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4ng3l-0n-34rth · 2 years ago

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Restless // steve harrington x reader drabble

a/n: hi guys!! i am oh so tired and sleep deprived so instead of sleeping im writing a short fic for no one but myself… but im also posting it. i truly am sorry if this is horrible i actually haven’t slept in 36 hours. OH AND PT 2 OF INTIMIDATED IS IN THE WORKS!!!

summary: you’re steve’s partner and after seemingly getting no sleep for a few night, he begins to grow concearned

warnings: mild swearing

enjoy!!

1,552 words

You were tired and there was no denying it, but for some reason the past few nights sleep was coming by scarcely. Sure you couldn’t think of a logical explanation as to why, however you weren’t falling asleep and it was beginning to become an issue. You began falling asleep at ungodly hours, if you even slept at all, and it was driving you crazy.

You continued to go on with your daily life half-asleep and although it was a little more difficult, there was nothing you could do about it. As you got out of bed after laying there for hours, with nothing to do but toss and turn with hopes of falling asleep, you could feel your body react to the lack of sleep. Your limbs were endlessly sore and you felt as if the more you kept walking the closer you were to just collapsing entirely. After getting yourself dressed and ready to begin another long and exhausting day, you walked to the kitchen to throw some food together before you left for work.

Work was never unbearable since you enjoyed your job at Family Video, but acting like you were perfectly rested for Steve and Robin made it a little more difficult. You hauled yourself to your car and began your quick drive, feeling your eyelids grow heavy at any moment you didn’t have your full undivided attention on the road. As you pulled in to the employees lot, you notice a familiar car pull into the space next to you, and an undeniable head of hair come out of it. Seeing Steve always brought a smile to your face, even when you felt like you were on the verge of completely falling apart.

As you got out of your car you moved as if your limbs weren’t your own. Your motions were sluggish and lazy as you headed toward the back door of the establishment, waving to your boyfriend as he waited in place for you to catch up to him. The smile he gave in return didn’t hold up for long due to the fact that as you got closer the bags under your eyes grew more visible, even with the attempt of covering them up with some makeup before you left the house. “Hey, Y/N. You sleeping ok?” he asked out of concern. The same question he has asked the past few days prior, and of course your shot back the same response you always did. “Never better!” you tried to give your best convincing smile as you picked up your pace heading inside to be greeted by Robin, who had already started preparing to open the store.

“Hey Robin!” you tried your best to say cheerily, and the girl peeled her focus from the tapes she had been putting on shelves to you, and Steve who now stood behind you. “Well if it isn’t the dynamic duo!” she cheers walking up to the both of you. As she got closer she immediately grabbed your face and inspected it closely. “Not to be rude or anything, but are you sure you’re getting enough sleep? The bags under your eyes have grown from cary-on’s to check-in’s…” she stated, giving a sympathetic smile. You just nodded and moved from her grasp. “Like i just told Steve, never better,” you sighed, too exhausted to try and sound like your usual upbeat self.

You brushed passed the two and walked straight to one of the computers, doing your daily check for overdue, or almost due returns, writing down all the account names and numbers so you would remember to call before the end of your shift. As you continued to search through dates, Robin anxiously glanced to Steve then tried to signal to him that she was worried about you. Steve pretended to clear his throat, “Uh Robin you don’t happen to know where the water bottles in the back are do you?” and with that he had grabbed her and pulled her into the back room with him, now out of earshot of you.

“I’m not going crazy right? Y/N looks like they haven’t slept in a millennia.” Steve muttered, looking to Robin for some sort of confirmation. “Anyone and their grandmother could tell there’s something going on.” Is all she replied with, leaning on the wall behind her. “And i understand if she doesn’t wanna talk about it, but i doubt she should be working right now.” Robin finished. “I know right!” he said a little louder than he would’ve liked, but you were so out of it you hardly even noticed they were no longer chatting behind you. Steve stepped a little closer to Robin so he could speak quieter. “What should we do? What should I do?” he almost whispered, as his mind raced. All he could think about was all the terrible possibilities that could lead toward your current state. “Like I'm supposed to know! You’re the one dating them,” she sighed.

They both sat in silence for a moment, considering all of their options, until Steve’s face lit up as he had an idea he was sure would work to get to the bottom of this. Robin looked up to him in anticipation, waiting for him to spill whatever ‘genius’ plan he had just now concocted. “Well my parents are never home what if we just ask to have a sleepover? I mean if she’s spending the night with us she’s sure to crack. Right?” he asked pleadingly, hopeful that if Robin agreed this may actually work.

“That may not be a horrible idea…” she paused to think for a moment. “But! it’s obviously been a long week for her, maybe you should just do it on your own? I mean if i were here i’d love nothing more than to cuddle up to my handsome boyfriend and finally fall asleep after being away for decades.” She spoke seriously up until her last sentence, switching to a mole joking tone hugging herself and swaying when she mentioned ‘cuddling up to their handsome boyfriend.’ “Robin this is serious! I’m really worried.” Steve pleaded, only to receive a slight chuckle and nod from Robin. After shooting her a serious glance, she had stood up straight and moved her hands fo his shoulders. “This is me being serious Steve, I think what Y/N needs right now is a calm night with you.” she stated firmly, and Steve nodded in agreement. “Sleepover it is!”

As the both of them returned to the front of the store, both sets of eyes landed on you. Slumped over the counter, your head lazily resting in your palm as you stared off in the distance. Steve swiftly walked up behind you and placed a hand on your lower back. “Hey, love. Do you maybe wanna crash at my place tonight? I’ll get take out and we can watch whatever movie you want!” He spoke to you cheerfully. You stayed in the position you were already in, debating on how you should respond to the offer. “Oh i don’t know Steve…” You mumbled, and he placed his hand on your cheek turning you to face him as he leaned in closer. “C’mon babe, I’m like soooooo missing out on my Y/N time right now, and I’d love to have you over.” he begged, and who were you to turn down such an adorable pout. With a groan you respond, “Sure Steve, I don’t see why not.” you replied, bringing your focus back to your job, instead of looking dazed out the window.

Of course that wasn’t the exact answer he had hoped to hear from you, since he was truly being honest when he said he needed some ‘quality Y/N time’, but it was a yes nonetheless, and with that he was content.

The rest of work flew by particularly fast, partially because in the state you were in you had almost completely lost your grasp of time, but even more than that you were eager to get the hell out of there. As the three of you finished closing up, Steve outstretched a hand to you. “Your chariot awaits,” he joked, and you looked up to him confused. “Oh come on, let me drive you we can pick up your car in the morning.” He smiled sweetly, still waiting for you to place your hand in his, and after pausing for a moment you took his hand and headed out the door. You both said your goodbyes to Robin then loaded into Steve’s car.

The drive to Steve’s was peaceful. Your head rested tiredly on the back of your seat as you looked out the window, while Steve’s hand rested on your lap. As you pulled into the drive way, you could feel yourself get blinded by the light he had in his driveway, covering your sore tired eyes with a hand, looking away. Steve couldn’t help but feel saddened by the fact you appeared to be acting as if everything was normal, yet clearly were in pain from how much you needed some rest.

He quickly got out of the car and went around to your door, opening it for you and allowing you to step out. You weren’t on your feet for long due to the fact once you were steady Steve scooped you up in his arms and carried you towards the door. You couldn’t help but giggle as he lifted you off the ground. “Steve what are you doing?” you ask, pressing your head into his chest, allowing him to feel the vibration from your laughs throughout his whole body. “Can’t I treat my love like a princess from time to time?” You just keep your head buried in his chest as he takes you to the door, fumbling with the keys in his pocket for a moment before getting the door open.

As he carries you inside he remains careful of how he's walking with you in his arms, walking sideways to fit through narrow halls and what not until he reaches his room. Steve places you down on his bed ever so gently and kneels down to you, removing your shoes before tucking you under the covers. "Steve I can take my own shoes off y'know" you mutter, confused as to why he's treating you like this. He quickly moved to your bedside, sitting down in the open space next to you, and rubbing up and down your arm with his hand. "Look, i totally understand if somethings bothering you and you don't want to talk about it, but Y/N I can tell how tired you've been, and I just want you to be able to relax and get some rest." he admits sheepishly, sending you the warmest and most comforting smile he could muster.

You reached up to his face, resting a hand on either side as you pulled him in for a quick kiss, and he obviously longed for more due to the fact he remained in the same spot once you pulled away. "I'm sorry i haven't been honest about it, but in all honestly I don't know what the issue is. These past few nights I've just been so restless. Every night, tired as ever, I'll try and fall asleep but i just find myself tossing and turning until the sun rises." you looked down to you lap, fiddling with the blanket Steve had draped over your body. Now it was his turn to cup your cheek, and stare happily into your eyes. "Thank you for letting me know love. I'm sorry you've been struggling and I didn't try and help sooner, but I'm here now, and I can assure you that laying in my arms has never failed to lull you to sleep." He grinned confidently, and pressed a kiss to your forehead. Now how about we get you changed out of your work clothes and just skip the movie and get some rest? Does that sound good?" he asked calmly, not wanting to push too far, but hoping you would let him just help you sleep.

You nodded and rose from the bed, helping yourself to Steve's dresser drawers. Wearing his close wasn't a strange occurrence, and if anything he loved seeing you pick out whichever shirt or sweater of his looked the most comfortable and slipping off your clothes to replace them with his. He found comfort in you, and tonight he was praying to whatever god is out there that you would be able to find comfort in him and get a good nights rest. Once you were changed you looked over to your boyfriend, just staring up to you in adoration from his seat on the bed. "As much as I love you Steve, I don't want to lay on your scratchy work shirt." You giggled, tossing him a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt to change into as well. "Oh right, sorry." he meekly grinned and took the clothes to change into.

Once you were both prepped and ready to sleep, you couldn't help but to throw yourself onto Steve's comfy bed, relishing in the scent of it, the scent of him. You hadn't realized how much you missed laying in bed with him, how much you missed being near him, and so you were forever grateful he decided to speak up and ask you to come over. Steve had turned off the lights in the room, then proceeded to get under the covers next to you, immediately bringing you into his chest. You happily allowed him to pull you closer as you got comfortable, resting your head on his chest. The soothing sound of his heartbeat, and the slow rise and fall of his chest was pure bliss, and you couldn't believe you hadn't wanted to stay over sooner.

As your eyes fluttered shut for the final time that day, Steve had one hand rubbing soft circles into your back, and the other was brushing his fingers though your hair. As the rest of the world faded out all you could do was sense him. The gentle movements of his hands, the beating in his chest, the small and simple sweet nothings he whispered to you, and the gentle kisses he occasionally placed on your head. And it was as if a miracle had come to life, and you found yourself sunken into a deep and peaceful sleep with the man you love.

Steve was your miracle, and he loved you.

#stranger things steve #stranger things #steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #robin stranger things #robin buckley #stranger things 4 #stranger things x y/n #stranger things netflix #stranger things drabble #stranger things one shot #i love steve harrington #steve harrington fluff

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helliontherapscallion · 4 years ago

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(Y/n) and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Week: Wednesday

Monday Tuesday Thursday (Part 1) Thursday (Part 2) Friday Saturday Sunday

Spotify Playlist (collaborative)

Warnings: panic attacks, swearing, getting outed, f slur and d slur, homophobia, puking, toxic friends

Word count: 5,160

(A/N): woah, thank you all so much for all the positive feedback, that really makes my day!

The room was quiet with the exception of the clacking of the keyboard and the soft chirping of crickets outside your open window. The stars twinkled in the sky as the night droned on and on. There was a loud rustling outside your window, but your sleep deprived mind didn’t think anything of it. It wasn’t important at the moment, the only important thing right now was finishing your work.

Throughout the night, you worked endlessly on your friend’s work. The essays were relatively easy because Adrian and Annie had luckily chosen topics that you’re somewhat interested in, so at least finding the sources was enjoyable. You had gotten your essay completely written and proofread, Annie’s outline finished, and Adrian’s sources analyzed. You would start on Sammy’s presentation after you finished Adrian’s outline. Hours upon hours passed by you as you worked, yet you didn’t notice the time once. You worked uninterrupted with no breaks. Well, one break to talk to your dad about how you weren’t hungry, but you got back to work right after he left your room. You couldn’t waste any more time than you already have.

Your eyes felt heavy as you typed on your keyboard, working on putting Adrian’s sources together cohesively so that the writing would flow seamlessly. You paused your typing to rub at your tired eyes so you could keep working, you couldn’t afford to fall asleep. You had to get these done as soon as possible if you wanted their forgiveness.

The blaring of your alarm startled you out of your focus, making you fall backwards out of your chair with a yelp. Landing painfully on your back, you laid on the floor trying to calm your racing heartbeat. You looked out your window. Hints of pinks and yellows were starting to make a gradient with the lightening dawn sky. Shit, you were so focused on getting your work done that you didn’t take account of the time. You just knew today was gonna be long. At least after school volleyball practice was shortened because of finals tomorrow.

You groaned as you pulled your tired form off from the ground. You made your way downstairs and plopped yourself down at your usual place at the table, burying your face into the crook of your arm. You felt yourself drift off into a blissful sleep, the wood of the table suddenly seemed very comfortable at the moment. Not long after, you were jolted out of your peaceful sleep by a loud crash. Jumping up and looking around with wide eyes, you saw Tubbo looking at you apologetically. There was broken glass in front of his feet on the floor.

“Sorry, (y/n).”

You just stared at him blankly as you slowly blinked. Philza didn’t spare you a glance as he whisked the short boy away from the glass. “(Y/n), can you please go get the broom and sweep this up?”

You nodded, hauling yourself to your feet and walked over to the storage closet, pulling out the broom and dust pan. You mindlessly sweeped up the glass, your limbs feeling heavy. After throwing the glass away, you rummaged in the cupboard and pulled out a mug. The bitter smell beckoned you welcomingly, working its way through your nostrils and digging itself deep into your brain. Just as you were about to pour yourself a cup, a hand snatched the coffee pot away from you.

“You shouldn’t be drinking this.”

“You let Techno and Wil drink it, so why can’t I?”

“(Y/n), you’re a full year younger than them and you haven’t eaten anything since breakfast yesterday.”

You felt your eye twitch, “I’m only a year younger than them! There’s literally no-”

“(Y/n),” his warning tone cut you off, putting the pot back into the coffee maker, “you aren’t going to drink this. That’s final. Get a glass of water.”

You huffed and pushed past him to the sink to fill your coffee mug with water. You’ve been drinking coffee for a while behind his back, so you were used to its effects on your body. You supposed that you’d just beg Wilbur to take you to the cafe so you could get your sustenance. He always relented for you.

You heard him chuckle, “you’ll thank me when you’re older.”

“Mhm.”

You plopped down next to Tubbo nursing your mug of water, trying to make small talk with him. One by one, your brothers made their way to the table. Tommy was talking and gesturing wildly to Tubbo like he normally did, Wilbur looked as dead inside as you felt, and Techno made it a point to ignore you. When someone pissed him off, he can hold a grudge better than he could hold onto his knowledge of Greek mythology, and that’s saying something. Man is obsessed with Greek mythology.

Breakfast went by in a daze with you struggling to keep your eyes open. At one point, you almost fell asleep sitting up, only to be woken up by Tubbo shaking your shoulder to get your attention. When breakfast was almost done, you had only eaten about half your breakfast.

Drifting off again, you were startled awake by the screeching of the chairs against the wooden floor and loud shouts coming from your brothers. You didn’t have the energy to race them to the bathroom like you usually did, you’d just freshen up after they were done. You tried to stand up to go to your room to get dressed, but you were stopped by a hand on your shoulder forcing you to sit back down. Looking up, you were met with the concerned, yet stern eyes of your father.

“You’re not leaving this table until you’ve eaten at least a few more bites and tell me why you’re so tired.”

“I just stayed up later than I normally do finishing up some homework, it won’t happen again.”

“It better not or else I will make you stay home next time. When’d you go to bed last night?”

You avoided his eyes, “around one thirty or two.” You couldn’t tell him that you didn’t actually go to sleep last night, he’d flip.

“You know, you’re a terrible liar.” Shit.

Looking him in the eye, you spoke more confidently. “Three in the morning.”

“(Y/n)-”

You felt a sudden rage start to twist inside you as he started to lecture you about taking better care of yourself. He was treating you like a child and you were not having it.

“-young kids like you need to- are you even listening?”

You set your jaw and willed yourself not to explode at him. “Dad, I’m not a child. I know how to take care of myself.”

You saw him narrow his eyes and purse his lips in frustration, “well, obviously you don’t if you’re not eating or sleeping well,” his eyes softened. “I’m starting to worry about you.”

“Well, you shouldn’t because I’m fine,” you snapped at him. “I’m going to get ready.”

You stalked out of the room and stomped upstairs. Passing a shocked Tommy and Tubbo, you made your way into the bathroom to get ready. The person that stared back at you in the mirror looked pale and had dark eye bags accentuating her tired eyes. She had red pimples dotting her face more than she usually did. She was ugly, revolting. The girl you remembered her being was confident in her appearance and walked with an air of importance. Now, she was a decrepit thing that was run down and scared of her own shadow. You couldn’t recognize the girl that stared back at you anymore. You should’ve been able to; after all, she was you and you were her.

You rushed through your morning routine in the bathroom avoiding looking at yourself in the mirror. You opened the bathroom door only to be met with Wilbur’s chest, his hand poised in the air in a closed fist ready to knock on the door. He stepped back.

“We’re gonna be late if you don’t hurry up.”

You glanced at the clock on the wall. “Wil, we still have twenty minutes before school starts. We don’t have to leave for another ten minutes.”

He gave you a smirk, “well, you want coffee, don’t you? You look dead.”

“Oh thank god. I feel dead, I didn’t sleep at all last night.”

“When’d you go to bed?”

“I didn’t.”

“Christ, (y/n) I knew you were a dumbass, but not that much of a dumbass.”

You rolled your eyes, walking around him and into your room. You felt a stab of hurt in your heart. “Fuck you.”

Before you could close the door, he shouted out a cheeky “love ya too (y/n)!”

You took off all your clothes slowly and stood in front of your open closet deciding on what you should wear today. You figured that since you felt like absolute shit, you should probably put a little bit more effort into your appearance. Picking out your favorite flannel shirt and favorite pair of pants. Smiling at yourself in the mirror in your room, you felt slightly more confident in your appearance. You felt like you could walk around the hallways at school without as many peering eyes trying to figure out your every secret. But maybe that was just the sleep deprivation talking. You tend to be more impulsive and emotional when you’re sleep deprived.

You slung the backpack onto your back with less difficulty than in the previous days. Your back was healing faster than you thought it would. Now, it barely hurt and the swelling completely went away.

You went downstairs and slunk past the kitchen where Philza was talking to Tommy and Tubbo. You didn’t want them to notice you, you felt somewhat guilty for snapping at your dad. You slipped through the front door and hopped into the passenger seat next to Wilbur. You three usually rotated seats counterclockwise and took turns driving each day. Now, you were just waiting for Techno.

“Well, you look less homeless today.”

“Thanks Wilbur, I just felt like looking a little nicer than usual.”

“Who’re ya dressing up for? Is it Adrian?” He asked with slight disgust. He hated Adrian almost as much as he hated Annie and Sammy. He thought he was nothing more than a fuckboy looking to get into your pants. Little did he know you were secretly a raging lesbian so deep in the closet that you’re froliking with Aslan through the flowerfields of Narnia.

“Wilbur, I’m gay why would I-” you froze, cursing your sleep deprived self for lacking a filter. Your breath caught in your throat and you felt anxiety start to seep into your veins and pump around your body, filling every single nook and cranny with dread. You could feel tears welling in your eyes as you stared at your shaking hands horrified at yourself. How could you just… just out yourself like that? How could you be so careless? So stupid?

You barely felt it when Wilbur reached over to press a gentle hand on your arm. “(Y/n), are yo-”

“I-tha-that was a joke, I’m not gay, I’m straight.” Your words came out in frantic jumbles, desperately trying to fix your slip up. Oh god, you really fucked up this time.

“(Y/n), brea-”

“I swear I’m not gay, I like men, I do. I-”

“(Y/n), breathe with me.” Wilbur’s firm, yet gentle voice demanded. He placed your hand on his chest and took in a deep breath, held it, and released it slowly. You tried your best to follow him, but after about ten minutes, you were slowly but surely calming down. It was a lot faster calming down from a panic attack when you had someone helping you breathe. You’ve never gotten help with a panic attack before, it was nice. Becoming more aware of your surroundings, you took notice of the soft fabric of Wilbur’s sweater, the gentle thumping of his heart, and his worried expression. You also became aware of the extra hand rubbing small circles into your shoulder from behind your seat. It was Techno.

