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jae-daddy · 3 years ago

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Duff (9)

im jaebum au series

one / two / three / four / five / six / seven / eight / nine / ten / eleven masterlist

pairing: im jaebum x reader genre: angst, smurt, cheating plot: you are the duff and guys use you to get close to your best friend, Heather, and turns out Jaebum is no exception, but as time does on the tension between you and your best friend’s unofficial boyfriend grows a/n: a short one, because I really truly hated where I had left the story last time. it was not it, but I like this. it’s better than the alternative I guess. also, I am writing all of it before publishing it so <3 hope yall like it <3

You don’t know what came first; the guilt, embarrassment or hurt.

But you knew yourself well, and you knew guilt didn’t touch your heart until later that night when you were lying in bed. As you stared up at the ceiling, thinking about that him, for the first time guilt laid its icy fingertips on you.

The first thing you felt was hurt. Hurt that clawed at your heart, and made your soul whimper. Hurt that cut through you entirely as you remained in his arms, watching his face.

“Yes,” he had said, his fingers digging into your hips.

“Yes,” you replied, breathing him in as you leaned closer to him.

You saw his lips draw into a straight line as he pulled away and said, “No.”

“Oh,” was all you said moving away from him.

A simple sound, not even a word to express the pain that seared through you at his words.

No.

He didn’t want you.

Im Jaebum didn’t want you.

You were in his arms, your skirt drawn up to your hips as you sat on his lap. In a single breath, he changed the moment completely, and you were no longer burning in passion, but in agony. Agony of not being desired by this man, not being wanted by him, when you yearned for him. When you were begging for his lips to touch any part of you, he had turned away.

And then came the embarrassment blazing through the darkness of lust, and it hurt. It stabbed you everywhere till you were shivering in sudden coldness. You were so embarrassed, so ashamed. You had- you had done... all of that, and all he said was ‘no.’

It wasn’t the rejection that the embarrassment stemmed from. It was because you had tried, because you thought it would happen, because you thought he wanted you. Because you had offered yourself to him, and all he said to express his repugnance was a simple ‘no.’

You climbed off him and walked out the office. Your face was on fire from the shame as you straightened your skirt. You chuckled to yourself thinking a walk of shame was better then trying to hook up with your boss only to be rejected.

You finished work that day, and the next, like nothing was amiss. As if that moment didn’t happen. As if every time you saw him, you weren’t reminded that he didn’t want you.

Im Jaebum didn’t want you.

It shouldn’t hurt that bad, especially since you almost swore you hated him with your heart. But it did, it hurt truly terribly badly, and there was nothing you could do about it.

You couldn’t even feel sorry for yourself long enough too. Because as soon as the hurt and shame went away, and you looked up at your dark ceiling, you remembered her face.

You remembered the way she had held your hand whenever you were scared. How she would give you that look every time she took your hand giving her courage. Her love, her kindness, her friendship, her.

How for the first time since you’ve known her... for the first time, it seemed as if Heather truly liked someone and you...

You didn’t feel sorry for yourself, or your heart that ached. You weren’t sure if the ache was because of the rejection or from the thought of loosing your best friend. But you didn’t feel sorry because what happened was your fault.

“Thanks for the files, y/n,” Jaebum looked up from his desk. For the first time, he was seated in the big boss seat without any reason. You smiled and nodded, before turning to leave, like nothing was amiss. As if that afternoon had never happened, as if you had never crossed that line.

You were almost out the door when he said, “Have a good weekend.”

Your fingers turned white on the handle, but you nevertheless you turned around and gave him a bright smile, “You too, Mr Im.”

Heather pouted as she sat next to you, before pulling you into a big bear hug.

“It’s so nice to have my best friend back,” she sang, happily, hugging you tighter.

You gave her small smile as you leaned into her, petting her arm, “It’s nice to be back.”

“Gosh, I’m so glad you’re done with that internship,” she huffed over the loud music of the club.

You only nodded as you took a sip of your drink, “I still have three weeks left, Heather.”

“Three weeks pass by like nothing,” she shook her head. She turned to you with a bright smile, “Remember Bali? Maybe now that you’re going to be more free, maybe we can...”

She gave you a huge grin, quizzically raising her brows up and down to the music. Before she began bopping her head like a dork to the beat, “What do you say, y/n?”

