanel handbag before spotting Stiles’ jeep pull up. You looked around to check that your friends or brother weren’t about before running up to him and jumping on his back, not realising Scott was at the other side of the car.  

“Good morning Sti.” You giggled as you kissed his cheek.  

“Good morning princess.” He retorted sarcastically before glancing at Scott who was now staring with wide eyes.  

“Stiles, why is Xavier’s baby sister kissing you?” Scott muttered making you now very aware of his presence.  

“I-I only kissed his cheek I m-mean…It’s not l-like I…ya know.” You stuttered nervously as you looked around to check no one else had noticed the display.  

“Hey, Y/N, breath he’s just shocked. He doesn’t care.” Stiles chuckled softly as he ruffled your hair, earning a glare from you as you fixed your hair.  

“No, I don’t mind, just wondered. I didn’t realise you two were friends…Wait! Is this the girls you’ve been texting constantly, that’s had you smiling every 5 seconds.” Scott laughed as he pointed at Stiles with an amused face.  

“No!” Stiles shouted quickly.  

“No!?” You snapped angrily as you glared at him.  

“I mean yes!” Stiles corrected earning an eye roll from both you and Scott.  

“How come you never talk in school?” Scott asked causing you to freeze.  

“I didn’t wanna drag her down to my nerd depths.” Stiles chuckled as he scratched the back of his neck awkwardly.  

“Scott’s right, we should talk in school too!” You exclaimed as your heart started thumping nervously.  

“Y/N, you don’t have to-”  

“No, come on you can walk me to my locker!” You giggled plastering a fake smile on your face which you were sure Stiles could decipher by now. You linked arms with him and began walking towards the school.  

“Ha! No.” Stiles shook his arm out of yours shocking you and Scott.  

“I am not walking in there linking arms. I’ll look like your new gay bestie!” Stiles exclaimed dramatically causing you and Scott to burst out laughing. He threw his arm over your shoulder with a grin.  

“And walking in like you’re my new Bae is better?” You snorted as you wrapped your arm around his waist.  

“Don’t ever say Bae again or I’ll disown you but yes it's better.” Stiles laughed sarcastically, earning a slap to his chest from you.  

“I’d rather you really were my boyfriend but ya know.” You muttered under your breath.  

You walked into school with Stiles’ arm slung around you and it took all of 5 seconds before the whispers started. You kept your head up knowing if you lowered it, people would think you had something to be ashamed of.  

Scott glanced at you with wide eyes as if asking if you were okay but you just sent him a smile. He walked you to your locker where your friends were waiting. He gave you a hug before kissing your forehead.  

“Laters, princess.” He chuckled as you shot him a heart-warming smile.  

“Bye.” You whispered shyly and once he was gone the hyenas were on you so fast, you almost didn’t even see them move.  

“You’re dating Stiles!?” Jenny whisper yelled with wide eyes.  

“No.” You muttered quietly wishing you could say yes.  

“Then why did he call you princess and kiss you!?” Anna questioned angrily.  

“He’s a friend of mine.” You answered sweetly, trying to stop yourself from strangling each and every one of them. You ignore the rest of the questions and head to class as you took deep breaths and tried to calm down.  

When lunch came around you were worn out from all the questions from other students had been asking, so when lunch came around you went to the cafeteria and took your food to Stiles’ table. You looked around the table seeing no chairs so you just sat on Stiles’ knee. He made no comment as you started eating your lunch but you could see every one of his friend staring at you.  

“Why is Xavier’s sister sitting at our table?” Liam asked quietly.  

“I have a name too, Dunbar.” You huffed angrily as you shot him a frown.  

“Y/N, right?” Lydia asked sassily.  

“Yes, Lydia.” You answered just as sassily.  

“Woah! What happened to make you all pissy?” Stiles asked as he looked into your eyes.  

“Nothing.” You sighed as you looked away from his intense gaze.  

“Oh no, we’re not doing this again, princess. Tell me.” Stiles sighed his brow furrowing slightly.  

“I’ve been hounded none stop since this morning and I really want a smoke but I promised you I wouldn’t.” You pouted as you glanced at him briefly. Stiles nodded before picking up a fry and holding it to your lips without any more questions.  

“My question is why is she sat on Stiles’ knee?” Malia growled causing you to freeze. You remembered her and Stiles dating for a while but you were sure they’d broken up. Maybe you’d been wrong.  

“Why does that matter?” Jackson huffed obnoxiously.  

“There were no seats and Stiles is single and obviously her friend.” Ethan added earning a nod from Scott.  

You tried not to smile so you shoved another chip in your mouth. Stiles tucked your hair behind your ear sweetly before holding out his water bottle for you. You took it with a thank you before taking a sip. The rest of lunch went like this, though I could tell his friends felt a little awkward. Stiles reassured you they just had to get used to you.  

After you walked to your locker with him, he placed his hand to the side of your head against the locker. You glanced at him in suspicion before he leaned in and whispered in your ear.  

“Your girlfriends are staring from behind their books.” Stiles chuckled against your ear, sending shiver straight down your spine.  

“What, so you thought you’d make my life harder to explain by making it look like your whispering dirty shit in my ear.” You whispered back, purposely brushing your lips against his ear. He pulled back biting his lower lip to try and hide his smile.  

“I mean if you’d like me to make it easier I could totally whisper dirty things in your ear?” Stiles stated with a smirk. You let out a little snort even though you knew your cheeks were likely red but you couldn’t bring yourself to care.  

The rest of the day was filled with more questions and gossip but after spending lunchtime with Stiles you didn’t care. You head was filled with thoughts of him. Stiles had asked if you wanted to have dinner at his but you’d yet to go to Stiles’ house and you were honestly nervous. Would his dad be home? Would his dad like you even though he’d basically arrested your brother more times than you could count?  

At the end of the day, you followed Stiles home in your car with a nauseous feeling in your stomach from nerves but you ignored it as you pulled up and got out with your handbag. Stiles slung his arm over your shoulder which made you laugh remembering earlier in the day.  

You walked into his house following him to what turned out to be the kitchen. He grabbed two soda’s passing you one silently before his dad walked into the kitchen clearly shocked to see you in his kitchen drinking soda.  

“Hi, Y/N.” The Sheriff greeted with a small smile.  

“Hi, Sheriff.” You greeted politely, which made his smile widen.  

“Please call me Noah. I didn’t know you and Stiles were friends?” He questioned as he pulled out a bottle of water.  

“It’s a new development.” You laughed as Stiles looked between you and his dad quietly.  

“Oh, are you the new girl my son has been goi-”  

“Okaaaaay! That’s enough of that pops.” Stiles exclaimed with a glare.  

“Well, it’s good to see Stiles dating again.” The Sheriff huffed with a proud smile.  

“Oh, we’re not dating!” You squeaked with a blush.  

“God, no need to sound so offended.” Stiles snorted sarcastically.  

“The whole school thinks we’re dating if I was offended I’d correct them.” You replied, sticking out your tongue childishly.  

“Why does the whole school think your dating?” The Sheriff asked with a raised brow.  

“Cos Stiles put his arm over my shoulder when we went into school today, then at lunch he p-”  

“THAT’S ENOUGH OF THAT!” Stiles shouted rather loudly causing you to jump.  

“Well, that sounds like an eventfully day.” The Sheriff chuckled you nodded cheerfully as he started asking about the rest of your day.  

You sat in the living room with the Sheriff while Stiles made tea. His words were fatherly and caring which made you smile down at your lap happily. He asked about your brother which you awkwardly answered but he didn’t judge you or bring it up after that.  

“So, you like my son?” The Sheriff questioned as he stared at you over his coffee.  

“W-What?” You squealed a blush making its way to your face for what felt like the millionth time that day.  

“He may be blind but I’m not.” The Sheriff chuckled causing you to laugh.  

“Yeah…He’s sweet and he accepts me for who I am even though my family is screwed up. He’s very affectionate too.” You giggle as you remember all the forehead kisses and hugs he’s given you.  

“It appears you’re just as blind as my son.” The Sheriff mumbled making your eyes widen as if you’d miss heard it.  

“Pardon?” You asked politely.  

“Nothing, anyway Stiles should be done soon why don’t we go and sit in the dining room?” The Sheriff asked with a smile. You gave him a nod and followed after him.  

You sat down at the table with the Sheriff as Stiles served up lasagne. After he’d done he stroked your hair. You looked up at him and he kissed your forehead quickly before sitting down. You smiled happily as you dug into the food. Stiles cooking was beyond amazing, which honestly didn’t shock you because you knew his dad worked a lot and his mom wasn’t around so you figured Stiles knew how to cook.  

“This is really good!” He exclaimed with a giggle.  

“It’s my mom’s recipe she taught me how to make it.” Stiles muttered with a smile. You leant over and ran your fingers through his hair before caressing his cheek with your thumb. He glanced over at you with a grin and nodded to you letting you know he’s was fine.  

“You two are so sweet!” You heard a female voice come from behind you. You turned round to see Scott and Mrs McCall stood there.  

“Mrs McCall!” You giggled as you ran over to give her a hug.  

“Hi, sweetie. I didn’t know you and Stiles had started dating.” You let out a dramatic whine as the Sheriff and Stiles started laughing.  

“How do you know my mom?” Scott asked as he sat down with a plate of lasagne.  

“Ermm well…” You flushed as you awkwardly pushed your food around.  

“Y/N wants to be a nurse when she gets older.” Mrs McCall supplied while wiping sauce off the Sheriff's cheek causing him to grin.  

“Really? You never told me that.” Stiles gasped as he reached out to hold your hand.  

“This town is kinda accident prone so I want to be able to help people.” You giggled but for some reason everyone froze, causing you to frown. You felt like there was something you should know but you decided to leave it for now and ask Stiles later.  

A few seconds later there was a knock at the door you stood telling them you’d get it but what stood at the door shocked you to your core. There stood Jackson and Ethan holding a bleeding man that looked vaguely familiar.  

“Oh my god! Get him in here!” You screamed urgently.  

“Stiles, can you get me warm water, alcohol and a towel please!” You screamed as they laid the man down on the couch.  

“Wh- OH MY GOD, DEREK!” Stiles screamed as he ran up to the man.  

“STILES TOWEL, WATER, ALCOHOL GO!” You screamed as you ripped off Derek’s shirt seeing several slash wounds it looked like an animal had mauled him.  

“MELISSA, I NEED YOUR HELP!” You screamed as you took off your cardigan and held it to the worst wound. Melissa ran in with Stiles following. You took the towel and water before cleaning most of the blood when you’d done you grabbed the alcohol and looked up at Jackson and Scott.  

“Hold him down.” Was all you needed to say before you began cleaning the wounds with alcohol the man thrashed around and roared but right now the fact that this man had glowing blue eyes wasn’t a problem or something you could get scared of, right now you needed to stop his bleeding.  

“Ethan, hold his legs.” You screamed as his legs started kicking around.  

“Melissa, hold this for now.” You said pointing to the cardigan on the vastly bleeding cut.  

“I need you to tell me how to help him. He’s obviously not human and right now I have no idea whether I should call an ambulance or wait.” You sighed as you looked at Stiles.  

“Werewolf. He’ll heal fast.” Stiles muttered but instead of questioning you nodded and turned to the Sheriff.  

“I need a needle, lighter and thread. Even if he heals faster, it’s not going to stop bleeding until I close it.” You stated softly before turning to Melissa.  

“I think we should stitch this one then bandage his torso just until the bleeding stops.” You muttered softly as if asking for her approval.  

“Well done, Y/N.” She muttered in a soft motherly tone that made you smile.  

After Melissa stitched him up and bandaged him, Derek passed out. You picked up the remaining vodka and took a swing earning a raised eyebrow from the Sheriff. You stood up and crossed your arms.  

“I just tended to a bleeding dying man who turned out to be a werewolf. I think I deserve it.” You sighed before turning to Stiles.  

“Explain. Now.” You snapped angrily. You weren’t angry because Stiles associated with werewolves you were angry because he didn’t tell you. You had thought he trusted you.  

“That is Derek Hale. He’s a werewolf.” He stated simply with an awkward smile.  

“That much I already figured out myself, thanks. How many of your friends are wolves?” You sighed knowing that going back a few years Stiles wouldn’t have been seen dead with Jackson but now it was like they had mutual trust.  

“That’s not my secret to tell.” Stiles sighed softly.  

“Scott, your one right?” You questioned as you turned to him.  

“How?”  

“My brother has been playing lacrosse with you since freshmen year. You don’t think I noticed when you went from asthmatic and benched to first line with perfect health and reflexes?” You snorted before turning to Jackson and Ethan.  

“Ethan and his brother turned up when people started dying last year. I’m gonna go with your one and Jackson…You and Stiles used to hate each other and now you seem to have this weird mutual understanding. So I’m gonna go with you too. So that leaves you.” You pointed to Stiles.  

“What, you can’t suss me out?” Stiles chuckled with his arms crossed.  

“No, I can’t.” You muttered angrily as you glanced at Melissa you way wiping away Derek’s sweat.  

“Derek Hale. Cora Hales big brother and has an Uncle called Peter. The family died in a fire 12 years ago.” You muttered as you stared at the man.  

“How do you know that?” Stiles asked suspiciously.  

“Laura used to babysit me…” You whispered sadly as you remembered hearing about her death nearly 2 years ago.  

“Derek probably doesn’t remember me. We only met once or twice.” You snorted as you remembered the huge crush you used to have on him.  

“I used to have a huge crush on him. He’s grown a lot since I saw him so I didn’t recognise him until you said his name.” You muttered as you remembered all the times Laura teased you.  

“Why does everyone seem to like Derek Hale!?” Stiles grumbled childishly.  

“Because he’s hot.” You, Melissa, Ethan and Jackson said at the same time.  

“Objectifying a man while he’s passed out from blood loss. Classy, Y/N.” You heard a gruff voice mumbled. You looked down to see Derek with one eye open.  

“I was taught by the best.” You chuckled before you felt an arm wrap around you. You looked to see Stiles glaring at Derek who raised an eyebrow at you.  

“No, we’re not dating!” You snapped at him but he sent you a smirk.  

“Shut up, I don’t need your opinionated facial expressions, Hale.” You huffed as Stiles snorted next to you, before kissing your temple affectionately  

“You grew up.” Derek huffed  

“I feel old.” He added making you laugh.  

“So who runs the pack?” You asked softly as you glanced at Stiles. Stiles raised an eyebrow at you as if asking how you’d know that a pack needs a leader.  

“I read a lot of werewolf romance novels, okay? Don’t judge me!” You huffed with a blush as everyone laughed at you.  

“That would be me.” Scott chuckled but his answer had your jaw hitting the floor.  

“Scott McCall is an Alpha?” You gasped.  

Months after finding out you’d been accepted into the pack as another human member. You had settled in with everyone else, you finally stopped caring about fake friends and pretending to be someone else.  

You were currently sat at a pack meeting with Scott talking away about a pack that had asked permission to pass through. You’d zoned out to stare at Stiles who was sat next to Scott with a serious expression. He ran his hands through his hair before biting his lip in what looked to be stressed out manner.  

Once the meeting was over you grabbed yourself a water from Derek’s kitchen with a sigh. You wanted to tell Stiles how you felt but you had no idea how. Maybe you should just kiss him? Or jump his bones?  

You laughed at the thought, earning a raised eyebrow from Derek who had come to put the coffee pot on. You shot him a grin before skipping back to the living room. The pack were setting up a film so you sought out Stiles, spotting him sat in the corner of one of the couches.  

You sat on his knee then looked up at him with a smile which he returned. You decided while the pack was busy you’d make your move. You leaned up and pressed a soft kiss to his lips before turning to the film with a blush creeping up your neck. However, as you finally started calming your heart, you were picked up.  

“We’ll be back in a minute.” Stile stated as he carried you to the kitchen bridal style.  

“Wanna tell me what just happened?” Stile asked seriously which honestly scared you.  

“I-I kissed you?” You supplied, though it came out more like a question.  

“Why?” He asked just as seriously as before.  

“Because I like you…if not m-more than th-that…” you stuttered your blush coming back tenfold. Just as you were about to get down Stiles cupped both your cheeks and planted a passionate kiss on your lips before pulling back and gazing into your eyes.  

“Thank god. I’ve wanted to do that for forever.” Stiles sighed before placing another kiss on your lips.  

“Would you do the honour of being my official girlfriend?” Stiles muttered with a small hopeful smile.  

“I would love to Sti.” You giggled happily.  

[the-sappho-of-lesbos]

I think I’ve mentioned how when my dad left my mum for this woman he was having an affair with (I think I was about 15 I can’t remember exactly lol)

She ended up having a massive MS attack from the stress and was bed bound for a while. So I was doing most of the cooking and cleaning and like getting my siblings ready. I also became the person my Mum confided in because she didn’t really have anyone else.

One night she was really upset and going on about how she wanted to get back at my dad and that she knew something that would completely ruin him. THEN she told me for the first 10 years of their marriage he had been cheating on her with men sexually.

So that whole thing made heaps of thoughts go through my brain.

The first I’m embarrassed to admit was: is it weird if I still read gay stuff now. I probably can’t now.

The second one , after talking with her a bit more, was she didn’t emotionally value gay relationships as much as straight relationships because she was more upset about this woman and then all those men and that he “only did it for sexual relief”.

And that not being straight was a dirty secret that could ruin people.

At this time I was very heavily learning about myself that I wasn’t straight. I hadn’t told anyone. And I didn’t have the words to describe what I was yet. I just knew I wasn’t straight. And I knew in that moment I couldn’t tell anyone because suddenly I was in the same category as a mass cheater who made my mum have an MS attack and that my feelings were inherently not as Meaning as straight people and only a sexual relief.

I did end up coming out around that age though because I just broke down one day and my mum asked me the “is there anything you want to tell me about yourself” aka are you gay question lol.

And then after that I was still finding lots of my dad’s p0rn , especially lesbian ones, he told me that he wasn’t actually into men it’s just because he met the wrong people - and again my head was full of me being bad for being this way. That it wasn’t a real thing. Just a sexual thing to be kept hidden. That only happens when you fall into the wrong crowds.

I started getting sick at the thought of people thinking of me in those situations. So I called myself asexual. I would drill into everyone I didn’t want sex. I wasn’t like that. It also helped me hold onto the illusion I could be with a man. I would tell people I was romantically into men and women while shoving down those sexual feelings of women and pretending they weren’t there. I was obsessed with being seen as innocent and pure and holding onto to a type of naivety that I think I felt I had been robbed of. I would pretend to not get sexual jokes. I would push down my feelings. Pretend to not understand relationships.

And then I joined an lgbt youth group. And almost all the people there would talk badly about lesbians. Call them names. Say they were bad people.

And it felt like again the world was confirming my fear that who I was was a bad person. That my sexuality was something wrong. So I shoved it down even further. Trying to convince myself by any means necessary that I wasn’t a lesbian. Like maybe if I like anime I can like men. If my favourite character is a man then surely I can fall for men.

Then I became friends with this one guy. I KNEW I just knew fully in my heart if I were to be ever be attracted to a man it would have been him. And yet I wasn’t. I told him I thought I was gay so I couldn’t be with him. But that I really wanted to be his friend. And after that he would just continue to ask me out and tell me how sad he was. So again, it felt like the world was telling me that my sexuality made me a bad person.

I kept pushing it down. But I would always talk about being attracted to women. I simultaneously made being attracted to women my personality, while always adding the footnote that it absolutely wasn’t sexual.

I was about 18 or 19 when I cracked though. I fully snapped. I lost most of my friends. I couldn’t handle the homophobia I’d surrounded myself with. I couldn’t handle being treated like a bad person for my sexuality. I couldn’t handle being debated. So o snapped. I was very angry during those times. It honestly feels like looking back on someone that wasn’t me. I couldn’t get rid of one friend though, I felt I didn’t want to through it away, but there feels like a permanent wall now because I know she’s not okay with my sexuality. She shut me down when I talked about what I gone through. So she feels there but not there too.

And I can’t help but feel like my lesbianism has lead me to a life of a loneliness. I’m both so upset at my sexuality yet so defensive of it. If anyone says anything I normally jump at them. I shut them down. I call out there homophobia. But at the same time it breaks me down.

I still hold onto that idea that I’m a bad person for being a lesbian. And it seems to doesn’t matter where I go there is a debate going on if lesbians are actually bad or not. You go into straight circles and they don’t get it and think it’s okay to have a think piece discussion on my personhood. And I just have to accept it as their opinion. I go to lgbt events and those discussions are back again - but they are using more buzzwords.

I look towards my dad and I see a man who hates himself and hates me. I know every times he says something homophobic to me he’s saying it to himself as well. And I don’t know how to feel about it.

I look towards my mum and see someone who says she accepts me and shoots my dad down anytime he says something homophobic, but I can also see the unease and discomfort in her eyes when I talk about it. I see her complacency for homophobia as long as it’s coming from her friends or family. I see how she doesn’t view my personhood as the same as my sister simply because I have no hope of finding men attractive. That I’m less then. That my feelings are not worth as much.

And I look at how lonely I am. How single I am. How I don’t fit in with other lgbt people around me and it’s so hard not to feel as though there really is something wrong with my sexuality and that maybe this is a punishment for something.

[0mrs-evans0]

𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐨𝐮𝐜𝐡 𝐦𝐞 𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐫, 𝐝𝐨𝐜𝐭𝐨𝐫

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬: ~1,7k

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: Doctor Andy Barber is the only man who has touched you in months

𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩: Gynecologist!Andy Barber x Married!Fem!Reader (Andy is single, imaginary au - Laurie and Jacob do not exist; Neal Logiudice is reader’s husband)

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: (badly checked) explicit sexual content; explicit language; dub-con (kinda); cheating (reader is married); sexual tension; vaginal fingering; flirting; dirty talk; kinda bad reader?? (materialistic); pet names; squirting; (let me know if I forgot something)

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PART 2

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!! The warning is given, you are responsible for what you read

Your stomach began to hurt and filled up with butterflies while you were waiting for your favorite doctor. It was derogatory, but doctor Andy was the only man who has touched you in months.

Your marriage was awful in many ways, but the sex life was the worst one. Neal couldn’t even find that special spot inside of you that made you feel tingles. You couldn't find a word other than pathetic to describe your husband. You didn’t love Neal, he was a pain in the ass. Nothing else. Wearing Logiudice as the last name was your sad duty.

As a child, your mother kept telling you not to look for love in your life. The most important thing was money. Without it, even love seemed like nothing. You were grateful to her for that. She taught you how to fight for yourself and not to look at the feelings of others. It was much better because no one could hurt you. It was you who hurt.

You have to admit Mr. Barber was not bad. Gorgeous to be honest. His blue eyes, broad arms, and sexy beard. All you could do was fantasize about how it would feel between your legs, leaving a marvelous scratch.

“Mrs. Logiudice!” The assistant's voice woke you up from your trance. The little smile on her perfect, red lips. “Doctor Barber is waiting for you.”

You just smiled, too absorbed in the thought that in a moment you would be able to enjoy the sight of him. Nothing could make your day better.

You knocked lightly on the mahogany door, waiting for those two simple words.

“Come in.” His voice alone made you feel a tingling sensation in the most delicate zone. He has so much power over all your body. No one else has been able to do this.

You pushed lightly on the door to open them. Andy, as usual, was sitting at his large desk, filling some papers.

God, he was so handsome… His veiny, big hands playing with the pen between his fingers. Oh, what you would do to feel them deep inside of you. He was perfect, no one could argue with that.

“It's so nice to see you again, Mrs.Logiudice!” Andy’s bright smile would lighten any of your bad days. “Why don’t we go straight to the reason for your visit today?”

***********

Don’t get too excited. Don’t get too excited. Don’t get too excited.

You kept repeating those words in your head like a damn mantra, you tried not to pay attention to the man nearby, so as not to worsen the condition of your poor pussy. Andy was sitting between your legs, biting his bottom lip concentrating on getting ready for his work.

Holy shit, you were soaked now. Why didn’t you just back out when you first met him? It was obvious that your body would react to any contact he was making. But here you were, bare from the waist down, lying with firmly crossed legs as he dragged various equipment needed for the check-up.

You knew your pussy was impossibly wet. Your husband didn't get you so worked up in months, maybe years and here - Andy hasn't even touched you yet. You had to hold back a moan when he got closer to your bare thighs. You didn't even notice when you started to shake.

“Everything’s alright honey?” Andy obviously didn’t know what that name between his plump lips was doing to you. “If you’re not feeling alright we can move our meeting to another term.”

“No, no! I’m all good, doc.” You said with a little smile on your face. “Just nervous.”

It was true after all. You were stressed but not in the way Andy thought. You were scared that your juices would leave a stain on the towel placed on the gynecologist chair.

“If you say so…” Andy smiled, placing his gloved hand on one of your thighs, for your misfortune - so damn close to your dripping cunt. You could feel the pulsing of need bubbling in your most intimate area. “Okay…” He murmured to himself starting the examination.

Your head dropped back on the chair, there was no way back now. He was seconds away from finding out just how much excited you were to him touching you.

“Let me know if you’ll feel uncomfortable or want me to stop, okay?” You nodded at his words, feeling troublesome because of how wet your pussy was. You were trying damn hard to keep your slick from dripping onto the leather chair you were lying on.

You inhaled the deep breath you didn’t know you were holding when Andy spread your crossed legs. World seemed to slow down when he got a good look at your bare cunt. You tried to crawl back up the chair when Andy’s face was dangerously close to your core.

“Baby, you’re soaked.” You could tell the difference in his now even deeper voice. “So pretty…”

You didn’t say anything. Too embarrassed to think about something clever.

“So worked up…” He smiled to himself. “You’re this wet just for me?”

“I-uh, I…” What do you say when your gynecologist just saw your slick dripping down on his chair in his office? “It’s not, it’s not what it looks like…” You said with a shaking voice.

“Honey, in my opinion - it’s exactly what I see and think it is.” He cowed at the sore expression that showed on your face.

“Fuck!” You cursed under your breath. “I’m so sorry doctor, I’m just gonna leave and pretend like it never happened.”

You tried to stand up on your shaky legs but his strong arms pulled you down on the chair again. “How could I live with myself knowing that I left such a pretty little thing like you high and dry…”

“Doc… What do you mean?” You were screwed, you know that by the tingle that flew by your pussy at the image what that muscular man could do to you. However, you weren't some cheap whore. You weren’t sure if you wanted it that way. “I don’t…” You take a deep breath in. “I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

“Oh, honey!” You could feel his breath on your cheek. “I think it’s the best idea in my whole life” Andy purred to your ear. You could feel the waves of excitement flowing in your body, replacing the previous, budding feeling of insecurity. “Lemme just take it off of you.”

His fingers brushed your shoulder as he pulled down the strap of your tiny sundress. “Always teasing me with these little skirts of yours…” Andy kissed his way down your neck leaving little love bites from time to time. “Bet you didn’t even know what you were doing to me, did you?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, doc.” You moaned in the response. That wasn’t true. You were doing all of this on purpose, trying to make him take the initiative. Then why weren't you sure if you want him now? “I-I have a husband! I don’t think I want that…”

“You sure ‘bout that, honey?” His smile will be the death of you soon enough, you knew it. “I’m just gonna help you relax a bit”

His finger teased your clit before you even had a second to blink. He was sliding deep into your channel. “God… Andy!” You couldn’t help the moan that escaped from your mouth. It felt good after all. Your hands sliding up Andy’s chest to clutch at his shoulders. You didn’t want him to stop, not now when you were so close to cumming.

“You gotta be more quiet for me… Can you do that, baby?” Andy’s deep voice made you feel some kind of way. “Don’t want anyone to walk on us now, do you?”

You just shook your head too absorbed in the pleasure. “Just please don’t stop! Don’t stop Andy!” Your eyes rolled back as you clenched around his digit. He was stroking your walls slowly with two fingers inside of you.

Andy hummed something to himself when you practically devoured him. “You’re so tight, fuck! See how good I can make you feel?” You tipped your back to meet his now dark, lustful gaze. “Did that prick, husband of yours, ever made you feel like this?”

“No! Not even half this good!” You could have sworn Neal was able to hear your scream from his office. There was no comparison. Andy was giving you the best experience you ever had.

“Your walls are so wet and warm” He whispered into the skin of your neck. “I could come just from the feeling of them”

His confession made you shiver with anticipation. It wasn’t enough though, you started moving your hips up and down on Andy’s fingers. His other hand grabbed your throat, squeezing lightly just for you to feel who’s in charge here.

You cried out when his digit started to hit your g-spot with every thrust. The sensation made your walls throb hard. “Are you close, baby? I can feel you squeezing the shit out of me” He smirked and started to pump even with more vigor. You whimpered as you got closer and closer to your long-awaited orgasm.

“Yes, fuck yes!” He muted your cries and screams with his own mouth. Kissing you for the first time. You couldn’t hold back when the stream of juices burst out from your sore pussy. “Jesus baby, you’ve just squirted” Andy’s lips were on your again, dancing with your tongue. “Have you ever done that before?” He asked with something dangerous in his eyes.

“No...” You admitted shyly. “Just with you, Andy”

[inklore]

it’s the rush, it’s the lust.

premise: it’s visibly clear how stressed andy is from work and his absent minded wife and son. he deserves to relax, to have someone take care of him. and you couldn’t be more willing to give andy everything he deserves.

pairing: andy barber x (f)reader

warnings: third person pov, cheating because i’m an evil person, smut, blowjobs, dirty talk, agegap, face-fucking, babysitter x employer. reminder: you are in control of your reading consumption so if you don’t vibe with any of the above pls do not go on. 18+ only.

word count: 6k+

etc: this was originally posted on my ao3 before i broke down and finally made a new tumblr for my writing, soo if you’ve read this from there and it looks familiar that’s why. since this isn’t following the shows sequence it’s clearly an au and one where laurie is not so great, no offense to the originally queen of stress, but i had to write this filth. i may make this into a series if anyone is interested…

♡ ྀ series masterlist / ao3

There was little for her to complain about working for the Barbers.