Taking in a shaky breath, you took your hand out of Wilbur’s grip and clasped your hands tightly in front of you, shrugging Techno’s hand off from your shoulder.

“...Can we please leave? I don’t want Dad or Tubbo and Tommy seeing me like this.”

Wordlessly, Wilbur started up the car and pulled out of the driveway. At the intersection, he turned in the opposite direction of the school. “Wilbur, where are we going? The school’s the other way.”

“We’re going to the cafe for some coffee, my treat.”

“But school starts in five minutes, we’re gonna be late if we go to the cafe.”

“Actually,” Techno’s deep voice chimed in, “school started ten minutes ago. If we’re already late, there’s no harm in skipping first block.”

“Tech, I literally have no idea what’s going on in stats.”

“I’ll give you my notes.”

“Are you sure? I wouldn’t want to bother you.”

Wilbur pulled into the cafe’s parking lot, “don’t be stupid, (y/n). You can never bother us.”

You didn’t say anything as you left the car and headed into the cafe. You could think of plenty of ways you could bother your older brothers. You bothered everybody just by being in their presence. You just had that effect.

Your brothers followed you into the cafe, glancing at each other worriedly. You three quickly got your orders and sat in the secluded back of the cafe. Soft jazz music drifted throughout the quiet cafe.

“(Y/n), we need to talk about what happened. Was this your first panic attack?” Wilbur asked you gently.

“...No, I’ve had them before.”

“Were they always this intense? You’re still shaking.”

“That one was nowhere near as intense as the ones I usually have.’

“Usually? Do you have them often?” Tecno asked.

“Yeah, usually a couple of them a week since the middle of freshman year. Nothing I can’t manage.”

“So you’ve been doing this on your own for three years? You could’ve gotten us to help you.”

You sighed, looking down at your steaming cup. “...I couldn’t’ve. Don’t get me wrong, I know you guys could help me, but I-I just couldn’t. No one was supposed to find out.”

“Promise us that you’ll come to one of us when you have an attack. We care about you, (y/n).”

“I�� I’ll think about it. Thank you.”

The table fell into a comfortable silence as you all sipped at your drinks, the comforting taste of the bitter coffee dancing across your tongue.

“Ya know, we don’t care that you’re gay. A lesbian called me ‘actually pretty funny’ once and I’m still riding the high.”

“Yeah, you’re still you. Nothing changes the fact that you’re our little sister.”

You smiled as you felt warm inside. You knew your brothers loved you, but you didn’t know that they loved you for being you. You didn’t think anybody loved you unconditionally like that, and that made you feel genuinely happy.

“Thank you guys, for everything. I-I can’t put into words how much that means to me, I love you guys so much!”

“We love you too,” Wilbur smiled before he dropped it into a stern frown. “But if any girl hurts you, we’ll have a stern talking to her.”

“Yeah, we can’t beat up girls. We’ll put her in her place alright.” You snorted into your coffee, almost spilling it on yourself. Quickly setting it down before you could baptize yourself with the scalding liquid (though, you did consider coffee to be holy), you wiped at your teary eyes.

“And that’s why I love you guys.”

“We’re serious, she’ll be wishing she got beat up after we’re done scolding her.” Wilbur said seriously before he broke into a grin and started laughing.

The conversation carried on about your sexuality, how you found out, when you found out, if you’ve told anyone yet (they were honored that they were the first people you’ve told, even if you did it accidentally mid-panic attack). Eventually you had to go back to the school before your second block started. You three split ways to your separate classrooms.

Annie and Adrian were locked onto you as soon as you walked through the door. They looked angry at you. What’d you do this time to piss them off?

“Where the fuck were you this morning? We were looking everywhere for you,” Annie seethed.

“Yeah, you wasted so much of our time looking for your sorry ass. You ditch us again?”

Oh, that. “Look, I didn’t mean to skip out on you guys again. It was a rough morning.”

“That’s funny because we also had rough mornings, yet we still hung out with each other. You aren’t special.” Adrian rolled his eyes at you.

“It’s gonna take more to apologize. We don’t let things like the little stunts you pull go off scott free.”

“Oh, Annie I have the best idea,” Adrian squealed, bouncing on the balls of his feet excitedly.

“What is it Dri?” Annie’s eyes shone.

“Our little (y/n) can set you up with one of her brothers and she can go on a date with me on a double date! It’s foolproof, not even someone as dumb as (y/n) could fuck it up.”

“I don’t think that’s a good id-”

“It’s perfect Dri! Can it be with Wilbur? He’s literally so hot! Oh, the way his fingers can work that guitar…” Ew. The thought of Wilbur and Annie together made you scrunch up your nose with disgust.

“I’m sorry, but Wilbur’s actually dating Sally Fishmin right now. They’re actually really cute together-”

“God, how could someone as hot as Wilbur go for Sally Fishmin? She’s disgusting, always smells like fish,” Annie gagged, then gasped. “Wait (y/n) do you actually think that she’s more deserving to be with him than I am?”

“No, I nev-”

“Really? Cuz you just did. Glad to see you care about me, (y/n).”

“Annie, you’re literally so beautiful. I never said that you don’t deserve him. You deserve the world. I can’t split them up, but I can do more homework for you.” She perked up immediately, “awe, thanks love! That’s what happens when you actually put effort into how you look.”

“Speaking of, did you get that shirt out of the trash? It’s really not a look.” Adrian snickered to himself. There goes what little confidence you had. You actually thought you looked decent today. You felt grateful for your friends, they always told you the truth about how you looked when everybody else lied to you.

Before you could respond, the bell rang and everybody took their seats. Luckily, Mr. Todd assigned today as a work day for your final research essays. You had finished Annie’s and got Adrian’s thesis done before the bell rang. While you were working on their essays, they were mindlessly scrolling on their phones and texting someone.

You, Adrian, and Annie met up with Sammy and went into the lunch room. You tried to line up in the lunch line with them, but they laughed and told you that you’re fat enough and you needed to lose weight. What did you do to deserve such considerate friends? You really owed them one for always looking out for and putting up with you.

While you were waiting for them, you pulled out your phone. To your surprise, Haley texted you a screenshot of her conversation with Unknown. You felt a chill run down your spine. All four pictures were of you. You rubbing your eyes as the light of your computer provided the only light in the room. Your bare back facing the camera as you stood in front of your closet this morning. You sleeping a day ago (you felt sick as you realized that whoever took the picture was standing directly over your bed). Lastly, you and Haley holding each other’s hand under the moonlight last night. Attached to the pictures, Unknown had typed “you have one more day or else sleeping ugly gets it. Do not tempt us.”

Hales : )

(Y/n), how the hell did they get these pictures of you

Did you seriously leave your window open???

Why wouldn’t you close your curtains

Oh god, do you think they saw us in your driveway????

(Y/n)

Haley calm down

Hales : )

I know you’re not telling me to calm down right now

You have a stalker

One that can GET INSIDE YOUR ROOM

(Y/n)

We’ll get to the bottom of this

Like I said, I don’t care if my pictures get leaked

I care about your pictures

Until we figure out who’s doing this, we need to lay low

Hales : )

Hanging out last night was a mistake

I shouldn’t have gave you a ride

I shouldn’t have tried to kiss you

I’m straight

And you are too

You said it yourself

We can’t talk anymore (y/n)

(Y/n)

I’m not straight Hales

I’m gay

And I like you

Like you like you

Hales : )

I’m sorry (y/n)

But I’m straight

We can’t talk anymore

Goodbye.

With each text she sent you, you felt your heart drop deeper and deeper into your stomach until you felt your heart shatter in your chest, the pieces lodging themselves deep within you and ripping you open from inside out. How could you be so stupid to think that soemone as perfect as Haley Andrews, arguably the prettiest girl in the senior year, go out with (y/n) Minecraft, a known trainwreck. Annie’s shrill gasp sounded right next to your ear, making you gasp and drop your phone onto the table with a loud bang.

“OH MY GOD (Y/N) YOU’RE A FAGGOT? WERE YOU HITTING ON ME EARLIER? YOU FUCKING PERVERT.”

The entire cafeteria fell into silence as they listened to Annie’s shrieking. Whispers started to meld together.

“(Y/n)’s gay?”

“How gross”

“Damn, I was gonna hit it”

“We have a dyke going to this school?”

You felt like you were suffocating as the whispers and Annie’s yelling jumbled together in a disorienting cacophony. Adrian and Sammy both glared at you from behind Annie with a hatred that you didn’t know they had for you. You tried stuttering an apology, but you were quickly shut up by Annie harshly slapping you across the face.

“I don’t wanna hear it, fag. You’re going to finish our essays and you’re never gonna talk to us again. Do you understand me?” When you didn’t respond, she slapped you again. “I asked you, do you understand me?”

You frantically nodded your head, grabbed your backpack, and sprinted out the door without any real destination in mind. You sprinted before you found the bathroom that nobody used. Ducking into a stall and slamming the door, you felt yourself start to hyperventilate. You couldn’t feel anything except for the tightness of your chest. You couldn’t see anything. You couldn’t hear anything. You faintly tasted bile rising up in your throat as you bent over to empty your stomach. You threw up everything in your stomach until you were left sitting on the dirty floor painfully dry heaving.

You sobbed on that floor for what felt like hours. Everybody knows your secret now. Your dirty, dirty secret. God, you were a pervert weren’t you? You made people around you comfortable by just being you. Faintly, you felt your phone start to buzz in your pocket, your shaky hands scrambling to fish it out. They were all texts from your brothers.

Wilby

(Y/n) I heard what happened

Are you okay????

Please answer me

Where are you

Technology Sword

I’m gonna kill them

I swear to god they’re dead

Blood for the blood god

(Y/n)

Pls dont do anything or hurt anyone

I’m fine

I’ll see you two after practice

Wilby

Tell us where you are

(Y/n)

I’m fine

I’ll see you two after practice

You silenced your phone and put it back into your pocket, once again feeling yourself start to dry heave again. Your sobs and gags echoed throughout the bathroom. This is by far the worst panic attack you’ve had yet, and it doesn’t seem like it’s gonna stop anytime soon. You heard the final bell ring and students start to rush to their lockers to get home, so you tried to muffle your shaking sobs the best you could. You had at least an hour before you had to go to volleyball practice. Until then, you would stay in the bathroom trying to ground yourself.

Luckily, you managed to calm down to the point where you stopped crying and dry heaving. You were only shaking slightly. You felt numb and completely drained from your panic attack, practice today was going to be a struggle. You cautiously walked through the empty hallways jumping at every little noise. When you finally reached the locker room, you made a beeline past Zara and Jazzy to your locker. You pulled out your uniform and changed in one of the bathroom stalls.

Practice went by with the girls on the team giving you sympathetic looks and Haley ignoring you. Not that you noticed, you were ignoring everyone and putting all of your focus on the ball. The entire practice, you felt light headed and drained. Fortunately, practice ended right as you felt like you were going to pass out.

You changed as fast as you could and pulled out your phone.

Dadza

Come outside, I’m here to pick you up

You felt a dread pool in your stomach as you stared at the text. Did he find out? Was he going to kick you out for being gay? Wilbur and Techno wouldn’t let him do that to you, right? Reluctantly, you left the sanctuary of the bathroom stall and rushed out of the locker room and out of the school. Sure enough, your dad’s car was parked in the parking lot. You glanced over to where Haley’s car was parked last night and saw glimpses of you and her chasing each other and laughing into the night sky without a care in the world before you ripped your gaze away to stare at your walking feet.

You reached your dad’s car and sat in the passenger seat. Your dad grinned at you. “Hey hun, how was practice?”

You merely shrugged your shoulders at him. You didn’t have the energy to talk to anyone at the moment. You felt extremely drained.

“What’s wrong, did something happen? You can talk to me.”

“...I’m just sad that the season’s over tomorrow.”

“Don’t be sad kid,” a gruff voice coming from behind you made you jump. “That’s pussy shit.”

You yelped and whipped your head around to look at whoever said that. Your uncle’s cocky grin greeted you. You felt yourself grin back at him.

“Uncle Schlatt!”

“The one and only.”

“How was your business trip? You’re home early.”

He rolled his eyes, “boring as hell. I’m so fucking glad I got out early, I woulda blew my brains out if I had to stay there any longer.”

“Schlatt!” Philza reprimanded him, glancing at him through the rearview mirror.

“What? I’m just telling the truth. I woulda!” He defended himself.

Your dad gripped the steering wheel. “You didn’t have to say it in front of (y/n).”

Schlatt scoffed, “please, she’s heard me say worse.”

As they bickered, you felt yourself zone out as you looked out the window. Houses and street signs passed by in a blur as the car moved down the road and pulled into your driveway. You got out as quickly as you could and made your way into the house alongside your uncle and dad. As soon as your uncle walked through the door, Tubbo barrelled into him and pulled him into a tight hug. Schlatt laughed loudly and bent over to pick him up into a hug. You smiled at the father and son as Philza gestured for you to follow him into the kitchen. He opened the oven to check on something cooking inside of it and turned to face you, leaning against the counter.

“So what’s really wrong?”

“I already told you, I’m sad the season’s almost over.”

“It’s something more than that,” as you opened your mouth he quickly added, “and you can’t say that it’s because you’re tired. I wasn’t born yesterday.”

You sighed and mimicked his actions. “...It’s just been a long day. I really don’t wanna talk about it.”

Without warning, he pulled you into a warm hug, your face being shoved into his shoulder and him rubbing circles into your back. “That’s okay, just talk to me when you’re ready. I won’t push you.”

That broke you. Throwing your arms around him, you started to sob into his shoulder. He started to rock you back and forth whispering reassurances into your ear.

“That’s good, let it all out.”

“I love you so much.”

“I’m here for you.”

With each sentence to fall out of his mouth, you felt more at ease and safe. Your dad always did a great job at making people feel safe, that was just his natural talent. After a while, you pulled away from him.

“Do you feel better?”

You smiled tiredly at him, “Yeah, I really needed a hug.”

He turned around to check on dinner, “I bet, you look like you’ve been to hell and back. You don’t have to tell me what happened, but just know that I’m always here for you and I love you.”

The rest of the family flooded the kitchen after a while of you two talking. Dinner went by with Schlatt laughing loudly and telling stories about the people he met on his business trip. Every now and then, Wilbur and Techno would glance at you, but you ignored them. You just wanted dinner to end so you could pass out in your bed. Once dinner was over, you helped your dad gather everybody’s plate and put them into the sink. The rest of your little family went to the living room to start a game of Monopoly. The last time you all played that ended in fresh bruises and shed tears.

“I think I’m gonna go to bed, I have to get some rest for finals tomorrow.”

“But (y/n), it’s Monopoly! You love Monopoly,” Tommy exclaimed.

“That’s alright, you look dead on your feet kid. Go get some sleep.”

“Thanks Uncle Schlatt. Goodnight everyone, love ya.”

A flurry of goodnights and love you’s follow you as you leave the room and drug yourself up the stairs. Without a second thought, you closed your curtains and plopped face first onto your bed. You passed out without even making sure you were fully on your bed.

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echo-hiraeth · 4 years ago

Text

Chapter 3: “Es Tuyo”

Part of the “Illicit Limerence” series

Pairing: Javier Peña x F!Reader

Summary: After having spent some days recovering and getting to her new surroundings the reader goes back to work where she seems to attract some male attention. Javier is displeased and on his breaking point.

Warnings: Major trigger warning: mention of pregnancy termination, cursing, angst, fluff, mentions of injury

Masterlist

A/N: that photo is totally Javi in that evidence closet

Previous chapter

Next chapter

“That is not how you pronounce that at all”, you cackled from the couch.

Connie threw her hands up in defence: “Well, then how? C’mon help me out here amigo!”

“Amiga”, you corrected, grinning as she set the plate down in front of you.

Your friend shook her head as she took a deep breath, lips curled up in a smirk. “You know, you’re supposed to teach me Spanish, not bully me.”

The door swung open as the both of you ate and laughed together, revealing a more than exhausted Steve. “Murphy, come sit with us, Connie made the most amazing pasta.”

He hung his jacket on the wall and kicked off his shoes before plopping down next to Connie, pressing a short peck to her lips. “What’s got you two all riled up?”

“Connie’s been drinking the night away and I am so sleep-deprived that even the telenovelas have become entertaining”, you answered, mouth full of pasta.

“What’s been keeping you up then?”, he asked while reaching over for a plate.

You shrugged your shoulders: “Just the thought of going back to work tomorrow.. I know it’ll just be paperwork but I-I’m just nervous I guess. I need to figure out a way to talk to Messina about resigning without raising any eyebrows and.. it’s just a lot.”

“You know I can get you another doc’s note”, Connie intervened, tilting her head at you.

“Yeah, I know, Con, I know. I just want to get up and get moving. No offense, but y’all can be boring as hell.”

She playfully threw a pillow at you, which hit you square in the belly, making you huff out a small laugh. “It’s not my fault we both have jobs to do, your highness.”

“When’s that first check-up-thingy of yours anyway?”, Murphy questioned.

“Next week, after hours, but I can get there myself, you don’t have to worry about me.”

“Yeah, not a chance pal, the Sicarios know your face now, best to have a chaperone out there.”

Steve was right and deep down you’d thought about it too. Of course the narco-men already had most of the DEA’s information and agents in their databases, but you were still unknown to them. It was rare for a female agent to work in the field, let alone be placed in Columbia whatsoever, you’d been an element of surprise, but now even that had been taken away by Escobar. You knew a pregnancy meant the end of your career as a DEA agent, at least in the field. The past three days were meant for you to readjust to your temporary living space with your friends, but you’d really only spent it within the depths of your own head. There was so much you had to do and you couldn’t even figure out where to start, you had to tell Javier at some point, quit your job or risk putting him in danger as well and most of all.. tell your parents. The last one could wait, they wouldn’t care much anyways, you figured. But Javier couldn’t, even though you were just over a month along, you knew you’d have to tell him eventually, this kind of thing wasn’t something you could hide forever.

While you were zoned-out, caught within your own head, Steve and Connie watched you. The grip on your plate tightened, eyes staring straight ahead and chest rising and falling more rapidly. Connie carefully put her hand over yours, making you jerk you head towards her, sending a wave of pain through your left shoulder. “I-I think I’m gonna head off for the night”, you mumbled, quickly getting up and putting your half-empty plate on the kitchen counter.

As soon as you shut the door your lips started trembling, eyes burning from the effort of trying to keep the hot tears from spilling. You pressed your right palm to your forehead, mustering up every last ounce of strength to keep yourself at bay. Another deep breath, another memory of his lips on yours, another step towards the bed, another fading remembrance of his rough hands ghosting over your body. This had to stop, you knew it – hell – you’d known from before you even got into his bed. Javier Peña was a bachelor at heart, free of any commitment, who were you to think you could change his mind. Here you were, heartbroken, knocked-up with a fucked-up shoulder, on a pull-out couch in your best friends’ apartment, what a life.

You carefully grabbed a hold of your Walkman, slipping the headphones on and laying down on the bed. You closed your eyes as you listened to the Cure’s “Boys don’t cry”, reminiscing on the hot summer in the States, when you’d bought the cassette and played it on repeat in your car. A soft smile settled on your face and eventually you fell asleep just like that, fully dressed and headphones still on your ears.

Though the next morning, when the three of you sat around the breakfast table, you in yesterday’s clothes and the two of them in their work attire, there was a bit of an atmosphere going on. Not a word was said over breakfast, only increasing the tension even more, making you feel incredibly vulnerable, like a kid scolded by their father, it was odd. It wasn’t until later, on your way to the embassy in Steve’s passenger’s seat that he finally broke his silence.

“Who is it?”, he asked, tone harsher than usual.

You let out a nervous chuckle, quirking an eyebrow in confusion. “Mind giving me a hand here, I’m not sure I-“

“Who did you fuck?”, he interrupted you, voice rigid and determined.

“Steve”, you huffed, “what the hell are-“

“I’m no idiot y/n. Now tell me, who the hell is it.” His frustration started showing in his driving style, his braking much more abrupt than usual.

You scoffed at him, resting your hand on the door handle, at an attempt to feel somewhat secure. “That’s just not none of your fucking business Murphy.”

“It is if I’m losing a partner over it, maybe even two.”

“Peña? Don’t make me fucking laugh”, you lied, voice surprisingly confident. “He’s the biggest jerk there.”

“Then who? Santiago, Lopez, that FBI guy?”, he pressed as he parked the car.

You flipped him off before yanking the car door open, hurrying your way into the embassy. You didn’t bother to stop at the front desk or politely bid you co-workers a “good morning”, no, you just wanted to get to Messina, get your assignments for the day and get to work, away from both your partners.