I’m sorry.

“Whatever you want,” you smiled at her, and she exclaimed in joy.

“Mr Park Jinyoung is now officially the CEO of Spring Industries, and has sent forward a report and plan for their proposal,” You looked up to see Jaebum opening his mouth, but you cut him off knowing his question. “The file is already on your desks, and I have included a summary report from myself and Mr Paul.”

You had a month and a bit to think about what had happened. In the beginning, you had blamed yourself. It was foolish of you to put yourself out there for him, but the more you thought about the angrier you got.

It wasn’t all in your head. Im Jaebum did flirt with you.

He gave you all the signals, all the green lights, and the arrows leading you to him. He basically had made a pathway for you to follow into his arms, and after all that he said no?

No.

No, it wasn’t your fault for putting yourself out there for him. You had done it because you thought... you felt that he too... but who knows, Im Jaebum was friendly with everyone.

But he did tell others his wish was to kiss them?

Did he ever follow anyone to the rooftop of a club and call himself a fool for letting them go?

Did he talk to everyone about his mother?

Did he smile like that at everyone? Look at them like that? Touch them with the faintest touch of his fingertips?

But you should’ve known better.

These rich guys never go for girls like you.

You don’t have any money, any wealth, nothing to offer them to make their status go up. You weren’t even pretty enough to be a trophy wife. You were just a girl they could play with behind closed doors.

But for Jaebum, you weren’t even worth that.

“Spring Industries is having a party on Thursday to announce Park Jinyoung as their new appointed CEO. They have requested your presence to show the companies are friendly--,” you once again looked up from your iPad, to find Jaebum staring at you intently. You ignored his gaze, and the rage that fumed inside you, “It’s most likely a political publicity stunt, but I would recommend you do go to the party, as it will be beneficial for you both-”

“What am I going to do about you?”

“Excuse me?” You gasped, taken aback.

Jaebum chuckled, humourlessly. His lips twisted into a smirk, and you realised you hadn’t seen him smile or laugh in a really long time. You tried to shove the pain shooting towards your heart away, but a pang still rang through you as you saw his sad smile.

“How am I going to do this all without you?” He clarified himself. You stammered unable to think of something to say. Jaebum let out a sigh, “Come to the party with me.”

“I’m afraid that’s-”

Jaebum interrupted you, making you frown.

“Your last assignment as my secretary, Miss y/n,” Jaebum tilted his head to the side, smiling slightly as he said, “Come with me.”

No.

“What about Heather?”

“I can’t go to formal gatherings with her without others assuming it's a political play,” Jaebum answered, before shrugging, “It’s too early for that step anyway.”

Too early? They have been dating for months now, and Heather was head over heels for him, and he is saying it’s too early.

“I-”

“Please, y/n,” Jaebum’s dark eyes bore into yours, and you held your breath. “One last time.”

"Alright,” you sighed, defeated.

“Thanks.”

Thanks, love, the ghost of his past self whispered.

You swallowed the bitterness, before looking down at your iPad once again.

“Mr Henry and Mark are...” you continued on as if nothing was wrong.

Because nothing was wrong.

Everything was right.

You were about to end this dreadful internship, and come out debt free.

Heather was in love with her boyfriend.

Her boyfriend didn’t fuck her best friend.

And your best friend was still your best friend.

Everything was just right, but everything felt so wrong.

You were leaning against the rich white leather sofa and Heather’s shoulders. Your eyes were closed, as you tried not to break down in front of your best friend.

You knew Jaebum wasn’t going to be here tonight. It was Friday night and he had a company dinner with the upper shareholders today. So, tonight you decided to sleep over at Heather’s house.

Just like every moment you spent with her now, you wanted to burst out into tears and tell her everything. Tell her how you fell for him and his teasing words. How you didn’t mean to but you started to like him, how your heart ached every time you saw him. How terrible you felt every time you saw Heather smile at you like that, knowing that you were so close to ruining everything.

“Hey, what’s wrong, babe?” Heather asked, her soft hands wiping the tears that fell onto your cheeks.

You shook your head and moved away from her shoulder. You leaned into the corner of your sofa, and tried to hold in the tears. But you couldn’t.

Your chin began to shake as more tears fell from your eyes.