They would always keep their refrigerated stocked, adding a few snacks of her liking, leaving quick and easy meals to prepare if they didn’t leave money for her and Jacob to order pizza or drive somewhere and pick something up. They always paid her decently, slipping in a little extra for when one of them had worked later than expected or had her stay longer while they worked in their offices’, not wanting to totally make it seem like they were ignoring Jacob while they not present in their home in separate rooms doing their own things, wanting to at least have someone to pay attention to him, make him do his homework, stay off of creepy sites on the internet, or eat with him.

She had been the family babysitter for two years now. She sometimes wondered why they even kept her around, Jacob was old enough to be left alone, could feed himself, keep himself entertained—or maybe that’s the reason why they kept her around, but he wasn’t a helpless toddler. But she also understood why they didn’t quite trust the young boy, several instances being reported by other students and parents and friends of the boy saying he was a little off. And instead of having a lawsuit on their hands—she was sure that being the reason—hiring a babysitter for your teenage son was the safest bet.

It could be worse. She could be watching three screaming children and parents who paid her shit money and didn’t even at least feed her in return. So she couldn’t really complain, not even when she found herself not leaving their house until midnight or having to be a personal distraction for Jacob when his parents were fighting in the next room, like her job entitlement also had ‘part time therapist’ written below it. Even though Jacob didn’t seem to be phased by hearing his parents screaming at each other. But it’s not like his parents made a spectacle of it, the two reappearing in the room as if nothing had happened. Smiles plastered on their faces offering a fake facade that seemed to go bone deep with their marriage, always seeming more picture perfect than they actually were.

It wasn’t something she really let herself wonder about. It wasn’t her business to sit and ponder when the Barber’s were finally going to call it quits or when Jacob was finally going to show some other emotion over his parents having troubles other than a blank stare. No, her job was to entertain Jacob—as much as she could for a teenage boy who could not careless of her presence—until his parents came around, as well as making sure he didn’t get into trouble or worse.

So when Mr. Barber, walked through the door at 8 on the dot she wasn’t surprised when he asked her to stay later while he worked on some things in his office. And when Mrs. Barber showed up thirty minutes later saying she was exhausted, a frown on her face and handing Jacob some money telling him to order whatever he wanted, asking Y/N to join them, staying a bit longer, she didn’t bat an eye.

And when Jacob ordered a meat lovers pizza from the same pizza joint, the one that was more grease than cheese, it was no shock to her. Nor was it when Mrs. Barber came down freshly showered, the color a little more rosy in her cheeks a genuine smile on her face, grabbing a slice and sitting and chatting with them at the table until Mr. Barber walked in. Her demeanor turning to one that made the tension in the room go up. Though they tried hard to hide it. Andy trying to make normal conversation a family would have over dinner; how’s work? School? Anything exciting happen today? Watch any new movies?

But it did little to bring back the chipper atmosphere that was once going around the table.

She could see the frustration on Andy’s brows as he tried his best to hold the facade of his wife’s dismissiveness having zero effect on him. Y/N sending smiles in his direction when their eyes meet trying to ease some of the tension that was visible not only on his face but in the room. And when he would give a tight smile back, it quickly fading as he looked down at his plate going back to his food, she wished she could do more. Not only for him but for the rest of them too. But it wasn’t her place and she was not a licensed therapist, she was no expert on family dynamics—at least not the healthy ones—or what one should say to help from the inevitable happening. It’s not something she was equipped to do. Playing video games with Jacob to distract him or giving Andy sweet smiles or trying to lend a helping hand to Laurie was all she could do.

“Would you stay a little longer?” Laurie asked as Y/N helped her wash the plates they had dirtied with their tense filled dinner. The older woman looking at her with a silent begging in her tired eyes. “Andy is still working in his office and I’m getting ready to call it a night.” She gave a weak smile, “and I know how much Jacob likes when you’re here to enjoy Friday movie night, especially when neither of us want to join in,” she sighed adding a clipped “or can’t.” At the end, turning back to finish drying the plate in her hand, Y/N getting the feeling that was a dig at Andy.

“Of course.” She gave the best deceiving smile. And it’s not like she was completely upset about the request, Jacob did have good taste in movies despite the boy being a little weird—on certain days at least. And it’s not as if she had any other important plans for the weekend so she could sleep in the next morning, no matter how late she got home.

Plus extra money, which was surely to be given to her, was not something she could ever complain about. Who would?

And so after Laurie gave her dismissive son a goodnight, Jacob being too busy choosing the perfect movie to acknowledge her, ignoring her husband and quickly walking up the stairs. Leaving Y/N to sit beside Jacob on the couch, a bowl of popcorn separating the two, screams from whatever bloody movie Jacob had decided on. Trying her best to not cringe at the b-grade movie that the boy was clearly having a ball watching, if the big grin and laughs on his face when someone got gutted was not an indication.

She couldn’t help the few glances she threw back towards Andy’s office, the light from the small crack in the door being the only thing illuminating the room in any kind of light that wasn’t red from whatever bloodbath was playing on the screen. She felt bad for the family as a whole, yes. But she couldn’t help feel more for Andy. Both his wife and son were more dismissive towards him than anything. Jacob a little less than Laurie. It wasn’t a constant dismissal though, the couple had their moments when they really looked like they could stand each other for more than five minutes. When she first started watching Jacob she was in envy of the way Andy would look at his wife with love, and his family with pride. It’s still there, she’s sure of it, it just seems to have dimmed along the way.

But it wasn’t her place to worry about it. It wasn’t her place to want to give Andy reassuring words or praise letting him know that she thought very highly of him, that she thought he was doing his best, that she was sure Laurie didn’t hate him, that couples all go through shit right? That it would be okay. But who was she? The twenty year old babysitter nothing else, nothing more. It wasn’t her place to want to comfort a grown man about his marriage or family. And would she do the same thing for Laurie? Jacob? She wants to think she would . . . knows she would, that would be the right thing to do. But she didn’t feel that pull in the pit of her stomach for the other Barbers like she did for Andy.

If she was to keep score as to who showed her the most kindness in the family Andy would surely be on the top. Where Laurie usually gave her a small smile, made small talk, and ignored her presence the rest of the time she was there. And where Jacob acknowledged her existence—but could careless if she was there or not—and sometimes enjoyed her playing video games with him or watching some gruesome film with her because he knew she wouldn’t complain about it; Andy had always took an interest in asking her about her day, asking her about life, having a conversation’s with her that didn’t consist of when she could be here or there or if she could stay late. She didn’t take offense to how Laurie and Jacob treated her. If she was being honest she liked all of the Barbers, they all had their redeem attributes that made her enjoy being around them.

But there was something about Andy. . .

It was probably pathetic. No, it was definitely pathetic of her to care so much about a man who was older than her, a man that she worked for. It was ridiculous. To care about his marriage troubles or if he was okay. This wasn’t a lifetime movie where he would seek out solace in a girl such as herself; young, had never been in that serious of a relationship before.

So she didn’t allow herself to really dig into why she kept craning her neck to look back at the half open office door, or why she hoped he would come out and watch the movie with them—maybe wanting him to come out more so he would scrutinize Jacob for picking such a ridiculous movie and making him turn it off, she could handle scary movies but these kind . . . she sometimes wondered about the boys sanity.

As she looked over to Jacob as a certain scene of someone getting their head chopped off by a chainsaw, the boy bellowing out a laugh, making her cringe.

“This is amazing.”

“Yeah,” Y/N replied with a fake laugh, or a real one from how crazy this kid was but still enjoying his company, more often than not.

By the time the movie was over she had been convinced that Jacob had the look of ecstasy in his eyes and that when the next Friday came around she was going to demand they watch something of her choosing. Even if Jacob hated her after for it, she could not sit through another b-grade blood porno. She refused to!

But that was a problem for next week and with Jacob declaring that he was going to bed, giving her a smile and running up the stairs, she let out a loud sigh. She could finally go home. Her bed calling her name from miles away.

As she stood from the couch reaching her arms above her head to release the tension in her muscles she didn’t hear Andy walk from his office, round the couch and sit himself down where his son just was, until he spoke.

“How was the movie?” He asked making her jump a bit, a smile on his face in apology for startling her, Y/N softly laughing it off.

“It was . . . something.” She said with another laugh, fidgeting on her feet a little bit not sure if she should sit back down or walk to the door to grab her things and continue her descend.

But as Andy kept the conversation going she opted to sitting back down.

“I’m sorry you had to stay so late again, if I knew Laurie went to bed I would of took a break and hungout with Jacob.” He gave her a smile, “or the two of you.”

She doesn’t know why the last part of his sentence makes her chest feel heavy. Some ridiculous reason, she’s sure. But all she can do is shrug and reassure him that it was fine, she didn’t have anything better to do, it’s no trouble at all. Any reassurance she could think of spilling from her mouth as her nerves suddenly went up the more she spoke. Something that was not a total reoccurrence when talking to Andy. Maybe because of the tense filled dinner they had shared had her feeling a bit on edge. Feeling bad over the whole situation.

Several minutes pass before either of them say anything. Andy’s eyes falling shut as he rolls his neck his knuckles going white as he grips the back of it trying to rub the tension out. His shoulders rolling slightly. Before he reaches for his tie, his fingers gripping the knot loosening it. A sigh falling from his parted lips.

Y/N watching his fingers work, her eyes trailing from the rub of the flesh on his neck to the fabric knot of his tie, the pull, the grip, the loosening of it until it gives way and the sound of his sigh going straight through her. Her body tense, her mind in a whirlwind of thoughts and feelings that she knows why she’s having, but also knows why she shouldn’t be having.

She doesn’t think she’s ever seen Andy look this tense. Seen him be in anything other than his dark blue suit, minus the times she see’s him outside of his house at a town event or grocery store. No, on weekdays Andy was always in a suit, always dressed to the nines. Never looking anything other than perfectly kept and put together.

Except for right now. No, right now he looked utterly exhausted and filled with stress and the way his heavy puffs and sighs came out as he tried to release the tension in his neck and shoulders had her gripping the cushion of the couch underneath her. Her knuckles turning a shade of pure white from the strain.

She didn’t know which was worse: wanting to reach out and touch him, help him relieve the ever present stress and tension in his broad shoulders. Or the fact that just watching him did something made tension build within her in a place that had no right reacting as such; a low ache making her stomach flutter and hold her breath as her eyes continued to follow his every movement. Her eyes running along the small beard on his chin, the curve of his nose, the knit of his brows, the flutter of his eyes as they fall back open and meet hers.

Andy holding her gaze, his movements stopping, his hand falling from his neck to the top of his thigh. An action she catches herself following seeing the slight flex of the muscles in his wrist under his watch.

Y/N looking up to see he hasn’t taken his eyes off of her, his eyes filled with question and something else she’s not sure of. His lips parting as if he were about to speak but quickly pressing them together, as if changing his mind, his attention quickly turning ahead of him.

Only then does she let out a slow shallow breath, looking down to her lap chastising herself for acting like a fucking weirdo. For letting the thoughts of wanting to take care of him, to help with whatever he needed cloud her mind. Andy was surely thinking she had lost her wits about her. And if she lost this, semi-good, gig she was sure she could find herself filling out applications to some retail joint that she sure as hell didn’t want to work at.

So her mind doesn’t really catch up with her when her mouth opens and she asks, “stressful work day?” Her eyes snapping shut as she internally cringes at herself for even speaking, it being the most obvious answer, and why hasn’t she just gotten up and taken her leave? Why was she still on the couch letting the time tick by? Letting herself act foolish?

Y/N finding herself relieved though when Andy does answer and doesn’t just quickly change the subject to her leaving.

“Yeah,” Andy chuckles dryly in a huff, “you could say that.” He leans himself back into the couch a little more. “Nothing new though. Just the everyday life of a lawyer.” He gives her a genuine smile.

“I couldn’t imagine.” She lets herself release her grip on the cushion a bit, relaxing in her spot and shifting so she’s not turned away from him fully and rigid—trying not to look as tense as her insides felt. “I don’t think I could deal with some of the assholes I’m sure you have to deal with.”

This makes him let out a laugh, a genuine one that has his hand falling to his chest. “Yeah,” he nods looking down, “there definitely are a lot of assholes. Most of the time. Sometimes it’s more tragedy than anything.” He sighs, “but that’s the job.”

“And you like it?” She asks in a way that hopefully comes off as more curiosity than rude.

“Probably more than I should.”

She watches the way his eyes squint in contemplation, or something like it, as if debating with himself over the declaration. She watches the way he seems to return to himself and look up at her. A feeling of heat washing over her making her skin burn.

“You should,” She blurts out before her mind can catch up again. “Like it, I mean.” She swallows her eyes never leaving his, “you’re a good lawyer, the best in this town, which is a huge accomplishment in it’s own.” She laughs softly, her skin lighting up again when he returns the laugh, shaking his head.

“Right.” His eyebrows raising and eyes rolling slightly at the comment. “You flatter me.” Andy smiles and it sends something through her. Something daring. Something that should be ignored. Something that has the darkest parts of her mind, the impulsive part that should be ignored, scheming against her.

“It’s no wonder you’re stressed though. Anyone in your position would be.” Her voice sounds braver than she feels, steadier than she feels inside right now. “I’m sure there’s ways you can help that though. I’m sure a massage parlor isn’t too high a price for an attorney.” She jokes and grins when Andy chuckles. It only fueling her bravery to continue on.

Her fingers twist slightly in her lap her feet telling her to get up and head for the door, to end the conversation where it is, he’s tired, exhausted, he needs to go to bed. Rest. That’s what someone needs when they are stressed. That’s what Andy needs. He doesn’t need to be sitting here having a conversation with her about said stress or be subject to her word vomit and tension she now feels all over her body from the ideas and thoughts going on within her head.

He definitely doesn’t need to hear her ask, “Or, I’m sure Laurie helps. . . in other ways.” The underline meaning of her statement sending a thrill through her. Because if she were in the same position as his wife she would help him anyway he could. With any part of her she could, or he wanted. That’s what this was all about for her. Her demeanor, the heat she felt on her skin, the ache low within her, the tension. She wanted to help him. Relieve his stress. In an inappropriate way she shouldn’t want to. In a way that shouldn’t even be crossing her mind. But not one that hasn’t been present in her mind before when she’s been around Andy, just one she’s usually very good at ignoring, or at least controlling.

Andy doesn’t say anything for a beat his gaze on her, intense and unnerving. She wants to let out a laugh, play it off as a stupid joke or more word vomit. But her lips don’t budge. She’s already stuck her foot over a line that should not have been crossed. It was too late for her to shy away now.

Andy clears his throat and looks away, his eyes downcast staring at the other side of the room. The longer he doesn’t say anything the longer she feels the need to fill the space, the air, to spew out more things she’s sure are not appropriate to say to the father of the kid you babysit.

But it doesn’t stop her, god help her.

Maybe it’s because she see’s a look of slight embarrassment on his face, or is it indifference? Whatever it is she knows that her statement must bring up some ill feelings about him and Laurie. She doesn’t want to assume, but she’s sure that by the way Laurie goes rigid around him is a clear indicator that there’s nothing going on there, in or out of the bedroom.

It makes her chest tighten. She has no right to judge Laurie. She has no right to judge their relationship, their marriage. But she knows if Andy needed her help, had asked her to rub his neck, his back, or other parts of him that required more than just her hand she would do it without question—to relieve any stress he felt of course. Which may have been a pathetic thought. Really. But he deserved it. He worked hard. She just wanted to make him feel better. He’s been so good to her. She wants to be good to him. For him.

Maybe that’s why she doesn’t stop herself from moving closer to him, her eyes not meeting his until their thighs are touching. Her hand shaking slightly in her lap as she dares to reach out and put it on his thigh, the soft fabric of his suit making her already heated hand burn.

“I want to help you, Mr. Barber.” Her fingers twitch against his thigh as she slowly descends up. “If you’ll let me. You’ve treated me with nothing but respect and kindness since I’ve worked for your family.” She hopes he can’t hear the slight shake from the heat burning through her in her voice, “It may be just normal human decency, but I want to thank you. To return that kindness.” Her fingers stop at the apex of his thigh, the heat, or anger? Or whatever it is in Andy’s gaze making a chill fall down her spine, her breath stuck in her throat.

Andy let’s out an exasperated breath shaking his head, his hand coming to grip her wrist. “This is not appropriate.” The look on his face is serious and it makes her stomach fall, shame washing over her. “You are my teenage sons babysitter for Christ sakes.” He lets out a low throaty laugh at that as if it’s another thing to add to this ridiculous situation they are in right now. But his features straighten. “It’s wrong. You know that, right?” His brows come together in question.

All it does is make her feel hot all over, embarrassment finally kicking in, her brain finally coming to it’s senses, finally waking up and realizing how inappropriate this all really was.

Y/N’s eyes drop as a soft, “I’m sorry.” Falls from her lips, she can feel a slight burning in the back of her eyes. She doesn’t think she’s going to cry, no she’s sure she’s not going to. She’s sure it’s still the embarrassment of her ridiculous actions. It’s not as if Andy were yelling at her right, lecturing her in a way that would make her break down. No. She was sure the burning that made her eyes itch was one of mere disappointment more than anything.

But Andy hasn’t removed her hand from his lap, he hasn’t stopped looking at her, she’s tempted to pull her wrist from him, the thought of the loss of contact leaving a dull feeling in the pit of her stomach. But knowing if he pulled her hand from him she would not protest, she wouldn’t beg. This wasn’t a game or something that could be taken back, she stepped over a clear boundary anyone should have with a married man, as well as your employer no matter how basic the job. If she had a job after this she would be shocked.

She hears rather than see’s Andy swallow, a low breath falling from his lips, “have you done this before?”

She’s not sure what he’s asking but it has her meeting his gaze once more, his face unreadable as to what intention his question has. “Hit on the father I babysit for?” Y/N let’s out a breathy laugh, feeling even more shameful that he would think that of her, think badly of her.

“No.” He says a bit sternly that it has her body tensing even more, pressing her thighs together, the intense look in his eyes not helping the matter. “Have you done this before.” He repeats. Slower.

Understanding the insinuation, understanding the answer he’s looking for; has she done what she wants to do to him before. Has she sucked cock before.

Her mouth feels dryer. That flash of heat once again plaguing her inside and out, her thighs pressed closer together, the tension in her belly sinking further and further down. She doesn’t break eye contact when she nods her head yes. She also doesn’t break eye contact when she see’s the way he swallows, hard, a hot breath falling from him that almost sounds like a whisper of something. She can feel his fingers twitch against her wrist, she can see the way he’s breathing just a little bit heavier.

He wants this.

She’s not fully sure of herself until she feels the tightness in the crotch of his pants, the fabric straining where her hand lays.

He wants this.

She doesn’t know what prompts her to say “please”, her voice more seductive than she knew it was capable of. The lust filled part of her brain edging her on as the ache below begs for more. They’ve already reached past the boundaries why not jump over the whole fucking thing? Why not go further. Why not let her take care of him. Help him after a long day. Give him what he needs. What he deserves.

Andy doesn’t say anything though, not with words at least. His face saying it all. His blown out pupils the look of repressed hunger on his face. It’s all there, clear as day and all she wants is to lean in and press her lips to his, tell him that she will take care of it for him. That she won’t stop until he’s coming in the back of her throat.

But she doesn’t get the chance to say anything before she feels Andy’s hand lift from her wrist to her face, running the pad of his thumb along her bottom lip. She can’t help the small moan that she lets out, or how quickly she sinks to her knees when she see’s the slow nod of his head giving her confirmation. Permission.

Her eyes don’t leave his as she sits up on her knees between his legs as he reaches down to the belt of his pants, unbuckling them in a slow sultry manner, the button and zipper on his pants following suit. He doesn’t pull himself from his confines, instead he reaches his hand to her cheek, rubbing his thumb gently there.

“Are you sure?” His voice is low and comes out octaves deeper. He holds eye contact with her as she nods, not hesitating to reach up and rub him slowly through his pants, watching the way his bottom lip twitches slightly, the way his hips slowly chase her hand when she removes it to pull his pants down a bit to reveal his hard cock.

His hand doesn’t remove from her face, neither do his eyes, as she leans forward letting the tip of his cock meet the tip of her tongue. Y/N trying to hide the slight smile she gets when she hears the sharp breath Andy takes in as she lets the tip of her tongue run along the leaking head of his swollen cock. And when she finally wraps her lips around the tip sucking lightly she doesn’t miss the way his hips thrust up ever so lightly, Andy’s hand moving from her cheek to the side of her head tangling it in her hair.

“Fuck,” Andy groans, his head lulling back against the couch. Y/N moving her mouth further down his cock and back up, creating a rhythm, her hand working the parts she can’t quite reach. Her past fantasies of the man below her having nothing on the breaths and low groans coming from his parted lips. The beautiful sounds going straight to the ache between her legs.

This was not her first time in this position, she had boyfriends in the past where such a task was nothing. But with the girth of Andy weighing down her tongue and stretching her mouth, the low ache in her jaw was a first. She loved it. The weight of him against her tongue. The taste of him. The way his fingers would pull on her hair when she took him as far as she could down her throat until she gagged and came back up.

And the way his mouth hung open in pleasure and the glances of eye contact he made with her.

It was all so much. So great. So intense. Her body ached.

“So good.” Andy murmurs. His chest heaving with the effects of pleasure. “You’re so good.” His breath hitch’s as she twists her hand around the head of his cock, her tongue rolling around the tip, his fingers gripping her hair harder than before, her scalp burning in the most delicious way. Showing her how good she’s making him feel.

She could tell that he was holding himself back, his moans, the thrust of his hips. She figured it was just incase someone decided to come down the stairs, hoping maybe he would be able to hear them, that what they were doing would stop before anyone could see.

She didn’t know why the thought makes her cunt ache. The thought of Laurie coming down the stairs to see her husbands cock in her mouth, to see the pleasure she was giving him, see how much he liked it. How much he enjoyed her pretty mouth wrapped around him.

Y/N continued her rhythm on Andy’s cock, up, down, up, down, letting him hit the back of her throat enough times to have her pull off of him, a trail of spit following from where they were once connected, tears in her eyes.

Andy lifting his head from the couch, to look down at her, his thumb wiping away some spit at the edge of her mouth. His voice low and rough, eyes filled with a type of lust she’s never seen before, when he says “Let me fuck your mouth.” His words make her stomach drop, make her pussy flutter. Leaves her breath hitching and speechless that all she can do is nod her head, her body and mouth pleading, begging yes.

She wastes no time in wrapping her lips around his cock again, only this time Andy’s the one to make the first move, the one to thrust his hips up slowly, testing the waters, as his cock moves against her tongue. Pushing her mouth further and further down with each thrust he provides. Words of praise and moans falling from his lips; “that’s it, you’re such a good girl, taking me so well, fuck,”.

Part of her wonders if he’s like this with Laurie or if this is just for her, if the way his hands come to hold her head, fingers gripping her hair, the dirty words, the moans of need and want, only for her. Because she’s making him feel good, she’s helping him relive stress. Making his cock pulsate against her tongue as it hits the back of her throat.

She decides not to think about it. This moment is just for her and Andy. This moment is for Andy, about his pleasure, about making him feel good, about showing him how good he makes her feel, wanting to return that favor.

She finds her fingers digging into the side of his thighs the need to press them between her legs and help the ache that’s soaking her panties, making the tips of her fingers tingle. Each moan, each thrust, each breath of her name making her ache more and more.

“Make me come,” Andy groans, looks down at her watches the way his cock disappears between her lips. The way she gags slightly when he thrusts too deep too fast. “Please.” His begging makes her moan against him, hollowing out her cheeks more, slacking her jaw more letting him use her mouth for his pleasure. She was his to use, he needed to come, he needed to fuck her mouth. He needed it, he wanted it. And she was going to let him until he was sated and satisfied, until she could taste his come on her tongue.

And it doesn’t take long until his groans are nothing but breathy ones coming in and out of him quick and shallow. His eyes closed his mouth slack. His grip tightening in her hair until she feels nothing but her scalp burning. His thrusts faster and unsteady.

Andy moans out before his body tenses, thrusts going rigid, hot spirts of come hitting the back of her throat. A string of moans vibrating against his leaking cock as she hears him, low and hoarsely say, “fuck, Y/N.”

When his hands move from her head she takes it upon herself to let her mouth move up and down his shaft one last time, getting every missed drop, before coming up, eyes locked on his as she swallows him down. Andy never breaking eye contact when his hand comes up to her mouth, his chest heaving, coming down from his blissful high. His thumb and forefinger pulling lightly on her chin, Y/N opening her mouth, understanding his silent request. Andy’s breath hitching when she opens wide enough for him to see that she swallowed all of his come.

He opens his mouth to say something, Y/N waiting and ready to hold on to every last bit of it, ready for more praise, ready for whatever else this man wanted to give her. She would take it. Over and over again.

But before he can get it out a creak at the top of the stairs has both of them moving faster than their limbs can really keep up with. Y/N standing quickly from her spot between his legs. Andy fumbling with his belt and zipper, trying to straighten himself up, fix his suit jacket, fix his disheveled hair.

Y/N not too sure if she should sit back down on the couch or move for the door, not having time to do either other than standing there beside Andy and the couch, before Laurie appears at the bottom of the stairs. A sleep ridden face of confusion as she looks to her first.

“Y/N, you’re still here?” She asks as she roots herself in that spot at the bottom of the stairs looking from her to Andy.

Y/N goes to open her mouth and say, what she doesn’t know, but before she can Andy is speaking up for her.

“We were just going over when we’ll need her next week.” He smiles over at Laurie, his demeanor completely different than it was just mere seconds ago. “Just hashing out all of our schedules.” His tone one of cool and calm, no longer low and sultry like it once was.

“Oh.” She says almost in disinterest as she accepts the answer and walks towards the kitchen. “We might need you next weekend,” Laurie states, going along with the lie. “Andy and I have a dinner with a couple colleagues of mine.” She doesn’t sound too happy about the matter, but that could be the just-woken-up talking.

Y/N clears her throat, tries to sound as normal as possible. “Sounds good, I’ll be here.” She smiles and quickly dashes for the door. “I should get going though. See you guys next week, same time.” It’s not a question, if she’s not fired after this, god only knows, then she will see them next week.

“Y/N,”

She stops in her tracks as she hears Andy say her name for the millionth time tonight, it continuing to have the same effect on her. Flashes of what they had just got done doing minutes ago making her body flutter and tense. That heat coming back. She turns and looks at him. His cheeks no longer flushed but the heat in his eyes still present.

“Thank you.” He says. Simply. Genuinely. Sweetly. He gives her a nod to indicate what for. But, of course she knew what for. And he didn’t need to thank her, it was her pleasure, his pleasure that she wanted to give him, to help him feel. He deserved it after all.

“You’re welcome.” Y/N said with a tight smile and a blush to her cheeks, quickly grabbing her coat and bag and heading out of the door. Her chest booming in her heart. Her thighs wet and cunt aching.

What had she just done?

[after-witch]

Hook Line and Sinker [Yandere Ransom Drysdale x Reader]

Title: Hook Line and Sinker [Yandere Ransom Drysdale x Reader]

Synopsis: You’ve broken up with Ransom Drysdale, and you mean it this time. But the freedom that comes with the breakup leads to a series of unexpected coincidences that leave you wondering: was it worth the price?

Word Count: 8955

notes: yandere, mentions of physical abuse, financial abuse, comfort sweaters

Nothing lasts forever. Not even relationships--and certainly not love. What might start off as an intense, passionate relationship can (and did, in your case) eventually fizzle; things that you were willing to overlook when you were absolutely besotted would wear down with time, and eventually they became too much to ignore.

That’s what you tell yourself, what you remind yourself, in the moment after you tell him:

“It’s over, Ransom. We’re done. I’m leaving.”

It couldn’t last forever. Not with his inability to stay sober, not with his tendency to cheat on you with meaningless flings that somehow hurt more than any steamy single-minded affair. Not with his flare-ups of controlling tendencies that left you in tears on the bathroom floor as he asked you to please stop dressing like a slut in front of his family, is that too hard to ask?

You’d asked him to change. He swore he would; he never did. You forgave him, more than once, more times than you could count. But enough was enough. Maybe he thought you were too weak to leave him, especially three years into your relationship, when your lives were becoming so integrated, pushing you towards a potential permanent future. It was a future that left you feeling numb and anxious. Stuck in a marriage with someone who wanted to stay with you but treated you horribly, all the same. And that wasn’t even getting into the family dynamics that left your head spinning.

He stares at you now, and his mouth opens just a little bit in what you know is going to be a barrage of questions, insults, maybe even threats spurred on by your words. But instead he closes his mouth and shakes his head, letting out a soft, bitter chuckle.

“Well, damn. This sucks.” You can see the indent of his tongue in his cheek before he clicks and shrugs. “Guess that’s it then. Need help packing your shit or what?”

His response is so blasé that you’re genuinely shocked and, you must admit, a little hurt. He didn’t even ask for a second chance or beg you to stay or argue with you about your terrible timing because our-vacation-to-Hawaii-is-coming-up. So it’s your turn to look surprised, and you shake your head.

“No, I… already took care of it. It’s at a storage locker.” You didn’t have family left, and your close friends had pulled away from you one by one once you stayed with Ransom time and time again--so you’d had to pay movers to help you pack and transport everything to storage over the weekend, while Ransom was away and you were free to make a clean breakup.

He nods, sticks his hand inside his jacket pockets. He’s looking around the room, avoiding direct eye contact in a clear show of his discomfort. It’s weird seeing Ransom like this--the normally self-assured, cocky Ransom, looking for any excuse not to look at you.

“So… see ya around?” His tone is sincere, if still confused. The idea of you leaving must have really never crossed his mind. The look on his face when he finally faces you again appears genuinely puzzled.

He sticks out his hand and it feels almost comical for things to end this way, particularly considering the nights you’d spent imagining some big blow up, some big fight with Ransom screaming and you firing off the many reasons why it had to end no matter what he said.