As predicted, you were to write reports for the foreseeable future, Messina putter her faith in your ability to type them out with just one hand. You’d agreed, not wanting to argue or come up with an alternative yourself and made your way over to your office. Despite your request to be put into a confined space, away from Murphy and Peña, Messina insisted you’d just work at your regular desk, so the two of them could provide you some assistance if needed.

Luckily for you the two of them were out for most of the day, leaving you to work alone, in a comfortable silence. A fellow agent would step in to check if you were alright every now and then, helping you with carrying out file boxes or bringing in new ones. It was times like this that your reputation really preceded you, the sweet girl that would bring coffees on Fridays and bake cookies for birthdays and holidays. You knew your way around the office and compensated for your shortages (aka the fact that you were a woman) by innocent bribery. Lopez had even been so attentive as to bring you a hot lunch, which you gladly accepted and enjoyed in his company.

Steve and Javier were both surprised to see the two of you, laughing and just having a good time. Though they both had different motives, their suspicions aligned perfectly: he’s being too friendly. The two of them walked into the office, yet the two of you didn’t look up, no on the contrary, Lopez leaned in even closer, fidgeting with the sling on your arm.

Javier was not fucking having this today, so he loudly cleared his throat, both of your heads perking up in his direction. Lopez got up off your desk and gave you another smile before walking out of the now-way-too-crowed-with-testosterone office space. He gave the two of them a polite nod, muttering a “Peña y Murphy” before disappearing into the hallway.

“I fucking knew it”, Steve sighed, letting himself fall into his desk chair.

You threw a pencil at his face, chuckling when it ultimately did hit him square in the nose. “You’re a fucking idiot Murphy, Lopez was just bringing me lunch.”

“If you say so”, Steve mumbled, throwing the pencil right back at you.

The day had stayed calm and you were able to go home without having to talk to Peña at all, to your great relief. The next few days had been the exact same, tonnes of fieldwork for them and an amazing lunch with some of the other agents for you. On Thursday night, when Steve and Javier were working late due to an unexpected lead, you tagged along with the guys, heading out to some bar, where you enjoyed a non-alcoholic beverage or two and even were treated to a lovely platter of grilled goods.

Climbing the stairs to their apartment, you smiled to yourself. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad, you had friends and options, maybe Javier didn’t need to be in the picture, maybe it was meant to be this way. As you slipped your key in the door you took a deep breath, you felt at peace. Which was swiftly stolen away from you as a more than distressed Steve and Connie, baby held in his arms, were revealed.

Your keys hit the floor in surprise, face contorting in confusion. You quickly picked them up, nodded at Connie and walked into your room. A kid and an injured friend were too much for anyone to handle, you knew that, the story would follow, but for now you’d be heading back to your place. Steve gave you an apologetic look as you placed the key on the table, offering the both of them a genuine smile on the way out.

As you hauled your bag down the stairs, you let out a pained groan, your shoulder disagreeing with your every movement. On the next floor down, a familiar door swung open, revealing no one other than Javier, shirt halfway unbuttoned. “C’mon, I already made the bed.”

“Oh, no thank you, I’m fine”, you answered, bag falling off of your shoulder.

He shook his head before walking over to you, taking the bags as he urged you to follow him. “You take the bed, I’ll take the couch. Beer’s in the fridge, cigs are on the table.”

You hesitantly trailed after him, cringing a bit when setting foot in his apartment, the memories of the previous nights spent there flooding your mind within mere seconds. “Javi, I’m really fine, I’d rather just go home.”

“M’sorry hermosa, Murphy’s orders”, he said from the bedroom, coming back empty-handed. “We don’t have to talk, you can take a bath if you want, watch tv, just do whatever you want.”

You stood in the doorway, awkwardly watching as he made his way over to the couch, quickly laying down. “The kid..”

“Escobar.”

That’s all you needed to know, you could fill in the blanks yourself. A hand hovered over your abdomen, stomach turning in knots as the mere idea of something like that happening to you crossed your mind. You closed your eyes, a cold shiver running down your back, the bile starting to rise in your throat. It wasn’t just the news, you’d been “lucky” enough to have limited episodes of nausea, but when you did it was either early on in the morning or later at night, never throughout the day, which really helped your work situation.

“Hey, hey, hey, you sick again?”, Javier asked, quickly getting up and rushing over to you.

You braced yourself by placing your good hand on his chest, taking a few deep breaths. “I need to sit down.”

He gave frantic set of nods, putting an arm around your waist and leading you over to the couch, slowly helping you down. He sat down on his knees between your legs, eyes looking over your features, trying to read you. “Concussion?”

You quickly shoved him aside, rushing over to his bathroom where you dropped down to your knees, head hung over the toilet bowl. It didn’t take long for him to follow, one warm hand resting on your upper back and the other holding on to your hair. His eyes were laced with worry and concern, your pained cries mixed in with the retching breaking his heart. With every convulsion of your body your arm bucked along, causing an immense pain to course through your mending bones. When you eventually stopped and rested your head on your arm, which rested on the porcelain itself, he let go of your hair. He disappeared for a fraction of a second, quickly coming back with some water and a towel.

“Do you need to see a doctor?”

You took a sip of the water, eager to get the vile taste out of your system. “No, no, I’m fine, just drank too much.”

He nodded, despite not believing you. He’d seen you drunk before and this wasn’t that. There was no lingering smell of alcohol, no sexual advances, no sarcasm, you were just.. you – except you were lying to his face. Javier decided not to push on it, not wanting to bother you when you obviously weren’t feeling too great.

Eventually you managed to feel somewhat better and get ready for the night, Javier helping you into a fresh shirt, mindful not to hurt you. When it came to it and you went to bed you decided to ask him to join you, not wanting to be alone after having talked over what exactly had happened that night.

The two of you talked about the baby girl and the fucked up shit the sicarios did as you rested comfortably in his arms. It wasn’t anything sexual, you two were solemnly comforting one another after an incredibly rough day. As he spoke, chest buzzing in tune with his voice, his fingers traced weary circles on your side. He just kept talking and venting, knowing fully well you had passed out. That night Javier slept better than he had in ages, it was also the first time the two of you had stayed with one another until the morning. It was nice. None of you had to sneak out or slip away in the middle of the night and the sight of you when he woke up was a welcome one, making him feel at ease. He gently woke you up, helping you into the bathroom where you took a brief shower, the hot water working wonders on your aching muscles.

When you walked into the kitchen, towel wrapped around your frame, Javier was buttering some toast. “Hi, I hate to do this but I can’t quite get dressed..”

He gave a curt not, putting down the knife before walking over to you, taking the bra and shirt from your hands. “What’s with the shoes?”, he asked as he fastened the hooks of your bra.

“Well, don’t need to run for reports.. so no flats.”

Javier gave a low chuckle as he slipped the dress over your head, fingers ghosting over the tender skin of your neck. “Are you sure it’s not Lopez you want to impress?”

Now it was your turn to huff out a laugh. “Javier Peña, do I detect a hint of jealousy?”

“Should I be?”

As soon as you both were dressed and had somewhat of a breakfast you were headed to the embassy. The drive was quiet other than the radio, and surprisingly soothing. The domestic bliss stayed with you as you took a seat behind your typewriter, Javier’s gaze trained on your figure. You thought it was because of the dress, but in all reality he was trying to figure out why in the hell you would lie to him. Maybe you and Lopez were really becoming a thing or maybe the two of you had always been, maybe he was too late. All the more reasons to move on from you, the mere fucking idea of you.

By the time lunch rolled around Lopez found his way to your desk, a plate held in each hand. “Buenas Peña”, the man croaked out before walking over to your desk.

You uncrossed your legs and smiled up at the man, making Javier’s right eye twitch. Upon looking at the plate your face briefly fell, muttering an apology before declaring you were allergic to seafood. That was another fucking lie, Javier thought.

“But Javier enjoys crawfish”, you chuckled, “let him have my plate, I’ll run down to the market myself.”

Before any of them could protest, you grabbed your purse and fled the office, not wanting to experience a showdown of sorts. Javier took the opportunity to just smirk at the other man, grabbing the plate and shooing him out of the office. But not before providing the man with a sassy “piérdete, fracas ado” (get lost, loser).

The short walk to the market and back had given you the air you needed. Your head was spinning once again, the same thing as always: Javi. What the fuck was all this meddling about? He was so nice all of a sudden, domestic even, which wasn’t entirely uncharacteristic as you’d experienced him like this before.. but it wasn’t as if you were sleeping together again. Maybe that’s just what he expected to get from this. Of fucking course he’d take you in to his place. You scoffed before sinking your teeth into the spicy lunch you’d treated yourself to. Walking back into the office you were surprised to find all three desks empty. Well, you were aware that Murphy was unlikely to show up at all with his new responsibility, but Javier? Maybe he’d been requested for some field work.

You set your bag down before making your way over to the kitchen, wanting to grab a fresh drink. But before you could make it there you were pulled into the nearest evidence room, well closet more like, somebody pulling you in by your right arm.

“Mierda Javier ¿cuál es tu problema“, you yelped (Fuck Javier, what’s your issue?).

“I’m not the one lying to everyone’s fucking face”, he replied with a dark laugh.

You swatted his hand off of you and tried to shove past him when he blocked the door. “I’m not in the mood for this”, you warned, eyes locking with his.

“Missing your little boyfriend already?” Your mouth went agape in shock. “You’re not as clever as you think, hermosa.”

“You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about, idiota celoso.” (jealous prick).

He wore a devilish smirk as he moved closer, lips ghosting over your ear shell. “Look who’s the whore now, huh..”

That one hurt, a lot. You pulled back from him, emotion catching in your throat. “Stop..”

“You been sleeping with everyone in the office then? Or were Lopez and I the only ones good enough for you.”

You could barely believe your ears, his evil words making tears form in your eyes. “Javier-“

“I at least thought you would’ve been smart enough not to get knocked up”, his words were laden with disgust and you stumbled backwards, feeling more unsafe than ever with him.

You tried to gather your thoughts and come up with a response but you could only manage a sad laugh as you looked at him. “You’re so fucking naïve.”

“¿Qué quiere decir?”, he inquired, lips pursed together. ‘What are you trying to say?)

“Es tuyo”, you declared. (It’s yours).

Those two words were everything he was so terrified of. You, him, a baby? Fuck. This was no place for a baby, he was no dad-material, shit man, he couldn’t even come to terms with the fact that he longed to be with you, let alone take care of you like that. He didn’t dese- no, you didn’t deserve this, all this- his misery.

“I thought you were fucking safe”, he shouted.

You felt incredibly small now, and even more terrified. “It takes two, you know”, you answered.

Javier took a deep breath, pinching the bridge of his nose as he desperately tried to calm down.

“I-I can give you the money”, he stuttered.

“What?”, you asked, deeply confused.

“To get rid of it.”

If you weren’t infuriated before, you sure were now. The mere mention of it, the mere fucking idea that he wouldn’t even own up to what he did. He’d done it now, but you know what, good. If this is who he really was, then it was best you found out now.

“I-I don’t want you to lose your job..”, he murmured, voice much quieter and soft now.

The tears were streaming over your face at a high speed, blurring your vision as you looked at him. “Move, please.”

“We need to t-“

“Get out of my way”, you screamed.

He hesitantly stepped aside and watched as you speed-walked your way out of there, loudly sobbing and wiping at your eyes. Everyone’s attention was on the two of you, everyone seemingly understanding what had gone down. And as if things couldn’t get worse, around the corner came a familiar tuft of blonde hair, Steve fucking Murphy, giving him the death stare. Well fuck.

Taglist: @peterhollandkait @ophelia-ingenue @pedritomando @radiowallet

#javier peña #narcos #pedro pascal #imagine #javier pena #javier peña x reader #illicit limerence

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escxpedes · 4 years ago

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loopholes (fin.)

Remember when I said I’d post this like two days after the last part? No? Me neither... Sorry about the delay, I’ve had a severe lack of motivation. (It’s mental illness innit.) I feel like every part of this story gets longer and longer, and makes even less sense. If you haven’t read the other two parts, I recommend you do so. These technically can be read standalone, but I think it’s cuter when you read them knowing the context. Even though, again, they seem to make less sense the more I write. Lots of new information came about season 5, and it’s both nerve-racking and exciting at the same time! Three cheers for anxiety, amiright? Hope you all are doing well, I’m excited to hear the feedback on the last part of this series. Let me know if there’s anything you’d like me to write, I’m a sucker for prompts! x

part one | part two

loop·hole

noun | A loophole is an ambiguity or inadequacy in a system, such as a law or security, which can be used to circumvent or otherwise avoid the purpose, implied or explicitly stated, of the system.

hands that wrap around my wrists, (and arms that feel like home.)

Shutting down the monitors she was using, Riley tries not to think about how her sleep deprivation affects her body. It’s one thing to work as a distraction, but the drag in her pace tells her this coping method is wearing her down.

How is she supposed to save innocent lives when she’s so exhausted.

And she is, exhausted, that is. Not just physically, but mentally and emotionally. Every part of her is weightless, suspended in air, and it feels like she can’t do a single thing about it.

An irritating helplessness encompasses her, tightening its grasp on her sanity.

She wants to cry out, throw something, cause a scene. Instead, she buries her feelings deep in her subconscious and tries not to focus on how tight her chest is.

It’s an occupational hazard, she tells herself. It’s nothing she can’t handle, she repeats daily. It’s almost a mantra by now, echoing inside her head and ramping up what seems to be an infinite supply of determination.

It’s the only way.

Mac waits for her outside, leaning against the building while she locks up. Her vision is still kind of fuzzy due to lack of energy, and her body doesn’t seem to be completely awake yet. She can physically feel Mac’s concerned gaze burning a hole in her cranium as if staring hard enough will give him access to all recesses of her mind.

“Ready?”

She nods, feigning a smile, and bumping his shoulder with her own, “You never mentioned why you stopped by so late.”

Ignorance is bliss, right?

“I left my phone in the labs.” She can hear the exasperation in his voice; concern rushes forward and sends a pang through her heart.

Suddenly, she’s irritated too, not with Mac, but for Mac. He does the right thing for humanity despite all that humanity has done to him. She can’t imagine how frustrated he must be with the entire situation, once again putting the world before himself.

He’s had so little time to process everything.

She knows he could use a break but also knows that he won’t admit he needs one.

For how smart he is, he can be really stupid sometimes.

When she turns her head to look at him, she can tell she’s lost him to his own thoughts. His eyebrows are furrowed, his usually clear eyes unfocused, and his mouth is set in a grim line.

If she listens closely, she can almost hear the gears turning, working out possible solutions, and thinking through every outcome.

It’s not an uncommon expression.

She stops abruptly, “Hey.”

This seems to shake him from his trance, his eyes meeting hers in a questioning manner.

“You are doing the best you can under the circumstances, but pushing yourself too hard won’t solve anything,” Her hand finds its way to his arm and squeezes reassuringly, “You can take care of the planet, but make sure to take care of yourself, too.”

The look he gives her is so full of gratitude and affection that nearly every emotion that Riley’s fought to contain bursts through its confinement and surges through her body.

“Thank you.”

Her breath catches in her throat, making it hard to breathe.

“What for?”

She really hopes the shaky breath that follows goes unnoticed.

“For always believing in me, no matter what.” His gaze is piercing, robbing the ability to form words from her throat.

She rakes her mind for something, anything, to say that will stop her from doing something she would totally, one hundred percent regret.

“It’s what Jack would do.”

It takes everything in her to break eye contact and shrug nonchalantly. Humor laces her tone, despite the sincerity of her statement. It is something Jack would do, something he taught her to believe in. Not necessarily in Mac, but what her gut is telling her.

It seems that in any given situation, before or after Jack’s departure, Mac’s intuition has always mirrored her own. Since the second he broke her out of prison, they always had the same values. Just like Jack, she learned how to read and understand Mac.

She knows how to interpret his rambling. She knows that no matter the situation, he’ll always put everyone else first. She knows that whatever crazy plan he’s come up with, it’s constructed with the best intentions.

She knows that no matter where he goes, and no matter what he does, her instinct is to trust him.

So she does.

With every ounce of her being.

She desperately wants to share this with him, especially if it would probably make him feel better. However, she knows the second she starts talking, she won’t be able to stop. Mac’s got a way of doing that, translating her thoughts into words that tumble out of her before she can control what they might mean.

The grin Mac throws her, which conveys understanding and amusement, allows the tension between them to dissipate.

“Speaking of Jack, he would absolutely kill me if I let you drive home in your state.”

Before she can get a word in edgewise, he’s already opening the passenger side door of his truck. The tone in his voice leaves little room for debate, as if he’s ready to refute whatever argument she can muster up, so Riley doesn’t argue.

She wants to, but just the idea of operating a car sounds exhausting.

Besides, she’s missed this. She’s missed Mac, not just as someone she’s possibly in love with, but as her best friend. With everything going on, she’s hardly been able to see him.

The absence of him in her life hurts just as much as having him in it.

She literally can’t win.

The silence that follows is comfortable, the rumbling engine serving as white noise to Riley as she dozes off against the window.

She tries to, anyway. Driving with Mac is always an adventure, which is useful when trying to avoid being killed by a terrorist organization. Maneuvering Los Angeles traffic? Way, way less so.

“Maybe driving myself home wouldn’t have been such a bad idea.” She mumbles, fighting the urge to grab the handle above the door.

“Hey! I always get us home in one piece.”

“Physically maybe,” an amused smile finds its way to Riley’s face, “But mentally? I should sue you for psychological trauma.”

The look of disbelief that follows is enough to get her through several lifetimes, or it could be the smile he struggles to hide under his offended facade.

“Ouch,” Mac puts his left hand over his heart, “That hurts right here, Riles.”

The nickname throws her off, causing her stomach to flip. It’s just a silly name, it shouldn’t affect her like this, but her heart still clenches uncomfortably.

She attempts to brush it off, trying for a humoring grin that feels more like a grimace.

Though the comfortable atmosphere doesn’t change, the playful energy is replaced by more silence. As buildings pass outside, all Riley can think about is how much she hates silence. Man, what she would do just to get rid of it for a little bit. It’s constant these days, and it always finds her no matter where she goes.

Her fingers tug at her bottom lip, a nervous habit she’s recently adopted, as she tries to think through possible solutions to the predicament she’s found herself in.

She must be pretty engrossed because it takes her a minute to realize Mac’s spoken again.

“What?” Her brain slows down enough to pick out his words, something about how much sleep she’s gotten recently, “Oh, I don’t know.”

She tries not to notice how concerned he looks when he asks, “You don’t know?”

Not really

Logically, she knows that she sleeps almost every night. How long? It’s hard to tell sometimes. If she’s lucky, she can get a couple hours in before her brain goes into hyperdrive. Other times, she’d rather be doing something productive on her rig instead of staring at her ceiling fan.

She props her elbow against the window and rests her head in her hand, “I guess it hasn’t been a priority.”

From the corner of her eye, she can see him open his mouth and close it abruptly, trying to find the right words to comfort or soothe her.

As always, Mac is trying to rectify the situation.

“You know you can talk to me about anything, right?”

She doesn’t miss the parallel and throws him the same reclusive look he had given her on multiple occasions.

“That’s my line.”

There’s an irritating tension that fills the space, like the feeling you get when you can’t get past a certain level on a video game. It’s a little stifling, urging Riley to do whatever it takes to make it disappear.

“C’mon Riley, you’ve been off ever since, you know, the whole codex situation. At first, I thought, well, it was kind of traumatizing for everyone involved, but then you moved out and,” He trails off, and she can physically see him putting all the working components together, “Is it the apartment?”

God, she wished it was just the apartment. Sure, it plays a part in all her problems right now, but she knows that it’s more of what the empty apartment represents than the apartment itself.

Still, she’s glad he came to that conclusion. It’s easier to lie to him when it doesn’t pertain to the actual issue at hand.

“The apartment’s fine,” she says after a moment of hesitation.

“It’s the AC unit, isn’t it?” His lips compress shortly before he shakes his head, “I knew I should have looked at it.”

As he starts ranting about the condenser coils in her air conditioner and how easy it is for them to get dirty, Riley can’t help but let a soft laugh fall from her lips.

“Mac, it’s not my air conditioning.”

When he opens his mouth to respond, she holds her hand up to stop him. “It’s not my heater either, or my ceiling fan, or anything that might require your unique expertise.”

“But it has something to do with the apartment.”

The statement is blanketed in excitement as if he knows he’s getting closer to uncovering the truth. He’s always been so obsessed with knowledge and learning, never quite capable of letting things go and living in ignorance.

His eyes light up with child-like curiosity; it’s highly annoying and endearing at the same time.

She feels her self control loosening.

With Mac, she feels secure, like maybe she can put herself back together again. She could confess to a crime, and he wouldn’t look at her any differently.

That helplessness kicks back in, tearing her apart from the inside.