But it didn’t go the way you expected at all. It was calm. Easy. A clean break-up.

So you shake his hand and grab your purse and the small roller-suitcase and give a half-hearted wave as you walk out the door; the taxi you’d hired to pick you up is waiting, car running, meter going. You would be staying at a hotel for two weeks, which would hopefully be enough time to find a semi-decent apartment; your credit score had improved so much since Ransom added you to his cards, to a shared checking account, and it wouldn’t be too difficult to get approved.

A new life, one where you could focus on yourself for once, was just around the corner.

**

"I'm sorry, miss, but it's definitely not the reader. The card is declined."

You've had this nightmare before. No, you've lived this nightmare before--years ago when your credit was shit and you ran up your cards and had to face the music in a publicly humiliating display with the longest checkout line you'd ever seen behind you. Only that was years ago, in a little grocery store, and since getting together with Ransom you never had to worry about problems like this. You never had to worry about the shame of not having enough, not being enough.

But this? This was happening now. In an upscale hotel. With your nice purse (a Christmas present) and designer clothes (casual, comfortable) and your cheeks flushed undeniably warm.

The hotel clerk has a tight, sympathetic smile on her face. A coworker who walks behind her glances at you, judging, and you just know he's going to head into some break room and tell everyone but yet another piece of discarded army candy with a declined credit card. You wish you'd kept your sunglasses on.

"Did it, um, say why? I don't--" you plaster a smile on your face, hating the way this all feels familiar, like a part of your past coming back to haunt you. "I don't understand, the card is good."

The clerk's smile flickers, just a bit.

"It says there's a fraud alert on this card. Perhaps you'd better call the company. Or would you like me to call them?"

Fucking. Ransom.

"Oh, oh no, don’t worry about it. I’ll call them myself. I'm so sorry about this." You turn away from the clerk as quickly as possible and step away from the counter, away from the person waiting behind you who will surely have no trouble with their card, away from the clerks giving you a passive side-eye. You lean against a cool cement pillar in the lobby and you know what you have to do.

You have to call Ransom.

You haven't deleted his number yet--you'd planned on calling him today or tomorrow to figure out how to split up your shared finances--so it's easy enough to find the number. It's not so easy to tap his contact, but you have to, so you force yourself to do it and stare at his photo as the call rings. And rings. And rings. “Hello?” Your breath catches but in an instant, when the message continues, you feel stupid. It’s his voicemail. Fuck.

You text him, instead. Emergency. Call right away. And of course: He leaves you on read. Fuck.

You call him again. And again. He picks up on the sixth call, but your heart is racing too hard and sweat is beading down your forehead and it takes you a moment to confirm that the "Hello?" wasn't part of the voicemail message this time. Fuck.

"Um. Hey," you say, keeping your voice as un-royally-pissed-off as possible, because if he did put in a fraud alert then you don't want to risk any additional asshole moves. "So there's something wrong with the card? The one that ends in 8921? The hotel said there was a fraud alert and--"

"Did you really think I'm going to keep paying for your shit if we're over?"

His voice is quick, biting--exactly what you'd expected from him earlier. Somehow it stings even harsher over the phone, where you feel more helpless, unable to avoid his words.

"I thought..." you wet your lips, trying to maintain your cool. "Look, my name is on them, so I thought send you my part of the payments until I can get cards in my own name."

He chuckles, low and short. "Yeah? What, you want to create a payment schedule or something?"

You fight back the annoyance in your tone. You hate having to be the bigger person, but your finances--your life--is on the line. "Yeah, actually, that'd be perfect. It wouldn't be for long. You know I'll pay them on time, I'm not looking to screw you over."

"You're going too pay me on time? For all the stuff you've bought, the stuff I’ve bought for you, this hotel room and god knows what else? How are you going to afford all that?"

He knows you recently earned a promotion at your work. He knows this, because you were so excited about it, and his half-assed congratulations over lukewarm leftovers left you feeling bitter and sad and useless. So you can't help it when bitterness seeps into your voice with your answer. "You know I just got a promotion."

"Did you?" It's said in such a casual tone that it gives you pause, but a moment later he simply hangs up on you.

Fucking. Ransom.

You shove your phone back into your purse, and the clerks at the counter are staring at you. Sweat has trickled down your back and your shirt sticks to your skin ever-so-slightly as you pull away from the pillar and approach the counter, awkward smile and cheeks hot.

"There is an issue with the card, they're working on it, so I’ll just call for a new reservation when it's fixed. I'm so sorry for the mix up!" Your voice is so peppy and high-pitched and fake and you feel like you’re back at your old job, feet aching with falling apart shoes, forced to deal with people returning old toasters laden with crumbs, calming they’d “just bought it the day before and it didn’t work.”

"Of course," the clerk says, and you know this is hotel clerk code for "You're a shitty liar."

You roll your suitcase out of the lobby with tears in your eyes and you shove your sunglasses on as soon as you've cleared the building. You feel exhausted, drained--so you use what little energy you have left to start googling for cheap motels.

**

The room smells musty. You pin the plastic sheet you’d snagged at a dollar store over the comforter and pray it will be enough to protect you from whatever is on the likely unwashed fabric. The TV is broken, there’s no WIFi, and there’s a few suspicious stains on the floor that make you wonder if this hotel has ever been featured in a porno, true crime show, or both.

But it’s all you could afford with the cash in your wallet. You only had enough cash on hand for 2 nights at a ragtag hotel that offers nightly and hourly rates. You didn’t dare use your debit card or any credit cards with Ransom’s name or information on them.

You just need some sleep. A good night’s sleep to feel renewed and ready to tackle retaking your life, bit by bit. In the morning, you need to go to the bank and withdraw your money from the joint bank account. Then you can reopen an account in your name, get a new debit card, and apply for a few credit cards afterwards.

Sure, it would have been nicer to do this without Ransom being an asshole. But deep down, you suspected he wouldn’t let you have a clean, lets-still-be-friends type of break. Not after all the times he’d pressured you into staying, manipulating you with words and gifts and promises, promises. Promises that were worth shit. 

The sheet crinkles underneath you as you scroll through your messages. You’d texted a few formerly close friends about the breakup earlier, hoping that they’d maybe want to reconnect. So far, you’d been left on read, blocked, and received only one response: “New number, who is this?”

So much for that. Not that you can blame them. There are only so many times they can rush over for a late night intervention in which you tell them every horrible thing Ransom does (he’s controlling, he doesn’t want me to meet with friends without permission, he tells me what I can and can’t wear, he cheats, he lies, he pushed me--)--before they get tired of you returning to him, again and again and again.

The only one who’d been texting you recently--okay, for the past year--had been Ransom. Mostly dick pics. And demands for you to send him something back, which you always did after a while, because you didn’t want to deal annoyed texts or voice messages accusing you of clearly cheating on him or hating him because why else wouldn’t you be willing to send him so much as a sexy selfie to your boyfriend? 

But in between those, there were conversations. Sometimes sweet ones, sometimes thoughtful ones that always made you remember why you fell hard for him in the first place. Late night conversations from when he was off on trips. You try not to wonder if he was fucking someone on each of these trips, if while you were sending him a late night ramble about a TV show and he was humoring you with jokes and quips, he was actually snuggled up with someone else. Laying in bed, naked, laughing at your dumb ass waiting at home.

The not-so-sweet conversations were ones that you had screenshotted and sent to your friends more than once, before they pulled themselves away. Texts asking where you were. Asking who you ate lunch with, and whether or not you were fucking them. Asking why your new office was connected to a certain co-worker’s, and how many blowjobs you had to give to get said new office because you didn’t tell him about the new office until after you were moved in, so you were clearly hiding him. Asking you to send him outfit pics so he could approve them or make you change if they were too slutty or not slutty enough or if you were only clearly wearing that halter dress to try to get with the bartender.

Yet your mind had always returned to the nice Ransom, the Ransom who made you laugh and squeezed you hard when had a shitty day of work and let you bury your face in his sweater as you snuggled on the couch. Maybe that’s why it took so long to leave.  You were waiting for him to stop being Ransom and start being the fantasy of Ransom you’d conjured in your head.

Your eyes feel heavy so you plug in your phone, turn the sound off, and lay down on the uncomfortable plastic sheet that crinkled over the pillows. It feels strange to lay on a lumpy mattress covered in plastic, after years of custom-made beds and memory foam pillows and all the other luxuries that Ransom was able to provide.

You try not to think about it too much. While you won’t exactly be indulging in all the luxuries you had with Ransom, but your job pays you well, and you won’t ever have to go back to living hand-to-mouth like you did before. You won’t have to worry about late bills and debt collectors and landlords who come late at night and demand inspections while you’re in your pajamas.

You have work in the morning. You have to get to the bank in the morning. Your thoughts are still buzzing with anxiety as you fall into an uneasy slumber.

**

“I’m sorry, but the account has been closed.”

You feel years of customer service training cracking underneath your skin. You can’t freak out. If you freak out, they won’t feel inclined to go the extra mile. You know this, from firsthand experience.

So you take a shaky breath. “Um, this just--it isn’t possible. It’s a joint account. I’m on the account. There was money in there, you can check--”

“I’m sorry, but the funds were transferred and account has been closed by the other account holder. There’s nothing I can do. I suggest contacting the other party in the account.”

You swallow and nod and walk away, this time having been smart enough to keep your sunglasses on to hide your humiliated expression. Why didn’t you insist on having your own account? Ransom said it was better to keep it joint, so you could just buy stuff whenever you wanted. You’d agreed because it was so generous, something you’d never thought possible at the time, when you were used to having to pay overdraft fees and cringing whenever you checked your balance.

Your fingers tremble as you bring up his contact on your phone. You tap. No answer.

You don’t have time to call him two, three, ten times--you have to get to work. So you steady your nerves. You breathe in, you breathe out. You get in your car and plug your phone in and decide to contact your lawyer. Fuck--your lawyer was Ransom's lawyer. But the anxiety eases when you remember that you’d paid him a retainer fee months ago, and Ransom couldn’t do anything about that. You could at least get a basic consult out of the retainer.

The call ringing sounds muffled through your car’s speaker but it isn’t long before someone answers, and you’re transferred to the lawyer Ransom insisted you have--gotta have a lawyer when you have money, babe--and that you hadn’t spoken to in ages.

“Hi,” you say, voice artificially bright, “this is--”

You don’t get a chance to finish.

“I know who this is.” The lawyer sounds tired, and his tone is curt and clipped. “I’m sorry. I’m no longer able to provide you with any legal counsel.”

You almost miss a red light and regret calling the office while you were driving.

“Is this about the debit card? Because I paid the retainer months ago--”

“The retainer has been refunded into the connected checking account.”

Your voice looses its artificial cheeriness and you stumble over your words in frustration. “That’s--it’s--it was a joint account, which is why I called, Ransom drained it and took everything. Isn’t there something we can do, because that was my money too and--”

“I am no longer able to provide you with legal counsel.”

You want to cry. You hate crying, as an adult. It makes you feel weak. Especially on the phone.

“I don’t understand. Why was the retainer refunded? Did--did someone call you?”

He clears his throat into the phone. “I am no longer able to provide you with legal counsel. Goodbye.”

He hangs up. Your hands shake.

You pull into the parking lot of your work and park the car and as soon as you do, you hunch yourself over the steering wheel and simply shake in frustration.

You have no bank account. Ransom drained it. You have no credit cards. Ransom blocked them. You couldn’t even talk to a lawyer, because--shock--Ransom made sure you couldn’t. Everything was in Ransom’s name. He insisted on adding you to his accounts, closing out your own paltry ones; insisted that he pay off your credit card debt, and making you close those, too, instead adding you to his cards. It was all to help you out, he said, at the time.

Wasn’t it? He was shockingly not judgmental about the state of your finances, and while you’d put up some protest, you didn’t exactly argue with him when he suggested wiping your debts clean and getting your credit back up. And considering that he wasn’t immune to needing a bail-out now and then (late night calls to his grandfather, snarky comments at his parent’s dinner table, come to mind) maybe he could sympathize with being in over your head. Even if your issues were rooted in poverty and shitty jobs and his were rooted in a total lack of financial discipline and, as you’d later found out, a drug addiction.

Still. He helped you before. He would help you now, once he realized how serious it was. For now he was just--reacting like an asshole, acting childish and ridiculous. He was an asshole. You know this. You’ve known this. You need to call him and meet with him and make him realize how ridiculous he’s being, and he’ll sigh and snark but he’ll agree to stop acting like such an ass.

But first you have to work. Life goes on. Even without Ransom--even with Ransom, screwing you over out of pettiness.

The air conditioning in the lobby is on blast, and the familiar smell of clean furniture and floor cleaner from the late-night cleaning crew is surprisingly comforting. Here, you can forget about Ransom--forget about the cards and the lawyer and the fact that your life has been upended in mere hours. If only until your lunch break, at least.

Anthony is working the front desk and you give him a a soft, if strained smile. There’s something in the smile that he gives you in return that reminds you of the hotel clerk. Sympathetic and judgmental.

Ah. You probably look like--well, less than your best, you realize. You did pack some toiletries in your suitcase but the water in the motel had streaks of brown and you didn’t shower, opting instead to rinse your face with what was left of a water bottle you’d bought earlier and layering on more deodorant to make up for the lack of a proper scrub. You probably looked a bit tired, haggard, not unlike some of the employees who got stuck with big clients the night before their paperwork was due.

Still. Nothing that freshening up in your private bathroom--thank god for the new office--can’t help. So you hit the button on the elevator and take deep breaths as you ride up, intent on working as productively as possible. The doors open and you navigate the familiar maze of open-plan desks for the lower-tier workers, desks surrounded by half-walls that always kept you staring straight ahead, lest you accidentally glance over and see a co-worker picking their nose.

Yet as you weave in-and-out of the familiar rows, heading towards the back of the room where the real offices, the ones with full walls and doors and privacy glass lay, you can’t help but feel that something is… off. 

No one calls out to greet you, though that can be easily attributed to the jealousy over your promotion. You’d been working there for far less than most of the lower level workers--Ransom got you the job, with his connections and a hefty revision of your resume and, you assume, some personal phone calls--and you’d already been promoted to senior management. That wasn’t technically Ransom’s work, though. That was all your own effort, your own blood, sweat, tears and intense devotion to each project that came your way. Sure, the connections he helped you make, the dinner parties, all that helped--but if it weren’t for your skills, the connections wouldn’t have made a difference. Right? 

Still, whatever bitterness existed in the people hunch in open-air cubicles, the receptionists always greeted you. But today they caught your eye then awkwardly glanced down, or pretended to be looking for something in their drawers. It was odd. Did you look that bad? That out of sorts?

You shake off the heavy feeling in your stomach and for once, you shut the door to your office instead of keeping it open for passers-by or people needing approval for this-and-that. It feels good to lean against the solid wood door and take a breath, a deep one, invigorating and calming.

A quick trip to the bathroom has you staring at yourself from all angles. You don’t look that bad, you reason. Just tired. But who wouldn’t be, sleeping on a plastic sheet in the shittiest motel in the area? You take a quick sniff under your arms but even that reveals nothing much but a faint hint of sweat and powdery deodorant.

There’s a firm knock at your office door and you glance at the mirror for a final once over before opening it up. It’s your boss. Did you have a meeting? You try to do a mental scan of something you’ve missed, but nothing comes to mind.

“Hi,” you say, wavering with uncertainty at the threshold. Should you invite him in? “What can I do for you? We didn’t have a meeting, did we?” You let yourself chuckle, dry and quick. “I’m sorry, I’m a bit scattered this morning.”

Your boss doesn’t return your chuckle, which immediately raises the hairs on the back of your neck. Something was wrong. Shit--you were working on a major project for a seriously important client. The type of client that could genuinely make or break a company, if you got on their bad side. You press your lips together and make a silent vow to keep it serious.

“I’d like to keep this conversation private.” His tone is low and serious and you invite him in without a second thought, shutting the thick door behind you, trying to ignore the way everyone was shooting glances as it closed. Fuck, fuck, fuck, your thoughts race--no wonder everyone was giving you the stink eye. Something was wrong with the client, and you were the one making primary contact with them.

Your boss takes a seat on the leather sofa pushed up against the wall and you immediately set yourself down behind your desk.

He sighs. Short. Frustrated. Annoyed.

“We have to let you go.”

The words don’t register.

“Go where?”

It’s only after you say it that you realize what he said, what it meant, and you feel like a colossal moron in every respect.

“It’s not working out,” he continues, staring at your desk and not at your face. “Since you’ve only been in this position for a month, you don’t quality for senior severance. The best we can do is to pay you what you’ve earned this week.”

Your mouth is so dry that you don’t know if you can talk. Your hand fumbles on your desk for a water bottle you’d left overnight, and that’s when you see it--the photo frame. You keep a photo of yourself and Ransom, cuddled together for a selfie, on your desk. The photo was lying on your desk, frameless, ripped in half--leaving only your vacantly smiling face staring up at you.

Ransom was here.

“Did he put you up to this?” You whisper. “Did Ransom tell you to fire me?”

You know he won’t answer. But you stare at him so fervently that he can’t help but look up at you, and you see it all in his eyes, in the subtle, embarrassed expression of his face.

You can imagine Ransom strolling in--maybe he called first--and settling in for a private audience with your boss in his office. He’d probably pull the chair up to the desk and put his feet on it, just to be an ass. Then he’d bring up… you. And why you had to be let go. Did he give a reason, did he tell your boss why a respected employee who he once secured a position for, who shot up the ranks through intense effort and work, needed to be fired? Did he even need to give a reason?

“This is absolute bullshit,” you say, finally, voice dry and hoarse and bitter. You want to say you’ll be contacting a lawyer. That this won’t stand. But you know--and he knows--that there’s nothing you can do.

Your boss stands, slow, and sighs again. “I’m sorry it had to end this way. Pack up your things as quickly as possible.”

He leaves, and you keep your eyes trained on the ripped photograph to avoid seeing the expressions of the people in the doorway before your boss mercifully shuts the door.

It takes all of your effort not to cry.

You don’t have much effort left.

**

Your things consisted of a handful of personal items, little touches you’d brought in to make your office feel more like “you.” A nice picture print. A pastel afghan to drape over the couch. A stapler with a floral design. You have the strong urge to dump them in a trash can, but that’s quickly quelled by the realization that you can’t afford to buy new things, or any things, at this point.

You don’t care if wearing your sunglasses as you power walk to the elevators makes you look stupid. You know someone, somewhere in this office is filming you and probably captioning it with something stupid to post to their Reels or TikTok, and it just makes you leave faster. A few people murmur comments your way, sympathetic in tone, but you’re not really listening. None of their platitudes matter, because Ransom was here, in your workplace, in your office, and he stole the thing you were most proud of from under your feet.

To his credit, when you reach the bottom floor, Anthony practically fumbles out from behind his desk and holds the door open for you. He mouths a “Sorry” and he probably is, but he’s probably used to dealing with rich assholes like Ransom who get what they want, when they want it; even when what they want is to fire a good employee on demand for very personal reasons.

The sun is beating down hard, even for the morning, and the stress of your situation makes you blast the air conditioning as soon as you get in the car. God, the car--how are you going to afford the payments? You wish you could call your mom. You wish your friends--are they even your friends, anymore?--would call you back.

You grab your phone from your purse and stare at the black screen. Maybe you should call the friend who didn’t block you. She would answer, if you called, because she knew you didn’t make calls unless it was serious. She might not rush to your side, but maybe she can offer you a place to stay, a couch, some advice. A kind word would do, right now, with how much anxiety and frustration has been packed into the last 12 hours.

But when you unlock your screen, your gut sinks. Five missed calls. From the storage company. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

You tap their number and bring the phone to your ear and pretend that your hands aren’t shaking.

The man who answers is the same one you talked to on the phone before, when setting up your move. “Hello, Move’nSecure Storage Company. This is Steve speaking. How many I help you?”

“Hi Steve!” You hate how chipper you sound. “I actually just got a few missed calls from you guys, I’m sorry, I was in the office and--”

“Oh.” His voice is surprisingly flat, suddenly flat, losing its customer service inflection in an instant before picking it back up. “Yes. We’ve been trying to reach you. For confirmation, the storage locker your purchased is A443, correct?”

You fumble in your purse for the receipt and confirm the little numbers printed neatly on the paper. “Yes, A443. Is everything okay?”

“No, it’s not.” You’re grateful that you didn’t have much for breakfast because you know it would be clawing its way back up at this point. “The card you gave us for the storage fee was declined.”

The debit card. You’d paid in cash for the move, and paid for 1 month of storage with the card. The card that was now useless, connected to an empty and closed bank account.

“Is there another card you can give us?”

“No, but...” You say, because no, there is not. There is not a card. There is not a job. There is nothing. “But if you could just hold my stuff, I’ll be there in less than a hour to get it.”

“We don’t hold items,” Steve tells you, a rehearsed banality to his tone. “Your items are currently outside the unit.”

You instinctively want to yell at Steve but, fuck fuck fuck, you’ve been there, behind the counter, dealing with people who couldn’t pay for shit and then had the nerve to get upset with you. “All of it?” You ask, your voice cracking slightly.

“Yes.”

You hang up, and toss your phone onto the passenger seat. The quicker you get there, the less chance that something will get broken or stolen or who knows what else.

The trip to the storage unit seems to take forever, and when you arrive you don’t even take a second to lock your car doors. Instead you sprint inside, startling Steve--looking at his phone, then at you, then at the sign plastered up on the wall leading to the storage locker floors. He points. Row A, separated into 100s, 200s, 300s, and--your number--400s.

You don’t remember if you say ‘thank you,’ because you’re speed-walking down the hallway and following the signs and it isn’t long before you see it: a storage locker with tons of stuff piled up, dumped, outside the now-empty unit where it was supposed to be safe and sound. Waiting for you to get an apartment and pick it back up and rearrange it into your new life, your new “you.”

The problem is immediate: You can’t fit all this in your car. You don’t know anyone who could take the stuff for you. You mind reels for options and the only thing you can come up with is ferrying your belongings to and from the hotel. You can pay for a few more days once you cash your partial paycheck. After that… you don’t know.

Pawn your things? Yeah. That might work. You can get enough cash by pawning most of your stuff, the good stuff. Enough money to get you into a shitty apartment with leaks and a bad landlord. Then you can a job that barely pays rent and you’ll be right back where you started, before you met Ransom. Before you thought leaking ceilings and $20 paychecks after taxes were a thing of the past.

You ignore the humiliation that makes your stomach curl as you take your things out to the car, handful by handful. Steve doesn’t bother holding the door open for you. You mention that you’re going to be back on your way out, and he offers a non-committal hum.

At least when you get to the hotel, the owner sees you fumbling with boxes and offers to help you out. It takes less time with two hands to get everything in the room, and once it’s locked up you head back out to the storage units.

You keep your sunglasses on for the second trip into the storage unit, even though you don’t know Steve or care what he thinks. He doesn’t look up when you walk in and it’s just as well, since you’re only heading back to the A-400s and don’t need his non-existent help.

But the sight that greets you when you round the corner to your unpaid-for storage locker makes your blood run cold.

Your stuff is gone. All of it.

You rush back to the desk, where Steve does look up, startled by your urgency.

“My stuff,” you spit out, “My stuff is gone! Someone took it!”

Steve shrugs. “Sorry.” He points to a sign behind him: “We are not responsible for the loss of items inside or outside storage lockers.”

“Are you fucking kidding?” You can’t the anger in your voice this time. “You just watched someone walk off with my stuff and didn’t say anything?”

Steve raises his eyebrows. “If it was that important, you shouldn’t have left it here. Or you should have given us another card.”

You feel like throwing your hands up but you just clench your fist and storm out the door, huffing as you reach your car. The anger melts into the sense of loss, the realization that you only have a few meager items that you’d managed to collect; you picked the lightest stuff, first. And in retrospect it was things that didn’t matter much at all. Clothes. Hair supplies. Makeup. You should have grabbed the box with your USB sticks, your memory cards, your photo albums; your personal mementos and sentimental shit. Instead you grabbed the box with your shampoo.

At least the clothes might get something in a pawnshop. The makeup, too, on Facebook or Depop or Instagram. But it wouldn’t be enough to put you up in an apartment. You’ll have to live in your car. Until they repossess it for lack of payment.

You don’t have your bank account, your credit cards, your job, a place to stay, or your personal possessions. And soon, you won’t have your car.

You have no friends. No boyfriend. No family.

All you have $20 left in your wallet and well, fuck it. You grab some McDonalds on the way home because, fuck it, and eat all the fries before you make it to the motel. The thought of eating in your dirty room makes your stomach turn and you decide to eat everything else you bought, the burger and the shake and the chicken nuggets too, tossing the wrappers on the floor. It feels like deja vu--getting cheap fast food to make you feel full, tossing trash on the floor of the passenger seat, all bringing back the way you used to when you’d grab something from the dollar menu on your way to work at the call center.

You almost wish you could stay at this hotel, brown water and all. The owner is decently nice. He smiles at you when you enter and doesn’t bring up that you didn’t come back with more boxes, like you said you would.  

You’re surprised at how grateful you feel for the dingy hotel room now that you won’t be able to stay here more than another day. Now that the alternative is sleeping in your car, then sleeping on the street, if you were lucky.

Your phone feels heavy when you set it on the table and stare at the home screen. Another photo of you and Ransom stares back up at you. You haven’t had time to change it up yet. He’s grinning. You’re smiling. It’s a good photo. You try to place it in your memory, try to remember what beach that was, but your trips blur together and you can’t.

Should you call him? If it was just the cards, just him being petty over credit and finances, it was one thing. You could try to placate him with returning gifts, just asking him to give you what you put in from your own paychecks. But making you lose your job? It was too far, too fucking far. And there was no going back from that. Fuck, someone was probably moving into your office as you sat in this dimly lit room mourning the loss of your entire life.

For a brief, very fleeting moment, you consider calling Harlan. You weren’t exceptionally close, but he seemed to like you well enough. He’d even asked you once, puling you aside at a tension-filled family party, if Ransom treated you right, told you to tell him if he ever got to be too much. Harlan felt like Ransom’s keeper--in more ways than one. You could never tell Harlan about the shouts or the occasional bruises from when Ransom really, really lost his temper--it’s not like you could prove them, anyway, as Ransom made sure to keep you away from his family when he lost control like that. No need for excuses about running into doors when he made sure you looked your best at family functions.

But the thought of breaking the uneasy stasis that Ransom had with the most significant member of his family made you want to vomit. There would be no coming back from that, and you knew better than to cross any line involving the great Harlan Thrombey.

You could call your friend--ex-friend? The one who didn’t block you or forget your number. You should. No, you will. Because what else do you have to lose.

But before you can bring up her number, you get a text--Ransom. It’s a photo and your curiosity gets the better of you as you click the notification.

“What the fuck?”

He’s sent you a photo of his car, trunk open. It’s filled with boxes, odds-and-ends. It’s filled with your stuff.

You text him: What??

He texts back: Hey. I’m in front of the hotel. Come out? Bring your suitcase. :P

It’s your stuff. It’s his car. He’s here. All reason is thrown aside as you grab your suitcase and purse and rush down the hallway, ignoring the owner’s confused response from behind his desk as you push open the front doors and look around the parking lot.

His car is parked to the side, not in front of the hotel’s glass double doors. He’s standing outside his car, leaning against it. He takes off his sunglasses and tucks them in his pocket when he sees you approaching, face confused and fuming all at once.

“What the fuck, Ransom, what the fuck is your problem--”

“Hey, hey,” he says, hands up in defense, “You’re not even going to thank me for picking up your stuff?”

You feel suddenly, impossibly rooted to the spot.

“What do you--what? You took my stuff?”

He shrugs. “C’mon, did you really think I’d just leave your stuff in some shitty storage unit? Someone would’ve taken it if I didn’t get there first.”

You swallow. “Why?” You ask, because Ransom never does anything for no reason. Or so you’ve learned.

His expression loses a bit of its cocky casualness. He tilts his head a bit, looking at you as if you’ve asked a particularly offensive question.

“Why do you think?”

To lord it over you? To make you think your stuff was gone and make you worried, sick, crazy?

“I don’t know,” is what you settle for in the end. “I really, really don’t. You--” You lick your lips, and try to calm down, calm the pitter-patter of your heart, and think before you speak. “You’ve done some pretty messed up stuff today. My job?” The last question comes out soft and pained, and you know your eyes are starting to tear up.

“Hey.” His voice is soft and placating and it makes your stomach flip as he approaches you, standing there on the sidewalk with your purse and suitcase. “Hey, c’mon. Don’t cry on me.”

You know this Ransom. The Ransom that holds you and pets your hair and offers to get Thai food delivered even though he doesn’t like it just to make you happy.

He puts his hand on your shoulder and you jerk it away. “Don’t.” That Ransom is a fantasy. Or an incomplete version, the version that pretends he doesn’t lie and cheat and hurt you in more ways than one. “Don’t you fucking dare, especially not after what you pulled today. My job? My job, Ransom? You’re a--a fucking asshole.”

He puts his hands up again, defensive, and takes a step back. But he doesn’t return to his car, and stays just a few steps in front of you.

“Look. Call me an asshole. Sure, fine, I can admit that. But do you know what else I am?”

He waits a beat, waits for you to look at him, before he continues. “I’m a realist. I like facts. And the fact is? You aren’t much without me. No job, no credit cards, no bank account. Without me, you’re just some broke chick scrambling to get an apartment in the shittiest part of town, working a dead-end job that don’t pay shit. With me though…. “

He leaves the words unfinished, but you know what he means. Flashes of your life, cocktails and smart business outfits and dinners at restaurants you didn’t even dream about attending before you met him. Phone calls with shakers in the industry and social media requests from people you’d never dream you’d meet. Connections that meant something, a career path, dinner parties with people who could offer tangible benefits to your career and your life.