When he slows to a stop in front of her complex, she hasn’t answered him yet.

In the back of her mind, she’s a little proud of herself for only joking about his driving once in the ten minutes it took to get there.

She stares at the lobby entrance and can feel the soft flannel of his shirt, giving him a hug before she exits his truck. She can hear the sleepiness in her voice as she leans against the door and tells him goodnight. She can see herself walk through the double doors and not turning around.

She can see it so clearly, but she remains planted in the passenger seat.

Fear tangles itself in her shoulders, in her stomach, in her heart.

Not just because she dreads the idea of spending another night counting the minutes before her alarm goes off, but because she doesn’t want to leave with their friendship in this state.

She just wants everything to go back to normal, to get back some semblance of their old friendship before she knew how she felt.

Mac waits beside her, a patient and comforting presence.

“It’s just so quiet. Up there, it’s just me and my thoughts. They never cease or quiet down; it’s a constant loop. I try listening to music or watching TV, but I can never focus on any of it. Then, I start panicking because I don’t know if it’ll ever go away. There’s no comfort, no stability. I’m just… alone.”

With every word, a little of the weight falls from her shoulders.

It almost feels like she can breathe again.

“The only time I don’t feel like that is when I’m working,” she clenches her hands in her lap, “At Phoenix, I can get to any room in the dark with my eyes closed, and I’m constantly surrounded by people I’ve known for years. It feels… safe.”

Mac’s silent, reaching over to grasp one of her hands.

“You don’t feel safe here?” He encloses her left hand between his own and squeezes, the pressure and warmth spreading through her body like wildfire.

She meets his eyes, “Not in the way that matters.”

He turns the truck off, hopping out before Riley can say anything else. He walks around the hood of the car and pulls the passenger door open, “Come on.”

“What are you doing?”

He helped her out of the truck, “You trust me, right?”

More than he’ll ever know.

“You know I do.” She eyed him suspiciously as he opened one of the complex’s doors for her, following as she entered.

“From what I can recall, Bozer got you a Nintendo Switch for your birthday earlier this year. It’s been a while since I’ve had the pleasure of destroying you in Super Smash Bros.”

His voice was quiet, trying not to disturb the people trying to sleep.

“First of all, you’ve never destroyed me in Super Smash Bros, and you never will if you keep playing with Luigi,” She grinned, watching as he shook his head in disagreement, “And second of all, it’s two in the morning.”

He shrugged, “That’s never stopped us before.”

He wasn’t wrong, but things were different now.

Riley tried not to think about Desi, wrapped up in Mac’s bed, peacefully sleeping and blissfully unaware of this entire exchange.

Not that she had anything to worry about.

It didn’t matter anyway because clearly, Riley had issues with saying “no” to Angus Macgyver.

“Fine, but prepare to get your ass beaten.”

He grinned triumphantly, “That sounds like a challenge.”

She unlocked her apartment door, stepping into the dark and quiet entryway. She faltered a little bit, her heartbeat quickening with newfound anxiety.

As always, the apartment radiated energy that always put Riley out of place.

Mac closed the door behind him, helping himself to any food he could find in her fridge. There was an intimacy to it, a closeness that made the apartment much more bearable. Her shoulders dropped a little, the anxiety easing a little as she took a deep breath.

She busied herself in the living room, connecting the switch to her TV and grabbing a variety of different pillows and blankets.

It was, after all, a tradition for these types of events.

Mac joined her after a couple of minutes with two beers, “Your fridge is worse than mine.”

“Will you get it started,” Riley ignore his comment, handing him one of the controllers, “ I’m going to change.”

When she returned in a comfy ensemble of leggings and a sweatshirt, Mac was scrolling through the character list. She hopped the back of the couch to sit next to him, watching as he hovered over Luigi for what feels like an eternity.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Mac’s determined expression didn’t falter, “You’re just jealous of my skills.”

Those skills proved to be no match for Riley’s, though, after she managed to beat him in the first game. It became much more entertaining when she did it again in the second. She tried not to laugh, but it became nearly impossible with his onslaught of complaints.

“You’re such a cheater, you can’t do that!” He pressed down hard on the keys as if smashing them harder will make Luigi speed up.

Jokes on him, Luigi was the slowest character in the game.

Very slowly, her exhaustion began to creep up on her. She knew she was done for when Mac actually managed to beat her. He seemed just as surprised as she was, but he suggested switching to a movie anyway.

They ended up choosing a documentary, something that Mac had been interested in watching recently. Riley didn’t care what they watched, as long as she got to lay down.

Mac placed a pillow in his lap and tapped it gently.

“So, was this your plan,” She comfortably adjusted her body, so her neck wasn’t in an awkward position propped up on the pillow.

In front of them, a monotone voice explained the phenomena surrounding the universe.

“Homo Sapiens are social creatures; we need people to survive,” Riley could feel Mac’s fingers coursing through her waves, creating a soothing pattern that calmed any remaining tension in her body.

“You feel comfortable at Phoenix, sitting around the fire pit at my house, or spending time with the team at the arcade because we’re there. It’s okay to need us, Riles, because trust me, we need you, too.”

Mac’s words barely resonate with her, and she hummed noncommittally in response.

His fingers gently combed through the tangles at the nape of her neck, “I don’t think we build homes in material things like houses or apartments, but rather, in the people we surround ourselves with.”

Laying there, with her head on his lap and his fingers in her hair, Riley could only think one thing:

He couldn’t be more right.

#macriley #macgyver #Angus MacGyver #riley davis #just cute things #hope you enjoy!!

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auncyen · 3 years ago

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Ok ok so I'd been idly thinking about updating "Chats with Joker in Mementos" for Royal for a while, except as far as I know there aren't any transcriptions for the Royal Mementos chats like there is for Vanilla...

So...after some questionable use of my time, I now have a list of a good chunk of the starters in Royal. Only starters, not responses, since the point of the fic is having Joker be the one to respond, and I didn't transcribe ones I didn't think would be interesting for him to respond to, but still, if anyone does ever look to do a complete transcription, this might be helpful as a start? Or just interesting if you want to see what some characters talk about. Spoilers for third semester below cut.

Ryuji: Man, we really bust our asses to get stronger in here. I wish it meant we got stronger in the real world too.

Ryuji: Man, I had this horrible dream last night… Can’t remember a thing about it, though.

Ryuji: Ya know what? I guess Mona does have a mask, technically.

Ryuji: Yo, the way he jumps behind Shadows is so sick!

Ryuji: Yo, is it just me, or is fallin’ asleep getting tougher every night? At this point, I’m outta ideas of what to do.

Ryuji: Kinda fiendin’ for some ramen right about now… Maybe I’ll hit up Ogikubo when we get back.

RyujI: So lately, I’ve been tryin’ to work some training into my nightly routine before bed.

Ryuji: Hey, is it just me, or is Morgana’s sword basically the same size as Joker’s knife?

Ryuji: My mom made gyudon last night! My fave! Now I’ve got, like, fifty times more energy than usual!

Ryuji: This phantom thief stuff feels real as hell whenever he’s flyin’ around with that grappling hook.

Ryuji: Dude, that grappling hook is awesome! He looks like a freakin’ superhero with that thing!

Ryuji: Aww man, I just can’t get enough of those Akihabara maids…

Ryuji: Aren’t knives kinda hard to use ‘cause of their shortness? I definitely prefer my own shit.

Ryuji: I always thought darts looked easy—just aim for the board, y’know? But, it’s waaay harder than that.

Ryuji: Every try the monja in Tsukishima? That stuff is LEGIT.

Ryuji: Yo, does this outfit really make me look like I’m part of some biker gang?

Morgana: Listen, it’s not that I look like a cat. Cats just happen to look like me.

Morgana: I repeat: I am not a cat. To prove it, I took an actual bath yesterday.

Morgana: So, cats love to chase mice, right? I don’t get it—where’s the fun in that?

Morgana: I’m always so entranced by Panther’s whip technique!

Morgana: Panther, we have matching tails!

Morgana: You know, I’ve never actually been in a car before. Is it anything like I am now?

Morgana: I definitely made the right decision giving him the code name “Joker.”

Morgana: I’m willing to bet Joker’s skilled enough to use throwing knives.

Morgana: Anime, books, movies… Phantom thieves sure are popular.

Morgana: Last night I dreamt that Phantom Thieves were kicking some serious butt—let’s bring that dream to life!

Morgana: I can teach you everything you need to know about being a phantom thief. Relax—you’re in good hands!

Morgana: *yawn* I didn’t get enough sleep…

Morgana: I couldn’t fall asleep at all last night. I just laid there with my eyes open…

Morgana: I like Yongen-Jaya; it’s a great place for a stroll.

Morgana: Is Shujin Academy the only thing in Aoyama?

Morgana: I was vegetating in front of the TV last night, and I have to say, there are some pretty decent shows on now.

Ann: The bakery had a sale yesterday and I ended up buying everything they had!

Ann: The Ferris wheel is a must for me at theme parks, every time. I love being able to just relax.

Ann: I have an upcoming shoot at a theme park, but what sucks is how I can’t go on any of the rides.

Ann: Last night I dreamt I was eating a chocolate bar, then all of a sudden, it got mad and started chasing me!

Ann: Every once in a while I have a dream where I get chased by a Shadow…

Ann: I’ve been sleeping really well since I started getting all this exercise.

Ann: I was up late watching TV last night, so I might be a little sleep deprived…

Ann: I tend to do my clothes shopping in Kichijoji—it’s fun looking through all the resale shops.

Ann: I hate when people ask me to say stuff in English just ‘cause I lived overseas.

Ann: It always bothers me when foreign movie subtitles leave stuff out or take too many liberties.

Ann: I was talking to my overseas friend the other day—her straightforward attitude was really refreshing!

Ann: I was talking to Shiho on the phone and before I knew it, three whole hours had passed!

Ann: Joker seems like he’d make a good cook, doesn’t he? I mean, he’s great with his knife and all…

Ann: It’s actually quite exhilarating to attack with a whip. I wonder why that is…

Ann: Whenever my foreign relatives come to Japan, they always rave about how much they love Japanese food!

Ann: Do you think there’s anything I can do about my outfit? I feel like I stand out too much in this…

Ann: Is there a difference between a whip and a grappling hook?

Ann: Ya know, Skull’s always been into skull designs and stuff.

Ann: Wouldn’t a grappling hook be awfully handy in the real world?

Yusuke: I wish to paint the world as only I see it. The best way to succeed at this is through practice.

Yusuke: It’s fun to walk around and inspect different temples and shrines. The architecture is always impressive.

Yusuke: If Shadows are sentient, do you think their being moved by a painting would invoke a change of heart?

Yusuke: There have been times where I was compelled to create three-dimensional art.

Yusuke: I’m quite curious about Mona’s Western-style sword…

Yusuke: I hear whips are quite difficult to use. Where did you learn how to wield one?

Yusuke: Joker using a grappling hook…. That would make for a picture-perfect composition.

Yusuke: Mona, what exactly do you have in those pouches?

Yusuke: Creating a piece of art is pointless unless I can convey the full essence of the subject.

Yusuke: Art museums stimulate my creativity like no other place—I wish I could live inside one.

Yusuke: Skull and I both use long melee weapons, but they’re total opposites of one another.

Yusuke: Why does my outfit have a tail? I don’t understand…

Yusuke: I considered growing my own bean sprouts, but it seems to be more expensive than buying them grown.

Yusuke: I once had a dream that I washed up on a deserted island. I painted as much as I pleased… So wonderful.

Yusuke: I may specialize in Japanese-style painting, but I’d like to learn some Western techniques as well.

Yusuke: That grappling hook is very useful. I should find a way to utilize one in my daily life.

Yusuke: The other day, I went into the mountains to gather vegetables so I could cut back on food expenses.

Yusuke: I tried to paint a landscape of the starry sky once, but it’s quite difficult to do so from within the city.

Yusuke: India ink isn’t my specialty, but I’ve been experimenting with it in some recent work, just for fun.

Makoto: I may have stopped being a doormat for adults, but people are still calling me a “teacher’s pet.”

Makoto: A phantom thief’s body is their most vital asset. We need to make sure we eat balanced, nutritious meals.

Makoto: Do you enjoy visiting theme parks? I’ve rarely been to one myself.

Makoto: Fox looks cooler using his katana than I had originally imagined.

Makoto: I had the weirdest dream… I was at school, but I was wearing my phantom thief outfit.

Makoto: Would anyone care to learn how to drive, while we’re here? This place seems as good as any for practice.

Makoto: I know it’s not very healthy, but I do enjoy eating ramen from time to time.

Makoto: Once I’ve graduated, I’m going to buy a motorcycle and go on a road trip.

Makoto: I’ve been working on my grades because I still want to attend college, despite being a phantom thief.

Makoto: I want to read a certain book, but it’s out of print. Where do you suppose I could find a copy?

Makoto: Maybe I’m just burned out, but waking up has grown awfully difficult lately.

Makoto: The grappling hook’s cable seems pretty strong, but it’s scary to think what could happen if it snapped.

Makoto: Once my sister brought home some sushi for me. It was indescribably good…

Futaba: I heard rhythm’s an important part of fighting, sooo… I started playing a rhythm game!

Futaba: There’s going to be an event tonight in the MMO I play. I can’t wait!

Futaba: This MMO I’m hooked on is really cool. Do you wanna play with me? Oh—it’s in English, though.

Futaba: I’m about to beat the game I’ve been playing. Wonder what I should play next?

Futaba: I’ve been going outside a lot more, so now I’m sleeping way better than I did when I was a shut-in.

Futaba: Guess what? I’m making a game called “Hungry Hungry Mona”!

Futaba: You know who’s a really good driver, is Sojiro. He can parallel park with his eyes closed!

Futaba: If you could shoot grappling hooks from your hands, you’d probably be able to get around just using those!

Futaba: Ya know, I’ve thought about workin’ out and fighting alongside you guys.

Futaba: You guys should try playing shooters! It could help you improve your gun skills.

Futaba: Last night I had a dream my hard drive failed… That was scary.

Futaba: Wouldn’t it be cool if you could mod the grappling hook so it was electrified?

Futaba: Sure, the internet’s convenient, but it’s not like it can do everything. Don’t overestimate its capabilities.

Futaba: I wonder if I’d be okay going to some place by myself if it wasn’t crowded. Inokashira Park seems nice.

Futaba: Yesterday Sojiro bought me my favorite instant yakisoba!

Futaba: Maybe I should get a gun too, just for self-defense… Nah, my hands need to be empty.

Haru: I found this cafe in Kichioji with phenomenal tea—would you care to try it sometime?

Haru: I ordered kusaya but they refused to make it—they said they couldn’t get the smell out of the kitchen.

Haru: I feel like I need to learn more about the world, but I’m not sure how to best go about it.

Haru: Recently, I’ve been finding rare delicacies rather enticing…

Haru: Even lately, I sometimes dream about doing phantom thief things with Mona.

Haru: If you’re having trouble getting yourself to relax, I recommend herbal tea.

Haru: Asakusa is a wonderful area—I love how it’s this blend of the old and the new.

Haru: Ever since I started high school I’ve been taking the train in the morning, but I’m still not used to it…

Haru: Queen, your mask looks like it’s made of iron. Doesn’t it get heavy?

Haru: Joker’s so acrobatic! He’s really got the hang of that grappling hook.

Haru: I don’t think I’ve gotten this much exercise since I was in ballet.

Haru: Let me know if you ever get a tear in your clothing—I’m good at sewing, so I could most likely fix it.

Haru: I dreamt that the vegetables I’d been growing all died… I was so sad.

Haru: Your weapon seems fun, Skull. Do you want to swap sometime?

Haru: Sometimes it’s impossible for me to fall asleep on days that we’ve been to Palaces, no matter how tired I am.

Haru: You know, before this, I’d never considered using an axe for anything other than chopping firewood…

Haru: My hands have gotten all calloused… I supposed it comes with the territory in gardening.

Akechi: I have no intention of changing my stance on matters, no matter what anyone may say.

Akechi: Pancakes... I don’t want to hear that word again for a long, long time.

Akechi: We don’t have much time left. Please do what you can to avoid getting sick.

Akechi: The enemies are stronger than ever. Don’t let your guard down.

Akechi: A world that panders to your every whim is so mundane. Where’s the thrill if there’s no competition?

Akechi: Do you prefer my previous outfit or this one? Moving around’s become much easier for me.

Akechi: This place is immense. If there weren’t train tracks everywhere, I’d bring my bike here.

Akechi: We’re working under the constraints of a time limit, so I’d appreciate it if you could be more efficient.

Akechi: If you’re looking for a way to train both your mind and your body, I highly recommend bouldering.

Akechi: You think I’m frightening when I fight? Well, I’m afraid you’re just going to have to accept it.

Akechi: I meant to tell you, regarding Shido… Thank you for keeping your promise.

Akechi: You may not like working with me, but I’m counting on your assistance until our goal is achieved.

Akechi: When we’re riding in the car like this, it’s easy to forget that we’re actually inside Mona.

Akechi: The Shadows here behave differently from the ones in the Palaces, don’t they?

Akechi: I’m getting a bit hungry. I should’ve eaten beforehand.

Akechi: I enjoy spending time in Kichijoji. It’s not very big, but there are plenty of trendy shops.

Akechi: Riding in the car may beat walking, but it doesn’t stop my legs from growing stiff and sore…

Sumire: I have a few different superstitions for good luck in my routines… They get sort of hard to drop.

Sumire: It was already hard for me to believe Palaces existed, but to think there’s such a massive one under Shibuya…

Sumire: It’s a bit cramped in here with this many people…

Sumire: I get stiff all over from just sitting in the car.

Sumire: Why is the one desert you get to eat during the week so delicious?

Sumire: A phantom thief outfit represents a person’s image of their rebellion, right?

Sumire: I wonder if I should try incorporating another sport into my gymnastics training.

Sumire: I wonder what I could use as inspiration for my performances…

Sumire: Swords are actually pretty hard to wield.

Sumire: Whenever I travel, I always end up buying some sort of good luck charm.

Sumire: Your outfits are all so unique. I can see coordinating them wasn’t a priority.

Sumire: This time of year, a heating pad’s an absolute must for keeping warm.

Sumire: Sometimes people will just walk up to me and ask me to show them a standing split.

Sumire: I’m in top shape today! Let’s keep going.

Sumire: Do you all stretch beforehand? You could pull a muscle if you don’t.

Sumire: It’s too bad gymnastics competitions aren’t on TV more often.

Sumire: Fighting makes for a pretty good workout, doesn’t it?

while I didn't transcribe responses, I did notice something a bit disappointing: neither Sumire nor Akechi seemed to have responses for anyone else. It's possible I missed one?? But not being able to remember any, they must not have many if they do have some. A bit odd.

#persona 5 #p5r #p5r spoilers #to pick from later

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gumnut-logic · 4 years ago

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Minerva (Bit 1)

Okay, this fic is an attempt to get my mojo back. Every time I go on holiday it gets sideswiped. Being sick definitely did not help, though admittedly coughing all night last night may have made me my usual sleep deprived self, so who knows, it might have helped :D

But anyway, This fic is Kermadec because I needed a boat :D It also required a little research - Minerva Reef is a pair of actual atolls not far from Tracy Island. I’m not sure of the distance so I fluffed it.

Andre and Cecil are a pair of private nurses first mentioned in Gentle Rain. I like to recycle my OCs but I haven’t read that story in ages. Here’s hoping I’ve kept them true to form. They haven’t been sketched out in this much detail before, in any case.

There is fluff. I broke Virg again, oops, but there is resultant fluff. I’m sick, I can’t help myself.

Many thanks to @scribbles97 and @vegetacide for the read throughs and support. I haven’t forgotten about The Tattoo, I just needed a little self indulgence first.

This bit is mainly set up and I hope to write more asap. 1726 words.

I hope you enjoy it.

-o-o-o-

Two broken legs.

If there was anything worse than a broken limb, it was more than one and two broken legs was the worst.

Or two broken arms. He wasn’t sure as he hadn’t managed to break two arms as yet. But two broken legs definitely sucked.

Of course, it was worth it. Saving children was always worth it. But weeks of confinement, of being unable to do anything for himself, was about to send him around the bend, out the window and into the Pacific.

His brothers did their best and both Andre and Cecil, the family nursing staff - yes, they had enough injuries on enough of a regular basis to have nursing staff on their payroll - had been called in on this one to cart him back and forth across the house, see to his necessaries, and pretty much do his bidding.

Which was fine, since he and Andre got on like a house on fire. The man spoke both paint and piano almost as much as Virgil and there had been fun times, despite his infirmities.

Cecil was a Gordon clone and those two got up to much more mischief than was really acceptable for an employee. But since Gordon usually took all the credit, even the time Scott had his eyebrows shaved, they got away with hell.