It wasn’t that he spoiled you. He wasn’t a sugar daddy. You weren’t getting gifts for blowjobs. It was that his presence in your life boosted you, socially, financially, mentally, physically, in every which way possible.

His presence got you a job that you loved, which meant you weren’t burnt out when you came home, which meant that you had the time and energy to spend hours catching up on books or redecorating the house or watching movies. Good money meant you could order in whenever you felt like it, meant you didn’t have to worry if you burned dinner because you could just buy new steaks or order-in or go out, last minute, and still get a great table. It meant you had all the clothes you wanted, stylish and personally tailored; it meant you had easy access to a gym and exercise equipment and an indoor pool to keep you healthy. It meant you had a life that provided comfort in every way possible.

Being with Ransom Drysdale was like… like a little shot of privilege directly into your arm.

Privilege that he took away just as easily as he gave it. Just as easily as you took it. Just as easily as you took it and eagerly ignored the dark side underneath. Or maybe you didn’t ignore it. Maybe you liked it, maybe it reminded you of who you were underneath the designer clothes and expensive dinners.

Maybe you wanted to fix him, like he fixed you? He wasn’t totally bad, after all, he did make sure no one took your belongings. Maybe it was your presence that gave him the idea for that touch of sympathy, maybe with Ransom change was slow and muddled, not picture-perfect sweeping changes like the kind in movies.

“So?” Ransom’s voice cuts through your thoughts. “Are you going to come home or,” he waves his hands around dismissively, at the hotel, at you.

You feel very, very less-than right now. You look awful, your hair mussy and your makeup mostly melted off with sweat and sun. You probably smell more than you normally do, thanks to the lack of a shower. Your muscles, sore from the motel bed, ache for the large spa bathtub that Ransom had installed in the master bathroom just for you, stocked with bubbles and salts and overpriced bath bombs that were $10 a pop.

But your muscles had hurt before, when he pushed you against the dresser.

You have nothing, and no one. Except Ransom. Ransom who didn’t judge you when you instinctively saved plastic bottles and boxes, but merely nudged you towards recycling and took you out to splurge on a reusable water bottle and proper storage containers the next day. Ransom who asked you what sort of job you wanted, really wanted, and made it happen for you. Ransom who shrugged and wiped away your credit card debt without making you feel like shit.

Ransom who didn’t let you leave the house if your wrists were sporting fingerprint shaped bruises. Ransom who argued with you about talking to men, even men at work. Ransom who held you tight at night and said he never wanted to let you go, and wouldn’t you just make a fine-ass addition his crazy family. Ransom who took care of you, now that you had no one else.

“What do you want me to do?” The words feel slow, sluggish. Like they wanted to stick to the roof of your mouth and it took everything in you to get them out.

His voice turns low and serious as he stares at you with an characteristic expression. “Well, the first thing is to get down on your knees…”

You feel your eyes practically bugging out.

“What the fuck, Ransom?”

He laughs. He always did have a nice laugh.

“I’m just messing with you, Jesus. Take a chi-I-il pill. Just grab your purse and come sit your sweet ass in the front seat. Let’s go get some burgers, I’m starving.”

Your legs feel like jelly when you take that first step, and the sound of your roller suitcase as you pull it along seems louder than ever. Ransom pops the truck and you just manage to fit it inside with the handle closed, jamming it in between some boxes at an odd angle. The handle of the passenger side is familiar, warm from the sun.

You open the door and practically shove yourself into the seat, closing the door as fast as possible. You can’t do more than glance at him as humiliation and anxiety and just the smallest bit of relief washes over you. It’s been less than 24 hours since you broke up, and here you are--again.

He’s staring at you quietly, his expression difficult to place. He looks relieved. He looks annoyed. He looks like he wants to kiss you. He looks like he wants to slap you. Maybe he wants to do it all at once and can’t decide which to pick.

Instead, he puts his hand on your thigh. Gives it a squeeze. Hard, bordering on painful.  He’s staring straight ahead, at the worn-out sign on the hotel’s front door, one hand gripping the flesh of your thigh. He looks good in profile. “Don’t ever try to pull something like that again. I mean it. I really mean it.”

You turn, glance out the window, familiar tears at the edge of your eyes.

“I won’t,” you whisper, dreaming of the tub and bubbles and how good a warm soak will feel on your back, on your thighs, on your soul.

“Good girl,” he says, patting your thigh firmly. He plucks his sunglasses out of pocket and puts them on in a smooth motion. The car starts smoothly, its fine-tuned and expensive engine a familiar sound, and your hands feel robotic as you pull the seatbelt over your chest and click it tight.

“Let’s get dinner and get home. You have some unpacking to do.”

[naturallytom]

Mending a Broken Heart (Tom Holland x reader, alternative part)

a/n: me? writing? unheard of. jk im tryin to get back into the groove!! this is an alternate version to Mending a Broken Heart, so some parts are the same and some I’ve edited or added some things! hope u enjoy!! 

warnings: language, angst, mentions of cheating

please reblog/leave feedback!!

picture not mine!

You had noticed it for months. Tom has been pulling away, spending more time out with the boys than at home with you. His kisses became forced and the words ‘love you’ slowly stopped falling from his lips. 

Most days he would leave for work before you woke up and on the rare occasion you were up when he left, he would mumble a ‘goodbye’ before walking out the door. Sometimes, if you were lucky, he would press a gentle kiss to your forehead. Most times, though, he would just leave. 

You did your best to keep the love alive, you were still madly in love with him. The wedding band that sat tightly on your ring finger mocked you. A symbol of what was love has turned into one sided love. Hell, you weren’t sure if Tom wore his wedding ring anymore. 

A quick glance to his left hand would reveal that he didn’t. 

You spent your nights wondering if it was something you did. Were you too clingy when he left to film? Was he just tired of you after four years of marriage? Did he find someone else?

No. You shook your head to yourself one night as you laid in the bed by yourself, the space usually occupied by Tom cold. If he found someone else and if he cheated, that’s on him. Not on you. 

Still, the thought plagued your mind. Did he meet someone else? Was she prettier than you? Is that where he was when he said he was out with the boys? Was she able to give him something you couldn’t give him?

The door opening and shutting alerted you that Tom was home. You sighed, knowing it’d be another night of sleeping on opposite sides of the bed. 

The door to the bedroom opened and in came Tom, Tessa jumping up to greet him. 

“Hey girl, hey love, how are you, hm?” He whispered, petting Tessa as his eyes flickering over to you, who was visibly awake. “Thought you’d be asleep by now. ‘S late.” 

“Couldn’t sleep.” You replied simply. “Hey so I was thinking, we haven’t had a date night in a while, maybe you wanted to go out to see the Halloween decorations around town and get dinner tomorrow night?�� 

“Can’t,” He shook his head as he got ready for bed. “Harrison wants to watch the game. Told him I’d go.” 

“Didn’t you just see Harrison tonight?” 

“Yeah, and?” 

“Nothing.” You sighed, obviously upset. “Nothing, Tom. Goodnight.” 

“Night.” He responded, turning out the light and climbing into bed, falling asleep with his back toward you. 

-

The next day, you were surprised to see Tom already awake and waiting in the kitchen, sipping on a cup of tea when you got downstairs. 

“Good morning.” You smiled softly. 

“We need to talk.” He told you. You felt your heart drop and your palms get sweaty, but you wiped them on your pajama pants in an effort to seem totally calm and not panicked. 

“A-About what?” You asked, your voice coming out shaky. 

“I think,” Tom started. “I think we should get divorced.” 

It was then, at 8:30 am that your world came crashing down. 

“W-What?” You whimpered out, your voice weaker than before. “Why?”

“I’m not happy with you anymore.” He said simply. Your eyes flickered to his left hand, noticing the absence of the golden wedding band, making your heart ache. 

“We can try couples’ therapy. We can go on dates like we used to, Tom, please! We can fight for this, Tom. Fight for us.” You cried, your heart shattering into a million tiny pieces, each one puncturing your lungs as you struggled to keep your breath under control. 

“No,” He shook his head. “My mind is made up. I’m sorry, y/n. Um, I found a lawyer at a firm, they have a lot of other lawyers there you can contact. I’ll just, uh, leave their card here.” 

“So that’s it? Three years of dating and four years of marriage down the drain?” You sobbed, holding your knees to your chest as you sat on the kitchen floor. 

“I’m sorry, y/n. Truly, I am.”

He placed the small business card on the counter, grabbing the bags you didn’t even notice, mumbling an ‘I’ll be staying with Haz,’ before walking out the front door, like he did every other day. This time, though, you had the sinking feeling he was leaving for good. 

-

It was only three weeks that your lawyer came over to meet with you, joined by Tom and his lawyer. You kept your eyes focused on the table as you signed the paperwork, wanting to get this done as soon as possible. 

As soon as everyone left, you shut the door, slid down the back of it, and cried. 

-

Nearly two months after the worst day of your life and it was time for a self care night. The ring that once sat on your left hand was buried away in your jewelry box somewhere and you were finally starting to feel free and somewhat happy again after crying yourself to sleep and wondering where it all went wrong for months. 

After the divorce you buried yourself in work, using it as a distraction from going home to an empty house. You also moved out of the house you once called home. Not only was it too painful to go home to an empty house, but it was too painful to go home to a house that held so many happy and loving memories. You took the necessities along with some things you wanted with you and set yourself up in a hotel room for the time being. You treated it as a vacation. Except only a few people knew where you were. Your family knew, along with your friends, including Harrison, on the condition he didn’t tell Tom where you were. You started making time for yourself in your little hotel room and you became happier. 

Tonight, after a long day of work, you ordered your favorite Chinese food, played your favorite songs, and ran yourself a bath with a vanilla scented bath bomb. You were enjoying a glass of wine, the hot water of the bath soothing you when the music playing from your phone was interrupted by a call coming in. 

To your surprise, it was Tom. You contemplated answering it, but instead, let it go to voicemail. However, you were curious as to why he called, though you were also 99% positive it was a pocket dial. So you played the voicemail, the familiar voice ringing throughout the bathroom. 

“Hey y/n, um, I hope you’re doing well. I just called because I wanted to tell you something. I um, I miss you. A lot. And I know I don’t get to feel that way but I do and I just wanted to tell you that and I guess ask if there was any possibility of meeting to talk? Uh, call me back if...if you want. I don’t blame you if you hate me. Bye. Love y-” 

You turned off the voicemail before the phrase could be finished. Millions of thoughts filled your mind, ranging from happy ones to ones that made your heart ache and tears fill your eyes. 

You decided to ignore it, pretend it never happened, and enjoy your self care night. 

-

When Tom pulled up to his former house with flowers in his car and a pit of nerves in his stomach, he expected to see your car in the driveway and at least one light to be on. He was greeted with an empty driveway and a dark house, which confused him. It was the weekend, so you weren’t work. Maybe you had to run an errand? 

But after 20 minutes, he gave up hope that you were home and tried to call you, which to no surprise, you didn’t pick up again. He instead called Harrison in an effort to try and find out if he knew where you were. 

“What do you want?” Harrison answered, half concentrating on what Tom was about to say and half concentrating on the game in front of him. 

“Do, uh, do you know where y/n is?” Tom asked, taking Harrison by surprise. 

“y/n?” Harrison paused the game, suddenly not able to concentrate on it. “Why d’you want to know where y/n is?”

“I just want to talk to her.” He mumbled. 

“If I knew that’s where you were going I wouldn’t have let you go.” Harrison sighed. “Listen she made me swear that I wouldn’t tell you-” 

“Please Harrison? You’ve seen how much of a mess I’ve been. I just want to see if I have a shot.” Tom begged, making his friend cave. 

“Fine but if she moves again I won’t be telling you shit.”  

-

The next day you were enjoying a cup of tea and reading your book, getting some relaxation in before your week began when a knock on the door interrupted you. Confusion filled your body, you weren’t expecting anyone to pop by. 

Looking out the peephole, you froze at the sight that greeted you. Tom was standing outside your door, a bouquet of your favorite flowers in his hands. 

“Hi.” He breathed out, his nose and the tips of his ears red from the harsh winter air. 

“How the hell did you find me?” You asked, keeping your eyes focused on the ground. 

“Harrison. I begged him to tell me.” He answered. 

“I’m gonna kill him.” You muttered. “What do you want?”

“Can..Can I come in?” He asked. 

You wanted to say no, that he could say what he wanted to say outside or just not let him speak at all. But you wanted to be courteous to the other people on your floor and part of you was curious as to what he was going to say. So you wordlessly opened the door slightly, letting him in and closing the door behind him. 

“Now what do you want?”

“Did you get my voicemail?” He responded, hope filling his eyes when you nodded. “Um, I brought these for you. I was hoping we could talk.” 

“I don’t want your flowers. Why should I talk to you? We’re divorced, just like you wanted.” Tom winced at the words. “Nothing to change.” 

“Actually, we’re not.” He corrected. “I called the office the other day. Um, it’s not official yet.” 

“Well then they should make it official. Maybe I can call them and make it happen as my very last Christmas present to you. Just what you wanted.” You snapped. 

“No, this isn’t what I want, can I speak, please?” He pleaded, his eyes resembling those of a puppy. 

“You’re speaking already.” You answered, gesturing for him to continue nonetheless. 

“I- How have you been? I stopped by the house-”

“Tom I’m not gonna listen to your small talk. Say what you have to say and leave.” You told him. His heart broke but he couldn’t blame you. 

“Um, so I thought I wasn’t happy with you but um, as time went on, I realized how much I miss having you in my life.” He began, visibly nervous. “I was just looking through our pictures and how happy you looked and I just, I guess I realized I wanted to be the one to make you that happy again.”

“You haven’t made me happy in months, Tom.” 

“I know.” His heart clenched. “I know and I’m so sorry, y/n. I really am.” 

“Was there someone else? Did you cheat on me?” You asked. 

“No, no absolutely not, y/n.” He answered before adding; “I went on a date with someone after we split up but it didn’t work out. I realized she wasn’t what I want.” 

“Of course she wasn’t.” You scoffed. 

“I want you, y/n. I want to spend the rest of my life making you happy again.” He told you, tears filling your eyes. “Is there..is there any possibility you could love me again?” 

“Again?” You seethed. “Tom I never fell out of love with you! I never stopped loving you! That was all you! You stopped loving me and you wanted this stupid fucking divorce!”

“I..I don’t think I ever stopped loving you either.” He whispered, tears falling down his rosy cheeks. “Please, y/n, if there’s even the tiniest chance..” 

“Of what, Tom? Of going right back to being married? Of you making me happy? I don’t know, Tom! I don’t know anything except that I hate you right now.” You sobbed, crying into your knees while Tom let out quiet sobs of his own, his heart clenching at the lack of wedding band on your left hand and the lack of love in your voice, but especially your eyes. Your eyes, which once held so much love and adoration for him were now full of anger and resentment. 

“Of..anything, y/n. Please, I just want a second chance to show you how much you mean to me, to make you happy again. I will do anything to save us, anything you want. And...and if it’s not working or you just really hate me, I wouldn’t blame you. Not at all.” He begged, his eyes puffy and red. 

“I tried to save us, Tom. Don’t you remember? I begged and pleaded with you to do couples therapy to go on dates when you were breaking my heart into a million tiny pieces. I begged you to try and fight for us, for our marriage, but you just walked out the god damn door!” You spit through gritted teeth. 

“I fucked up, I know. I fucked up so badly.” He cried, wiping his tears away. 

“And if leaving me wasn’t enough, you took Tessa too! I was left completely alone in that big fucking house that was haunted by you. I couldn’t stand it.” You sobbed. 

“I’m..I’m sorry, y/n. So so fucking sorry. What do you want me to do?” 

“I want...I want you to hurt. I want you to hurt the way you hurt me. I want you to know how this fucking feels.” You said, your voice getting louder with each word that fell from your lips.

Tom could only cry. This was ripping him apart, he couldn’t even imagine what the whole thing felt like to you. 

“I’m gonna need time to think, Tom.” You finally mumbled, Tom nodding in response. 

“I’ll give you all the time you need. I promise you-” 

“Don’t. Don’t promise me anything.” You spoke, your voice low. “You won’t be able to keep it. You promised you’d love me forever four years ago and look what happened.” 

“y/n pl-”

“You don’t get to do this. You-you don’t get to just waltz right back in here and ask for a second chance to fight for us when I didn’t even get a first chance. How do I know this won’t end like it did before?” 

“y/n, I swear to you, if this isn’t working out, you can leave me. I...I just want a chance to prove myself to you.” He begged. 

“God, Tom. You don’t get it! I’m not going through this again. Do you realize how much you broke me the first time? Fuck, you had a chance, Tom. And you threw it away.” You muttered quietly. 

“I regret that every day. Every god damn day.” He told you honestly.

“I don’t know, Tom.” You sighed. 

“Talk to me?” He tried, knowing you were hiding something deeper than an ‘I don’t know.’

“Don’t know what else there is to say.” You mumbled. “I don’t trust you, I-I can’t trust you. I hate you.” 

“Why’d you get a hotel room?” Tom sniffled, changing the subject. 

“I told you. I hated being in that house. Hated being surrounded by the happy pictures and memories of us.” You told him honestly. “I want to start over.” 

“What?”

“I want to start over. I can’t go back to being emotionally married to you even if we’ll still be married legally. I’m talking starting from scratch, as if we were meeting for the first time, the whole deal.” You told him. 

“That sounds perfect, y/n. Thank y-”

“Get out, Tom. Please. I just want to be alone and not with you right now. I’m still not happy with you.” 

“Okay.” He breathed out, hope filling him once again. “You won’t regret this, I promise.” 

“What did I just say about promises?” You asked tearily. 

“I know, I know. I’m determined to keep this promise, though.” He told you. 

“Fine. Whatever. Just please leave for now.” You whimpered, watching as he walked out the door, just like he did when he broke your heart. 

You decided you needed another self care night. Another bath was run, another vanilla scented bath bomb was used, more wine was consumed. 

Tom texted you right as you got out of the bath. 

Tom: hey y/n, it’s tom, just incase you don’t have my number saved anymore. I just wanted to say thank you for the second chance. I really am grateful. I hope you have a relaxing night, you deserve it. 

You rolled your eyes and tossed your phone gently on your bed, though you could feel your heart rate pick up and butterflies fill your stomach. 

-

Tom began texting you sweet little things each morning, whether it was to let you know that he’s been thinking of you or to tell you that he hopes you have a great day. At first you ignored them, but then you began responding in short answers of one or two words until the two of you were texting every day, like when you met for the first time seven years ago. 

-

Over a month after you started texting again, Tom took you on a first date. Pulling up to your hotel, Tom felt the nerves fill his body as he walked up to your door and knocked, another bouquet of your favorite flowers in his hand. 

He felt all the air leave his lungs as you opened the door. You looked absolute stunning. You were wearing a navy blue dress that reached down to just above your knees, one Tom bought you one year. 

“Wow, hi.” He breathed. “You look stunning.” 

“Thank you.” You smiled, accepting the flowers he handed you. “I’ll be right back.” 

Tom took you to your favorite restaurant that night, one that the two of you frequented when you (formerly) went on dates. 

When he took you back to your hotel, he walked you up to the door, where he nervously asked if he could kiss you. 

You said yes, and that was all Tom needed to press a soft kiss to your lips. The kiss was magical, both of you felt the sparks between the two of you. 

“God I missed doing that.” Tom mumbled as he pulled away to breathe. 

“Then do it again.” 

-

A couple months after that, Tom moved back in with you. You had gone back to the house every now and then, to slowly acclimate yourself to being back in the once happy house, only fully moving back when Tom moved back as well. The pictures of the two of you were dusted off, making your heart race instead of hurt at the sight of the happy memories. 

-

Finally, after a year, Tom proposed to you (again). You hesitated a little bit, still scared it would end in heartbreak again, which broke Tom’s heart, but said you yes in the end. 

The two of you renewed your vows, putting on the golden bands that were once again a symbol of the love the two of you shared. 

You had a small party back at your house after the ceremony, your families joining to celebrate. You found Tom alone in the kitchen, grabbing a beer for him and Harry. 

“Hey.” You greeted, fiddling with your fingers as tears of happiness filled your eyes. 

“Hey, what’s wrong, my love?” Tom asked, concerned as soon he saw the tears filling your eyes. 

“Nothing, nothing. I, um,” You started, wiping your tears away and wrapping your arms around Tom’s neck. “I’m really glad we made it back to this.” 

“Me too, lovey. I love you so much.” He whispered, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead.

“Hey, Tommy?” 

“Yeah?” 

“You kept your promise.” You smiled softly, making Tom’s heart ache at the memory of you not being able to trust him. 

“I told you I would.” 

Your moment was interrupted by Harrison, who entered the kitchen, smiling at his two best friends happily in love once again. 

“Aren’t you so glad I told him where you were staying?” He joked, making you roll your eyes. 

“Shut up, Harrison.” You smiled. As your eyes flickered between Tom and Harrison, though, you knew you wouldn’t have been in this position if Harrison didn’t spill the beans to Tom. 

“Hey Haz?” You called, as Harrison went to leave the kitchen in fake offense. He turned at the sound of his name, knowing what was coming. 

“Thank you.” Tom nodded in agreement, his arm slipping around your waist. 

Harrison just smiled even bigger, all three of you knowing everything would be okay from now on.

[sweetestpopcorn]

Why do you think Daemon cheated on Rhaenyra with both Mysaria and Nettles when he loved his niece and she was the mother of his son?

Hi 😃

Sorry it took me so long to answer you, anon, but I'm answering now so XD I guess it's something. I hate myself so much... 🤦‍♀️

Before anything, please, everyone, bear in mind that I am answering this ask according to my view points and to my interpretation of F&B and its characters. As I have said in the past, F&B is written in such a way that people can have a very different read. This is mine.

I think it's important to bear in mind not only the type of man that Daemon was but also the universe he lived in. Noble men having mistresses was not uncommon, in many cases even when they were said to love their wives dearly. Just look at Corlys Velaryon. We are told he loved Rhaenys yet he had a prolonged affair with Marilda of Hull having two children by her, yet no one questioned that he loved his wife, and I too think he did.

Daemon would never love a woman the way that, for instance, his father Prince Baelon did Princess Alyssa, or even as Jaehaerys loved Alysanne. I think he would love a woman in his own way which from what is known of him is in my opinion something similar to a "brownie-point" system, something of the sort of: Is she hot? One point. Does she love me and does what I want? Another point. Was she a virgin (I know it's disturbing, but hey it's Daemon)? Another point. Has she given me children? Point. Were the children boys? Extra points. You get the picture I think 😅

This being said I do believe he "loved" Rhaenyra, but in his own way, because of all the things she was and did for him. He does seem to have a god like complex which she definitely fed, and I do believe he very much liked to be the number one man in her life. Of all the women of his life - Rhea Royce (his one true love lol), Mysaria, Laena Velaryon, maybe Nettles - I don't think anyone quite adored him as much as Rhaenyra did, or was as serious about his love (to the point of it not being very healthy). Reminder that our queen was willing to kill a sixteen year old girl because there was a chance she could have Daemon's son and because he was in love with her (according to Mysaria) 😬 Not your proudest moment was it Rhaebae?

Now, before the Dance there's no record of him being unfaithful to her. In fact, they seemed to have an exceptionally boring marriage since the only events reported about them since they married was that they had two sons, that she had him collect Vaemond's head when he said the "Velaryon" princes were bastards, and that in 129 AC she was pregnant again (snore fest). Rhaenyra was also described, by George himself, as a proud and stubborn woman which definitely isn't very compatible with her turning a blind eye while Daemon collects women and possibly bastards and shames her.

Am I stating for a certainty that during this time he was faithful? Probably not, but he was at least very discrete about it. With how biased F&B is against Rhaenyra (and history books in general) I have no doubt that if he had mistresses we would have been told - as we were during the Dance. Adding to this her "sweet" temperament and how infatuated she was with him, I am convinced that if he had other women, she was kept in the dark.

What changed during the Dance you might ask? Well, at the time she ascended the throne Rhaenyra had suffered a very traumatic miscarriage, had lost three sons (Viserys was presumed dead), and was dealing with all of the sh_t that kept pilling up around her. It doesn't seem likely to me she was in the mood for... well Daemon.

Enter Mysaria, who we are told Rhaenyra knew about and didn’t care. 

If she wasn’t “keeping Daemon entertained” 💑 it did make sense for her to have him have some “fun” 🍆🍑 with Mysaria. Mysaria was older than her, no longer very beautiful, and likely at her age (and given the times they lived in) no longer fertile. Rhaenyra knew there was no danger of Daemon either leaving her for Mysaria, or fathering a bastard on her. As for Daemon, I don’t think he would be the type of man content with holding his wife’s hand in bed and not holding anything else. I believe that in his mind, Rhaenyra was his niece, his wife, mother of his sons, and his queen, but if she wasn’t willing to have him bed her, then he would find someone else to do it. Easy as that.

As for Nettles, to this day I am not sure what the truth was. By this I mean if she was his daughter, or his lover. On the one side given what we are told about their relationship, they do sound very much like lovers to me. Additionally, in “The World of Ice and Fire” where we have the short version of the story, she is ever only presented as his lover and no other hypothesis is raised. Now juxtaposed to this what makes me think she was maybe a bastard daughter of his and not his lover, is the fact that so much doubt is placed upon them being lovers. If it was so straightforward, why is it still so questioned by the sources of F&B?

In any case if they were lovers (I do lean a bit more towards this even though I wish it weren’t true because it just adds another point to Daemon’s darkness) I have two words for you: midlife crisis. What level? Yes.

Reading about their relationship gave me a huge Deja Vu. Allow me to elaborate.

1- Spending the days flying together? Check.💁‍♀️

2- Giving her countless valuable gifts? Check.💁‍♀️

3- Spending all of the time with each other, dining together, amongst other things? Check.💁‍♀️

Is this sounding familiar to anyone? Well, I have no idea, but it did to me. Now I ask, how similar was this to what had happened in 112 AC between him and Rhaenyra? And how likely it would be that Daemon, now almost fifty, older, no longer with his whole life ahead of him, likely no longer having a chick to worship the ground he walked on cof Rhaenyra cof would want to relieve his youth? To be in “love” again? To have a younger girl who loved him? I would argue that very likely and Nettles was the perfect opportunity.

In conclusion (I hate how long my answers are), Daemon “loved” Rhaenyra in his own way, but to a man like him I don’t think that “love” would be an impediment to having a little something something on the side every once in while, especially, if he wasn’t getting it at home.

People are what they are, and no one is magically changed or transformed by love, or by a person. Change, true change, has to come from within because only that kind of change will last. And some people will only ever love us in their own way. 

Moral of the story: Don’t ever think that if someone says they love you and then they do something like cheating that it’s your fault, or that they don’t love you enough. The fault is not with us, it’s with them. Love or lack there of isn’t the issue, people are.

XOXO, Gossip Popcorn 🍿

[hxlyhead-harpies]

Ivy (R.L.)

Evermore

Pairing: Remus Lupin x Reader

Summary: The reader is trapped in a loveless and neglectful arranged marriage. She hires her old school crush, Remus Lupin, to tutor her son

Warnings: Alcohol, mentions of abuse, the reader is a mother, cheating, angst

Word Count: 4.9k

A/n: i am actually so so proud of this so um i hope you like it

Your life was nothing but a monotonous cycle of sameness, every day identical to the one before. Every day you awoke to a cold and empty bed, your silk sheets barren of who should be a loving husband. And every day you sat by your bay window with a cup of tea, leaving it unsipped until it became cold. You watched your son stumble around the manor, his tiny legs still clumsy like a newborn foal. You painted or read to bide your time, hoping to make the long hours go faster, but they never did. Nearly six years of this routine but no part of you longed to break free from it. 

You had been bred for this life since you had sprung into existence. You came from a prominent pureblood family and you were taught your place early on. You were to be silent and polite and you must not speak unless spoken to. It didn’t matter your intelligence or wit, you were nothing but a commodity with good posture and acceptable table manners. You were a pawn in your father’s chess game, something to be used for business deals and backdoor dealings. Your existence was for the purpose of your father’s advancement in pureblood society and nothing more. 

For a while you had wanted more, to be free and to have agency and choice. Back when you were in school you were exposed to ideas beyond blood supremacy and submission. You let yourself dream of a life away from your family and their ideals, where you could have your own free thought and you could love whom you chose, but the fantasy didn’t last much longer than your third year. 

When you had dared to voice your opinions one day during the summer holiday you were swiftly met with the back of your father’s hand. Your life quickly began to consist of long sleeve jumpers to conceal bruises and nights where your supper was withheld. You quickly resigned to the life you had always been told you’d have. 

You thought about running away and starting a new life away from the toxicity that oozed from the windows of your childhood home. But you were often reminded of what happened to daughters who disobeyed; you’d be subjected to a life of destitution.

So you did as you were told, obliging to the word of your father and keeping your head down. Of course, you still held your own ideas close to your heart; you didn’t believe in the sickening rhetoric that was blood supremacy, but you couldn’t tell anyone that for the sake of your safety. 

You were seventeen when you had gotten betrothed to Humphrey. It was your seventh year at Hogwarts and you had gotten a letter in mid-march informing you of your own engagement. He was your father’s business partner and eleven years your senior. He was cold and serious. Something about the way he had a perpetually raised brow and a scowl made your stomach drop. You had cried yourself to sleep that night, any remnants of your fantasy finally shattering in the clutches of your fiance. 

And now here you sat, six years later, your cup of tea cooling in your hands as your son asked questions you didn’t know the answer to. Every young wizard went through this phase, wondering why the lights would flicker when they were angry or why sometimes they could do things that they didn’t understand. Your son knew that he was a wizard, but his young mind couldn’t quite grasp what that meant. When you were his age, you had a governess who explained these things to you as well as taught you other things like basic arithmetic and history. You desperately wished that you could find someone, maybe a tutor, who could teach your son. 