Besides, Scott’s eyebrows had been partly burnt off already and had looked stupid, so shaving them both off was an improvement that had to be done. How Gordon had managed it, Virgil didn’t have a clue...and also didn’t want to think too hard about it because it gave his rapscallion little brother powers that he really shouldn’t have.

Cecil played it straight and the Tracys put up with it. Because despite Cecil’s idiosyncrasies, the two nurses were very, very good at their jobs.

That and they came as a pair because Andre and Cecil were married.

So, other than expanding Gordon’s power of pranking, things were good. Well, as good as they could be while he had two broken legs.

But there were days.

God, were there days.

Days, so many days, and today was one of them.

Scott had been called out early in the morning and consequently everyone was up. Alan was called next and he and Kayo were out dealing with yet another space freighter collision. Scott was going to kick some space agency ass about updating some space etiquette rules in the near future to stop this stupidity from happening, and considering how much profanity was bouncing down from orbit, both John and Alan would be there to back him up.

So three brothers were out, leaving Virgil imprisoned with Gordon, Andre, Cecil and Grandma. This combination wouldn’t normally be an issue, but Grandma was cooking up a storm and Virgil was trapped.

Gordon may be a pain at times, but he saw the hazard coming and he was a good brother at heart. So, with some assistance from Andre and Cecil, the Fish deployed his yacht, A Little Lightning, and suddenly the day seemed so much brighter.

Virgil was ensconced in pillows and the best of comfort on the back deck and had the privilege of watching Mateo pass on their starboard side as Gordon guided the yacht out into the open ocean.

Why he seemed to always be injured when aboard this boat, he had no idea, but Gordon was a life saver.

Virgil had no idea where his brother might be taking him and he didn’t really care. He just lay back and enjoyed a beautiful day, the breeze, the many sounds of water and the gentle bounce of the boat.

At some point he dozed off.

It had to be a sign of how much healing his body needed, but somehow he managed to sleep the entire trip, because it was the sudden change in the engine noise that woke him.

Andre was smiling at him in that soft caring way he had about him. Dark hair, blue eyes and a soft smile, the nurse was somewhat reminiscent of his big brother, but without the fire and the drive. The man was quiet and reassuring, exactly what was needed when ill or injured.

“It looks like you needed that.”

Virgil grunted, never a fan of waking up.

But Andre knew this and had exactly what the injured engineer needed - a mug of steaming coffee.

Virgil forced the last few steps to full consciousness, and, pushing himself up, made a grab for the mug.

The mug moved away. “Uh-uh, stretch first.”

Shit.

It was a thing Andre made him do every time he woke. Before coffee, he had to stretch abused muscles that were forced to sleep in awkward positions due to his legs.

Virgil mumbled and grumbled, but did as he was bid. He knew how important the exercises were, but the lure of coffee was just cruel. He vaguely noted the yacht’s engine dropping to a slow cruise and the open ocean having just that touch more sway, rolling the yacht in the swell.

“Where are we?”

“Cecil says we’re visiting Minerva.”

“Oh.” Virgil blinked. He’d flown over the Minerva Reefs many, many times. They were a navigation marker not that far from Tracy Island. Though they were far enough away for him to have been asleep for some time. “How long was I out?”

That smile again. “Several hours. Did you good.” The nurse had placed the coffee on a side table and was helping Virgil sit up straight enough to consume the taunting liquid from heaven.

A breathless moment and the mug was in his hands and coffee was pouring down his throat. God, Andre made great coffee. Yet another reason to put up with his husband.

He surfaced at some point and managed a thank you that set the nurse grinning just as a coral reef started to drift past.

Virgil didn’t know much about the Minerva Reefs other than Melissa Fisher on Raoul swore about them..alot.

They were on the very edge of the Kermadec Ocean Sanctuary and she had wanted to add them to the exclusion zone for a very long time. But the reefs were owned by Tonga or Fiji, depending on which country you spoke to and the environment continued to suffer from it.

He vaguely remembered Gordon saying something about visiting the reefs in Four on several occasions and Virgil had no doubt that he and Melissa were likely doing some kind of sneaky ecological monitoring or some such. After all, the reefs were rather close to Tracy Island and Gordon rather passionate about such things.

As A Little Lightning cruised between two reef headlands, Virgil surmised they were at the northern of the two atolls.

As Virgil guzzled the last of his coffee, the yacht came to a complete halt in the lee of one of the headlands - if you could call it that, the reef barely made it above the water line. He heard the sea anchor deployed and there was suddenly silence except for the crashing of waves against coral and sand and the breeze.

Virgil closed his eyes and soaked it in.

The empty mug was tugged gently from his hand and he vaguely registered a plate being placed on the table beside him. “Cecil made pie.”

That snapped him out of it. “Pie?” The prankster could cook and he was suddenly assaulted with a delicious aroma.

“Steak and bacon, topped with mashed potato and cheese.” The plate had a generous serving along with salad piled up beside it. Andre was grinning at his expression. “He’s mine, you can’t have him.”

Virgil had to grin. “Well, at least I know one of the reasons why you nabbed him.”

Andre’s grin softened, but it was still a grin. “In the top five.” A hand landed on Virgil’s shoulder. “Eat up, you’ll need it for this afternoon’s workout.”

That deflated him a little.

The nurse noted what must have been in his expression. “Okay, perhaps it can be a brief session today.” A shrug. “After all, an atoll is hardly a swimming pool.”

“Virg trying to con you out of rehab?” Gordon bounced onto the deck, a grin on his face and that look of absolute relaxation the man got whenever he was out on the water.

“‘S not rehab.” So Virgil was pouting and acting like a child. “It’s maintenance.” Of what still worked, until the casts came off and then the hell would really start.

“Don’t let those baby browns lure you from the path of righteousness, Andre.”

“What? Like you attempted last time?” The nurse was grinning at the aquanaut.

That brought Gordon up short.

“I have to say that your eyes are a lighter brown, not quite the same colour, but the manoeuvring is almost identical.”

“What?” It was a two Tracy chorus shot at Andre with two brows, one dark, one light, shooting daggers at the nurse.

Andre just laughed and turned back to Virgil. “You going to eat your pie?”

The nurse’s blue eyes did some manoeuvring of their own and Virgil found himself snatching up the plate and hovering over it to protect his slice of pie.

Cecil chose that moment to appear. As usual, there was never a laugh far behind him as he was wearing a bright pink chef’s cap canted at an angle. But it was the two plates of pie in his hands that drew the attention of the other two men on deck.

Gordon didn’t hesitate, grabbing his plate and shovelling pie down his throat with barely a thank you. Virgil growled in his direction.

“What? It’s good pie. Cecil knows I appreciate him, don’t you, Cecil?”

But the cook was accepting a gentle kiss from his husband as the man took his plate, his other hand drifting from Cecil’s shoulder, down to the small of his back in a gesture simple but intimate enough for Virgil to turn away to give them privacy.

His eyes landed on Gordon, who’s face had an odd expression as he looked back at Virgil, as if he knew something that Virgil didn’t.

Virgil glared at him.

It, no doubt, had something to do with Kay. He would slap his little bro about the head later.

In the meantime...”So, what are we doing here?”

-o-o-o-

Bit 2

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds fanfiction #thunderbirds #Virgil Tracy #Gordon Tracy #Kermadec AU #minerva reef

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pergaias · 4 years ago

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soon we’ll be home ; pt. i

umm here i am with more writing ?

here’s a short story i wrote based off of almost home by mxmtoon, innocent by taylor swift, and never grow up by taylor swift ; um, i personally adore it - maybe i’m just biased, but i love the emotions and descriptions in this :))

i hope you love it as much as i do !

word count ; 2470

When I was eleven years old, all I wanted to do was grow up.

They told me that I wouldn’t want to - being a child is … it’s the time of your life, Mama promised. She wore spicy-sweet citrus-blossom perfume and always-smudged eyeglasses that hung on long beaded strings. Mama was glittering smiles and woolen cardigans and a tired, sad sort of energy, like coffee that had been left to go cold.

Mama made a lot of empty promises.

And because of it, all I wanted was to grow. To me, growing up meant laughing with friends, going to bed past midnight, driving in a bright-red sedan - eleven-year-old me had an extensive vocabulary, even if I didn’t know how to properly apply it - kissing boys and wearing dresses and lipstick. Things that I couldn’t have back then. Things that I thought were only attainable if I was grown.

Why - why did I want it?

The coffee shop was filled with a droning buzz, the hum of university students up too late with too much caffeine in their systems. There was nobody coming to place orders, so I was leaning on my elbow on the bar, the smell of coffee and caramel syrup thick in my nostrils. No shouts of Emmie! As my friends - if they could be called that - barged in, eyes bright, cheeks flushed, scarves caught with snow.

Growing up had hurt. The realization that I wasn’t a child, that there was no place of retreat that I could go back to, that no one would comfort me or stroke my hair or hold me as I cried myself to sleep. It was easier in my lunch box days - when I believed in everything.

And everybody believed in me.

There was a tinkling, and the coffee shop doors open. My eyes snapped wide, and a group of people sauntered to the counter, coats dusted with snow and cheeks high with color from the cold. Strangers in red and green and gold, stories in their own rights.

I wondered what they were waiting for - it was obviously something more than a hot cup of coffee on a late, snowy night.

A mocha for the girl, extra whip. Green tea for another girl, who was picking at her chipping gel nails. Americanos for the two boys who were holding hands. A peppermint special - sorry, love, pumpkin spice is still on the menu. Oh, yes, I’ll take that.

My hands shook as I wrote names and orders onto cardboard coffee cups, the scent of tea and coffee and spices almost overwhelming for a moment. Growing up was like Mama’s candied orange peels, mostly bitter but sweet if you looked for it.

And I - well, I was too tired to look for it.

Vega was in the back, her colorful highlights barely visible under a black knit cap. Vega had a septum piercing, a tattoo, and a girlfriend at home. She was the kind of person Mama - and Papa, for that matter - would have told me to stray away from on the street, but the kind of person I secretly admired nonetheless.

Curvy, brunette Emerson Quinn-Whitley, the girl with the fake friends and shattered dreams and eyes the color of the coffee she made for minimum wage on a late shift, admiring an almost-delicate petite girl who did what she wanted when she wanted it, a girl with dyed hair and emotionless, luminous fox’s eyes, lips stained red with the blood of her conquests.

I shook the thought away. Vega was nice enough - Asian American, scholarship, hard worker, girlfriend at home, etcetera etcetera. I handed her the orders and leaned on my elbow again, my backpack full of shattered dreams, sleepless nights, and the sexy promise of an all-nighter.

Vega filled the orders, her thinly-plucked brows pressed tightly together in concentration as she drizzled something onto another something. The thought of why why why why why nagged me almost as much as the homework did. Why did I want to grow up? Why did I?

Because you were impatient, a sour part of my conscience nagged. Because you hated the rules your mother imposed on you, reminded another. Because you were waiting for Neverland, a different part sighed. A wistful picture painted behind my eyelids of a castle waiting for me to be queen, which slipped away like a tear down a cheek.

They didn’t tell you that all the love you give might not be enough. Was it when I had that epiphany that I grew up? A thousand possible moments, snapshots, memories, tinted dark like Polaroid photos.

The chatter in the room crescendoed as Vega finished with the group’s drinks, her usually brooding expression firmly in place as she pressed a pumpkin-spice-not-peppermint-mocha into a girl’s mittened hands and shooed her out the door.

Bad vibes, Vega mouthed at me, hazel eyes twinkling. Vega liked witchy things - crystals, detox tea, chunky jewelry and drapey black dresses. Vega had personality - you could see it on the rings on her hands, the swoop of her black, color-streaked bangs, the hand-painted night sky on her bookbag.

I tapped my fingers against the counter, counting minutes - seconds - until . . . what? Would a prince drop waltz through the glass door and offer me his hand? Would a fleet of owls - no, crows - no, how about peacocks, those sound cool - appear out of nowhere with summons for me, the lost heir, who had family and promise and a story, far far away?

If I wanted to grow up, this wasn’t it. I didn’t want to sit on a high stool behind a cash register, the smell of burnt coffee pressing in on me, the insufferable buzz of students doing homework droning on over the music playing slow and low in the background?

Our other employee, an unpleasant dudebro who went by Albie - his name, I had discovered, was Alberto de la Cruz the fourteenth or something - had chosen today’s coffee shop playlist. I had no idea who he was trying to drive mad first with the rapping; Vega and I, who bitched about his taste in everything from music to cars to girls - and one time, interestingly, tomato sauce, or our customers. They came here for cool beans and caffeine and classic rock or indie music, not Billboard’s Top 100 Rap Failures.

“Almost closing time,” Vega remarked, idly brushing an eyelash off of her cheekbone. She was tired - I could see it in the hunch of her shoulder and the tone of her already-husky voice.

I turned away from her as my head rushed to make excuses as to why I noticed that. Vega is dark chocolate and spellbooks, old bookstores and flickering chandeliers.

“Yeah,” I said, my voice as droning as it was tired. “If coffee could power me the way it powered them -” I gestured to the students starting to slowly pack up their laptops and notes, their hours of free wifi, heat, and shitty music coming to an end, “I would have foreseen sleep in my near future.”

Vega cackled. She didn’t have a laugh - she cackled, wheezed, snorted. It was equal parts entertaining and annoying, especially when you were working with scalding-hot espresso and your coworker started honking like a demented goose next to you.

“That was a good one, Quinn-Whitley,” she barked, a gleam in her eyes. She was emotionless when she made coffee, and only talked to me around closing time and during lunch. I liked to think that I was the only one who got to see this side of her - probably high, very very gay, and incredibly enthralling. Vega was a story that I wanted to read.

I half smiled, preemptively untying my coffee shop apron and haphazardly hanging it on a hook. As much as I disliked working at the coffee shop - which had, ironically, been a vaguely romantic, soft sort of fantasy when I was younger - it was comforting, in a way. Comforting in the way the smell of coffee brought you back to when you were nine and your mother had a mug curled in her hands, staring out the window as rain pattered on its panes.

The last of the coffee shop’s patrons gloomily filed out, coats turned up to block out the wind, and Vega and I silently closed up, making coffees for each other, muttering don’t tell Carney - Carney was the shop owner - pressing day-old muffins into each other’s hands, Vega rolling her eyes as I hastily stuffed another bite of pastry into my mouth.

Leaving the coffee shop was routine. I’d scuff my boots along the lightly-snowed-over pavement, Vega would put her headphones on and tune out the world, and I’d drag her out of the way if she veered into some poor unsuspecting soul’s way.

“Vega!” I exclaimed, dragging her across the street. Her eyes were closed, her dark-red lips moving along with the song, completely blissed out. Or maybe she was just that sleep deprived.

Vega and I had the same student housing building, but other than that, I knew nothing about her - not really, but I wasn’t a stalker-watcher-psychopath or anything - yet Vega wasn’t heading to the gothy, romantic brick building. I described too many things as ‘romantic’ nowadays.

Growing up had been romantic, too - the idea of being on my own, making my own decisions, getting taller and more voluptuous, as if my flat-chested boyishness of sixth grade was the root of all my problems. ( Spoiler alert, Younger Emmie - they weren’t. )

“Vega,” I said again, pulling at her coat sleeve. Her eyes were half-closed, her headphones firmly over her ears. I was getting exasperated - every night as we walked back, she zoned the world out. It was admirable - I was paranoid and hyperaware of everything around me, the opposite of slim, petite Vega in every way.

But she opened one of her luminous hazel eyes, lashes dark against her cheeks, and beckoned me forward. Towards the river.

“Come on, Emerson!” she laughed, and I was stunned. Vega Zhao was dark chocolate and mysterious smiles, dark loose dresses and the fringe of a woolen scarf. She didn’t laugh or smile wide or drag me down an icy street to an equally icy river.

“Vega - what?” I said weakly, still holding onto the sleeve of her crowlike coat. She rolled her eyes. Beckoned me again. Didn’t take her headphones off.

She had always been strange - the brooding, emotionless expression. The personality in her clothes and makeup and hair, but not in her unless we were on break. Vega was a mystery, a novel that was still being read.

And I think I had gotten to the plot twist.

She carefully clambered over the low stone wall over to the rocks that made up the riverbank, me a few moments behind her like a beanie-bedecked, anxious shadow. It was late, I was tired, my homework a constant thought in the back of my mind.

Vega was taking her dark coat off now, revealing an equally dark shift dress over a short-sleeved white shirt. She slid her headphones off now, stuffed them into the coat pocket, reached for my hand. “Come on, Quinn-Whitley!” she repeated, as if she were inviting me to a bakery - or better, an alternate universe where my essays were already written - and not to an icy river.

“Vega,” I said hesitantly, trying not to blush as she took my hand. “What - what’s going on?”

Vega’s eyes only glowed, luminous hazel, like the harvest moon at its peak.

“You don’t believe in fairy tales, do you, Emerson Quinn-Whitley?” she said, her husky voice taking on a strangely melodic quality.

“What did fairy tales do for me in the end?” I snapped, my voice surprisingly sharp. There was bitterness behind that statement, so much that my tongue could almost taste it. My once-golden dreams crumbling away when Mama left, when Papa’s hand made a claw on my shoulder. When nights reading in bed dissolved into studying in tears, screaming into my textbooks because I wasn’t good enough.

Vega’s eyes darkened, almost sadly. And then she waved her hand over the ice-frozen river and stepped in. Winked at me, held out her slender hand invitingly, and disappeared.

“VEGA!” I screamed, reaching out. But it was like she was there and gone, like she’d slipped away in a moment in time. Somehow, between blinks or heartbeats or breaths, she simply vanished.

The water still glowed where she stepped in, gold and amber and almost warm. Emerson, Emerson, Emmie! it seemed to call. My mother’s voice on the day of the first frost, Emmie, I can smell the pumpkin spice in the air! My father’s gruff baritone, grudgingly admitting Emerson, you - you did well.

And then Vega. Quinn-Whitley. Step in the goddamn portal. Live a little, Emerson.

I stepped back from the shimmering water, fear holding me back and fatigue making me question everything in front of me.

Do you believe in magic?

You don’t believe in fairytales, do you?

Soon we’ll be home, Emmie. Soon we’ll be home.

A cacophony of voices. Everyone I had ever loved, gone. All gone. Were they ghosts? Was this river a swirling cumulation of every broken dream, every shattered hope, every happy memory that faded in time like the fading of bright autumn leaves?

Soon we’ll be home.

But where was home, my home? I was Emerson Quinn-Whitley with the divorced parents, the mother who was glittering smiles and woolen cardigans and coffee left to go cold, the father who was the smell of brandy and ice-chip eyes and bear hugs that filled you up like hot cocoa. I lived at a gothic-romantic dorm with three roommates and a mountain of homework. Where was home?

I didn’t know that growing up would come and meet me. Wishing on a star, waiting for a glorious daydream to take me away into its world of glittering gowns and sequinned smiles, a world where all my worries melted away.

I crept closer to the patch of water where Vega vanished, and first it was like a mirror - my round face with its worried eyes and smattering of freckles - and then like a birds-eye view of some other place. Vega in her white shirt and black dress, trees with leaves the color of pumpkin and spice.

Behind me, a group of drunken strangers passed the river, wearing red and green and gold. I wondered what they were waiting for - a shooting star, a cab driver to take them away?

What was I waiting for? I liked to think that I’d grown away from the fairy tales that I had lived by when I was a child. But maybe everyone had to be a child sometimes.

I took a deep breath, briefly closed my eyes, and stepped in.

Soon we’ll be home.

#cece writes #soon we'll be home #short story #writing #sorta a songfic ?#please don't let this flop i love this one

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itsmyblogandillreblogifiwantto · 4 years ago

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Jealousy... Part 4

A/N: Hi everyone, the fourth part to Jealousy for you all! Two fics in one week, aren’t you all lucky? ;) This one is a little shorter than the others because I’m a bitch and want to keep you all on the edge for part 5, which will be much longer!

Triggers: Swearing, smoking, blood, graphic case details

You smile at Spencer, kiss his cheek quickly and then go back to looking at the screen.

“Where’s my car?” Toby asks, “Why the radio silence?”

“God, chill bro. You sound like Y/N.” Myers laughed

“What have you been doing with my car?” Toby probed

“Driving it, duh.” Myers shrugged, “Picking up women. The usual.

“Come on…” You whisper to yourself.

“Toby, try and ask him what women?” Spencer says into the microphone.

“Women like we used to when we first got a car? Or other women, of the night?” Toby winked

“Women of the women gender. Why all the questions little bro?” Myers asked, “Do you want your car back?” He asked with a slightly raised voice

“Yeah. I do but I wanted to know why you wanted it two weeks.” Toby said

“I’ll show you but keep it quiet.” Myers whispered

“Yeah, I don’t see anyone.” Toby said as they walked down the alley, you updated the team of where to move to.

“Stand-by, he could have another woman.” You warn the team

Toby and Myers chat, and as you predicted, he had another woman in there, who had the same features as you.

“Pretty right?” Myers smiled as the girl was tied up. “Want to get in on the fun little bro?”

“Fun?” Toby asked playing along

Myers showed his weapon and handed it to Toby. “Shoot her.”

“MOVE MOVE MOVE.” You shout and everyone goes in and gets Myers.

“Myers, you’re under arrest for the kidnapping of this lady and the murders of 20 other women.” You say putting him in cuffs, very tightly.

Myers winces, “Ah what the fuck?! Toby?!” He says as you put him in the car. “Nice work.” You say to Toby and put Myers in the police car

Back at the station, Myers is put in a cell whilst a detective works with Toby on some of his charges on his file.

“Nice work today Y/N.” Hotch said to you

“It’s not over yet. I still have to interview him.” You say, full of adrenaline

“You sure you want to do that kiddo?” Rossi asks you

“Yeah. Can I request that one of you is in the room with me though?” You ask

“Of course.” Hotch said

“Me?” Spencer asked

“Pretty boy, he could damage your pretty face and I’m not having that. I’ll go in with you Y/N.” Derek said as Spencer nods and watches from behind the glass.

“You sure you and Spence didn’t have a thing going on before I started at the FBI?” You wink at Derek as Spencer shakes his head as you and Derek walk into the room

“I just think he should know how pretty he is.” Derek smiled as Penelope phoned him, “Hey baby girl, what you got for me and it better be juicy.”

“He thinks I’m pretty?” Myers asked you

You scoff, “No. Now be quiet and let the agents do their jobs.”

“Thanks baby girl.” Derek says and hangs up

“Anything?” You ask Derek

“A glass of water would be nice.” Myers said

“She told you to be quiet asshole.” Derek shouted at Myers

“That’s why Morgan didn’t want you in the room Reid.” Rossi said

“I still could’ve shouted.” Spencer says playing with your lighter

Rossi shook his head and faced the glass again, “Did she get some sleep last night?”

“No, she managed 5 minutes when she hugged me this morning and read over 50 books last night whilst I slept.” Spencer said, “I felt awful that I had to wake her up.”

“Don’t mess with a cranky, sleep deprived woman Reid.” Hotch said, “We found photos of all of the victims in his apartment.”

“Why did you do it?” You ask Myers showing him the photos that J.J brought in

Myers looked away from the photos and said nothing.

“Hey, you piece of shit, I asked you a question.” You say sitting on the table and putting the photos in his vision

“God, Y/N you look awful. Did you sleep last night?” Myers asked as you kick his chair

“Answer my questions or next time I shoot you.” You say

“I forget how much of a tough cookie she is.” Emily said handing the team some coffees.

“And she read over 50 books last night.” Rossi said

Emily’s eyes widened and left the room

“I…” Myers began and went down on one knee, “Marry me Y/N?”

You have a laughing fit, “Are you high right now? I’d NEVER EVER marry you.”

“Answer her questions or we can put you in a maximum-security prison, no windows, with the most criminally insane in one phone call.” Derek said

“She loves me you cunt.” Spencer mumbles to himself with a smirk

“She knows.” Rossi said, “Go for a smoke if you want Reid, we’ll call you back if we need you.”

“I will once she’s got him in jail.” Spencer says, “Plus, Y/N would want me here.”

After two hours, Myers still isn’t admitting anything or why he killed the women.

“Let’s have a break Y/N.” Derek said noticing you were starting to close your eyes

You nod, knowing Derek is right. “I could do with some coffee.”

As you and Derek walk outside, Spencer is there with two mugs of coffee. “I love you Spencer Reid.” You say to him and take a mug unaware Myers heard you.

“If you love him so much why don’t you marry him?” Myers asked

Spencer got mad, and walked in. “Listen you cunt, if you don’t start talking soon, I will shoot you myself. Clear?” He shouted at him

“I think Spencer’s shouting woke me up more than this terrible coffee.” You say to Derek with a chuckle as Spencer closed the door leaving Myers in there with a policeman.

“Can we go outside?” Spencer asked dragging you outside before you even got chance to answer

When you got outside, Spencer pulled you in for a deep kiss. “I love you so much.” He smiled

You giggle, loving the protective side to him. “I love you too.”

“And I do want to marry you, but not yet.” Spencer admitted

“I want to marry you too Spencer, and I think dating for less than a year is too early anyway.” You say kissing his cheek. “Mind if I smoke now? Well, if I’m allowed my lighter back.”

Spencer smiled and handed it to you, he took it off you before you interviewed Myers.

“Am I interrupting?” Rossi asked getting a cigarette out of his pack as he came outside

“Nope.” Spencer smiled, “Just two agents talking.”

“I feel like shit, I just don’t understand Myers. Why I loved him I’ll never know.” You say as you light your cigarette and take a drag, “Do you want to share with me Spence?”

Spencer nods as you all stand against the brick wall and talk about non case things.

“I think I know what it is.” You suddenly say as Spencer goes off on a ramble about the amount of corn kernels on a cob. “I know what his motive is.”

Requests are open, but slow as I’m doing University work.

Taglist (open): @pumpkin-goob , @andiebeaword , @hopebaker , @hotchsbabygirl , @hercleverboy , @cupcake525 , @gubetube , @aperrywilliams , @cosmic-psychickitty , @angelofthebau , @gubler-me-up , @goldentournesol , @jenna-jd , @reidgraygubler , @g0ldengubler , @gcblers , @peachpitfics , @reidbuck , @spencerreid-mgg

#Criminal Minds #Criminal Minds fic #Spencer Reid #Spencer Reid fic #Spencer Reid fluff #Spencer x Reader #my fics

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nothingeverlost · 5 years ago

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Fic: Holding Hands (Benoit/Marta, Knives Out)

I was going to write a flash fic based on a prompt I got ‘he meets her mother. ha! Flash fic. In actually a little more than 3000 words that is clearly not only a first attempt at Cablanca, but also an attempt to deal with stress.

WARNING: fic deals with Covid 19, which might be too much for some people at the moment.

Takes place about a month after the movie. _____ Benoit grinned when his phone rang. It was Marta’s phone calls in the middle of the day that made his isolation bearable. He was not a man well built for quartine, no matter how resolute he was to write a book, and no matter how many push-ups he did in his free time. He couldn’t stand more than an hour of tv a day, and there was only so much news he could read before wanting to pull the plug on his internet. A week ago Marta had called him during her break; hospitals needed extra help and of course she’d been one of the first to answer the call. The first time she’d had an actual question about a subpoena she’d recieved, but after that the calls had continued each day at the end of her shift. They had talked of nothing in particular and everything except the virus for a half-hour while she sat in a park and he sat in his apartment.

“From my window I can see a flowering quince. The whole bush looks like it’s on fire with the most vivid of red flowers. I shall attempt to send you a photograph if my neighbor’s cat ever decides to move off the fence. He is rather blocking my view.” He liked to have some pretty thought ready when she called, a reminder that not everything was as grim as respirator shortages and sore feet.

“Is this Mr. Blanc?” The voice on the other end of the phone was not Marta, though there was a similarity in tone and accent. He looked at the display on his phone; it did say Marta Cabrera.

“It is. May I ask who I have the pleasure of speaking with?”

“This is Elena Cabrera. We’ve never met but my daughter has spoken of you.” Her voice broke, just for a moment, barely more than a pause to draw in a breath, but it was enough to give him a clue. Benoit sat on the closest surface, which happened to be the edge of his bed.

“Something’s happened to Marta.” Talking with Marta every day was a delight in its own right, but it was also an affirmation that she was alright. Tired and sore and worried, but whole and healthy despite the risks compounding daily.

“She was going to stay home today because she wasn’t feeling well, but this morning she started coughing and couldn’t catch her breath. There’s an oxygen tank at the house and she thought that might be enough but it wasn’t helping. She needs a ventilator.”

“She’s at the hospital?” He closed his eyes, almost able to feel her small cold hand in his as they sat in plastic chairs in a waiting room, waiting to hear a prognosis. She wasn’t Fran, though. It wasn’t the same.

“She’s on her way. We had to call an ambulance.” For a moment there was no noise; he almost thought he could hear Elena’s heartbeat. Maybe it was his own. “I thought you should know. Marta told me that you two had been talking.”

“You have raised a very intelligent daughter, Mrs. Cabrera. A very kind and compassionate woman, not that I need to tell you that. She is also strong.” He was reminding himself more than her. “Thank you for calling me.”

“I have to go now, Mr. Blanc. I don’t want her to be alone.”

“It’s Benoit, please, and if there is anything I can assist with please don’t hesitate to call.”

He spent a full minute staring out the window; from his seated position he could only see one flower on the bush. The next minute he was on his computer, and relieved to find that despite so many businesses being shuttered he was still able to find a flight that left in a little over two hours. He could be at Marta’s side by tonight.

He always kept a bag packed, never knowing when he might be called out on a case. There were no plants to water, no pets to worry about. He took a few minutes to find his copy of Chandler’s Farewell My Lovely because he’d told Marta about it, but other than that it was ten minutes from the end of the phone call to locking the door to the apartment. He hadn’t been outside for three days, except for late-night runs.

The roads were virtually empty, an eerie sight that he was grateful for as he headed for the airport. It only took him fifteen minutes to drive, which wasn’t an accident. He traveled enough that proximity to the airport had been one of his apartment requirements. Likewise he flew enough that it was worth his time to pay for TSA preferred. He made it to his flight with time to spare.

There were only a few dozen people on the flight, everyone sitting in their own row unless they traveled together and the flight attendants wearing gloves and masks. He was glad that the amount of conversation that was required of him was minimal. Usually he was glad to talk to a neighbor or exchange pleasantries with the attendants. Since the New Yorker article he’d even had a few requests for autographs. Today, though, his only interest was on getting off the plane, as if his added focus could somehow make the plane land just a little earlier. He politely refused a drink and pretzels.

The sky was just shading to dusk when he drove his rental car to the hospital. It was the same place he’d been to before, the same place where Fran had died. Marta wasn’t Fran, though. She hadn’t been poisoned. No one had tried to kill her. No one he could fight, at least. No enemy he could put his hands on and pummel to the ground.

“I’m looking for Marta Cabrera, please.”

“I’m only allowed to give out information about patients to family members.”

“I am working with the police on an investigation. Detective Blanc.” If he thought he could have gotten away with calling himself family he would have, but he didn’t know if they would check with Marta’s mother. Lieutenant Elliott, though, could probably be trusted to lie for him if necessary.

“Just a moment Detective.” The nurse’s hand shook a little as she used the computer; too much coffee and not enough sleep was his guess. She told him the room number and a moment later was answering the phone. She probably didn’t hear his thank you. Rather than waiting for an elevator he sprinted up three flights to stairs.

A woman who looked too much like Marta to leave any doubt that she was Elena Cabrera was sitting next to a hospital bed talking in a low voice. The only other person in the room was Marta herself. Benoit didn’t know how a twin bed could make anyone look so small. He knew she was only a few inches below his own modest height, but in the hospital gown with blankets pulled up to her chest she looked delicate and too pale. On her left a machine beeped with proof that her too-big heart was beating. On her right a machine assisted with her breathing. From the doorway he couldn’t tell if she was conscious.

“Can I help you?” Elana Cabrera stepped around the bed, standing in front of it with all the fierceness of a mama bear protecting her cub. She all but obscured his view.

“Begging your pardon, ma’am, but I had hoped…”

“You’re Benoit Blanc.” She tilted her head to the side, looking at him. “I didn’t expect you to come here.”

He had been so focused on getting to Marta that it hadn’t occurred to him what it might look like when he showed up. He had seen her a few times in the week after Ransom’s arrest, but then he had gone home, working two more cases in the past month before it had become obvious that he needed to stay at home. They had talked about the case a few times over the phone. Outside of this past week he wasn’t sure most people would call them friends even.

He couldn’t get her out of his head, not since that first moment he’d seen her foot bouncing on the floor, this woman with a kind heart so obviously grieving for a friend more than anyone in the Thrombey family grieved. His first instinct, even after seeing the blood drop on her shoe, had been to protect her from a wake of vultures.

“I thought I might see for myself if you or your daughter needed anything.” As if he’d just come across town to visit, not on a plane from eight states away. “How is she?”

“They gave her something to help with the fever but she needed the ventilator to help her breathe. She’s awake sometimes, but can’t talk. You sit with her, I’ll go find another chair.”

“Please, let me go. I did not mean to deprive you of either a chair or time at your daughter’s side.”

“I need to stretch my legs a little and get some coffee. You’ll stay until I get back at least?”

“I’ll stay.” He had no intention of leaving, not anytime soon. After Elena left he dropped his travel bag in the farthest corner of the room. He stopped long enough to take out a book before slipping into the only chair in the room. Marta’s eyes were still closed. Her hand rested against the blanket close enough that he could take it in his own if he dared.

“I believe I mentioned the other day a need to take care of yourself. You said you were safe with your masks and your gloves.” He had barely dared mention his concern for her safety. “This is not what taking care of yourself looks like.”

An overwhelming need to touch her drove him into taking her hand. It was cold, but her hand was always cold. She wore sweaters even in the summer, she’d told him. His own hand was far from cold and he wrapped it around her fingers, willing his heat into her hand. His life force too, if need be.

“I hoped to see you again, but it was my intention to ask you to dinner. Someplace nice, where I would hold out the chair for you and tell you how beautiful you looked.” She always looked beautiful, even now with the medical tape on her cheek and the shadows under her eyes. He wondered how much was being sick and how much was working too hard. Would he ever get to see her when she was simply relaxed and happy? “Truth be told I was working on an excuse to come up here. It would have been only polite to call if I was to return to the area for a job. Someone offered me a case in Connecticut and that’s practically next door.”

Marta’s eyelashes fluttered; he held his breath to see if she would open her eyes. She didn’t.

“You’ve had so many changes these last weeks. I didn’t want to complicate things but dinner wouldn’t be too much, would it?”

“I’m afraid the only dinner she’s having today comes in an IV drip.” A nurse, mask over her face and gloves on, came into the room.

“How is she?”

“We’ve been able to bring down her fever, and that’s a good sign. We’re pushing fluids, since there was some dehydration. That could be the fever or it could be that she’s been worrying hard and not taking enough breaks for food and water.” The nurse changed the nearly empty saline bag for a full one. “If she fights half as hard for herself as she does her patients she’ll be fine.”

“Did you hear that darling? You’re a fighter, and you need to beat this thing.” When the nurse was gone he squeezed Marta’s hand, talking to her in a low voice.

“I need…” He needed her. It was as simple and as complicated as that. His life was a nomadic one, going where the cases called him. The last time he’d sat beside a hospital bed had been more than ten years ago when he’d bid adieu to his mama, the last solid tie he’d had. He’d dated occasionally but never anything serious enough to look at jewelry. At some point he’d just assumed that he was past the age of considering marriage.

And then he’d met Marta. He wanted everything with her. He wanted to pick up his entire life and move it to wherever she wanted to be. He wanted to court her like she deserved, wanted to hold her hand, wanted to know what it was like to kiss her. Now he just wanted her to breathe. “You just keep fighting, like this blasted virus is Thrombey kin, you hear?”

He spoke to her of the flowers he’d seen from the window of his apartment and the woman who walked her small dog every day no matter the weather. Nothing of consequence, but talking was easier than silence. When Elena returned she carried two coffees and offered one to him.

“I have sugar and powdered creamer if you need anything. Someone will be in shortly with a second chair.”

“Black is fine, thank you.” Reluctantly he let go of Marta’s hand and stood up. “I do insist you take the chair, Mrs. Cabrera.”

“Elena please.” She didn’t argue, collapsing into the chair. “Did she wake up at all?”

“No, but the nurse was in to change the IV and said her fever is improving.” He wanted to pace but only allowed himself to walk to the other side of the bed.

“Thank God for that.” Elena fingered a medallion hanging from a necklace. “She was never sick very often as a child, not once we figured out her unique response to…”

“She is a very honest person who does not handle deception well.” Honest. Kind. Perhaps it was the fact that she was so different from the people he met during the course of his work that drew him to her. Or perhaps it was just her.

“She’s a good girl.” Elena’s voice shook. Benoit scrambled for something to say to help her steady herself.

“I bet you have a few good stories to tell about her childhood. I would be indebted to you if you told me one or two; I do so love a good story.” With perfect timing an orderly brought in a chair and he settled in. “Nothing that would embarrass her, of course.”

“You and my daughter…”

“Friends, ma’am.” For the moment it was the only truth, but that didn’t stop him from resting his hand over her fingers, keeping away from the IV needle at the back of her hand.

Elena told stories, and he added a few from his own childhood in exchange. By the time the hospital was quieting down he was able to convince her that she should go home and get some sleep. He could be trusted to sit with Marta.

“Where are you staying while you’re here?” She asked as she stood near the doorway, looking at her daughter and having trouble leaving.

“I am well used to sleeping in chairs. I’ll get some sleep when I need it.” Staying up for a couple of days wasn’t uncommon in his line of work.

“When I come back in the morning you’ll go get some rest at our house. Marta’s house. You know there are plenty of rooms.” She touched his arm, reminding him for a moment of his own dead mama. “You won’t help her by exhausting yourself.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Benoit was four chapters into Fairwell My Lovely when he looked up to find Marta looking at him. The book almost fell from his hold. “Hey there sleeping beauty.”

When she struggled to speak he leaned in, touching her cheek lightly with his fingers. “You have a ventilator, which is why you can’t talk. Your mama was here with you all day but went home to sleep and report back to your sister. You missed our phone call today so I thought I’d drop in and see how you were doing. Everyone is fine. You’re going to be fine.”

She looked confused, but he didn’t know if it was his presence that was the issue or her location. “Do you need me to find a nurse?”

Slowly she shook her head.

“Call your mother?” Again a shake.

“I was reading that Chandler novel I told you about, shall I continue?” The nod of her head was barely perceptible. He settled back in, holding the book higher so he could look at her and the page. His free hand touched hers and after the first few lines he could feel her squeeze his fingers.

It was three days later when the doctor decided that she was responding well enough to treatment that she should be able to breathe on her own. He waited outside the room while they took out the tube, frowning at the coughing and listening for the sounds of breathing even though he was too far away to distinguish her breathing from anyone else in the room. When he returned she had a cannulas in her nose for oxygen.

“You’re here.” Her voice was raspy and dry. It was the best sound he’d ever heard.

“Did you think I would make my exit without letting you know?” In the last three days he’d only left the hospital twice, both times to sleep in a guest room of the former Thrombey mansion.

“No, I mean you came here.” Elena quietly got up from the chair beside her daughter’s bed.

“I’ll be back in a few minutes. I need something,” she said vaguely. Benoit moved closer to the bed.

“I couldn’t be anywhere else. You mean a great deal to me, Marta Cabrera.” It was as much as he dared to say.

“I thought I dreamed you. Your voice…” she coughed, seeming to have trouble catching her breath.

“I don’t believe anyone has confused me for a dream before.” He held a glass of water for her, letting her take a small sip. It seemed to help.

“I missed you.” Her eyes closed for a moment but then opened again. He could look at her eyes forever.

“I missed you too.” There were a million other things he wanted to say but they could wait. They had time. When he sat down beside her bed she held his hand and for the moment it was everything.

#Cablanca #benoit x marta #benoit blanc #marta cabrera #my fic #knives out fic

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applepiewinchesters · 5 years ago

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Stay (Malcolm Bright x Reader)

REQUESTS ARE OPEN

When Malcolm heard the front door of his loft slam shut, he’d assumed you’d just had a bad day at work.

Turning in his chair at the kitchen island where he was going over paper work, he was a bit surprised that you seemed to be mad at him. The look on your face could certainly kill.

“Your mother called me today Malcolm,” you spoke, voice oddly calm as you kicked off your heels and hung up your coat.

Malcolm groaned, shutting the file in front of him, “What does she want now? Another brunch?” he asked, meeting your gaze.

“Why haven’t you told me you haven’t slept in three days?” you hissed, crossing your arms as you glared.

Malcolm squeezed his eyes shut, a string of curse words crossing his mind, of course she’d told her. You were the only one who could usually talk some sense into him anyway.

When Malcolm opened his eyes again you were still standing there, arms crossed and glaring daggers at him.

“It’s this case, I promise, we’ve almost got the guy, I’ll be back to normal next week at the latest,” Malcolm spoke, trying to brush off the obvious problem.

“Normal isn’t exactly a word I’d used to describe you, ever,” you told him.