Your child, Montgomery, was inquisitive and wild. He was named after his great uncle but detested the name, preferring to be playfully called Monty instead. He was born to be the picture of a perfect pureblood son, but he was wild and untamed no matter how hard you tried. You were afraid of how his father would treat him as he grew, and you were desperate to temper him.

That night at dinner you sat at the head of the table, Monty next to you, and your husband at the other end. It often felt as if there was an impossible distance between the two of you, a distance that could never be crossed. You rarely truly felt like his wife, usually only feeling like an employee in your own home. You poked at your meal for a while, chiding your son to eat his vegetables. In the darkness that shrouded your home, Monty was your only source of light. If you were to go on like this it would be for him. You took a deep breath, preparing yourself to raise the question. 

“Would it be alright if we hired a tutor for Monty?” you asked, “I had one when I was his age and I just think that it would be the proper thing to do.” Humphrey sighed and placed down his spoon, it clanking harshly against the rim of his bowl.

“Montgomery,” he corrected harshly. You swallowed thickly and nodded, avoiding his gaze. “And I suppose it would be a good idea,” he said, “We want him to be top of his class when he arrives at Hogwarts.” You nodded quickly, knowing that agreeing with him was the fastest way to get what you wanted. Humphrey thought for a moment before resuming his dinner. 

“You can pick out his tutor, just inform me when his lessons have started,” he said before going back to ignoring your presence. A sense of pride filled you at his words; it was rare you ever had a say in any of the decisions made around the house and the prospect of having a voice sent a shock of happiness down your spine. This single act of agency was not real freedom, but you would revel in pretending that it was. 

You sifted through ads in the Prophet and inquired with other mothers. You were hesitant to call them your friends as they held the same ideals as your husband, but they were the women you’d be forced to have tea with during business meetings. None of the names that came up seemed quite right. As a last resort, you sent an owl to your old professor, Professor McGonagall. She had been your favorite teacher back at school and you still kept in touch occasionally. When you were a teenager McGonagall tried relentlessly to help you see your potential, but you just brushed her off, knowing that you’d never be allowed to have a career once you were married. 

McGonagall’s response was swift, an owl knocking on the library window only a few hours later. 

The letter opened with her usual greeting, her insistence that you call her Minerva and not Professor. She offered up a name that made you pause. 

Remus Lupin. You could understand why she would suggest this name. He had been top of your class in school and a prefect. He had even tutored you once and had proven himself to be quite the teacher. You knew he was more than capable but his name still caused you to pause.

You had been absolutely infatuated with Remus when you were an awkward sixteen year old. He was handsome and smart and he was nothing short of gentle when he spent late nights in the library trying to teach you astronomy. Something about his hazel eyes and boyish smile had made your heart pound in your ears and your palms sweaty. But you never let yourself dwell on your feelings too much; you knew you’d be married shortly after you graduated and your father would not take too kindly to you dating anyone, especially a halfblood. So you had pushed the feelings aside and forced yourself to forget. Yet here you were, years later, and the shape of his name still caused butterflies to erupt in your stomach. 

You wanted so desperately to write back to Minerva and ask for his address, to send him a letter requesting his services, and to let him into your home. But you were afraid of what would happen if you did. You had spent so long trying to push away the stirrings in the back of your mind and ignore any inkling of restlessness. You feared that welcoming this man into your house would only ignite these feelings to a point where you couldn’t avoid them anymore.

But still, Monty needed a tutor and you knew that Remus Lupin was a damn good one. You sent an owl to Minerva asking how to contact him. 

The first day the Remus was meant to come to your house you were a ball of nerves. Monty was excited, yearning to learn and to meet this new person. But you were anxious about seeing him after all these years. You couldn’t be sure that he even remembered you. His time tutoring you had been brief, though you held that short time together close to your heart. 

You found yourself putting on your favorite clothes, feeling desperate to put up a good front, hoping the clothes would mask your unhappiness. The cream shirt and long navy shirt helped you play the role of a doting wife well, just old fashioned enough to make most believe that you agreed with this life. You tied back your hair with a silk ribbon before heading down to the front hall. You had nothing better to do than wait for him.

A heavy knock finally filled the empty halls of your home signaling you to his arrival. You called out for Monty before you walked to the door and opened it gently. 

You shyly looked around the edge of the door, meeting his eyes. It took everything in you to suppress some sort of physical reaction as you took in his appearance. The years had surely treated him well. His hair was longer now, curlier too, and his freckled skin adorned a few new scars. It was snowing lightly outside and snowflakes sat in his bronze curls. But his hazel eyes still shone at you warmly, and his small smile was familiar and dimpled. He looked older of course, slightly taller and with broader shoulders. He was wearing a beige shirt and a dark tie, a satchel slung over his shoulder, and a stack of books under his arm. 

You opened the door wider to allow him inside. “Hello, Mr. Lupin, I’m so glad you could make it,” you said softly, sticking out your hand. He quirked up an eyebrow and adjusted the books before reaching out his hand. His hands were cold and calloused as he placed his hand in yours, the contact sending a wave of warmth through your body. 

“You can call me Remus,” he said with an amused smile, “No need for the formality, it’s not like we haven’t met before.” You laughed softly at his comment, reluctantly pulling your hand away. 

“Of course, I wasn’t sure if you remembered,” you admitted, “May I take your coat?” Remus chuckled before shrugging off his jacket and handing it to you. 

“How could I forget, charms was it?” he asked. You flushed at his comment but hid it by turning to place his coat in the closet on your right. 

“Astronomy,” you corrected. He hummed affirmatively before rocking back and forth on his heels. You composed yourself quickly before you turned back to him. “Let me show you the library,” you said finally. 

The two of you walked down the hall in silence as you made your way to the room you spent most of your time in. You heard him gasp as you pushed open the mahogany doors. The room was magnificent; books lining every wall from floor to ceiling. Your precious bay window let in natural light and the plush carpet muddled your steps as you walked in. There was a table by the window which you had designated for Remus’s lessons. You had placed some books, quills and parchment, and a globe on the surface. 

Remus’s mouth was wide as he took in the room. You shuffled awkwardly towards the table and his eyes finally landed on it. 

“I wasn’t sure what you needed so I just found a few things,” you said, gesturing to the makeshift desk. He gave you that lopsided smile again and your stomach erupted with butterflies. 

“It’s perfect, thank you,” he said. You felt yourself smile widely as you wrung your hands. Since you had gotten married it was rare that you received a compliment. Even as small and insignificant as his words were, you felt the warm caress of approval anyway.

Before you could say anything else Monty tumbled into the room. His shirt was rumpled and messy, half of it untucked. His hair was wild and his cheeks were red. It was clear that he had gotten into some sort of mischief before heading to the library. He barreled towards you and hugged your legs. 

“Hello dear,” you said affectionately, unable to contain the smile on your face as you smoothed down his hair. 

“Mum you will not believe what I found in the garden,” he said breathily, a gleam in his eye. You raised your eyebrows at him.

“You’ll have to tell me later, Mr. Lupin is here,” you said, nodding towards the man. Monty turned towards his tutor and smiled shyly, hiding behind your legs slightly. It was rare that he met new people as he spent most of his days cooped up at home. Remus didn’t seem phased by his shyness, only stepping closer and bending down slightly.

“Hi, Montgomery is it?” he asked softly, offering his hand for Monty to shake. He shook his head furiously before putting his tiny hand in Remus’s.

“My name is Monty,” he said proudly, giving Remus a firm handshake. Remus smiled brilliantly. 

“Okay Monty, you can call me Remus,” he replied. Monty slowly detached himself from your legs, heading towards the table with Remus. He smiled as he hopped up on his chair and spun the globe. You smiled as you watched them interact, Remus ever so gentle and warm. 

“Do you mind if I stay?” you asked suddenly. Remus looked up with raised eyebrows. “I’ll be quiet,” you promised, “I’ll just be reading.” You gestured towards the spot where you usually read. Remus smiled and nodded. You made yourself comfortable and opened your book. But you couldn’t quite focus on the words, your attention captivated only by Remus. 

That night you laid awake next to Humphrey, unable to sleep. Your mind was busy replaying every moment that Remus had been in your house. How enthusiastic he was about teaching and how tenderly he’d answer Monty’s questions. You thought of how he’d look over Monty’s head and give you a goofy smile when Monty would innocently ask a funny question and how he gave you a lingering handshake when he had left. 

Watching Remus teach became how you passed your hours away. You finally indulged yourself and wondered what it would be like if he felt the same as you. You often found yourself imagining a life where you ran away together, stealing Monty away from the virulent environment of your life. You imagined that you’d move to the city, somewhere near the friends he spoke of so fondly, or away to the countryside in a small cottage. Of course, the fantasy was dashed every time he left and you were once again left in your solitude, waiting for your husband to come home and ignore you as usual. You grieved for the relationship that could never be and the life you could never have.

You felt trapped, a feeling you had been trying to suppress for years. But you were married, a binding and final contract, so there was nothing for you to do. It was as if you were a Rapunzel, waiting in her tower. Only your prince never came to save you. Instead, he was your captor and key keeper. 

Your favorite part of your day soon became the stolen minutes before lessons began and the fleeting seconds after they ended. That was when you could be alone with Remus, learning more about him through menial questions in the name of small talk. He was just as sarcastic and full of wit as you remembered, though there was a certain level of softness that hadn’t been present before. 

Every day, as he left you, shook hands, a task that was most likely no longer necessary, but you loved the feeling of your hand in his. Every time your palms touched you wished that he was taking your hand because he wanted to, not just as a formality. 

Remus’s mere existence consumed you, leaving you yearning for every inch of his mind and soul. Your thoughts were full of his smile and his beautiful eyes. You dreamed of running your hands through his hair and resting your head on his chest. You felt yourself falling in love with him slowly and it terrified you. But there was nothing you could do to stop it. It was as if he had planted himself in your mind, the vines of his ivy covering you completely, overrunning your mind, body, and soul. 

About a month into his teaching you arranged a meeting to discuss Monty’s progress. Remus had readily agreed and he appeared at your doorstep promptly. Humphrey was supposed to attend the meeting but he had been pulled away on business. Or at least that was what he told you. Often times when he was away for work he’d come home smelling of another woman. 

You sat in your husband’s office, just you and Remus. The lighting was dim and your breath was quickly becoming bated because suddenly, you weren’t so sure if you had been imagining the tension between the two of you. He fidgeted in the seat across from you, staring at you with those alluring hazel eyes. They were the type of hazel right between green and brown, the perfect sweet spot that made them appear almost yellow. You looked away quickly and cleared your throat. 

“So how is Monty doing?” you asked, placing your hands neatly in your lap. Remus smiled and ran a hand through his hair.

“He’s doing wonderful,” Remus said proudly, “He’s quite inquisitive. He wants to know everything about everything.” You let out a breathy laugh and nodded.

“Yes, he used to bombard me with questions before you started teaching him,” you admitted, “I couldn’t answer half of them.” Remus laughed this time and shifted in his seat, leaning slightly further over the desk.

“I’m sure you had no problem answering. I was honestly surprised when you sent me the letter, I would have assumed that you were teaching him yourself,” he said, “You were always so smart back in school.” You flushed and shook your head. 

“Do you not remember how you had to save me from failing astronomy,” you answered teasingly, the banter between you flowing easily. Remus pulled back and raised an eyebrow at you. 

“If I remember correctly, it never seemed like you needed much help,” he said. You felt your face heat up. In all honesty, you hadn’t needed help with astronomy. You had just wanted to be close to Remus and that was the only way you had known how. 

“No, I needed the help,” you chided, “You just happened to be an excellent teacher.” Remus met your praise with that boyish smile you had fallen for. The two of you fell into easy conversation after that, forgetting your purpose for the meeting in the first place. You knew that you were entering dangerous territory but you couldn’t find it in yourself to care.

That night as he left you walked him to the door. 

“Thank you for meeting with me,” you said softly, a hint of a joke behind your eyes. Remus nodded with a smile, rubbing the back of his neck. 

“Of course,” he said softly, “Goodnight.” His eyes were rounded and earnest, sending the beating of your heart into overdrive. As he turned to leave you found yourself grabbing his sleeve and turning him around. You were unsure of what your intention was but suddenly he was standing so close, his eyes roaming your face and your breath mixing with his. The two of you stood like that for a moment, staring at each other. Finally, you pulled back slightly, diffusing the tension.

“Goodnight,” you whispered back, your voice slightly hoarse. Remus swallowed thickly, before nodding and leaving quickly. 

The next time he came over for a session the two of you acted as if nothing happened. You hoped that this was because you were under the watchful eye of your husband and not because he didn’t return your affections. You worried the entire time that you observed the lesson, chewing at the inside of your cheek. He didn’t even spare you a glance the entire lesson.

Once he and Monty were done you walked him to the door, as usual, dread settling in your stomach. You worried that you had ruined everything. But when you reached the door and slipped your hand in his for your usual handshake, he surprised you by lifting your hand up and pressing a kiss to the back of it. 

Your life soon became waiting for stolen moments with Remus. Tentatively tangling fingers in a hallway before Monty rumbled down the stairs. There was so much you learned about him, but you could tell there was something he was holding back. There was an ever-present sadness in his eyes that made your heart break. He seemed cursed, as if there was something dark lurking underneath the surface. But he never shared too much with you. 

You scheduled your next meeting several weeks later and you waited for it impatiently, longing for moments alone with the man whom you loved. But unfortunately, luck was not on your side. Humphrey, who was supposed to be busy, had decided to join you. So he sat in the big chair while you stood behind him, your head down and your hands clasped behind your back. 

Remus sat uncomfortably in his chair, sneaking glances at you when your husband wasn’t looking. You were aware of how submissive and deferential you must have looked. You had never wanted Remus to see you like this, to see how truly trapped you were. You were afraid he’d pull away and realize that loving you was futile as you had no way to escape the shackles of your marriage. You longed to look into those hazel eyes and pretend that everything would be alright. But instead, your husband placed a rough hand on your arm and told you that it was time for the men to talk. 

You sat in the library and worried, afraid that Humphrey had somehow found out and was trying to confront Remus. But truly, what was there to find out? All there had been were lingering gazes and grazing touches of hands. You hadn’t dared to kiss him or even make it known how you felt. 

But when the meeting was over you watched Humphrey give Remus a cordial handshake and thank him for his services. Remus glanced at you for a split second, but his gaze quickly moved past you as if you weren’t even there. 

You feared that everything had been ruined. That he’d realize that you were too broken and too chained to be loved. But the next moment you had alone with him, he pulled you into a bone-crushing hug, the most contact the two of you had ever shared.

“He can’t treat you like that,” he murmured into your hair. You let out a shaky breath, holding back tears, and pressing a soft kiss to his shoulder. 

“He’s my husband, that’s how it’s supposed to be,” you replied. Remus pulled back and cupped your face. 

“No, it’s not. You deserve to be loved, not manhandled,” he said, his voice filled with a soft determination. You smiled sadly at him. 

“That’s how it’s supposed to be for women like me,” you said softly. Remus leaned forward and pressed his forehead against yours.

“He’s not worthy of you,” he whispered. You closed your eyes and sighed. 

“I don’t have a choice. I never did,” you murmured. 

Tentatively, Remus pressed his lips against yours. The kiss started out soft, his chapped lips moving gently against yours. Your mind was spinning and your legs went weak, this moment feeling like a dream. The way his hand was in your hair, cradling your head, and the way your body was flushed against his felt like something out of a fantasy. But soon, the kiss became more heated and more desperate, Remus’s lips pressed harshly against your mouth. When he finally pulled away you were breathless and dizzy, wishing that you could grab him by the collar and pull him back down. 

“You always have a choice,” he said, his voice gravelly as he whispered in your ear. And with that, he detached himself from your embrace and entered the library. 

As winter slowly turned to spring you spent every waking moment thinking of Remus and how you wished you could be with him instead. Your secret meetings became more frequent, filled with desperate kisses and unspoken confessions. The words often burned at the back of your throat, begging to escape and profess your feelings. You desperately wanted to tell him that you were irrevocably in love with him and you longed to know if he felt the same. But you knew that once those words spilled from your lips you could never take them back and things could never stay the same. But suddenly, you wished that things would finally change. 

You were often kept up at night with the fear that Humphrey would find out. That he’d catch a quick kiss in a darkened hallway or finally notice how Remus’s eyes lingered on you. You knew that if he found out you’d be on the receiving end of some unspeakable punishment. But you feared not only for your safety but the safety of your love as well. Humphrey was a scary man when he was angry, and you dreaded what your husband would do to Remus. 

On a brisk spring night, you sat in the study with Remus, an open bottle of wine on the desk. Humphrey was away on business so you took it upon yourself to schedule another “meeting” with Remus. He now sat at the desk and you stood between his legs, a bright smile stretched across your face. You sipped from your glass, reveling in the taste. It was an expensive bottle that Humphrey had imported from France and you knew that you weren’t supposed to drink it. 

Remus’s hand was settled on your hip as you talked, your faces so close that your lips almost touched as you spoke. You longed for moments like these, where you could bask in his affections unashamedly, without fearing getting caught. 

He brushed a stray hand of hair from your face and you suddenly became more somber, desperately staring into his eyes, your lip trembling slightly. His eyes furrowed as he sensed your mood change. 

“What’s wrong?” he asked softly. 

“Take me away from this place,” you pleaded, “Please.” Remus let out a trembling breath, his expression falling into one similar to yours. 

“You know that I can’t,” he whispered. You shook your head frantically, clutching the front of his shirt in your fists. 

“Yes, you can,” you said, “You, me, and Monty, we can all run away together.” Remus shook his head and looked away.

”No, we can’t,” he breathed. You felt tears pool in your eyes as you tried to convince him.

“Yes, we can! Monty adores you and I-” you took a deep breath, “and I love you.” You looked at him defiantly and unflinching, never surer of any statement in your life. Remus froze and stared at you, his mouth agape. 

“You don’t love me, you can’t,” he replied. 

“I do Remus,” you said softly, your grip on his clothes loosening. 

“You can’t. I’m poor and I’m-” he paused, seemingly trying to gather his words. “I’m ill,” he finally settled upon, “I can’t take care of you.” You cupped his cheek and shook your head. 

“I don’t care about any of that,” you whispered, “And you’d take far better care of me than he does. You already do.” Remus sighed before pressing a burning kiss to your lips. 

“When does Humphrey get back?” he asked as he pulled back. 

“Two days,” you answered. Remus closed his eyes, mulling something over. He finally leaned over, kissing your forehead lightly before speaking. 

“Go pack your bags,” he whispered. You smiled at him before turning to leave the room, ready to grab your and Monty’s essentials. But before you could leave he grabbed your sleeve, spinning you around to face him. Your faces were so close you could feel his breath fan across your face. 

“I love you,” he murmured softly. You simply smiled before grabbing your bags and gently waking Monty, preparing to break out of the tower that confined you. Ready to live the life you had always wanted with the man that you loved.

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

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[casifer-is-king]

Private Investigator

Pairing: Frankie ‘Catfish’ Morales x fem!reader

Rated: T

Warnings: some language, infidelity.

A/N: This is my first piece of writing in like five years.... I'm gonna warn everyone right now that this is probably not great hahaha. But it was impossible for me to get this idea out of my head and once I started writing it just kind of kept going.... And since it's all written out now, I might as well post it. So if you read this, thank you so very much 🥺💜 This is cross posted on AO3 under my username BlondiMarie.

You always gave your husband the benefit of the doubt. Even when all of your friends warned you about their suspicions. So, when it came down to you telling them you weren't going to confront him about anything without proof, they took it to heart and got planning.

That is how you found yourself in a crowded coffee shop during the lunch rush. Your two best friends, Ashley and Erin, sit across from you as you all wait for the Private Investigator that they had found who knows where. Supposedly, though, he was very qualified. And prompt, you noted, as the man you assumed was here to meet you walked up to your table three minutes before the appointed time.

"You must be my 12:30 meeting?" he asks."I'm Frankie Morales."

"It's nice to meet you," Ashley speaks up, then goes around introducing you all.

Frankie shakes hands with each of you before taking the empty seat next to you. In the crowded room, his chair is set close to your side and you can feel the heat of his body next to yours. He's definitely a cute guy you notice, in a rough, outdoorsy kind of way. His hair curls out from under a worn baseball cap and his facial hair is scruffy, but kept short with a patch along his jaw that doesn't seem to grow.

“So how can I help you ladies?” he asks.

“Well it's really for our friend here,” Erin states, gesturing to you. “It's her husband. We are pretty certain he's cheating on her.”

Frankie glances over at you. “Pretty certain, huh?” he asks as the waitress brings a cup of coffee over and places it in front of him. You find yourself suddenly distracted as he tears open two sugar packets with long, deft fingers, then picks up the spoon to stir it in.

Realizing that he's probably waiting for an answer, you feel yourself blush faintly. “They are pretty certain. I just want to be sure either way. I don't have any specific proof that he's cheating,” you say, finally tearing your eyes away from his hands. He's thoughtlessly twisting the spoon between his index finger and thumb. It's somehow entrancing, the way his fingers move.

“But he's definitely pretty shady,” Ashley steps in. “Suddenly he's working long hours at work, coming home late from the bars and claiming he's with his friends. Plus when is the last time he even took you out?”

The question is pointed at you, but you ignore it by looking into your tea cup instead. It had been months since the two of you had gone on a real date. It's something you both enjoyed a lot in the early years of your relationship - going out to a new restaurant every weekend and ordering three course meals just for the fun of it.

"Yeah, I see this shit all the time," he assures, saving you from having to answer. "If he's doing anything he shouldn't be, I'll find out."

Your friends and him discuss his rates and when payment is due before they rush off, both having to get back to work.

"Did you have to get going too?" Frankie asks you when it's just the two of you left at the table.

"Not yet," you reply.

"That's good." He ducks his head a little so you can't see his eyes anymore, "I was wondering if I could ask a few more questions. Like about your husband's schedule and where he likes to spend his time."

“Of course. He works at an architecture company downtown. It used to be a Monday through Friday, 8 to 5 type of job. But the past few months he's been working late, sometimes he's even going in on Saturdays. Says it's some big project and he's expecting a promotion by the end of it.”

Frankie takes note of your husband's workplace on one of the tiny napkins. When he sees that you're watching him, he ducks his eyes from view again. “Forgot my notebook,” he says sheepishly.

You crack a smile at his embarrassment, but don't say anything, not wanting him to feel uncomfortable. You continue on like nothing happened. “He goes out with his friends a lot, but he's always been that way. I stopped going with him a while ago. He said it brings their team spirit down when he always has to explain the game to me.”

“Not big into sports?” Frankie asks, and you can detect a bit of teasing in his tone.

“Not even a little bit,” you laugh openly.

Frankie makes a little bullet point on his napkin and writes, ‘X sports,’ on it. “Any specific places your husband goes to watch the games?”

“Usually Sally's, over on 7th street,” you provide.

“Yeah, I know it. They do the karaoke after the game,” Frankie states nonchalantly.

“Yes! That's why we agreed on that bar. I'm a sucker for bad karaoke,” you laugh.

“You should see my friend Pope after he gets a few drinks in him,” Frankie chuckled. “Man can't even sing when he's sober, let alone drunk off his ass.”

“Those are just the best performances, though,” you say with a smile.

“It's definitely something,” Frankie nods with a snort.

Your phone chimes an alarm, alerting you off your next meeting you need to get to. "I'm sorry, I actually do have to go now," you apologize, actually feeling sorry that you had to leave this conversation. Frankie is easy to talk to, and an attentive listener.

"Oh, right. Well maybe I could get your number? Ya know, just in case I have any other questions as I go?" Frankie asks quietly, dipping his head again and fiddling with his long-empty coffee cup.

"Of course!" You agree readily, taking his offered phone and adding your details into his contacts. "And thank you again for doing this. It may end up being nothing, but my friends are very overzealous."

"It's not a problem. Just doing my job. I'll let you know what I come up with either way," Frankie replies with a small smile.

As you walk out together, he holds the door open for you and your turn to him once you both come out onto the sidewalk. "Does it often end up ending well? For people you've looked into in the past..." you ask.

Frankie squints a little and his eyes show flecks of warm caramel in the sunshine. "Not often," he replies finally.

You nod, your heart dropping faintly. His honesty is appreciated though, so you grace him with a small smile. "Thank you again."

You don't hear from Frankie for the next few days, but you do think of him. Especially any time your husband does something that makes your gut do that little tug of dread.

It's five days later that you get a text.

Game night tonight. Did your husband happen to say if he was going out? Frankie asks.

You reply maybe a bit too quickly, of course he is. He's leaving here soon to meet up with the guys.

You feel a little less self conscious when it's barely a second later and Frankie is already typing back. Well let's hope that's where he'll actually be.

He'd never miss a game XD, you reply. Sports are like religion to those guys. So you get to just go to the bar and watch them watch the game? Sounds fun hah.

No one ever said it was a glamorous job, Frankie sends back. But it's always a perk when I can drink and watch some football while I'm at it.

You send back some laughing emojis, and set your phone down to heat up some dinner.

Your husband sweeps through the kitchen, grabbing his keys and jacket. “I'm meeting the guys now,” he says.

“Ok, have a good time,” you reply, turning to face him. He nods, pulling on a hat. “I love you.”

“You too,” he replies briskly, dropping a faint kiss on your forehead and walking out the door.

You sigh, plating your food and wandering back to the living room to watch something on TV while you ate.

Your phone flashes a notification and you look down to see Frankie had sent another text.

How have you been doing? He asks.

As well as can be expected, you text back.

Try not to stress too much. I'll let you know if I find anything out, he replies.

It makes you smile, even if you know there's no way you'll stop stressing at this point.

The weeks went by and texts from Frankie became more frequent. He'd ask a few questions about your husband, then branch off into asking about your day. Those conversations then opened up to you both telling stories about your jobs, which would lead to talking about other aspects of your life. You talked a lot about your pasts - he tells you about how he grew up, some funny and interesting stories from his time in Delta Force, and about his best friend's MMA fights.

You tell him about your family, tell him stories about all the ridiculous people you come across at your job, and do a lot of venting about your crumbling marriage and husband.

You feel bad every time you bring it up, but it's always so much easier to talk to Frankie than it is even Ashley and Erin. At least with him, each of your concerns weren't met with a look of pity and “I told you so,” retort.

The marriage has been spiraling for several months now, and maybe hiring a private investigator was the push you needed to really bring the issues to light. You noticed more often when your husband chose to spend nights out “with the guys” and when he'd go into the other room to check his phone. And when you finally point out the lack of time he spends with you anymore, he gets automatically defensive.

You felt alone in your relationship and it was starting to make you feel bitter. He was definitely hiding something, and you trusted that Frankie would find out for you.

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

Frankie had been working this job for a few weeks now. He'd worked a ton of infidelity investigations since he'd lost his pilot license and finally got clean. But this one was different. He wasn't sure what drew him to her, but he couldn't help but want to know her.

Was it professional to text your client every day asking her if Sally from the overnight shift left a pile of work behind for her to deal with for the fourth day in a row? Probably not. But that didn't stop him from trying to glean any little piece of information about her that he could.

He kept it friendly, though, trying not to cross farther from that line between client and something more. But she was a sweet woman, and she had seemed so quiet at that first meeting in the coffee shop. And sad. Like she didn't want to get caught up in the things her friends were saying, but somewhere deep down knew what they were saying was true.

And, dammit, Frankie always had a soft spot for sweet, sad women.

Which is why he is spending his seventh night in a row sitting in his car across the street from her husband's workplace. During their earlier conversation she had mentioned that her husband claimed he was working late tonight. But in the weeks that Frankie had been on this case, the man never worked late once.

Right on time, his target exited the building. He was not alone this time, though, having his arm around a brunette that Frankie recognized as one of his co-workers that he had gone to lunch with a couple times.

Frankie snapped a few pictures of them together, the target’s arm pulling the brunette closer than appropriate, in Frankie's opinion. They both got into his car and Frankie began to follow behind.

Just as they parked at some restaurant across town, Frankie's phone rings and Benny's name lights up the screen.

“Hey,” Frankie greets.

“Dude, where are you?” Benny asks, his voice pitched a bit higher than usual.

“I'm working,” Frankie replied, keeping a close watch as his target is sat conveniently at a window table.

“Come on, Fish, it's Friday night! Will and I are already at the bar drinking.”

Frankie checks the clock and scoffs a bit when he sees it's only 1830. “Sorry, Benny, but I have to work late tonight.”

“You make your own hours. Isn't that why you chose that damned job? So you can decide when you do and don't work. So just decide you can't work tonight and get your ass over here!” Benny all but whines. “What's the deal with this case, Fish? I thought it was a simple cheating husband. You're not usually so obsessive over these ones.”

And leave it to Benny to call him out on his abnormal behavior. “I'm gonna close this case tonight, I have a feeling. Sorry, brother, but I'll see you tomorrow afternoon for practice,” Frankie placates his best friend.

“Sure, ok man. See ya then,” Benny finally gives in.

It's another boring hour of staring at his target before they are finally on the move again. Back to what Frankie assumes is the brunette's house, where they both go inside and Frankie adjusts himself in his seat to find a comfy position for the foreseeable future.

It's another two hours later when the door finally opens and Frankie scrambles to get his camera up, keeping his head down. He hopes for a little luck and is rewarded when both parties enter the doorway and embrace with a final, passionate kiss.

Frankie's camera keeps clicking away, even as his anger continues to rise. He has to hold himself back from throwing himself out of the car and punching his target in the face. He wants to know why her husband would bother with another woman when he has her at home waiting. Wants to know why her husband would throw away everything he has with the sweet woman who was so trusting at the start of all this. But that would definitely be crossing a line, and Frankie has never felt the need to go that far before. So he reins himself and waits until the target has driven away and the brunette has closed the door behind her, before he drives home himself to develop the pictures and complete his paperwork.

Developing pictures at home can be time consuming, but Frankie usually finds comfort in the task. It's a hobby he took up to distract himself from his cravings, and the darkroom usually brings him comfort after particularly stressful days. Tonight, though, watching these images fade onto the photo paper, he is angry. He knows this news is going to crush her, regardless of her suspicions. And while this is usually the case with clients, Frankie isn't sure that he could handle it if you broke down in front of him as some women have in the past.