“I’m fine, you don’t have to worry,” Malcolm tried again, standing from his seat as he walked towards you, but you took a step back, not letting this go.

“The last time you told me that you ended up in the hospital with severe dehydration and exhaustion,” you said.

You could clearly see the dark bags under his eyes, and you were mentally kicking yourself for not noticing, and even though you hadn’t slept at his place in about a week, you did see him every day.

His tremor was back as well, and when he noticed you staring, he grabbed his own hand, forcing the twitching to stop.

“Please, just believe me,” Malcolm said, “I’ll be okay.”

Shaking your head, you turned, grabbing your coat off the hook as you pulled your heels back on.

“W-What are you doing?” Malcolm stuttered out, a confused look contorting his features.

“I’m leaving Malcolm,” you said. He hated how you kept saying his name like that, like it was something disgusting. “I’m not coming back until you get yourself some help, you need sleep and you need more meds, I know you haven’t gotten your prescription refilled.”

“No, no, no, please, don’t go, I-I’ll fix it,” Malcolm said, both of his hands trembling now. His mind was swimming, trying to think of something to say, it was true he hadn’t slept in three days, he was off his meds, and he was lying to you, still.

Grabbing your purse, you headed for the stairs that led to the door, but Malcolm grabbed your wrist, stopping you.

“I’ll fix myself, please baby, don’t go,” Malcolm begged, you tried not to notice the tears in his eyes, he was breaking right in front of you.

“I’m leaving, that’s final,” you said, when you pulled your hand away you stomped down the stairs, not looking back.

Malcolm furiously wiped at his eyes, trying to stop the tears, God, he was pathetic wasn’t he? The only thing that had been keeping him together was you.

He felt a deep rage at himself building inside him and with an enraged scream he swung his arm at the nearest thing he could find, a vase, it shattered into a million little pieces on the floor, it’d take forever to clean up, but he wasn’t done yet.

The whole time you sat in the taxi on the way back to your own home, your mind kept screaming at you to go back.

Malcolm was literally breaking down as you left, you could only imagine the state he was in now. Sleep deprivation and a lack of meds could seriously mess with his mind.

You were an idiot.

“Stop!” you suddenly yelled, making the cab driver slam on his breaks.

“What the hell lady?!” he shouted, turning back to look at you.

“I-I’m sorry, I’ve gotta go back, I made a mistake, here,” you said hurriedly, throwing at least forty dollars in cash at the man before getting out of the cab.

You kicked off your heels, grabbing them as you began running down the side walk. You were maybe a twenty-minute drive from his loft, possibly more than an hour by walking, so you picked up the pace, sprinting.

Hopefully you wouldn’t be too late.

It was forty-five minutes before you finally got back, you were sweating and your feet were on fire, your panty hose ripped from running.

Pushing open the door, you tried to catch your breath as you yelled Malcolm’s name, bounding up the stairs.

The sight you were met with made your stomach drop, the place was a disaster. Shattered decorations and dishes were everywhere, the fucking couch was tipped over, everywhere you looked there was a new mess.

It looked like someone had tried to rob the place, but that obviously wasn’t the case as Malcolm was sitting on the floor of the kitchen, curled into a little ball, rocking back and forth like a scared little boy.

You carefully made your way over to him, dropping your things as you went. Kneeling down beside the man you placed a gentle hand on his shoulder, “Malcolm,” you said, voice soft.

His head snapped up, eyes wide and rimmed red, he was clutching a hand to his chest and you saw it was dripping blood onto his shirt, he must have cut himself on something.

“Hey, it’s okay, it’s me,” you said, reaching up to move a bit of hair from his eyes.

Malcolm sniffled, looking down again, it was silent between the two of you, you didn’t really know what to say, he’d never done this before.

“Stay here, I’m going to get the first aid kit,” you said, Malcolm only nodded solemnly as you got up, grabbing the supplies from the bathroom before going to sit next to him on the floor again.

“Give me your hand,” you said, he held out his bloody and shaking hand to you and you got to work, cleaning off the excess blood and the wound before tightly wrapping it in gauze.

Malcolm was silent the whole time, only wincing a bit when you cleaned the cut.

“I’m sorry,” he finally said as you were packing away the medical supplies, you looked up at him and shook your head.

“This is my fault, I shouldn’t have left you alone,” you spoke, your voice still soft.

“No, I’m the fucking idiot who hasn’t slept in three days,” Malcolm grumbled. “Now my lofts destroyed, and my girlfriend is probably going to leave me.”

“Would I be here if I was leaving you?” you asked, making Malcolm shrug.

“Maybe it’s just a ploy to fuck with my head even more,” he told you, “it seems to be everyone else’s favorite past time.”

Leaning down, you pressed a kiss to his forehead, grabbing his hands, “Come on, bed time,” you said.

Malcolm reluctantly followed you to the bed where he let you tuck him in and put on his restraints.

“You sleep, I’ll clean up,” you said, getting up from the bed but Malcolm grabbed you hand, making you fall back down beside him with a small “oof.”

“Stay,” he said, giving you those puppy dog eyes, he knew you couldn’t resist.

Sighing, you gave in, “One sec,” you told him.

You took off your work clothes and grabbed one of his t-shirts that wasn’t on the floor and pulled it over your head before crawling back into bed beside Malcolm.

“Just please don’t hit me in the face or something,” you said, resting your head on his chest.

Malcolm chuckled, “I rarely have night terrors when you’re here,” he reminded you.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m the best I know,” you said, making Malcolm laugh again as you both settled in for the night.

“Love you,” Malcolm said with a yawn.

“Love you too,” you said, closing your eyes.

Given you were now both exhausted, you were asleep within minutes, Malcolm got a full six hours of sleep that night thanks to you.

You slept as his place for a week, refilled his meds and made sure he didn’t stay up too late every night.

Malcolm was right, it only took a week till he was back to normal, but he couldn’t have done it without you.

A/N: Hello my loves, I’m glad you enjoyed the last Malcolm fic I wrote, thank you for all the love. Like I said in my last post requests are open but I am only taking the first ten requests, for my mental health’s sake. Again, love you all and hope you like this story as well! ~ Sara :)

#prodigal son #prodigal son fanfiction #malcolm bright #malcolm whitly #malcolm bright x reader #malcolm x reader #malcolm whitly x reader #martin whitly #jessica whitly #ainsley whitly #michael sheen #tom payne #tom payne x reader #lou diamond phillips

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mindmeafterdark · 4 years ago

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The Call with @OneCheekyGal

Kai

-The evening with Maxwell was entirely successful and quite...penetrating. I’d not been clumsy, or fumbled, despite the scene being my first in more than a decade. The aftercare he required complimented my own aspirations, without depriving him of anything he needed. I’d swabbed with antiseptic over the punctured tracks on his inner thighs from where the Wartenberg pinwheel had left its telltale marks. I tenderly applied a numbing lubricant that would allow for him to sit on the drive home but upon wearing off, he would be reminded in full relief of the control he had relinquished. I’d helped him dress in loose clothing while delivering affirmations and instructions for him to follow in the coming days. He departed with a souvenir plug, to be used at my command. The relaxed smile on his face before I had sent him on his way was confirmation he had been satisfied by the night.

I’d returned home lighter than I had arrived and fell into a sleep that was better than any I’d experienced in a long while. I woke with ambition and my grief had been somewhat quelled, enough that I was able to settle into myself. And so the quest for nipple clamps could begin.

An overcast sky lent itself to the idea of stepping outside, which I did, still taking cover in the available shade of my back patio on a lounger next to the pool. I began my search for a shop where I could make an appointment, and the very first to come up in my search had me immediately amused. “The Toy Box” appealed to me for how it spoke to my dual and opposing lifestyles. There was a whimsy about the business name I couldn’t deny. Perhaps I was still riding a rush from the previous evening and a decent night’s sleep. The website was slick and well done, and while I normally wouldn’t mind ordering online, I was craving a tactile experience.

I dialed the number and put my phone on speaker, hoping I might reach someone on first try. When someone answered on the third ring, I was pleasantly surprised.- I am so pleased you answered, hopefully I will be as fortunate on my request for an appointment. I know your hours end at seven, but I’m hoping you might make an exception for something closer to or just after eight?

Cam

*Early morning was my favourite. The hours spent in the shop taking care of packaging online orders always left me feeling like I’d spent the same amount of time meditating. It was easy. I enjoyed gathering the items people wanted, often I found myself musing over the combinations chosen. Not that I cared to imagine the customer using their products...no. Gross. I much preferred to keep those kinds of images out of my mind entirely, and keep things more in the business lane of the transaction.

But really...I did wonder why someone would purchase fuzzy handcuffs, cock suckers, and lube... all seemingly innocuous items plus five...FIVE different sized and coloured suction cup dildos. This person had outfitted themselves with a buffet of silicone dicks. My lips twitched in amusement as I arranged the items in a box and tossed in a few complimentary condoms and a sample sized bottle of toy cleaner. They’d be needing it.* Enjoy yourself… *I glanced back at the name on the packing slip and snorted* …Oliver.

*I sealed the box with packing tape and set it next to the others I had already completed and grabbed the next order sheet when the phone rang. My eyes lifted to the clock on the wall, technically I wasn’t open yet, I could let it go to voicemail. I should let it go to voicemail. Naturally, my inner professional fought with my inner rational thinker and by the third ring, my hand had reached to pick up the phone, answering with less than my usual cheerful voice.* Thanks for calling The Toy Box, how can I help you?

*My tone may have come off as irritated, but that was largely at myself for giving in. I knew pushing myself in this way could lead to burn out, but I was currently a one-woman operation and worse than answering a call before I opened would be having to return a call. As the voice on the other end spoke, I looked down at the next sheet, moving to grab the items. Admittedly I wasn’t giving my full attention, calls these days largely amounted to asking if we were still open and what hours I was currently keeping.* “...hours end at seven, but...”

*Huh? I paused my multitasking to give the guy my full attention. What was he saying? He was wanting an after hours appointment? I sighed. Probably too loudly.* Yes, we close at seven. When are you wanting to arrange this for, tonight?

Kai

-I hadn’t clued in at the initial greeting when she’d answered, but following an audible sigh, the full breadth of her voice was apparent and I was startled to attention. The hair on my arms stood on end and I immediately took the phone off of speaker and pressed it to my ear. I had to get closer, I had to hear her again. In spite of the mild irritation I noted, or maybe because of it, the familiarity was haunting. Whoever this beautiful creature was on the opposite end sounded remarkably like Cora. I needed more of her words, more of her voice, confirmation that the resemblance was something other than a parlor trick of my own mind.. My tongue was temporarily paralyzed but I managed to compose myself to avoid a longer and more awkward pause.- I’d arrange it at your convenience, since I am making a special request. Personal matters would have me there too far past seven to be considered late and I’d rather not waste your time. -I resisted the urge to ramble off more information in the interest of convincing her to say yes. I was in pursuit of her voice and I couldn’t bear a longer wait.-

Cam

*With my full attention being given, I almost laughed. This guy spoke like he was from another time. It felt out of place. This was definitely not a normal “What time are you open until?” sort of call. I was momentarily stunned into silence. How does one respond to that level of conversation?

Setting the paper in my hand down on the shelf in front of me, I pushed my fingers through my hair and considered his request. My irritation had melted very quickly and in its place was...a slow build of curiosity. What did this guy look like if he chose his words so carefully in what should have been just a casual conversation?

I’d been quiet too long. I cleared my throat and made a non-committal sound to let him know I was considering his request. He could sweat out my decision while I...figured out...I didn’t even know what. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d been this disarmed by a couple of sentences, and over the phone no less!

I replayed what he had said in my head, beyond those peculiar words was his voice.

It was rich and smooth, a dark roast coffee that, for me, didn’t require any sweetening, though I was certain, given the way he phrased things, he knew exactly how to wield it on others...how much cream and sugar to add to get exactly what he wanted. The more I focused on what he had said, the stronger I felt the edges of a memory that didn’t belong to me being brushed. Deja vu wasn’t something I’d ever experienced with such an undeniable potency.

Had he been into the shop before? Had we encountered one another previously in some kind of way? I didn’t think so.

I absolutely would have remembered hearing his voice, and there was no way I would have forgotten his particular brand of diction. The familiarity of it all washed over me in a way that made my skin prick and a single shiver run down the length of my spine with how it pleased my ears.

Frisson.

I’d only ever experienced the sensation before with my most favourite of songs. Never when someone spoke to me. There was no way I could overlook this degree of bodily reaction. I was confident we’d never crossed paths before despite that nagging sensation in the far reaches of my mind that we had.

Definitely deja vu.

I needed to give him an answer, I could dwell and over analyze more later. While I had been prepared to decline an after hours appointment, I couldn’t deny my curiosity to meet the guy who spoke the way he did.* Alright. Tonight will work fine for me. But if you’re not here by 8:30, you’ll have to place your order online like everyone else.

Kai

-Confirmation this was not a delusion came on the next line of words she strung together after her elongated pause. Eyes closed, her words wrapped around me like a blanket I would never shrug off, even in summer heat. It didn't matter what she said, I silently pined for her to say more, and sought a way to extend the conversation. My heart hammered in my chest, echoing in my ears like a drum. My mind may have been embellishing, but it was more than her tone that was reminiscent of my beloved, it swelled with the influence of a personality that was also familiar.

Achingly familiar.

I was keeping her waiting again, wasn’t I?-

Eight-thirty will work out… brilliantly. My name is Kai. Do you need my phone number?

- Can I have yours? I wanted to ask her that, and then dozens of follow up questions. I was internally lamenting my sensitivity to the sun - the fiery star that would keep us apart until nightfall. I was certain I wouldn’t be able to shake the experience when I failed to delay the current conversation. I would be anxious for the hours to burn away… just to hear her again. We’d barely spoken and yet, I felt intimately connected. I wanted to lay eyes on her, curious at how I might be impacted when the image held in my mind did not conform with the silk of the voice that poured through the receiver. Eyes wide open, would she still bewitch me or would the nostalgia dispense? I was keen to find out. -

Perhaps you would like to know what I’m hoping to procure?

-I internally winced. I was forgetting the millennium we were in and sliding into the formal speech and vocabulary more appropriate for centuries gone by. I was flummoxed, utterly thrown off balance, yet there was something underlying and deeper, a force that was grounding me.-

Cam

*Still having a few of my wits about me, my eyes narrowed at nothing in particular when he repeated the time and I had to bite my tongue to keep from correcting him. I was clear when I said I wouldn’t wait and had meant it. I snorted at the lie I was trying to tell myself. I already knew I’d wait around if he wasn’t on time, though, something about him had me feeling confident he wouldn’t be late.*

Just your name will do for now, Kai. *A smile formed on my lips as I looked around my shop, feeling proud of how well I’d been able to keep my shelves stocked amid delivery delays. Even with the increased sales, people weren’t panic buying sex toys the way they had toilet paper. The thought made me laugh as I answered his second question.* No, you don’t need to tell me what you’re looking for, we carry a pretty decent selection, and anything you want that isn’t in stock can be brought in. If that’s the case, then I’ll need your number at that point to let you know when it arrives.

*I couldn’t believe the rollercoaster ride this conversation had taken me on. From annoyed to stunned silent and straight into laughing. He probably thought I was bipolar or something at the rate my reactions were whiplashing. I needed to get control of myself again. I was a damn professional and was NOT going to allow this guy with his coffee voice to turn me into any more of a mental mess than I already was. At least not while I was still talking to him. Shaking my head in a futile attempt to get my thoughts back on track, I grabbed the order form I had set down and brought it back to the counter with the others, already knowing I wouldn’t be able to focus anymore to fill it correctly when this conversation ended.* Do you have any more questions I can answer before your appointment?

Kai

-Her voice had held me captive, but her laugh at some secret musing had shot through me like a speeding bullet, ricocheting in my mind. It was as if I heard it only yesterday instead of a near century ago. This wasn't a question of recall. This was a feeling...a ripple through my veins, a vibration in my bones, a stuttered beat of my heart. It defied explanation but I didn't need or even want one. I only wanted to stop time or slow it down. Of course, to make things perfectly complex, I also wanted it to tick by faster.-

Just one question. -rounded to the nearest thousand- Your name?

-I waited for her answer. Patiently. Impatiently. I wondered how hearing it for the first time might color the revelry I was swimming in.-

Cam

*Just one more question. Right. I could handle that without any sort of further melt down. But instead of just giving him my name, like a normal, functioning human, I laughed again fully prepared to tell him I had already said it. Of course, as I recalled our conversation searching for when I had given it to him only to realize I hadn’t said it, my laughter died rather quickly. Normally when I answered a call, I’d introduce myself by name, but in my irritated state I had left it out.* Oh. *I laughed again in flustered embarrassment and dropped my forehead into my waiting palm.*

My name? Here I was preparing myself for...nevermind. It’s Camille. Sorry, I didn’t say it when I answered your call. I was...actually...it doesn’t matter what I was. Clearly I need to find myself another coffee.

*I pulled my hand down my face from my forehead to cover my mouth as I muttered a soft “Ohmygod”, and stopped myself from spewing other things out all haphazard like. He did not need to know I had compared his voice to coffee. Jesus. I had to shut up and avoid making a fool of myself any more than it already felt like I had.*

Kai

-I didn't care what elicited her laugh, I would pay handsomely to hear it on repeat, even at my own expense. I'd go broke to be the one to draw it out of her. The experience was turning into an exercise in contrasts, the latest being how it was equally sobering and surreal. I was curious about what it was she thought I was going to ask, but didn't want to fluster her further. We had the evening to delve into more, should I be so lucky. When I finally earned her name, I took in a breath, noting the first initial.-

Camille... -I repeated it back to her, letting it drip off my tongue like honey: slow, thick, sweet, and musky. The name did nothing to break the allure of her voice, and, in fact, roused my curiosity even further. I wanted to say it over and over again, but resisted to avoid the label of a psychopath. I couldn’t risk the sudden cancellation of my just secured appointment.

Appointment. So sterile. This was more. It would be a bridge too far to label it a date, but my interest had shifted from nipple clamps to something more personal. I had to meet her. See her. How I would suffer these hours in between the now and then.-

I look forward to seeing you no later than eight-thirty, Camille.

- Twice was hopefully not too much, even if for me it was hardly enough. I was so lost on her name, laugh and voice I was forgetting politeness.-

And, thank you for making the exception…

Cam

*Yep. I had been right. He knew exactly how to use his coffee voice on others as evidenced by the repeat shiver that traveled my spine when he said my name. It was entirely unfair to be affected like this. I did not turn into a hormonal teenage girl at the sound of my name being spoken, and yet...here I was... doing just that.

Good lord.

This conversation needed to end before I lost my damn mind any further, what with this guy...Kai...going and saying things like he was looking forward to seeing me. Like he was coming to the shop just to see me and not to make a purchase. My insides needed to NOT do that dumb girl flip floppy thing at that thought, he was just being polite. He was being formal. Politely formal. Yes. Because of course I’d be here when he arrived, who else would be here?!

I really should consider hiring someone again. Maybe I could do that today. And have them be here to help Kai when he arrived. I scoffed at my mental ridiculousness. I was overreacting. I never overreacted. Taking a quick breath, I nodded as he thanked me. Okay...that I could respond to that without showing how much of a mess he had turned me into.* You’re welcome. See you then.

*I hung up. I didn’t even trust myself to say goodbye like a professional should. I was having an identity crisis that I had to fix before his appointment.*

What the hell, Cam?! What is wrong with you? OHMYGOD. You don’t get flustered. By anyone. Ever.

*I scrubbed my hands over my face then looked at the clock. I still had time to go down the street to get a coffee before the shop was supposed to open. Yes. That’s what I’d do. More coffee would put my loose screws back in place. Then I’d be able to focus on work like I always did.*

Kai

-It may have made me less than a gentleman how I enjoyed the suspense that hung between us as she lost herself in thought on the other side of the line. Was she choosing her words carefully? Was she taken by my voice as I had been intoxicated by hers? Perhaps she was considering giving me her number?

Wishful thoughts, Mikhail.

I could not help the speculation. Her voice -Camille’s voice- had been a key that slid into a lock hidden inside of me. It soothed my ailments rather than igniting the longing I’d endured for a near century. I could hardly imagine the effect of personal sentiments paired with the sound of her voice in lieu of these casual formalities.

Her laugh had lifted me and instilled a hope I had been lacking.

Her name begged to be repeated on a loop for the way it felt on my tongue.

“... See you then.” Click.

The unceremonious end of the call did nothing to dilute what had just transpired. I did, however, have to restrain myself to avoid immediately dialing her again just to say goodbye. That would surely earn me cancellation of the appointment under the “no psychos” clause. I had to regain my bearings before the evening arrived. I was rife with curiosity, raised by what had transpired in less than a ten minute exchange.