He's learned so much about her in the past few weeks, from her favorite color to her favorite song when she was 10, and all of these things have endeared her to him in a way no other person has before. And he's opened up to her in return; in a way he hasn't any other woman in his past. But she makes it easy.

It's late when Frankie has finished compiling the file, so he decides not to text her yet and strips down for bed and drifts off, hoping for at least a few hours of restful, dreamless sleep.

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

You got a text from Frankie late the next morning, hey, dulzura. What are your plans today?

Finally my day off lol, you text back.

Think you could pencil me into your busy schedule? Say in an hour?

Frankie had yet to schedule another meeting, opting to ask any questions he had between texts about their days. With a sinking feeling, you quickly type out, definitely. How about the same café as before?

Sounds good. I'll see you then.

You got ready with a sense of dread. You knew that this meant Frankie had found something. There was that small chance that he came up with nothing in these past few weeks, but the more realistic side of you knew how this would end.

The drive to the coffee shop was short, and the parking lot was thankfully much less crowded than last time. Walking in, you spotted Frankie right away at the same table by the windows. You placed your order before heading over to the table. He was stirring a cup of coffee again, but quickly turned his whole focus toward you as you sag across from him.

“Hey, how are you doing?” Frankie asked. “Your friends couldn't make it?”

“I'm good. It's nice to see you again,” you answered. “I actually didn't tell them. I kinda wanted to find out the truth privately. I'll tell them as soon as I've processed whatever you have to tell me. I'm assuming that's why you wanted to meet? You found what we were looking for?”

Frankie's hand moves to the back of his neck as he gives a slow nod. He pulls a yellow envelope from the chair next to him and places it on the table between you. “Yeah. I have some pictures here.”

You begin to reach out, but stop short before touching the folder. You know if you look now, in the middle of this café, you'll just break down when you see the proof of your husband's affair.

“Please just tell me,” you implore, eyes looking up, but not quite reaching his.

Frankie is quiet for a moment, studying you with his chocolate eyes. Finally he lets out a short sigh and responds, “Andrew's having an affair with a coworker. Looks like it's been around five months.”

The news hits you directly in the chest. It makes it hard to breathe. Knowing it was likely that he was cheating and having picture proof of it are two different things. You feel like it shouldn't hurt this much, but can't help the way your body collapses into itself.

“I know it's not the news you wanted,” Frankie starts, but you cut him off.

“No, but it's what I needed to know. So thank you. I appreciate all the work you put into it. I'm really sorry, but Ashley just went out of town and she won't be back for two weeks. I can get Erin's half of your fee, then get the rest as soon as Ash is back.” You quickly switch to the business end of the meeting, hoping to delay having to come to terms with this new information.

Frankie looks a little whiplashed at the sudden change in topic, but catches up quickly. “It's really not a big deal. I'm not too worried about two weeks. How about we just meet up again once you all have everything together. No stress.”

His hands are fiddling with his coffee cup again, and you focus on them as one index finger absently caresses the handle of the cup, the thumb of his other hand moving up and down the opposite side of it. You're caught off guard again by the movement of his fingers. It's sensual, how his large hands and long fingers massage the warm ceramic.

You're distracted from your observation of those hands when the barista sets your to-go tea in front of you. Finally looking up again, you see Frankie's brows have pinched together, forming a little worry line between them.

“I'll get it to you as soon as possible,” you finally fall back into conversation.

“That's fine. Really, don't stress about it,” Frankie reiterates.

“Can I ask you something?” You ask softly after a brief pause.

“Of course, hermosa.”

“Why did you become a private investigator?”

The question catches Frankie off guard for a second time; you can tell by the subtle widening of his eyes followed by a brief knitting of his brows. Then he quickly hides his eyes behind the bill of his baseball cap, feigning stirring his coffee a couple times. Not used to being able to see his face when the two of you have conversations, you realized he's actually quite expressive. He must know it too, because you note his hidden eyes as something you'd seen him do the first time you met him.

“You don't have to tell me,” you extended a way out for him, noting his sudden discomfort.

“No, it's fine. Um, remember when I told you before how I moved on from being a pilot to this?” At your nod, Frankie continued on slowly, like he was forming each word in his head twice before speaking it. “Well, it was less that I moved on and more that I lost my license. Uh, addiction issues. I know how that sounds! But I swear I'm clean now and -”

You can sense Frankie spiraling, so you impulsively reach out and place one of your hands on his large one. “You don't have to plead your case with me, Frankie. I'm not judging you.”

Frankie freezes momentarily, then relaxes. You feel one of his long fingers twitch on the tabletop under yours and quickly remove your hand. There's a little sigh from him before he continues, “well, anyway, this was kinda just something that fell in my lap. My friend, Ironhead, works with enlisted still and heard it's pretty easy to get into if you have the background and patience for sittin’ around and waiting. Well, I had the experience with my past in Delta Force, figured the patients would come along as I go. Never did like surveillance gigs.”

The last sentence seems like an afterthought, but you catch the mild disdain in his voice and it makes you smile to see the man in front of you sounding so petulant. “Ok, but Ironhead is an interesting name,” you comment.

Frankie huffed a laugh. “His call-sign actually. Most of us had one on my squad.”

“Oh really? And what was yours?”

“Catfish,” Frankie responds immediately.

“Catfish?” You repeat. “Where did that one come from?” you laugh a little bit.

“And that's a story for a different day,” Frankie responds with a laugh of his own.

After another small pause, your eyes drift back down to the inconspicuous envelope sitting on the table in front of you. With another small smile and a nod, you reach for the envelope. “I better get going. Lots of errands to get through on my day off.” It's a lie, but you figure a swift exit is necessary in this moment.

Frankie nods, then shifts his hat to run a hand through his already messy curls. Hat back in place, he stands and gestures that he'll walk you out.

Back outside, in the bright afternoon sun, Frankie looks down at you as he walks you all the way to your car. His eyes are caramel again, but they hold a bit of something akin to sadness in them. He drops his head, those eyes disappearing behind the bill of his cap, and slides his hands into his pockets, shoulders curving inward. “I really am sorry,” he begins. “I had hoped it would be different this time. You deserve better than some cabrón who can't see that he already has something great right in front of him.”

Frankie sounds so sincere that it stops you short. You look up at him as he peeks from under his hat. His mouth is twisted into a frown under his mustache. And that's all it takes for your eyes to begin to fill with tears.

In an instant, Frankie's arms are around you. He doesn't hesitate to pull you into a loose hug. One you could easily step away from if you had the care to do so. Instead, you step forward and accept the comfort. In a second, his arms close around you tighter and you're wrapped in his warmth, face pressed into his brown jacket. Trying not to fall apart right here in the parking lot, you catalog how his arms feel around you, and how warm his chest is.

His jacket smells like an auto garage, faintly like oil, but his shirt underneath smells woodsy - probably whatever cologne he sprayed on this morning - and, underneath that, clean like fresh linen. It's a comforting scent, and you breathe it in for a second longer than probably necessary before you finally lean back. He drops his arms immediately and takes half a step back.

“I am so sorry,” you apologize instantly.

“No, don't be. You have no reason to be. Just, um, get home safe ok?” That worry line is present between his eyes again. “Text me when you get home.”

“I'll be ok,” you assure him. You climb into your car and allow him to close the door gently for you. He steps back and gives a tiny wave before he turns and walks over to his own truck.

The drive home is a bit of a blur. You call Erin and Ashley on the way to tell them the news. Erin is instantly in her car and on her way over. “We are gonna change the locks and have ourselves a movie night,” she proclaims.

Ashley frets over not being there, but you assure her you're okay and she should enjoy her vacation. You only called because she'd freak if you told Erin before her.

Erin gets to your house 30 minutes later with a box of cheap wine and a bag full of snacks. You talk her out of changing the locks, but it doesn't matter either way because when you text Andrew to tell him you're having a girls night he tells you he's going to be out late anyway and not to wait up.

Your heart drops the way it always does when you suspect a lie. This time, though, it's not just speculation. You have the proof right in front of you, in an unopened manila envelope partially covered in chip bags.

“So is that them?” Erin speaks, noticing your gaze on the offending envelope.

“I guess so. Pictures and proof of my husband's affair with some front desk girl at his office.” Your tone is mild, but you feel a pressure building behind your eyes once more and that crushing weight settling over your sternum.

“Have you looked yet?” Erin asked.

“Nope.”

“Are you gonna?”

“We can open them together,” you suggest.

But before she can answer, your phone beeps to alert you that you got a new text message.

Hey, bonita, is everything ok? You never texted me… You safe?

His words bring a small smile to your face. Frankie always has a way of making you feel like he truly cares. Checking in often, but never overstepping into being overbearing. It's a warm welcome compared to the icy breeze of you and your husband's cohabitation of the same home, but never really living together.

You type out, yes. Sorry. Erin insisted on a girls night, and hit send.

That's good. Did she bring the salsa verde doritos?

Your smile grows at the mention of your favorite chips. Of course he'd remember something as silly as that. Frankie had a knack for remembering little details. Things you sometimes even forgot to had ever mentioned he would bring up weeks later in a random conversation. It's probably just a Frankie Morales thing, but it still always made you feel just a little special that he remembered such details.

“What has you suddenly shining like the sun?” Erin questions with a raised eyebrow.

“Nothing,” you know you're blushing, but you try to play it cool. “Just Frankie checking in. Making sure you're taking care of me.”

“Um, of course I'm taking care of you! Who else is gonna do it?” Erin jokes, pushing your shoulder teasingly. “Unless Mr. Morales was trying to volunteer for the job?”

“He's just being kind,” you roll your eyes at Erin's implication. “He's been very supportive through this whole thing.”

“Supportive, huh? And what kind of support might he be offering?” In a swift motion your phone is suddenly in your best friends hands and she's danced off to the other side of the room. Ignoring your protests and attempts to claim back your property, she starts swiping through weeks of conversation between you and Frankie. “Holy shit! Have you two even stopped talking since you met?”

“Come on, Erin,” you beg, “he’s just been asking for more information for his investigation and making sure I'm okay.”

“Two days ago you told him about the goldfish you got in college that died within the week. Was that pertinent information to his investigation?”

Seizing an opportunity, you snatched your phone back, clutching it to your chest. “Shouldn't you be trying to cheer me up?”

“Looks like your new bestie Frankie should be here instead,” she snarks with a raised eyebrow.

“Oh shut it and pour me some wine,” you reply with an exaggerated eye roll.

While your friend is busy you quickly type out a response to Frankie. She's pretty much the worst. Brought bbq instead even though she knows I hate them.

Frankie's reply is quick, or maybe that's why she brought them. So she wouldn't have to share with you, avara.

I don't know what you just called me, but I know I'm offended.

Frankie's reply is a long string of laughing emojis.

With the photos forgotten, you let Erin put on some 80’s movie and tried your best to enjoy the night. The envelope would still be there tomorrow, so for tonight you just relax.

It will probably be the last time you'll be able to in a while anyway.

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

Frankie hasn't heard from her in a few days. She doesn't text as often and it doesn't feel like his place to bother her.

Today, though, he woke up late after being out late on a surveillance job to a text from her. I'm kicking him out. I can't stand to live here with him anymore. I just want him gone and out of my life.

Squinting down at the bright screen if his phone, Frankie replies, is there anything I can do for you, bonita?

Recommend me a great divorce lawyer? Is her response. He knows it's sarcasm, but he shoots her a list of a few lawyers he knows of and trusts anyway.

Frankie was glad she wasn't going to stick around with the bastard. He'd seen that enough times to know it never works out anyway, and always makes things worse in the end.

You're amazing Frankie. Thank you for everything. I also have your payment in full btw. Do you have time this weekend to meet and grab it?

You really don't need to thank me, dulzura. I just want to help. This Sunday is good for me. At the café?

Her reply takes a little longer this time, so Frankie finally drags himself out of bed. A quick look at the time tells him he barely has time for a shower before he has to meet Ironhead and Benny for their planned fishing trip. Once Frankie is back, she had finally replied with a simple, yes.

She had rarely been short in her texts before, and it made Frankie's stomach sink a little. Shooting off a quick, let me know if there's anything you need, he pockets the phone and heads out.

A few more days pass with minimal texts. Frankie makes a point to text at least once a day. Maybe it's intrusive, but she never complains about it. And, if he's honest with himself, he misses her too much to stop now.

He realizes that she has become a fixture in his life. Going from texting multiple times throughout the day to barely a good morning text over his morning coffee makes him twitchy and he feels like he's always wondering what she's doing.

Sunday finally comes and Frankie is at the café ten minutes early, ready to finally see her in person. Ready to hold a conversation with her, even if only for a moment. But the ten minutes pass, then another ten and his leg starts to bounce under the table. She's never been late before, and Frankie checks his phone for a 20th time to make sure she hasn't texted to tell him she's had a change of plans. He decides to shoot her a text himself to make sure she didn't forget about their meeting.

Twenty more minutes with no response to his text and Frankie is back in his truck. He's already talked himself out of driving to her house and just knocking on the door several times. But as his truck rumbles to life and he exits the parking lot, he ends up turning left instead of right. Going to her house would be viewed as crossing some line in Frankie's eyes. He's never gone to a clients home without invitation before. Generally it's best to go about as if you don't even have that information, just to keep people from getting creeped out.

Frankie justifies his actions now by telling himself he just needs to see that she's okay. That her not showing up is abnormal and thus deserving of investigation.

When he pulls up to the curb across from her house, he notes the two cars in the driveway. His heart drops as he sees that one of them is her husband’s, parked neatly behind hers. Frankie knows she had told him she was kicking Andrew out, but his heart drops as he realizes maybe she had reconciled with him and he moved back. Frankie wonders if that's why she had been so distant lately.

He's about to just pull away when he notices the front door open and there she is. She has her arms full of boxes which she unceremoniously drops onto the sidewalk outside. She looks frazzled, but unharmed, Frankie takes a mental note. But she's yelling back into the house, her face red with anger.

Andrew shows himself in that moment, coming outside to scream something in her face. In the next moment, he's grabbing her roughly by the arm and trying to force her back into the house.

Frankie is out of his truck before he really has time to think. He's across the street and reaching them with quick, efficient steps in only a moment, which causes a pause in the fighting for a second. Frankie takes advantage of their confusion to gently pull her away from Andrew's loosened grip and moving her so that he is between the fighting couple.

Andrew, for his part, still has a look of surprise that has rendered him frozen in his spot. Whether that's from the way Frankie had barged into the situation or the pure anger that is radiating off Frankie's body, it's hard to say. But it gives Frankie the window he needs to pull back his fist and firmly plant it into Andrew's nose. Frankie hears the snap and feels the familiar give of a nose breaking under his knuckles.

“Get the fuck out of here,” he growls. “And I suggest not coming back around. Don't come near her, don't call her, don't even think about her.”

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

Once Andrew has run off, finally taking the remainder of his belongings with him, you're left alone with an angry Frankie, his fists still clenched and his shoulders tense.

Honestly, he's sexy as hell and you definitely notice. Anybody would be blind not to, you think to yourself.

You usher him inside, through to your kitchen, and pour two glasses of whiskey, sliding one over to him.

“I'm sorry I barged in,” Frankie apologizes after he takes a large gulp of his drink. “I didn't hear from you today and wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“Shit, your money! I am so sorry.”

“It's fine, hermosa. I'm not worried about the money. I was worried about you.”

His declaration freezes both of you for a moment, before you lift your own cup to your lips and take a sizable sip.

“He was supposed to come by while I was out today, but he showed up early. I guess he's been trying to get ahold of me,” you finally break the silence.

“You guess?” Frankie repeats back.

“Well, I blocked his number cuz I got tired of his constant calls and texts. He thinks I'm being irrational and we should work this out. But I've also heard that he's been staying with his side piece ever since I kicked him out, so….”

Frankie shoots back the rest of his alcohol. “I can get you paperwork for a restraining order,” he offers.

You smile at that because of course Frankie would offer you more help. “I think you already did enough for me,” you reply.

Frankie's hand goes to the back of his neck and his head dips low, “I shouldn't have hit him. That's just gonna cause you more trouble.”

“Don't worry about that,” you chastise gently. “He got what was coming to him and he knows it. It's just that, you have done a lot for me in general these past few weeks. A lot more than I think I can pay you back for.” Speaking of which, you turn to your purse on the counter, digging through it to pull out the check written out to Frankie.

“Maybe you can pay me back with dinner,” Frankie aims for nonchalants.

It draws a breathy laugh from your throat. “It would take a lot of dinners to cover your fee.”

“Well, we could start with one and see where it goes from there.”

✨✨Part 2✨✨

[rpd-rookie]

After all things he saw and been through, Leon could use some rest... So how about Leon x reader on vacation in some remote, distant place, phone turned off, Hannigan banned from contacting him over new assignments? I guess it would be perfect for post-Vendetta? I don't really care it it's going to be fluff, smut or whatever - I just want him to take his time off and simply enjoy his leave, wherever he'd go. ^_~

Author’s note: Sorry about the long wait. This OS actually became so long I decided to make it a 2 or 3 chapters long fanfic. Here’s the first prt. Hoping you’ll love it.

Warning: Angst, Mention of Alcoholism and Depression, Language, Mention of sex.

Information : Y/SN = your second name

Holidays - Leon S. Kennedy x Fem!Reader

A fresh marine breeze entered the room through the ajar French window, flapping the white muslin curtains like two small sails. It caressed his clammy naked body and a salty smell came to tickle his nose, reminding him a time when, as a kid, he used to go visit his grandparents in their small beach house in South Carolina, a time that was far gone but that he kept close to his heart.           And so he sprawled on the mattress, a bit like a funny starfish, his blue eyes still shut, trying to linger in his memory and in his bed a little longer, at least until Hunnigan calls him to warn him not to be late to another umpteenth appointment with his DSO colleagues or the president.           Only when he felt a delicate hand brush his hair away from his face, tucking it behind his ear like his mother used to do when he was a child, and finally met a pair of gorgeous (colour) eyes did he realise two things.   One, Hunnigan won’t call this morning. Two, holidays were awesome.

Part 1: THE MEETING

           Scott Rossi. That was the name he had given when he had registered in this remote cottage-like hotel three days ago on the north coasts of Nova Scotia. Nothing original and probably too easy to guess – it was his father’s first name and his mother last name after all. A fake identity he had judged necessary to disappear from the DSO’s radar for a little while.     He needed to be left alone. For his wellness and his sanity even though a part of him knew drinking his sorrow away wasn’t what was best for that so-called wellness he wanted back. But it was the only solution he had found to forget. Forget about New York. Forget about the car bombing in DC. Forget about that bullet he put in President Benford’s head. Forget about everything that had led him here, drinking in this bar. But the road to forgetting was hard and the escape too momentary. And the more whisky he poured in his glass to more he seemed to drown in his bottomless pit of pain and depression.           “Tough day or you’re just not confident in your masculinity?” Usually, Leon would have ignored such a nosy question, the same way he would have ignored another over-curious judgy person, with characteristic stoicism. But there was something in that question, something in that voice - though he couldn’t pinpoint what - that made him look up from the amber liquid in his glass. Perhaps was it the strangeness of that question. Or perhaps was it that voice, confident and full of nerve, reminding Leon of old times, old friends, bold young agents and femme fatales. Or perhaps, was it simply because she was a woman and God knew how much Leon couldn’t ignore one, wasted or not.     She was a (hair colour) with piercing (colour) eyes, wearing a long marine blue coat over a nice black dress. Elegant. Self-assured. Pretty. Very pretty … Actually too pretty to hang out in some lousy hotel bar like the one she was in right now. A city girl maybe. “Excuse me?”           “The whisky. My father used to say it’s a drink for fags.” Leon’s eyes widened briefly and she added, unsettled by his surprise as if she had expected it. “But then again, my father was an asshole who didn’t know shit about anything. So tough day, huh?” Leon snickered and remained surprisingly troubled for a few second. Needless to say, he wasn’t used being caught off guard like that. “More like tough life” He finally corrected. She nodded and, unable to resist curiosity – even though she had the impression the man was certainly not the kind to easily open up to strangers -  quickly went to sit closer to him bringing her tequila along with her. “I’m all ears.”   “I don’t need a therapy.” His tone was curt and harsh and he took a sip of whisky looking away from her, thinking she would get the message and leave him to finish his fancy bottle of Glenfiddich in peace. But she did not move and simply waited, her observing eyes set on him as if she was trying to read his mind or something.       He glanced towards her only to see her sigh and take off her coat like an insect would shed their skin, offering Leon the sight of her beautiful wasp-like body covered in black silk, a sight that didn’t leave him indifferent. After all, she had an exquisite silhouette. Curvy with a narrow waist that her skin-tight black dress could bring out with ease. “Let me guess, after fifteen years of marriage, your wife cheated on you with your best friend because you were the kind of man who lived for his job instead of his family and now he’s taking care of your kids in your own house and they call him daddy.”         “Couldn’t be moooore wrong.” He had a quick laugh, not because he thought her soap opera-like story was amusing but because he actually never imagined someone would picture him married with kids. Did he look the type? He didn’t think so. “Maybe. But at least now I know you’re not married.” Leon glanced at her again, astonished by her audacity. No one had ever flirted with him that way. Though he wasn’t even sure she was flirting. “Are you sweet-talking me or something?”         She shrugged her

shoulders leaving the place for any sort of answer and Leon said “You know, you could have just look at my hand.”     “I did actually but I just wanted to make sure.” She had a quick seductive smile and smoothly bent towards Leon who peeped at her décolletage for a second before focusing on his drink again. “By the way, is shooting a hobby or part of your job?” Leon froze, his glass half way between the counter and his lips and stared at her. “How …”             “The calluses on your fingertips. Only a shooter has that kind of hands.” He couldn’t help but be impressed and after drinking his whisky in one go, he naturally sat up straight on his stool to scrutinize her, suddenly more that interested in that mysterious girl. “You’re observant.”   “Y/N actually.” She extended her hand and, after a short hesitation, he shook it with an amused smile, undeniably seduced by that cheeky attitude that suited her so well. Her skin was so soft and cold against his, he instinctively kept her hand in his to warm it up. A lovely gesture yet certainly a bit inappropriate. Either way, the girl said nothing and let him hold her hand. “I’m L… Scott. I’m Scott” He finally replied as he let go of her hand, slightly uncomfortable. “ Fine, then I’m Y/SN.”     Leon frowned, his face showing a mix of confusion and amusement. “You just said your name was Y/N.”         “Yeah but that was before you chose to lie.” She grimaced, emptied her shot of tequila and called the waiter with a small hand gesture to ask for a refill, not even slightly disappointed in Leon for lying. “I didn’t lie.” Not really. She put down her hand as she realised the barman, who was flirting with a man at the end of the counter, would not notice her.     “Of course you did. But I’ll allow it. I guess that’s just another silly way to cope with your tough life for a night. Though, it seems it’s as useless as alcohol” She took Leon’s glass and emptied it without looking away from the agent.       “I’m trying to enjoy my holidays at the fullest.” He confessed and that was the truth. “Is it working?” She placed the glass, now stained with her lipstick, in front of him and he shrugged, showing her the bottle of alcohol by his side before pouring himself another drink. “No, not really.”             “Thought so.”            

She took the whisky again, this time from Leon’s hand but he did not protest. He didn’t care about that damn liquor. He could definitely afford another bottle. The company however … He knew he would never find another girl like the one sitting next to him. “So, Y/N. What are you doing here?” He asked, his eyes fixed upon her face. “Who’s Y/N?” She replied with a cheeky wink and Leon smiled and chuckled. It hadn’t done that in a while.  “Are we really gonna play this lie the whole night?” Part of him hoped so. There was something endearing and refreshing in that little game, the same way there was something terribly irresistible in that girl.       “You wanna spend the whole night with me? Who told you I was that kind of girl?” She harrumphed, hand over her heart like an amazingly lame actress, an overly dramatic gesture that was certainly intended.         “You’re impossible.” Leon confessed but there was no hint of criticism or annoyance, quite the opposite. He was actually having fun drinking here with that girl he didn’t know. “No. I’m just a girl pretending to be someone she’s not – aka Y/SN - talking to a man named Scott who just lost his wife and kids to his best friend.”           “Not just his wife and kids, his dog too. A beagle. Poppy.” She laughed, getting the tiny nod to John Wick and he looked glad that she did. “And what’s Y/SN’s backstory?”             “I found yours. You could at least found mine.” She retorted and let him think. And for a second, as she stared at him scratching his stubble, finding him insanely handsome, she realised he hadn’t touch his drink in a small while. Good.   “Y/SN is a college student with unresolved daddy issues trying to get the attention of a man possibly twice her age to cope with the fear of abandonment his father left her with when he left her and her mom.”         “Was Dad an alcoholic?” She declared on purpose, just to see if the word would trigger his desire to drink. It incredibly did not.   “Might explain why you’re so interested in a loser like me.”

She stayed the whole night with him. Talking. Playing. Flirting in ways only she could do. Creating an undeniable connection, a sharp sexual tension that only a man deprived of all senses would have missed. She gave him a signal (if not more) with her eyes, called him with her lips. And he responded with a similar technique, a similar enthusiasm. And at the end of the night, when she got up from her stool and kissed him goodbye, right at the corner of his lips, she realised she could potentially spend the hottest night of her life if she chose to lead him in her room. After all, it was no secret for either of them. She wanted to fuck him and he wanted to fuck her.           But a part of her decided to play hard to get, decided that this night would be a sweet game, a foreplay in their roleplay. And luckily for her, he was a player. Just like her.

[half-bakedboy]

Pairing: Evan “Buck” Buckley/Eddie Diaz Rated: General Summary: “I’ve recently found myself with a lot of time on my hands and since you don’t seem to have enough to romance someone,” Buck began, settling his drink on the table, “I think it only makes sense for someone to romance you.”

Eddie huffed out a laugh and shot back, “Yeah, and how are you going to find someone willing to put in that effort?”

“Oh, you’re lookin’ at him.”

Or… Eddie gets the romance he deserves in the form of fluff-filled dates with Buck.

For @911fluffweek - day six: “But you love me anyway” // In your lap

(read chapter six on ao3 or start from the beginning)

Eddie found himself to be just as nervous standing on the step to Maddie’s home as he had been those few months ago. Back then, he was terrified of meeting his team’s families and having to somehow keep himself at arm’s length. He glanced over at where Buck gripped his hand tightly and realized just how badly he had failed at that task. 

“You know, you have to knock on the door, Eds,” Buck said, furrowing his eyebrows in equal parts confusion and concern. 

“Deja vu,” Eddie muttered, raising his hand to do just that. Before he could, the door flung open and Maddie stood before them, a wide grin on her face. 

“Little brother!” She shouted and Buck rolled his eyes at the name before wrapping his arms around his sister’s waist and hugging her tightly. Eddie loved the way Buck hugged. He always put his entire body into it, rocking from side to side with his arms enveloping every inch he could. He loved watching Buck hug others and the way their smiles lit up their faces almost as much as he enjoyed being on the receiving end of one of his embraces. 

“Hey, Mads,” he muttered, kissing her hair as he pulled back. “Where’s my favorite goddaughter?” He asked excitedly. Before Eddie could even so much as say hello, he was already making his way into the living room and picking Jee-Yun out of her pack-and-play to blow raspberries into her neck. 

“Has he always been like that?” Eddie asked, giving Maddie a one-armed hug and holding up the bottle of wine he had to insist Buck pick up. He never went to a home empty-handed and Buck never felt like a guest anywhere, so it was a miracle Eddie had convinced him to grab it in the first place. 

“He loves kids. Babies, toddlers, eight-year-olds with cute dads,” Maddie teased, winking at Eddie when he tried to stifle a laugh. “Even when we were teenagers, he was always looking after younger kids. Saving them from bullies, playing with them when they had no friends, sitting with them at family gatherings. It’s probably cause he’s such a kid at heart,” Maddie said, watching her brother fondly as he set Jee-Yun back down and walked over. 

He wrapped his arms around Eddie’s waist before he said, “She’s the cutest baby I’ve ever seen, Maddie. Are you sure she’s yours and Chimney’s?” Maddie smacked him with the towel she had over her shoulder and rolled her eyes. 

“Here I was telling your boyfriend all about how great you are with kids, alluding to what a great dad you’ll be someday,” she said pointedly causing both of them to go wide-eyed, “and you insult me. Little brothers are always so ungrateful.” 

“I’ll be sure to tell Christopher that,” Eddie chuckled. He froze when he realized what he had said and had never been more grateful for a doorbell in his life. 

The rest of the team and their families arrived over the next few minutes and all of Eddie’s nerves washed away just like they had the first time. He was comfortable around his team, around the people he trusted every day with his life, and with much more than that if he was honest with himself. More importantly, Buck was a calming weight beside him that reminded him he wasn’t alone. 

“Howie and I thought it would be fun to do our little version of The Newlywed Game,” Maddie said once everyone had their drink of choice in hand. “So, everyone have a seat…” She gestured around, frowning at what Eddie assumed was the shortage of chairs. 

“I counted out before—” 

“You forgot to include yourself, didn’t you?” Maddie guessed and Chim didn’t say she was wrong. Eddie shrugged and stood behind the comfortable recliner Buck had planted himself in, reaching around to rest his hands on Buck’s shoulders and massaging gently. 

“Hey, that’s okay,” Eddie said quickly, not wanting to be the person that inconvenienced the rest of the party. “I’m totally good with standing and I’ll kick his lazy ass out of the chair if he gets too annoying,” Eddie added when Maddie stared worriedly in his direction. Eddie winked at her as Buck gasped dramatically, tugging on one of Eddie’s hands.

“You wouldn’t dare,” Buck challenged and Eddie wouldn’t admit he was right. “Besides, this chair is absolutely big enough to support the two of us, even if you’ve been eating extra bites of the desserts Christopher and I make when we’re not looking,” Buck accused. 

“No, seriously, Buck, it’s—” He was already tumbling onto Buck’s lap before he could finish his sentence. 

It was awkward at first as his hands flew out to try and grab onto the back of the chair and the armrest when he felt himself start falling. Eddie wasn’t a small guy, by any account. He was just under 200 pounds of muscle from years in the military and kept up with his physique with most mornings spent in the gym or hauling around 60 pounds of gear each day. Suddenly, though, he felt so small. 

Buck wrapped his arms around Eddie’s waist and rested his chin comfortably in the crook between Eddie’s neck and shoulder. He let his legs fall open so that Eddie could slot between them and Eddie let himself form to Buck’s warm body. He leaned into Buck’s touch, resting his own arms on the ones secured around him, and ignored the incredibly pointed gazes of his team.

Chim tossed his hands up in the air and defeatedly said, “Oh, they’re totally going to win.”

He wasn’t wrong, but Eddie attributed that to the fact that out of all of the couples around them, they were the newest. Hen and Karen had been together the longest out of all of the couples, working on ten years of marriage by the time Eddie joined the team. Bobby and Athena had six years under their belt and were just as ‘disgustingly in love’ as the day they met—Chim’s words, not his. He didn’t have much room to talk, though, because he and Maddie were almost at three years and it would take a crowbar to pry them apart when they were together. 

About an hour into the game, Hen made it clear that one of the happy couples would meet their bitter end while Maddie became increasingly more annoyed that Eddie seemed to know more about her brother than she did. 

“Why would you possibly know when Eddie and I had our first kiss?” Buck seethed as Maddie rolled her eyes in frustration. “You didn’t even know when you and your husband had your first kiss!” It was the wrong thing to say and they both knew it as Buck hid his face behind Eddie’s neck. 

Maddie didn’t care as she yelled, “He’s the one who didn’t know! I was right and I know it!” She grabbed a handful of popcorn from the neatly plated platter in between them and tossed it at Buck, effectively only coating Eddie in the snack. He held his hands up in defense just as Chim did. 

“Hey, I was in a hospital bed and I thought we had kissed then. I was on a lot of pain medication, Maddie, you can’t blame me for that!” 

“And you can’t throw food at me because your brother is a coward!” Eddie shot back, wriggling in Buck’s lap when he poked his fingers into Eddie’s sides in retaliation. 

“Can someone read the next question, please?” Bobby said in that commanding tone that had all of them muffling their laughter and ongoing arguments. 

“Alright, Bobby and Athena are up,” Chim said, clapping his hands together. “If you won the lottery, what’s the first thing you’d buy together?” Athena started to write down her answer and Buck attempted to it, leaning over a bit too far considering the space Eddie took up on his lap. Eddie elbowed Buck in the ribs and pulled a face he hoped clearly told him to stop cheating before the team got even angrier at them. Buck pressed a messy kiss to his cheek and pretended he wasn’t even trying to peek. 

“What d’ya say, Cap?” 

“Athena is too smart to let us spend money on anything. It’s going straight into a college fund for Harry and May,” Bobby answered, crossing his arms over his chest smugly. It was called for because Athena turned over her board to reveal the word COLLEGE spelled out in all caps. She cheered and pressed a big kiss to Bobby’s lips. 

“Lucky round, we all knew the answer to that one,” Hen teased, patting Karen’s thigh as she turned toward Chim for their question. “Hit us up, Han. We’re kicking all of your asses,” she commented. 

Buck chimed in, “Except for us!” It was a reminder that literally no one needed and they all glared daggers in Buck’s direction. Eddie didn’t mind the way Buck hid behind him that time. He laced their fingers together, bringing one up to his mouth for a soft kiss as Chim read out the next question. 

“What was the last date that you went on?” Buck stifled his laughter in Eddie’s shoulder the second both Hen and Karen’s eyes widened in panic. Athena was brazen as always and allowed hers to ring loudly over everyone. 

“Oh, c’mon ladies, really?” Athena shouted. Hen glared at her while Karen wrote down—and then crossed out and then wrote something else—on her board. She shook her head guiltily at her wife when the timer buzzed. 

“The reason we’re kicking all of your asses is cause you know the answers to those ridiculous questions about your partner’s childhood pet but can’t even remember when you last got them flowers,” Buck pointed out. The looks on everyone’s faces told Eddie that while he shouldn’t have said it, he was absolutely right. 

“Yeah, well, what was Eddie’s first job, then?” Maddie shot back to which Eddie sighed because Buck knew the answer to that. They had talked about it one night when Eddie was explaining why he enlisted in the army in the first place. 

Buck smirked and answered, “Easy. Technically, he worked construction with his uncle before he turned 18 but he was paid under the table,” he paused for only a moment before finishing, “and he enlisted in the United States Army almost the second he was old enough to.” He held up his hand for a high five but Eddie gauged the looks around him and decided his team already hated him enough for one night. 

“Hen, what’s your answer?” He asked, knowing that out of everyone in the room, Hen would be the one to get him out of the situation he found himself in. She took pity, if only so that they could get their round over with, and took a deep breath with her eyes closed. 

“Alright, I had the day off three weeks ago but Denny was sick and the day off before that was spent getting the foster twins settled…” Hen looked up at the ceiling and let out the breath she was holding slowly. “We went to that Japanese steak house and sushi bar a few months ago?” Karen cheered and flipped her board over revealing what Eddie assumed was the name of the restaurant Hen had been talking about. Karen leaned over and kissed her wife soundly, both of them glaring over at Buck who waved his hand dismissively. 

“Will you stop pissing off our friends, please?” Eddie whispered while Maddie and Chim prepared themselves for their round. Buck shook his head and hiked himself up a little in the chair causing Eddie to immediately panic. He had almost forgotten that the two of them were sharing a damn chair like teenagers who thought they were in love. Eddie made to get up as he said, “Do you need me to—”

Buck grabbed onto his arms and shook his head, smiling softly up at him. “I’m good, just had to reposition. Just let me…” As if Eddie weighed nothing, Buck moved him to a more comfortable position still on his lap and Eddie let out a very embarrassing yelp at the suddenness of the motion. He wasn’t used to being… manhandled, the way Buck had apparently been comfortable with doing. 

“We have a spare bedroom if you two need some privacy,” Maddie offered, gesturing over her shoulder and down the hallway. The entire team groaned in displeasure while Buck flipped her off, but she shrugged and mouthed, The offer still stands, in Eddie’s direction. 

“Babe, pay attention,” Chim began, earning an eyebrow raise from his wife. He grinned at her as he usually did, and asked, “Describe what you first thought of me in one word.” 

“Maddie, now’s your chance to really let him know how you feel,” Buck teased, egging her on with an excited nod of his head. Maddie rolled her eyes in response and as she wrote her answer on the board, she gestured between her and Chim’s heads as if trying to somehow start some telepathic connection. 

“I can’t believe Chim somehow found someone just as strange as he is,” Hen muttered much to the agreement of everyone around them. The couple in question didn’t care, though, because they were too busy staring at each other. Eddie thought it was cute, but apparently, everyone else was ready to get on with the game. 

“Hey, weirdo, what’s your answer?” Bobby shouted and Buck let out a huff of laughter. It was always nice when Bobby let loose a little and he was seemingly at that point if the name he chose said anything. 

“Cute. She thought I was cute,” he answered. Maddie turned her clipboard around slowly, beaming wider each second because she got the answer right. She cheered and pulled Chim into a very full kiss, both of them smiling into it. 

“Alright, boys, we’re three for four this round. You get this right or wrong, you still win, so we’re gonna pick the toughest question,” Hen commented and before Buck could argue, Athena held up a hand and raised her eyebrows at him. It was the easiest way to shut him up and everyone there knew it. 

“Oh, honey, this one. This is the one,” Athena said, laughter already brightening up her voice. Eddie winced even as Buck squeezed the arm still wrapped around his waist a little tighter in reassurance. Maddie let out a loud laugh before she read the next question out loud. 

“Which one of you would Buck say is the most attractive in the relationship?” 

“That is so not a fair question!” Buck whined immediately, grabbing the board from his sister to scribble his answer. 

Eddie eyed him and at Buck’s inquisitive look, he said, “You answered that incredibly quickly.” 

“Hey, no cheating. Eddie, what’s your answer? Who’s more attractive?” Chim asked and then let out a barely contained cackle. “Wait, oh my god, Eddie is either going to say himself which is going to sound extremely narcissistic or Buck is going to have his own name on that board which is the most egotistical answer and man, this question was genius. Athena, I would bow to you if I could.”

Eddie shook his head and glared at his captain’s wife, uncaring that he was there to witness it all. Bobby had a warm smile on his face that Eddie connected to the fact that he was there, with the family he said he wasn’t going to become a part of, laughing and teasing and cuddling up to his boyfriend of almost six months. It wasn’t where Eddie thought he’d be but where Bobby had assumed they’d end up. 

He made a mental reminder to thank Bobby later. 

“The answer is obviously Buck, but before you start with me,” he pointed at Chim accusingly before he continued, “it’s not because either of us are full of ourselves. It’s because he knows that I would never name myself in any situation. He knows we’re both equally attractive—”

“—And have tested it on many occasions!” Buck interjected but Eddie wasn’t about to explain to his team that they had competitions on who could get the most numbers when they went out together. 

“He knows we’re both conventionally attractive men who would possibly fight someone for thinking otherwise but would never actually admit it about ourselves. He also knows that I would just argue with him if he said anything else. So,” he took a deep breath before he finished, “that board says Buck’s name.” 

“I don’t think all of that could fit on a whiteboard, Eds,” Buck teased, but he flipped over the board to reveal his own name. Scribbled underneath was one short sentence, squished in the small space. It said, Because Eddie won’t let me say it’s him.  

He wasn’t sure what came over him, but all of a sudden, Eddie had his arms tossed around Buck’s neck and their lips pressed together passionately, uncaring that his entire team was watching him. He had never had a connection like the one he had with Buck and this stupid game had solidified to Eddie that the fact they knew each other so well wasn’t all in his head. It made every part of Eddie so incredibly happy. 

“Next game night, Buddie stays at home,” Chim said begrudgingly and Eddie didn’t mind that everyone around him agreed. He felt like a teenager again; sitting in the lap of the man he really, really loved, with warm arms wrapped around him, and what felt like a permanent smile on his face. 

“Eh, we’ll just take the guest bedroom next time,” Buck shot back. Eddie blushed darker than he had been already, but he didn’t say anything in return. He just let Maddie and Chim tease, Hen and Karen roll their eyes, and Bobby and Athena watch the people they considered their ‘kids’ enjoy the night together. 

It was as perfect as perfect could get, Eddie thought. Even when he felt his eyes drooping shut at the end of it all, he knew he would wake up to Buck in his bed and the feeling of family and home etched into his heart. He was starting to believe it would never disappear and he held onto it tighter just to be sure. 

[imagine-docx]

dresses.

Summary: Bucky is a cute single dad who needs to get a dress for his daughter because his ex wife’s wedding is in a few weeks. Insert you, the cute kids shop owner who has a ton of knowledge in this department. [ChubbyBucky!SingleDad!AU]

Warnings: swearing, and some insecurity mentions and some body shaming, suggestive content right at the end.

A/N: the amount of love i got on sneaky is astronomical! and i love and appreciate each and everyone of you who read it and enjoyed it! also, please remember to sign all the petitons, and donate if you can and attend protests if you can! black lives matter. - amanda

➽───────────────❥

Nope, nope, no, absolutely not, fuck this. Was the exact thought process Bucky went through his mind. The reminder just popped up that in two weeks was his ex wife’s marriage ceremony and reception.

Bucky and Natasha were once married, and had little Layla from the marriage. Layla was caught in the crossfire of a nasty divorce when Bucky and Nat ended things when she was only 3. When Bucky got the invitation for the wedding, he felt the same exact heartbreak when he realized Nat was cheating on him, and felt someone throw his heart into a fire when he realized the man she was currently engaged to was the exact man she cheated with.

He got up and realized that he should check if Layla had any clothes to wear to the wedding. He looked through her closet and realized Layla outgrew almost all of these or weren’t there for the wow factor.

He sighed, closing her closet. He ran his hands through his hair, he turned around and was greeted by the mirror that was there. 

The divorce was hard on Bucky and it was obvious. He put on a few extra pounds around the waist, his shoulders rounded out, and his thighs filled out his pants from all the late shifts at the security firm. Another sighed escaped his lips, he was seeing his ex in laws again and he didn’t look the greatest. 

He walked down the stairs and grabbed his keys, and was going to pick up Layla from Wanda’s house and take Layla dress shopping.

➽───────────────❥

“Wow you look like shit,” Wanda greeted him.

“Glad to know someone like you is caring for my kid,” Bucky sarcastically responded, allowing himself into her house. 

“You already knew what you were signing up for when you knew I was dating Sam,” Wanda said, guiding him to the kitchen.

Bucky met Wanda through Sam. Sam met Wanda through the security firm, when Wanda was working for her old company and they changed the codes without her knowing, she flipped out and somehow Sam and Wanda clicked, and here they were. 

“Where’s my kid?” He said, looking around for the little bundle of joy.

“Upstairs with Sam,” she responded. He eyed Wanda, “Listen, they’re bonding because I need to talk to you.”

“Shoot,” he said, grabbing a banana from the fruit basket.

“Nat’s getting married next week.”

“I know that.”

“You should get a date,” Wanda said bluntly.

“I would, if I could.” He stated, “Oh, I need a dress for the wedding.”

“Even better!” Wanda exclaimed, “That cute shop owner seems like she can help you out.”

“Wanda,” Bucky warned. Wanda was referring to you. You owned this little shop called Sew Lovely and were always helping him out with clothes for Layla. 

He learned about it through Wanda as she was friends with you, and god was he smittened by you. You always helped out with what she wore, and the majority of her closet came from your little shop. 

Everytime he came to see you, he felt like he was falling deeper and deeper, and it didn’t help that Layla would spend any given moment with you, and you were amazing to his kid.

“I’m trying to help,” she said defensively.

“Daddy!” He heard a little voice exclaim from around the corner. 

“Hi pumpkin, did you have fun with uncle Sam and aunty Wanda?”

“Uh-huh, we coloured, watched movies, so much fun.” Layla said.

“Tell me more while we’re in the car,” he said, getting up from his seat and walking to the door. Before leaving he leaned back to Wanda, “I’m going for the dress,” Wanda smirked, “Not for the girl, for the dress.”

Wanda kept that smirk on her face, “Of course Buckaroo.”

➽───────────────❥

He decided to take Layla out for smoothies before shooting you a text asking you if you were free to help find him a dress. He poked the straw into Layla’s drink before he felt the buzz from his phone in his pocket. He pulled it out and read the text message while poking his own straw into his drink. He let out a small smile “Come love,” he said grabbing her hand before making their way back to the car. 

Upon buckling her in, he brushed some hair out of her face, “We have to go shopping baby,” he cooed.

“I love shopping!” she exclaimed. 

“Glad to hear baby,” he said, before navigating to the shop. 

➽───────────────❥

He held Layla’s hand, while navigating to your shop. “Is aunty here?!” she asked, excitedly. 

“Of course,” he chuckled as Layla dragged him into the store.

He heard someone call out Layla’s name and it could have been confused with an angel. “I knew that was my favourite sugar puff!” you exclaimed, crouching to hug her. 

“Aunty! I’ve missed you!” Layla exclaimed, throwing her arms around you. 

“And would you look at that, it's my favourite client,” you said. 

Your hair was tossed into a messy ponytail, you were wearing an oversized white knit sweater, a pair of black jeans and some white sneakers. Even though the outfit was simple, you look like god himself spent ages creating you. “You know I would have no idea what to do with fashion,” he joked. 

“Of course I do,” you joked back. “So how can I help the two of you today?”

“I need a dress for a wedding,” he said, biting back the fact it was his ex wife’s wedding. “Say no more,” you said, before crouching back down to Layla, “Alright love, we need to get you a dress. What are you thinking?” 

“I want poofy! Colours! Flowers!” She exclaimed. 

“Oh she knows off the bat, let’s go sugar puff,” you said, getting up and grabbing her hand and taking her around the shop. 

➽───────────────❥

And that’s how Bucky spent the remainder of his day looking at dresses with you and Layla. He sat while the two of you looked around and tried things on. He admired how well you two bonded, as if you were mother and daughter, “I like this one the most sugar puff. What do you think?” 

“I love it!” She exclaimed, she threw her arms around you for the second time today, “Thank you Aunty!” 

Bucky looked over and saw that Layla was sporting a poofy white dress with red flowers and green leaves around it. “I love this one,” he said in awe at his daughter. 

“No problem baby, I guess we have to get you matching jewelry,” you said, engulfing her into another hug.  

Bucky let out a groan, “You guys have been shopping for so long.”

“Don’t rush a girl,” you joked. 

Another forty five minutes and almost two hundred dollars later. They were done. “Remind me to never go shopping,” he joked. 

“When you have a girl, you can never say no,” you smiled at him, making his heart melt. 

“Thank you so much,” he said, feeling insecure because he knew someone like you would never like him. 

“Not a problem sugar,” You said, and his heart skipped a beat. “See you next week?”

“You can count on it,” he said, giving you a small smile.

“Bye Aunty,” she said, hugging at your legs.

“Bye sugar puff, bye Buck,” you said, as they walked out the shop.

He should probably stop spending so much money at your shop, but seeing you made it all worth it.

➽───────────────❥

At this point, there was a week until Nat’s wedding and he was internally freaking out, he tried on his suit the previous night and it didn’t fit. The pants could barely make it past his midthigh, the dress shirt needed about three more inches before it could fit around his frame, and the jacket couldn’t even fit his arms.

Layla was asleep in her room, and he sat on the bed and tears started brewing in his eyes. Makes sense why Nat left, and why she wouldn’t like me, he thought referring to you.

He shut his eyes to prevent tears from slipping down his face. He steadied his breathing before shooting Wanda a text asking if she could watch Layla for a little longer than he anticipated. He tossed his phone on his bed, before dumping the suit in the trash can and going to shower.

➽───────────────❥

Bucky left work early, having asked Steve to cover for him while he went suit shopping. Once leaving work he somehow found himself on your street. He decided to see what you were up to before going suit shopping. 

He walked up to the shop and saw you were sitting on the bar stool, innocently chewing at the tip of your pen while looking at the notebook that sits in front of you. You were wearing a black romper with sunflowers all over them, an oversized black cardigan that was slipping off of your body, you had your hair tossed into a messy bun, glasses sat on your nose, and a pair of black sandal heels were on your feet. 

He found himself slowly walking up to the shop, opening the door, the bell went off from above him. You looked up and let out a huge smile, which made his heart melt and he returned a goofy grin. 

“Got worried for you Buck, haven’t seen you in a while,” you joked.

“Dad duties call, doll,” he said walking up to the counter, “You alone?”

“Jessica and Natalie are in the back,” you said pointing your pen off to the back, “It’s fairly early, aren’t you supposed to be at work?”

“Don’t want me here doll?” He said, raising an eyebrow at you.

“No, I just need to make sure you have the funds to keep my store running,” you joked.

“Gotta go suit shopping, was on my way, and thought I should stop in and let you know I’m fine,” he joked.

“You going by yourself?” You asked.

“I have no one else doll, Steve and Sam are at work,” he said running his hand through his hair.

“I can come,” you said, quickly adding, “If you want.”

“I don’t want to drag you away from work,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Hush hush, I’ll come.” You closed the notebook, got off the stool, “Let me tell them I’m leaving and grab my bag?” 

“I’ll wait here,” he said smiling at you.

“Don’t move,” you warned, before walking to the back.

He looked around at the new displays, he thought about how much time you probably put into it, “You moved, about an inch. Can’t trust you anymore, Barnes,” he heard you say from behind you.

“My apologies doll, how could I possibly make it up to you?” He asked.

You linked your arm around his, “I’ll come up with something,” you said, as the two of you exited the shop.

➽───────────────❥

The two of you found yourselves at this small suit shop at the edge of Brooklyn. Walking in, the two of you heard someone yell, “James.” And an elderly Italian man came and greeted him with a hug.

“Hi Bruno,” he said, returning the hug.

He pulled away and noticed you, “Who’s this beautiful dame?”

He introduced the two of you, before Bruno brought the two of you deeper into the store, “He’s provided suits since I was young.”

You nodded, “It’s cute.”

“How about have the pretty dame sit and I do the measurements,” Bruno said. You sat on the stool provided and sipped on the smoothie that you bought for the two of you. Bucky felt embarrassed as Bruno took his measurements in front of you, but you flashed him a reassuring smile, and he felt some of the insecurities fade away.

➽───────────────❥

An hour later and Bucky found himself getting frustrated. Nothing looked good on him. He tried navy blue suits, beige suits, grey suits, plaid suits, and to no avail he could find anything. Bruno went to look at other options, while Bucky looked in the mirror. It was obvious he was picking at his own body.

You got up and walked over to him, rubbing his back, “You look gorgeous Buck, don’t deflate yourself.”

“It’s just that,” he started, “It’s my ex wife's wedding, and I don’t look good. I want to impress the family, but I look like-”

You cut him off, “You look amazing, and she’s an idiot for letting you go. If her family doesn’t like it, that sucks, cause you’re no longer their family.”

“Thank you,” he said, pulling you into a hug.

“I got your back Buck,” you said, hugging him back, “But you should have told me we were dressed to kill, I would be on it.”

“Now that you’re in on it, what’s running through that mind of yours?” He said, pulling away.

“Black,” you said, “Can’t go wrong with that.”

He smiled before yelling out, “Bruno? You got a black suit?”

➽───────────────❥

He hated how right you were, but also simultaneously loved that you knew him that well. He smiled at you, “Doll you know me well.”

“Gotta look out for my two favourite Barnes, don’t I?” you asked.

“James, you look amazing, you just need a tie,” Bruno said, before going off to find a tie.

You got up and smoothed out the suit near his shoulders, “I owe you one,” he said, looking down at you.

“You owe me a lot sugar,” you said.

Bruno came back with a red tie, “I think this would look good on you James.” You moved away from him, and let Bruno tie the tie to complete the suit. 

“The colour brings out your eyes,” you commented. 

The tie was rich, vibrant, red, and contrasted nicely against the black suit and his blue eyes. “You look amazing James.”

“Thanks Brun, I’ll take it,” Bucky said, looking at himself in the mirror, smiling at how good he looked.

Bruno walked to the front and rung up the order, “You really know what’s good for me doll.”

“What can I say? I know my Barnes,” you joked.

“How about I go change, then I’ll treat you to dinner?” He asked.

“He’s living up to his word,” you joked.

“I always do doll,” he said, before walking back to the dressing room.

➽───────────────❥

Bucky was a man of his word and took you to the small dinner about three streets away, but still was on the outskirts of town. You finished up dinner and were driving back, “You know your way to a girls heart.”

“I always do,” he joked.

You two sat in comfortable silence the rest of the way back. Pulling up to your house, he walked you to your step. “Thank you for coming with me.”

“Anytime Buck,” you responded.

He scratched the back of his neck, “Are you free this Saturday?” He realized what it sounded like, “I mean, you can be my plus one with Layla,” he rushed out.

“Of course I would come Buck,” you unlocked the door, “Text me the details?”

“Of course. Good night doll,” he said.

You kissed him on the cheek, “Night Buck,” you said before scurrying inside, missing the blush that rose to his cheeks.

➽───────────────❥

Bucky didn’t see you at all that week. He was busy getting his haircut, buying other last minute things he needed before the wedding. He kept in contact with you through texts, telling you he’d pick you up at four.

It was three fifty and he was in his car, with Layla in the backseat singing loudly to the pop that played on the radio. He was nervous, he didn’t know what to expect. He unbuckled Layla, before making his way up the steps. He rang the doorbell and waited for you to answer.

Once you opened the door, he felt the wind get knocked out of his lungs. Before him you wore a red satin dress, with a low cut exposing your cleavage, the black heels accentuated the length of your legs, you had a necklace with your initial as the pendant, a small gold bracelet and some gold earrings. 

“Aunty! You look so good!” Layla said, breaking Bucky’s train of thought.

“Thank you sugar puff, you look beautiful,” you said stroking her hair. You pulled the door in behind you and locked it, and dropped the key into your back. 

“You look gorgeous doll,” he said, still in awe at you.

“You clean up well Barnes,” you said, “Let’s get to that wedding.”

➽───────────────❥

Bucky found himself looking at you with awe whenever you didn’t notice. A lot of the family Bucky once met at his wedding leaned into him saying that his current family was cute and received their blessings. 

He didn’t notice how much the three of you looked like a family until one of Nat’s cousins pointed out that his tie, matched your dress, which matched the flowers on Layla’s dress.

He looked over and saw you, Wanda, Carol, Nebula and Sharon sitting and sharing a drink. He smiled, before he heard someone call out his name, he turned around and saw Natasha, “Can we talk?” 

“What?”

“I wanted to apologize for everything, and I’m glad you found someone who treats you well and loves Lay,” Nat said, motioning to Layla sitting on your lap.

“Thanks Nat,” he responded, sipping on his soda.

“Truce?” She asked.

“Truce.”

➽───────────────❥

It was well after twelve, and Bucky was dropping you home. Layla was taken to Wanda’s earlier, and Layla was going to spend the night there. You and Bucky had a grand time, you two laughed, shared drinks, shared a few dances, and a few glances here and there. 

You were wrapped up in his suit jacket due to it being colder than you anticipated when you were leaving the hall. “I had fun tonight,” you said, as you walked up the stairs.

“Thank you for coming, I appreciate it,” he said.

“Anything for you,” you said looking at him, you felt the air shift and you didn’t mind.

Both of you leaned in, until your lips were touching and moving in harmony. Your arms found their way behind his neck, and his hands were wrapped around your waist, pulling you closer. You broke away when you needed air. You gave him a sheepish smile, before he pecked your lips again.

“Glad this dress did its job,” you joked.

“You bought this just for me?” He asked, running his fingers along the satin material that was along your waist..

“Of course, I needed to match your tie, for obvious reasons, and I hope it would lead to something like this. Needless to say, it did its job,” you said brushing hair out of his eyes.

“Well, if this dress is for me, I would like to see it on the floor,” he whispered seductively in your ear.

“You better get to work loverboy,” you said, before he picked you up and took you into your house.

[thatdoctorharvey]

Flowers?

All I have to say is; I’m sorry.

Kudos to @soft-bois-make-me-simp for assisting with the idea. Don’t worry man, we can collab on another story!

Please listen to this while you read this!

There were only three times that Harvey would remember enjoying flowers. He usually wasn’t one for them, not because he was allergic or anything, he just didn’t find the reason to desire them.

Roses are red

The day he first knew he had feelings for you. He always said it was the best day of his life. He will never forget that day; the day you brought him wine on his birthday. You two had occasionally spoken from time to time, but it was really nothing super deep. You had opened up to him about a few things that you hadn’t told anyone else but not super personal. Mostly just little quirks you hated about yourself. He remembered blushing every time as everything you named seemed to be things he liked.

“So, how about a birthday dinner tonight Harv? I’m sure you can’t remember the last time you had a real meal.” You offered.

He was reluctant to answer at first, not wanting to be a bother, but he did hate his current diet and knew he needed to change it up a bit, even if his stomach might not agree with the sudden change from pre-packaged meals to home cooking.

“That...Sounds nice. Thank you.”

And boy was it nice. It was quite obvious you knew that he needed real food because you made more than enough for him just to make sure he had leftovers. He almost felt bad but you had insisted he needed it. You both knew it would be gone tomorrow. You secretly knew, he -- as a man -- had quite the appetite and had held back eating as much as he could with you around.

You left late that night, but left behind some flowers you had grown on the farm. They sat in a vase on the table, right next to his radio equipment.

“Feel free to get a hold of me if you need anything Harvey. Doctors deserve to be taken care of as well.”

Those words never left him. “Doctor’s deserve to be taken care of as well.” You cared about him and actually wanted to make sure he was doing okay. As suspected, you two grew closer after that. He started to become a lot more anxious but never made a move. 

What if you only wanted to be friends? That would be super awkward…

Violets are blue

The day you gave him the bouquet, he cried. Never had he felt so relieved and excited at the same time. You like him. No, you loved him. You. The precious farmer.

“A-are you sure? I’m so much older a-and there’s so many oth-”

“Harvey. I’ve made my choice.” You kissed his cheek. “I don’t want anyone else. They just aren’t my type.”

Fifty shades of red his face was. There was no denying that for sure. He was a tomato and a strawberry at the same time.

He’s never hugged you so tight either. Even when you brought the pendant to him (he was more gentle then). He just wished the flowers in the bouquet didn’t wilt. Joys of having live flowers though.

That and every month, you brought him a new bouquet. Not the exact same one, but you had started growing flowers specifically to make bouquets on your monthly anniversaries. 

My heart is dead 

The bouquets continued, even after marriage. Now, you just added an extra day and made sure the bouquets on your wedding anniversary were extra colorful. It was how you showed him how much you loved him.

He adored this. A lot. It always made his day, even if the day was actual garbage. Coming home to you was always enough to make him happy, but coming home to a bouquet on the table, dinner being cooked, and the sound of you humming...Oh it just made his heart melt. Even after almost five years of it.

They always reminded him of the wedding -- the last time he recalled loving flowers. You had made sure your bouquet was the brightest thing in existence, jokingly saying you wanted the attention to be on that instead of your face. He still scolds you for that. Playfully of course.

I'm such a fool

He couldn’t recall when things started to go downhill. Things had been okay for so long that he didn’t see it at first. He knew you were busy so he never thought much of it when you would come home late.

Until you started coming home drunk.

There were times he would wonder where you were or why you were drinking...But for a while, he didn’t think to ask who you were drinking with. When he found out you and Shane had been growing closer, he got jealous. He knew you wouldn’t leave him, but the anxiety started to build. You were starting to pass out drunk on the way home or you and Shane would fall asleep at the bar.