I imagined she had already moved on, to another caller or fulfillment of online orders or maybe inventory. While I would find my composure, I knew without question she would not leave my mind for the rest of the day.- See you then… Camille.

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studentville-struggles · 5 years ago

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A Double Life

Chapter 2

A self-indulgent Daniel Ricciardo fic.

Summary: Returning to old passions results in the start of chaos and living a double life. We say we hate chaos, but the thrill is unlike anything else.

Words: 2,236

Part 1 // Masterlist

Formula 3 was incredible, one of, if not the best years of your little life so far. You got to visit so many cities that you hadn’t been to before and you met so many people. Especially with the tracks overlapping with F2 and F1, you could chat to, learn from and in some cases, build friendships with people in the leagues above. It did also help that Lewis would pop in to see you every now and again, check up on things and introduce you to those he thought might stand you in good sted. Either way, you felt as though you gained two new families that year; one in academia within your research group, and one within the world of racing.

Your confirmation paper was accepted, critiqued and praised, meaning you had done everything you needed to progress in your PhD. You were relieved at being able to produce something of worth whilst living both of your lives with full intensity.

All too soon the season ended and you had achieved more than anyone could have predicted. Like a duck to water – albeit a sleep deprived duck - you had successfully readjusted to racing, finishing a staggering 3rd in your rookie year. You were so proud. You’d been balancing the move into your second year in your doctoral programme with racing and you were starting to see the results of your pre-race training. That, combined with your work ethic and results from this season, you could move up into Formula 2, having signed a contract with ART Grand Prix in August.

After the last 12 months, you felt as though you had mastered the required routine for balancing your ‘two lives’ as you call it. Coming into the long break between seasons you didn’t want to lose that balance, but also wanted to give yourself a break from the long days you were accustomed to. Who knows, maybe you could go for lunch with friends, after all you can be somewhat laxer on your diet now. A real social life sounded divine, yet somewhat terrifying.

You figured you were afraid that if you loosened your grip on your routine, you’d struggle even more with your move to formula 2. Comparing the two championships, formula two had significantly more traveling involved, with tracks from the middle east being included. Where the season was eight rounds between May and September for Formula 3, Formula 2 had 12 rounds between March and December. Formula 2 would potentially interfere with more of your lab work and conferences you attended. Could you handle an increase in workload and training? Would it be easier if you maintained your somewhat unhealthly work schedule?

You were already a little more intense than some of the other F3 drivers, with regards to diet and training routines, you knew that, but Lewis had always pushed you to be better, work smarter. You don’t improve without pushing yourself, why limit that to just the track?

With the season coming to an end, it meant that season one of the Stewart show, one of Lewis’ many nicknames for it, would be airing soon. The camera crew were your one link between life on and off track, they saw it all and now the world would be able to as well. You were excited to see people’s reactions, but also concerned about how things might change as a result. Would drivers take you less seriously? Would people from your lab watch it and view you differently?

You had been talking through these thoughts and worries with Lewis as you met for a ‘detox weekend’ in London at his flat. He wanted to celebrate your fantastic season and pray over the year ahead without any distractions and to give you a break from work. There was a movie playing in the background but you were far more interested in hearing about the team shuffles and how he thought the season was going to play out in F1. You wanted to know everything: who he thought would shine, who he thought might struggle and which teams he thought would step up. The resulting strategy discussions would help you in ways you couldn’t imagine as you moved up the leagues.

Lewis always found ways to teach you something whenever you were together, but he also made a point of turning drivers' mode off and connecting with you on a personal level as well, even if he had been your mentor for over a year. Your friendship continued to blossom; you were more like family than friends now. You knew each other well enough to tease each other over the gossip surrounding them and could share secrets with one another and trust them to keep it. Lewis would tell you stories about his niece and nephew – who insisted on calling you auntie Rachel – that would have you snorting and clapping like a seal, or about stupid things he’d seen in town on a night out. You would share stories from the lab, who’d fucked up what experiment, which couples had emerged recently and what you had been working on. However, what Lewis loved to hear more than anything, purely so he could tease you, was any gossip from your love life, or more accurately, the lack of it. He would tease you about not following the other boys and dating someone from the circuit, someone’s brother or cousin, ‘get your flirt on’ he would always say.

Tonight, Lewis was dragging you hard, saying he would set you up with one of the F1 lads if only you would admit which one you thought was the cutest. Anyone with a pair of eyes knew those boys were pretty jaw-dropping, I mean what else did anyone expect from a bunch of athletes. However, there wasn’t a hope in hell that you would admit to Lewis who you had a small celeb crush on, not that there was anyone. Definitely not.

“Won’t be long until you’re up in F1 with me you know.” Lewis announced out of nowhere, seemingly dropping the topic of ‘hot F1 drivers’

“I’m sorry what?”

“If you keep doing what you’re doing; working hard and getting these kinds of results, I see no reason why they wouldn’t find a seat for you in F1.”

“Oh.” You were shocked.

Yes, you wanted to drive in F1, who didn’t, but you knew it was a hard task to get a seat and you didn’t have anywhere near as much experience as some of the other drivers in F2 who would be pushing to move up. “I’m not so sure,” you started, “as long as I’m alive, driving and challenging myself, I’m happy.”

“Sure but I’d love to have you in F1, race against my own little sister.” You could hear the sincerity in his voice.

“Cute, till I beat you, then you’ll just be sulking” You stuck your tongue out at him.

“Nah but for reals, it’ll make it super easier to tell which of the boys you’re crushing on.” He smirked back at you.

“Oh piss off.”

---

Lewis decided that once you had settled into the season a bit you should start coming to the media days as his guest to get a feel for things, still adamant that you would be up there soon. Obviously, you agreed, wanting as much experience as you could afford to get, regardless of where you ended up racing. Before you knew it, a permanent VIP pass had been organised, allowing you to go to any grand prix you wished.

You loved watching the races, especially from the pits. It made your hunger to improve and move up stronger than it ever was. Well that, and it meant you could chat to some of the drivers you knew.

Having met them last year, you occasionally played esports with Max Verstappen and Lando Norris and so knew them relatively well and so would always chat to them over race weekends. You were so thrilled to be back and settled into the new season that you couldn’t help but have a laugh when you were catching up with everyone. Media days were some of your favourites as everyone was usually in good spirits and this time, unbeknown to you, you were getting far more involved than ever before.

Whilst you were pally with a few of the drivers, you were yet to meet them all, and you were looking forward to meeting a certain jokester more than others. Once Lewis had figured this out, he had teased you relentlessly, it was all over for you. Unfortunately, he was only gorgeous until he opened his mouth.

“Here to scout the boys out?” Ricciardo had spotted you wandering around the paddock earlier and finally cornered you outside the Mercedes hub.

“Oh yeah, got to see who my competitions gonna be.” You teased back.

“The WAGs usually meet in the coffee parlour over there then.” Excuse me?

“Come again?”

“The wives and girlfriends, your competition?”

You could only shake your head. Of course, he assumed that you in the team merch, guest of Lewis Hamilton, were here only with the aim of getting a boyfriend. Oh no, when you said you were scouting competition, you meant competition for a seat.

Almost on cue, Lewis came wandering around and started laughing at the sight of you.

“Don’t lock your jaw sugarsnap” Lewis chuckled, using his nickname for you. The tension and irritation clear on your face. He knew exactly who had caused it given the group you were with. “Ricciardo what did you say?”

“Why me? And ‘sugarsnap’?” Ricciardo quizzed? “You already a WAG, doll?” He asked turning back to you

Your jaw tensed again; you couldn’t really blame him for not knowing you but the assumptions still hurt. Though you also shouldn’t have assumed that he watched the lower leagues, nor even heard of your show.

“Yeah, I know you, so what did you say and why are you calling her a WAG?” Lewis was both amused and concerned, it was a strange look.

“Told her which canteen the WAGs usually go to but I’m guessing she already knows if she’s your guest, ay?” Ricciardo winked at you.

“Oh, that’ll do it. I’m her mentor and self-imposed older brother so no she’s no WAG.” Lewis’ voice was stern but still held a small hint of humour. He then turned to you, a grin spreading across his face.

“Suit up sugarsnap – you've got a hot lap to do.”

“Really?” The excitement of the day returned at that.

“Yup and you’re driving me round, step to it.”

You ran back to your changing area squealing with excitement. You headed off so fast you missed the shocked look on Ricciardo’s face.

“She’s driving?”

“Mentor hot laps – a new Mercedes segment.”

“She’s a driver?”

“A damn good one – you'd know that if you checked any of the results from F2.”

“I do check!”

“Stewart? Placed 3rd in F3 last year?” Ricciardo was nodding, he knew that name, saw the results from last years F3 season too. “Yeah, she’s Rachel Stewart.”

With that, Lewis headed to the garage to meet you.

You climbed into your GT-R, Lewis clambering into the passenger side, repeatedly commenting on how weird it felt given he was usually the one driving these laps. You could already see the joy on your media teams face, the camera catching this bickering and knowing full well how well received this sort of banter would be with fans.

“You driven one of these before?” Lewis queried.

“Nope.” You replied, popping the ‘p’, “that an issue Lew?”

“Adds to the adventure. Don’t go above seventy on a corner or we’ll roll.” Fun, but something to learn.

“Rollings fun.” You sassed back.

“Not your car Stewie.” Another nickname.

“Roger that.”

With a shared laugh, you were off on your lap.

The mentor hotlaps segment had come about with Mercedes deciding that they wanted to start highlighting the impact a mentor could have, both on and off the track, and so were filming various challenges and fun tasks for their social media. They could showcase both mature and successful drivers, as well as the upcoming drivers they hoped would lead the next generation.

You knew your lap was being filmed and so steered clear from bad language and uber personal topics but you laughed, chatted and teased your way round the hot lap, Lewis booing when you wouldn’t steal a second lap. As you climbed out you reminded Lewis that your name didn’t carry quite as much weight as his. Obviously, he couldn’t help but comment on how it wouldn’t be long till yours carried the same.

Walking back towards your cool room several members of the Mercedes team congratulated you saying your lap was both impressive and hilarious. People seemed to love seeing the familial relationship you had developed with the five-time world champion. No one was quite as happy as Lewis’ press manager, quietly commenting how easy this would be to put out.

“Not bad at all doll.” An Australian accent called out as you left the main crowd in the garage.

Smirking up to the driver, one you may have had a crush on until he opened his mouth to speak earlier, you decided to play him at his own game.

“Thanks. Say Ricciardo, when’s your contract up?”

#rachel tries to write #studentville-struggles #daniel ricciardo #daniel ricciardo imagine #daniel ricciardo fic #honey badger #f1 fic #fic imagines #f1 fanfic #lewis hamilton #lewis hamilton imagine #lewis hamilton fic #big bro lewis #brother!lewis #in love with danny ric #danny ric #daniel avocado

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yelena-bellova · 6 years ago

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“Captain America Defeated By Spaghetti?” Steve/Natasha Fanfic

Summary: Steve comes by the compound to visit Natasha and do his laundry only to find his friend in a sad state. He decides to cook her dinner to lift her spirits, but it may not go as smoothly as he thinks it will…

Requested by @askaboutari: Can I get some Steve/Nat please?!?!? It can be romantic or brotp I love both but I need more of them 🤗🤗🤗

Warnings: Endgame spoilers if you squint really hard

Word Count: 2,057. (WOW. I did not intend to make it this long haha) Note: I was SO EXCITED to get this request 🥳 I’ve wanted to write about Steve cooking dinner for Natasha since I saw that scene in Endgame and I’ve been thinking that Steve cooking would probably go something like this haha

This is my first imagine I’ve written so it kind of sucks, but it’s a start. Hope you enjoy it!!

Steve turned his key in the front door to the compound, taking a quick look at the surrounding area. It was desolate. Cars that had been parked five long years, the lawn overgrown and untended…it was a sad sight that sent a chill down his spine. He continued to unlock the door and stepped inside. Carrying his full bag of dirty laundry, he walked down the hall making just enough noise to alert Natasha of his presence. He didn’t hear any noise coming from any of the rooms and began to wonder where she might be. He peered into the living room, the only sign of possible life were the empty takeout containers laying across the coffee table. “Nat?” he called out. No answer. He slowly walked towards the office/study, where she could usually be found, and what he found made his heart break a little.

She was sitting in a chair, slumped over the desk table, passed out cold. Knowing her, she’d probably been checking in with Rhodey or Carol to see where they were. She was always grasping for new information, looking for some nuisance in the universe to put a stop to. Steve stared at her, noticing the fresh tear stains down her cheeks and the near empty coffee mug held loosely in her hand. He knew better than to just walk over and wake her up. Natasha was a trained assassin, she’d spring into action and have him pinned down before he could even gather himself. He set his bag down, tiptoed over to the desk and grabbed her phone. Unlocking it, he knew the song that she always set as her alarm, and hit play, As soon as the soft guitar strums began playing, Nat’s eyes fluttered open immediately. She glanced up to see Steve standing over her, a sad smile on his face. Happy to see her, saddened by how he found her… ”You know a bed might be more comfortable.” he quipped.

“When did you get here?” she asked, lifting her head from the table and rubbing her eyes. “Just now. Thought I’d multitask; see a friend and do my laundry.”

She gave him a small smile as she leaned back in her chair, resting her hands on her stomach. “I can’t promise there’s detergent, but have at it.” she said, gesturing to the nearby laundry room.

Steve slung his bag over his shoulder and walked over, starting his load set for an hour and exited back out. Nat was still sitting at her table, staring blankly at the wall. She looked underweight, sleep deprived and downright miserable. The fire that used to be so visible in her had died down to a wisp of a flame and the light gone from her eyes. He leaned up against the doorframe, “Nat…”

“Hmm?” Her eyes didn’t move from the wall, but she was at least reachable.

“When was the last time you did anything other than sit at that desk?” She finally turned to face him, more recent tear stains down her face, but she made sure to put a smirk on her face.

“If you mean when was the last time I got out of here, you’re not gonna like the answer…”

“No, I mean when was the last time you got a good nights sleep? When was the last time you had a meal that didn’t come in a Chinese takeout container?” he asked.

She chuckled, “Half of humanity is still gone and you’re worried about the last time I made myself a sandwich? I hate to tell you this, Rogers, but I think your priorities are a little screwed up.”

Steve gave her a disapproving look that she had long ago dubbed the “Captain Dad” face.

“Nat…I’m serious.”

Natasha looked away to her lap, crossing her arms as if to shield herself from him being able to see right through her poorly constructed facade. Truth was, she hadn’t been grocery shopping in a month. Her “home cooked meals” were microwaved meals she usually only ate half of. She cried herself to sleep each night, and the few hours of sleep she managed to get were plagued with nightmares of the family she’d lost. And she knew she didn’t have to tell Steve any of that, he knew her well enough to know how hard she was still taking their defeat.

“I’m still alive, aren’t I?” she mumbled.

Seeing his friend like this killed Steve inside, and while he knew he couldn’t fix her, he was going to try his hardest to help in whatever way he could. Starting with getting some food in her… “Come on…” he said as he walked towards the kitchen. She slowly got up and followed him, knowing the judgement she’d face from him once he saw the contents of the fridge and pantry.

Steve opened the door to the pantry and found nearly bare shelves. A few canned goods, cereal boxes, bottled sports drinks, crackers, a loaf of bread, and a bag of chocolate chips. He worriedly looked over to Natasha who was leaning against the counter, “Don’t give me that look, there’s no need to keep it stocked all the time when I’m the only one here.” she said defensively. Unfortunately, she was right. With her being the only one living at the compound regularly, she only had herself to feed. He went to examine the fridge next finding more takeout containers, a dozen eggs, milk, an open jar of peanut butter and a block of cheese. Steve glanced over at her again as she shot him an almost apologetic look. “Well, this is a far cry away from Tony’s private chef…But I think I can make it work.” he said proudly, walking over to the pantry.

“You know you don’t have to do this.” she said. “I can ta-“ “If that were true, you wouldn’t be living off of coffee and egg rolls.” Steve remarked as he dug through the pantry to find a box of pasta and a jar of marinara sauce hidden behind cereal boxes. Natasha smirked, she knew he was right. She hadn’t been taking care of herself. Steve turned to face her, “Now go sit down, put a movie on, and let your friend do something nice for you.”

She jokingly gave him a salute and disappeared into the living room. Steve wasn’t a chef by any means, but he knew the basics. He hadn’t made pasta in a long time, but was confident in his ability to boil noodles.

He had never been more wrong in his 100+ years…

Twenty minutes later, his third attempt at spaghetti were stuck to the bottom of the pot, he had burned himself from the steam twice and there were still two empty plates. Natasha stood in the doorway, trying not to laugh at her friend, waiting to jump in and help him. “I thought you were the one who was supposed to be taking care of me.” she quipped. Looking up from the disappointing pot, “I thought if the box said “Easy to cook” that it would actually be easy to cook.” he remarked.

“Captain America defeated by a box of spaghetti? Oh, how the mighty have fallen…”

Steve chuckled, if his embarrassing attempt to cook gave Natasha some much needed joy, it was worth it to him. “I’m sorry about this…And I’m clearly in dire need of help.”

“I was just waiting for you to say that…” Steve cleared away the burnt pot of noodles and cleaned up his area as Natasha began grabbing eggs, milk and bread. She put a pan on the stove and turned on the burner, pouring some oil on it too. “Grab me a whisk and a spatula.” she directed.

“Yes, ma’m.” Steve replied, mimicking the salute she gave him earlier. Twenty minutes later, they had made a huge stack of french toast and were dishing up their plates. Natasha had found syrup stashed away in the spice cabinet and poured a hefty amount of it on her pieces. Steve’s plate of course had a super soldier sized portion of their meal…They retired to the living room where Natasha had a movie ready to go, it played quietly in the background as the two friends caught up with each other. “How’s your support group going?” she asked him.

He didn’t look up from his plate as he answered, “As good as it can go, I guess. We share, we grieve…Some make progress, some don’t…”

“What category would you put yourself in?” Steve set his fork down and gathered his thoughts for a moment.

“Sometimes I think I’m moving on, when I’m just going about day to day life…Shopping, reading, watching TV, going for drives…Things almost feel somewhat normal. But when all of that stops and everything’s quiet, I realize I’m no closer than I was five years ago.”

Natasha watched him struggle to not say what she knew was on his mind. She could see through him just as well as he could see through her. And if he couldn’t work up the courage to say what he really wanted to say, she would help him along… “You miss her, don’t you?”

Steve still hadn’t looked up from his plate, but as soon as Natasha spoke, his eyes made their way to meet hers joined by a sad smile.

“Every day.” Natasha nodded, knowing that no matter how many losses they faced, one of Steve’s greatest losses would be losing Peggy Carter. She had lost count of how many girls she had tried to set him up with, only for him to shoot down every suggestion. She’d given up eventually, knowing that he was just as stubborn as she was, if not more. Steve continued, “I sit there in that group each week listening to people talk about going out on dates, moving on from their partners and I support it. I congratulate them and encourage them and tell them they’re doing the right thing. But every time I think of myself moving on, not just from Peggy, but from all of this,” he gestures to the room as if the whole team is in it, “it just feels wrong.”

What Steve was feeling in the moment was a feeling Natasha knew all too well. She knew that if Clint were here, he’d be telling her to move on with her life best she could. But anytime she even considered stopping her search for him or her attempts to stop whatever trouble was being made in the universe, she felt paralyzed. She felt like she was disrespecting her dead teammates by taking care of herself and moving on. She and Steve were in the same boat, he was just able to function slightly better than she was. She cut off another bite of french toast and chewed it slowly, savoring the first true home cooked meal she’d had in months.

“Maybe moving on looks different for people like us.” she said, shrugging her shoulders. “We’ve seen things that the general population has only heard stories about. We weren’t only here for the aftermath but we were there for the loss itself. Maybe you’ll never be able to move on like somebody off the street, but that doesn’t mean it’s impossible.”

One side of Steve’s mouth curved into a knowing smile, “Maybe the same goes for you.”

Natasha’s lip’s curved into the same smile, “You first.” The rest of the night was spent polishing off all the french toast, laughing at the movie, Natasha telling Steve about the report Carol had given her, and more free flowing conversations between the two best friends. Eventually, Natasha fell asleep on the couch using Steve’s bicep as a pillow. He looked down at her and smiled, for the first time in a long time she looked at ease. Her stomach was full, she’d had a few laughs, and she was getting much needed rest. Steve reached over and grabbed a blanket, draping it across her small frame. He closed his eyes as well, slowly drifting off to sleep. His last thought was of the forgotten load of laundry still in the washer, but that was fine…His true mission of the night had been accomplished; Seeing his friend happy for the first time in a long time.

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