Of course, he had to confront you about it. Not in a mean way, at least he thought he didn’t.

“It’s not okay for you to be doing that? Do you know how bad that is for you and how bad of an influence he is?”

Wrong answer.

“You don’t even know him. You just cared about making ends meet and didn’t really listen to him.”

Why did I fall for you?

He was grateful you had started to listen to him after that. You came home at night sober, but you began to distance yourself. In fact, you had begun to hang out with everyone but him. You stopped making the bouquets. You stopped giving him gifts. It soon came to a point where he felt like you wanted nothing to do with him. He felt empty and felt he had to make it up to you.

He messed up right? He could fix this...He had to.

I gave it all for you

Dinner every night was a pain, but he did it. He always made sure yours was hot, even when you came home at 1 am. He would be there, taking it out of the microwave. Dishes were always done. The house was always clean and very tidy. Farm was always taken care of. He really worked his ass off to make sure you were happy.

But it wasn’t enough.

You kept pushing yourself further and further from him. It eventually got to the point where you slept on the couch just to avoid him.

It was when he found the letter on your nightstand that he knew there was no fixing this.

So, knowing he wasn’t welcome, he packed his stuff and went back to his apartment above the clinic. Maru, who Harvey had been talking to about everything when things started to go south, helped him get settled back into his old home. She was the one who held him when he cried that night and she was the one who made sure he ate something before bed. She even told him to let her know if she needed to work more at the clinic, not wanting him to be pushed too much.

He was appreciative, but knew his work would be the only thing that would take his mind off of you.

Love around my neck starting to feel like the noose

The words lingered in his head for days. Every sentence filled him with hurt. What had he done wrong? Was he really that boring and unattractive? Should he have just given up at the beginning? Did you ever really love him?

Why did this happen to him?

He lost weight from his loss of appetite. He knew it was unhealthy, especially when people began to notice, but he always said he had started to work a bit harder to get physically fit and the results were starting to show. He didn’t want anyone to know how hurt he really was. Maru knew, and if it weren’t for her, he wouldn’t have eaten.

He numbed himself to relationships of any kind. He once was very close with his patients, now he just saw them as his next visit. Even with Maru. He only saw her as an employee.

All of the lies starting to feel like the truth

He began to drink. He knew it would hurt him more, but his heart hurt all the time. He had no one to turn to when he really needed to talk, as everyone was asleep by then...But not you. You were always awake. He would hear you stumble out of the bar, laughing with at least one other person. You were drunk too, but you got to enjoy your time. He didn’t.

“Why me?”

At the end of the day, bitch, I'm not feeling you

After so long, he began to get used to the sound of you going home drunk. In fact, it worried him when you didn’t.

It started as just one night, no big deal. But then two...three...seven...twelve…

People began to look worried. No one had seen or heard from the town’s dear farmer in nearly two weeks.

The search parties started. Being himself, Harvey made sure to go. Yes, you hurt him, but by God what he would give for you to just run back into his arms and say how much you love him.

You playing with my heart, you made me look like a fool

He hated that he had been the one to find you. There was no doubt in his mind that you were gone; your skin a gray/blue color and flies around you. What killed you, he didn’t know. Only an autopsy would tell him.

At least until he further examined you.

A rather large wound on your abdomen. It was much too big to be treated on your own, but by the looks of it, you had tried to stitch it closed.

...You died because you refused to go to him for help and bled out...

This, a tragedy, it may end up on the news

The funeral was a sad one. It rained that day. Hard. Everyone in town was there too. Everyone. You had grown so close to everyone in your time away from Harvey. They all cared so much about you and our death hit hard.

It was also at the funeral where he realized how bad he had messed up. You hadn’t just been getting closer to Shane, you were getting closer to everyone. They all said a little bit of the stuff you did for them, mostly just helping out with tasks and small favors. You had started staying with Shane at the bar because he talked more when he was drunk and you had started getting drunk with him because it helped him open up. You were just trying to help him.

And Sam. You were helping him learn how to play cooler songs on the guitar and even showed him a couple cool tricks on the skateboard.

Abigail and Pierre had finally begun to form a bit of a stronger bond because you had been helping them talk through their differences.

You had been doing so much and he basically said you were cheating on him.

So, there he stood, watching the casket be lowered into the hole, and then buried. Many tears were shed. Many. Everyone knew the town wouldn’t be the same without you there. Especially Harvey.

At the end of the day, I don't wanna be with you

It rained today too.

“You still looked beautiful that day.” Harvey said softly, arranging the bouquet in his hand. All the flowers were brightly colored. Not as bright as you would have wished, but he was trying his best. “The flowers just enhanced your beauty.”

He stood in front of the tombstone, a large frown on his face. It had been even years since you had passed now, and he wasn’t doing any better. He still cried a lot, but now, it was more just a feeling. He couldn’t bring himself to get over you.

He slowly set the bouquet down against the silver tombstone, making sure you would be able to see it from the heavens.

“Happy Anniversary (y/n). I’m sorry I wasn’t a better husband to you and I’m sorry I wasn’t there to save you.” He slipped his glasses off his face and fell to his knees, letting the tears fall. “I-I’m sorry! I’m sorry I didn’t believe you! I’m sorry I let my feelings take over! I’m sorry I couldn’t trust you! I love you so much!”

Loud sobs left his mouth, his tears blending with the rain as they fell to the ground. His heart, for the millionth time, shattered before him.

“Harvey?” A soft voice asked.

The doctor wiped his eyes and turned his head slightly. At this point, everyone had seen him like this. He didn’t care anymore.

It was none other than Abigail behind him, an umbrella above her head and a spare one at her side.

“Hey, it’s okay. We all miss her.” She said and handed him her spare umbrella. “We’re all worried about you too. You aren’t the same.” She sat beside him. “We all arranged something to help you. Come to the saloon so we can tell you, please.”

Harvey looked to Abigail, and then back to the bouquet. You wouldn't want him to be sad. You hated seeing him cry. Maybe this was a sign from you.

“...O-okay...Thank you...Just, give me another moment. I-I’ll be there.” He mumbled, trying to hold back sobs.

Abigail nodded and stood, letting him have a moment while she told everyone what was going on. Harvey sat there a moment longer, wiping his eyes to rid them of the tears. He sniffed once more before saying the same thing he did every year. The poem you had written for him. Part of it at least. It was a reminder to the both of you that he knew he messed up.

“Roses are red...Violets are blue...My heart is...is dead...I...I’m such a fool…”

The tears came back.

“I’m such a fool.”

[joachimnapoleon]

May I ask you the question on a rather delicate topic (which bothers me from time to time, when I stumble upon Murat’s mentions in Poniatowski’s biographies etc.)? It is often repeated that they resembled each other in some areas, like their love for parties, dances, horses and women...

So my question will be on that, latter topic.

We all know about Caroline, but what about other women in Joachim’s life? Did he have other significant “love interests”? Was Caroline the first woman he proposed to? Did he... cheat on her???

If you know anything on the topic could you please share it with us? ))) (Because I am very curious why did prince Murat earn such a reputation ;)

Thanks in advance!

Oooh this is going to be a fun one. :)

Murat did acquire quite a reputation for womanizing. Napoleon would say on Saint Helena that Murat "needed women like he needed food." On another occasion (and for some reason Napoleon returned to the subject of Murat's sex life on numerous occasions) he exclaimed "How many mistakes did Murat not commit in order to establish his headquarters in a chateau where there were women! He needed them every day, so I readily tolerated a general having a whore with him, in order to avoid this inconvenience." (From Gourgaud's diary, 3 April 1817.) Apparently Napoleon was quite fixated on this subject because Bertrand records similar remarks from him in an undated note assumed to be from some time in 1820: "Murat supposedly needed a woman each night, but every woman was good to him, and nothing stopped him, whether she had the pox or not." (Vol. 2 of Bertrand's Cahiers de Sainte-Hélène, pg 438) Which is likely a reference to one of Murat's more well-known mistresses, Madame Ruga, a lawyer's wife, whom he met (and possibly fell in love with) in Brescia.

But I'm getting a bit ahead of myself. We'll get back to Madame Ruga.

Murat's early life is very poorly documented. Some of his early biographers allude vaguely to him womanizing while he was still a student in the seminary, and even claim that he fought a duel over a young woman before abandoning the seminary to become a soldier. Take it all with a grain of salt. The first actual evidence of Murat having an attachment to a woman, lies in his letters referencing a young woman named Mion Bastide, from his hometown. It's hard to tell how deep his feelings for her ran; he repeatedly asks his older brother for news of her--and also what her "intentions" are, and if she is flirting with the young men of La Bastide while he is away on his military duties. Perhaps they had spoken of marriage at some point while he'd been home. Anyway, he eventually got tired of her not responding to him and moved on. While a captain in the chasseurs à cheval, he apparently had an affair with a woman named Eléonore; I haven't come across any details about this, but his attachment to her was strong enough that he kept a pocketwatch with "Joachim Murat, capitaine de chasseurs à cheval: Eléonore to Joachim - do not forget her" inscribed inside; he only relinquished this watch during the 1812 campaign, as a gift to a Cossack.

During the Italian campaign, Murat had affairs with two men's wives; the aforementioned Madame Ruga, and one Madame Ghirardi (more on her shortly). Madame Ruga is described in Desaix's notes as "young, pretty; wife of a lawyer; like all the Milanese, loving pleasures, having suffered from the venom"--"the venom" (le venin) being a tactful way of saying she'd had venereal disease, which she soon passed on to Murat. "Murat is ill," Napoleon writes to Josephine on 22 July 1796; "the goddess of the ball, Mme Ruga, properly gave him une galanterie," which is another lovely old-fashioned euphemism for giving someone VD. Napoleon continues that Murat "is furious; he wants to put his adventure in the gazettes." But in typical Murat fashion, his fury burned out quickly, and he seems to have been quite infatuated with Mme Ruga--he continued the affair, which is probably what spawned Napoleon's later disgusted recollection on Saint Helena. He even temporarily neglected his duties, until Napoleon sent him a mild reprimand, to which Murat replied with indignation. "I have never had any idea which could be the least disfavorable to you," Napoleon responded drily on 21 June 1797, "but I thought that you were more necessary to your division than to your mistress in Brescia." When Murat was sent back to Italy in 1800--months after marrying Caroline--there's a very good likelihood that he resumed his affair with Mme Ruga. At any rate, they maintained contact for some time; she delivered a letter to Eugène de Beauharnais for him in 1805.

Now on to Mme Ghirardi. Apparently he also met this woman, wife of a General Lechi, in Brescia. Eventually Napoleon sent Murat to Rastadt for peace negotiations at the end of the Italian campaign. According to an article in the January 1908 Revue Napoléonienne, this is what happened next:

But Murat's conquest does not intend to let him go. Desperate to hold him back, she follows him. The beauty flees from Brescia, crosses the Alps and falls into Strasbourg; when Murat returns from Rastadt to Paris, she settles there with him and stays in the same hotel, rue des Capucins-Neufs, number 20. The adventure here is complicated by a comic novel. The husband, worthy and notable citizen of Brescia, makes a lot of noise about his misadventure and instantly demands the lost object. He brings his complaint to Milan; he comes as far as Paris to address a mournful petition to the Directory. He begs Barras and his colleagues to set themselves up as defenders of outraged morality: "Put this young woman betrayed by a vile seducer on the path of righteousness and virtue, give a mother to an innocent child; it is an honest husband who asks for this act of justice. He will be able to publish it throughout the Cisalpine and to his fellow citizens who expect it from you." (...) A singular crossover facilitated the outcome. While the husband brought his action in Paris for restitution of wife, Murat, perhaps judging that the follies of youth should not be prolonged, adopted the part of bringing the fugitive back to Brescia and resuming his military career in Italy.

Napoleon writes to Berthier to inform him that Murat is coming back to Italy to return "this heroine of Brescia," take a vacation in Rome, and then rejoin the army. And that is the last we know of Mme Ghirardi and her affair with Murat.

The short answer to your question as to whether Murat cheated on Caroline is, unfortunately, yes.

And, not to make excuses for him, but it's hard to see it turning out otherwise given that Murat was pretty set in his ways by the time of his marriage. He had long since gotten into the habit of flitting from one woman to another, and he was in his early thirties when he finally married. On top of that, his military duties made it inevitable that he would spend long periods far away from Caroline--which he did--and I just don't think he had either the self-control or the interest in remaining faithful after awhile.

(I'm just going to excerpt this next part from a post I did on Murat's relationship with Caroline awhile back, since it fits in perfectly here.) 

They endured a long period of separation very early in their marriage–the first of many, adding up to several total years spent apart between 1800 and their final parting in May of 1815. Murat was sent to take command of a force in Italy in November 1800 while Caroline was pregnant with their first child; they did not see each other again until May of the following year. There are a couple of letters within Murat’s published correspondence that hint that, though he at first attempted to remain faithful to his wife during this interim, he may have given up on the endeavor prior to their reunion. The diplomat Charles Alquier, who befriended Murat in Italy, wrote to him in April 1801, lamenting not being able to spend a few days with him in Florence, teasing that he “would like to witness your gallant successes there and hear you talk about your marital fidelity, without believing it in the slightest.” The following month, after the arrival of Caroline, Alquier teases Murat again along these lines, in a postscript that reads “It was about time that Madame Murat arrived in Florence, or your hard-pressed fidelity was about to escape you.” He had almost certainly resumed his affair with Madame Ruga during this period.

There is a rather fascinating little affair that takes place early in 1806, in which Napoleon and Murat were having a simultaneous affair with a young woman named Éleonore Denuelle de la Plaigne, who was staying with the Murats at Neuilly at the time. Napoleon abruptly put an end to his affair with her when he discovered that she was also sleeping with Murat. Éleonore gave birth to a baby boy at the end of the year, and Napoleon believed the child was probably Murat's--up until he saw the boy in person prior to embarking for Saint Helena. What's particularly fascinating to me about this episode is the fact that Caroline pretty much arranged this affair for her brother--the Bonaparte siblings were so hell-bent on getting Napoleon to divorce Josephine by this point that some of them were acting like glorified pimps, hooking Napoleon up with girls left and right in hopes that he'd eventually produce a baby and prove that he wasn't to blame for the lack of an heir. But the timing of Murat, a man of proven fertility (he had four children by now), swooping in to plant a few seeds of his own at the same time that he undoubtedly knew Napoleon was bedding Éleonore just... let's just say I have theories about this. Suffice to say I think the Murats' sexual dynamic took some interesting twists and turns, and I'm fairly convinced that they each weaponized the other's sexuality on occasion--the Éleonore affair being the first example, and Caroline's affair with Metternich later on being another. This is totally, 100% my own personal theory and there's no way in hell to prove it either way, it's just my own reading of the situation given my current understanding of the personalities involved.

Anyway. The interesting thing about Murat's alleged affairs is that so few of his mistresses have been written of by name, the ones above being the exceptions. I've seen it written that he had a brief fling with the actress Mademoiselle Georges--who also allegedly had a short affair with Napoleon--but it's another one of those things that isn't well-sourced, at least from what I've found so far. As for his mistresses in Naples, I haven't come across the name of a single one. General Guglielmo Pépé only refers to them in the most general terms, remarking that King Joachim considered it dishonorable to refuse to grant a woman a favor "even were she not his mistress," and that he was especially susceptible to the "entreaties of the ladies about the Court". He also recounts Murat telling him once that "The Queen does not much like my giving audience to ladies," to which Pépé rejoined, "I pity the Queen if she notices the gallantries of Your Majesty." But I do find it extremely interesting that there seems to be absolutely no information whatsoever on any of Murat's alleged mistresses in Naples, which makes me wonder if his reputation in that area might be a bit exaggerated and if a lot of his so-called "gallantries" were simple flirtations. He never stopped being a massive flirt or enjoying having women's eyes on him. "He was very vain," Madame Fusil, an actress who met him in 1812, wrote of him, "and he liked women to watch out for him." 

I hope I didn't forget anything! And thanks for the ask! ^_^

[cryptidcutiesstuff]

I’m Stronger than you think!

this is a Bucky x reader thing i decided to write. the story is actually my own OC’s backstory so i would appreciate if you didn’t take any “inspiration” for your own characters :) i just thought people would like to read it through their own eyes :D

in this chapter there isn’t any Bucky unfortunately, its just an introduction to Y/N, but Bucky should appear in upcoming chapters :D 

pairing: Bucky x Reader :) 

chapter 1

warnings: mentioned infertility and adultery

 I met him in Highschool, a nice sweet boy who helped me pick up my books that had been so carelessly pushed to the floor by a blonde haired wannabe. I was always bullied, sometimes for my appearance but mainly for my personality. Now you see being a strong independent woman was not very appealing in the 1930s, but for some reason he didn’t care about that. We went on dates, and eventually fell in love and were a couple for more than 4 years until he popped the big question. I thought everything was fine, I was happy, but apparently he wasn't. And it was because I was infertile, unable to have kids.

That lying son of a bitch! I stomped through the crowded office building in my black heels, angrily walking up to my car ready to drive away from him, how could he do this to me after everything. “Y/N, Please!” I turned around and tore off the chain of metal that was hanging round my neck, throwing it carelessly at the man who I once loved. He bought me that necklace on our first date. I always kept it on me “here! Keep it, or better yet give it to the nice secretary in the office!” I said as tears rolled down my flushed cheeks. 2 years we had been married, I cared for him, stayed at home for him, cooked, cleaned. I was even willing to bear his children if I was able but instead he betrayed me and my trusting nature.

“Y/N, I'm sorry, please forgive me!”  he pleaded, grabbing my hand. I pulled it away from his grip, “how long?” “what?” “how long have you been sleeping with her?” I looked into his eyes, my eyes being full of pain and sorrow. “A year and a half” he weakly stated, breaking eye contact with me. My eyes widened in disbelief, I had been ignorant for nearly the entirety of our marriage. “Why then?” he began to get irritated, curling his hands into a fist, “Joshua! Why?” I repeated. “Because you can't have children!” he shouted at me. I just stood there stunned, that simple sentence stabbed me straight through the heart. I quickly recomposed myself and then spoke up furious and yelled  “yeah. Believe me I know that! It's the one thing I am meant to do as a woman, and I can't do it! And I'm sorry that I can't!”  My outburst seemed to shut the both of us up. “Josh, obviously this isn't working any more, we don't work, so maybe…..maybe it's better that we go our separate ways, I'll stay with a friend temporarily, I'll go get my belongings now.” I said as I turned around, Joshua didn't say anything but watched me get into my car and drive away.

For the duration of the drive I was trying to contain the rest of the bottled emotion that was threatening to spill, I just needed to get to my friends current apartment, Peggy Carter, she was leaving in a few days for the war. When she told me her brother helped her get a place in the war as field agent I couldn't help but have my worries. Women weren't exactly treated well by men, and unfortunately she was going to be surrounded by them. How different things would be if women were respected and treated as a males equal, instead of being sexualised and thought as the “weaker sex”. Pulling my car up on the pavement, I momentarily sat there until I let my head drop onto the steering wheel, unbeknownst to me I slammed my forehead right into the car horn, causing a loud beep to rupture from the vehicle startling me. Clutching my heart I stepped out trying my best to ignore all the staring faces of the civilians around the area while walking over to Peggy’s apartment complex. I ran up to her door knocking on it frantically, she opened it wide not expecting me to be there. She looked at me, eyes softening when she saw my broken expression. “Oh Y/N darling.” her British accent rang through my ears as she invited me in for a hug. The exact moment she placed her head on top of mine was when I broke, I sobbed while she held me tightly, “what's the matter? What happened?”  “ Its Josh, he's been cheating on me for most of our marriage.” I said but I came out as a muffled sob from her shoulder. She pulled away, brushing hair behind my ear. “Oh Y/N, I'm so sorry. Tea and talk?” I sniffled and nodded in agreement as she shut the front door, walked over to the kitchen and placed the kettle over the stove.

When it was done, we began talking about Joshua and how I should have known he was cheating from the strange behaviour, he stayed out late often, didn't kiss me as much and never really wanted to get intimate with me. As the pieces added up I became more frustrated at myself for not noticing it earlier, I could have saved myself the heartbreak of finding him making out with his secretary in his office. I decided to flip through a few newspaper clippings Peggy kept on her kitchen island in an attempt to take my mind off Joshua. ”you could have punched him in the face you know.” Peggy piped up. “I know you're pretty good at a few hand to hand combat techniques courtesy of your father!” I looked up from the small newspaper clipping. “yeah, I know but I didn’t wanna waste my famous right hook on ‘im you know”  We burst out into a fit of giggles at the thought of Joshua on the ground. “You would probably be good at fighting in the war, Y/N.” I gave her the ‘yeah right’ face.

The conversation died down and a peaceful silence covered the room, the smell of the tea helped put my mind at ease a little. “So you’re going to war soon?” I broke the pause. “Yes I am, I'm quite excited actually, I'll be doing field work mostly but I hope I'll be of some help at least.”  I smiled “I’m sure that you’ll be great! it must be fun, I would give anything to go there myself. Maybe beat some sense into those brainless misogynistic pigs.” my smile turned into a smirk as Peggy laughed at my statement. “Well I could always recommend you to the colonel, he's the one that kind of runs the place.” I placed my china teacup down carefully onto its matching coaster. “Thanks for the offer peg, but I doubt they would even let me, a woman, near any tactical equipment.” there was a long pause once again until I made a quick snappy joke “unless I somehow dressed as a guy and infiltrated their army base.” I giggled at the silly thought, however Peggy didn't, I looked over cautiously not knowing if I had pushed any the wrong buttons. That was until I saw the look of determination in her eyes. “Peggy NO!”, “Peggy YES!”. 

“That’s a terrible idea! And what happens if they find out huh? What then?”  I crossed my arms looking at her from across the kitchen island. “By the time they find out it would be too late!”. “No Peggy it ain't happening, they wouldn't let me!” she stood there for a while “fine!” she sat down with a huff and we left it at that. We finished our tea and as the day began to end she walked me to my car, talking about when the war would be over, not knowing what the future would hold. Once I reached my car I threw my coat into the passenger's seat and closed the door for a moment while I gave Peggy a goodbye hug. “Thanks peg I needed that, I'll be on my way to Jacqueline's place, I'm staying there until I can get away from Joshua.” we parted and she gave me a gentle, reassuring smile. “You know that offer is still there.” “what offer?” there was a pause as I tried to remember what we spoke about, a light bulb went off in my head as it clicked. “PEGGY NO!” I stared at her in disbelief. “Y/N, come on, you know you really want to join. I could find someone willing to help you!” I knew she wasn't going to give up on asking me, so I reluctantly agreed. “Fine, you can try.'' I loved Peggy truly. but I unfortunately didn't have much faith that she would help me join the war. “Great! Well I hope you sort everything out with bloody Joshua.” I nodded in agreement and got into my car. I waved Peggy goodbye as I drove to Jacqueline’s ready to announce that I would be having a sleepover for a long while. Little did I know that I wouldn't be staying there for very long.

[thetriggeredhappy]

Could i request an ace sniper fic? I really like that headcannon, and i dont think i've seen much fic about it

absolutely and hell yeah, anon. aspec sniper is best sniper. went with ace/aro specifically for this one but every iteration of aspec is fair and valid. also the demo-sniper-scout friendship because i love the idea of them hanging out

(no warnings)

-

Lunch break, Hightower. Scout and Demo were the only two who ever consistently visited Sniper in Hightower on account of being the only ones who would ever bother going all the way to wherever he’d posted up for the day, and they were aware of that fact, and so had started a habit of eating lunch up there with him whenever they could. It was a good system. Especially because going to that trouble had the added bonus of privacy, being able to talk about things they didn’t feel like talking about in front of the other mercs. Not that Sniper was particularly talkative—he preferred to listen.

Things they were embarrassed about were a topic, sometimes.

“—and so I’m beatin’ myself up over it, right? Like, yeah I’m barely scrapin’ by on my second senior year and workin’ one job for real and another one under the table and I’ve got sports the rest of the time so of course I can’t pay much attention to her, so figured she’d get annoyed, but I still felt bad right? But then, turns out, buddy from my track team sees her like four days after we break up holdin’ hands with some other guy!” Scout rambled from his place vaguely lounged back against Demo’s arm as both Sniper and Demo ate their respective lunches from their respectively marked tupperwares. None of them remembered who started it, but they tended to sit almost shoulder-to-shoulder, and it had escalated into leaning against each other and a wall and looking out over the field as they talked. “So, like, man, wantin’ to focus on her college stuff and too busy for dating, yeah right.”

“What you get, dating a lass who’s younger than you, lad,” Demo hummed around his mouthful.

“Yeah, yeah. Only a year difference, but man, felt it all at once, huh? Anyways. She got told off by a buddy of mine about it, and we had an argument at some point, but... yeah. That’s the messiest breakup I ever had, probably, just because everyone knew everyone,” Scout trailed off. Silence for a second. “What about you guys?”

“Told you mine,” Demo said, had to pause to finish his mouthful to get the rest out. “Chemistry class, dated three times, she cheated twice.”

“Oh yeah. Jesus, yeah, fuck,” Scout sighed, remembering. “Why’d you put up with that a second time?”

“She was cute,” Demo shrugged, almost dislodging Scout and jostling Sniper a little on accident. “Ah, sorry Mickey.”

“Y’alright,” Sniper assured under his breath.

“Any messy breakup stories for us?” Demo prompted.

Scout tilted his head a little back towards Sniper. “Hey, yeah. I feel like I ramble about relationship stuff like, constantly—“

“You ramble about everything constantly,” Demo teased.

“Eh, fuck you,” Scout said offhandedly, rolling his eyes. “But I talk about that stuff constantly, and Demo brings up stuff sometimes, but you’ve, like, never told us any stories.”

“Not much to tell,” Sniper shrugged simply. “Not my thing. End of story, really.”

“Not your thing?” Scout repeated, audibly confused, sitting up a little bit to look back at Sniper. “What’s that mean?”

“Never much liked dating, relationships, any of that,” Sniper replied without needing to think too deeply about it. “Didn’t care much, that’s all.”

“Thought that was me as well for a while,” Demo said carefully. “Realized I just didn’t have time for it, mostly, between the job and friends and that, so I’d rather wait until I do. Same with you?”

“Nah. Had the time, had the energy, just didn’t like it. Not my speed. Made me uncomfortable, mostly,” Sniper murmured, itching idly under his hat. “Went out with a few sheilas from around, they’d either properly like me or not, and... I just never liked them much. Mostly went because I didn’t know what else to do. Thought I was turning down too many chances, something like that. But then I figured out, nah. Just skip the whole thing.”

“Wait, for like, dating? Or for one-night stands?” Scout asked, eyebrows furrowed.

“Both. Or, er, neither. Wanted nothing to do with either.” Sniper pulled his hat back on straight. “Figured for a minute in my, er... must’ve been mid-twenties? Figured maybe my problem was just that I was into blokes instead, but nah. Just as bad. Just as... nothing, really. So I stopped bothering with forcing it.”

“Good on you,” Demo said appraisingly, jostling him cheerfully, and the corner of Sniper’s mouth quirked up a little.

“Nothing, huh?” Scout repeated, musing aloud. “What, so... like, how people will go on a first date and just never try and call each other again? Just, no sparks? But for everyone?”

“Presumably. Don’t have a frame of reference for what those sparks are like,” he said, then sat up a little a moment later. “No, wait, I know I’ve felt, er... felt something similar. Not sparks, the, er, the nervousness. Then I realized that wasn’t a romance sort of thing, it was me being, er... jealous, and intimidated, and just thinking they were good-looking objectively. Happened with a few blokes, s’why I thought I’d try men for a while. Didn’t last, not past properly meeting them. That’s all, really.”

A nod of understanding from Demo, a general sort of ‘huh’ noise from Scout. A pause. “Would you ever do the, er... marriage of convenience, then? No risk of it getting messy,” Demo joked.

“Nah,” Sniper said, laughing a little. “Nah. Thought about maybe trying it for citizenship at some point, but only on paper. I don’t tend to stay places too long. S’why I like this job.”

“Man, I’m kinda jealous,” Scout huffed. “It’d kick ass to not have to deal with crushes and shit.”

“Eh. Sometimes I’m curious, what it must feel like,” Sniper admitted. “Wouldn’t change it, it’s just... interesting to imagine. I like romance novels.”

“Really?” both Demo and Scout asked, sitting up and looking at him, and he huffed a laugh.

“Can’t be that hard to believe. Liked Jane Austen later on in school, kept reading more. They’re... I liked fantasy when I was young, it feels like that. Adjacent. And I know what love is, I’ve got parents I love, had pets, had relatives who were essentially siblings, it’s just something different from the sort I know about. S’pose it’s, er... just strange sometimes, nice to laugh at the characters for being so ridiculous about things.”

“Don’t tell me you pick up novels from the dimestore, Mickey,” Demo said disapprovingly. “Or those dry historical ones. Tell me it’s all good, not just the same few stories recycled.”

“Only if I’m particularly bored,” Sniper admitted, and Demo made a sound of vague disgust. “And I don’t read much, besides. Have other hobbies.”

“Is it the same thing with why you don’t talk to the rest of us guys much?” Scout cut in, speaking for the first time in a bit. “Just don’t feel it? Not a thing on your radar?”

“Nah. That’s because I’m just not the talkative type. I like you lot plenty, it’s why I go sulk in the base with you all quietly, if I didn’t like you then you’d never see me,” Sniper replied. “If anything, I think it means I appreciate you all more. Less worrying about balancing things, all that.”

“That’s fair,” Scout said, settling back down, nodding vaguely. “Yeah, that’s fair.”

A pause between the three of them. “So I don’t have any particularly interesting breakup stories,” he added. “But I’ve got farm stories, if you’d like.”

“Obviously!” Demo laughed at the same time that Scout chimed an emphatic “Fuck yeah!”, and Sniper rolled into a story about how particularly dumb sheep are as farm animals, and that was the end of that discussion.