“Hey, hey, hey, y/n,” Heather moved towards you quickly. “What’s wrong, babe? You can tell me anything.”

You shook your head, you couldn’t tell her this. You couldn’t tell her this. You couldn’t lose her.

“I’m sorry, Heather,” you whispered into her tank top as she pulled your shaking body into her.

“Shhh,” she hushed, brushing your hair, trying to calm your sobbing body, “It’s okay. Whatever it is, it’s only to be okay. I’m here for you, I’m always going to be here for you. Okay?”

You bit your lip as you cried harder. You managed a meek okay through your tears.

After you had calmed down a bit, you leaned back and looked at your best friend. Her eyes were glistening with concern, and a few stray tears running down her face too from seeing you cry.

You couldn't hide it from her, she was your other half. You had to tell her, but all you could manage was, “I love him, Heather.”

I love Im Jaebum.

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lokidoki-imagines · 4 years ago

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Red String of Fate Part 1

So I wrote out a whole piece and then my iPad decided to just delete it 🥲 But yeah, I’m a Zemo simp now apparently 🤷🏼‍♀️

Warnings: None really for this chapter, but I suppose it’s the start of a love triangle so if those bother you, then this ain’t the one for you 😂

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader, Zemo x Reader, Sam x platonic!reader

Word count: 1514

Having worked with Bucky and Sam before the blip, you knew the two of them together meant trouble. There was never a plan, only arguments and bickering over who had the right to make the plan, which usually ended with you making the plan instead. What wasn’t in your plan, was meeting your friends at a small Berlin airfield after their trip to see Zemo.

After having found the space outside of hanger 9, you pulled your phone out and called Bucky. “Okay, I’m here. So what’s my surprise?” Hoping it was going to be something nice, like some of those famous plums he always insists are better than anywhere else in the world, you let your imagination run as you heard him chuckle on the other end of the phone. “Don’t freak out doll, but look to your left.”

Pulling your phone away from your ear as the line went dead you could feel the goosebumps creep along your skin. Swaggering as if he owned the place, and you’d be surprised if he didn’t, was the one and only Baron Zemo; flagging him either side was Sam and Bucky. Shaking off the shock you shoved your phone back into your jacket pocket and stormed over to the three approaching men, noticing an elderly man stepping off a private jet spurred you into walking even quicker.

“What the hell are you two thinking?” Stopping a few feet away from them you ignored the man in the middle. “You said there was a surprise,” you let your eyes flicker over to Zemo’s brown ones before forcing them back to Bucky “Usually when someone says they’ve gotten you a surprise it’s something pleasant.”

“It’s his fault.” Sam spoke quickly, shoving a finger in Bucky’s direction.

“Hey, don’t pin this on me. He broke himself out, I only-”

“Oh so you’re completely innocent in this? Pretty sure you-”

Your eyes drifted from your bickering friends to the silent man between them. He was unusually quiet, any smart ass quip he had planned had turned to lead on his tongue the minute you came into the picture. He had wrinkles, only slight, at the corner of his eyes that weren’t there the last time you’d seen him. Days worth of stubble marked his cheeks, but even with all the years and heartache that he’d endured since you’d last seen each other, he was still exactly the same as you remembered. You could only wonder what he was thinking, seeing you here with his enemies after all this time.

“Are we interrupting something?” Sam spoke carefully, pulling your attention away from the criminal in front of you. Bucky and Sam were watching you both with cautious looks, as words begin to fail you. You’d never told your friends about your past further than you’d moved to the states as an adult. They knew you lived in Sokovia for a number of years on and off, but they didn’t know all of it. You didn’t know them during the Civil War, you became fast friends with them during their exile days on the run from the law after meeting Sam and Steve during one of their recon missions. Of course you knew why they were on the run, it’s why you never told them everything. If they knew-

You couldn’t get any words out as your mouth flapped open and closed like a fish out of water. You were blindsided seeing Zemo again and you couldn’t think straight, it had been so long and so many feelings began to rush to the surface you didn’t know where to start or what to say. Letting your eyes drift back to Zemo you pleaded with him silently to keep quiet, to keep your past a secret for the sake of your friendship, the sake of your reputation.

He still hadn’t taken his eyes off of you. “No. I’m afraid I don’t have the honour of knowing your friend,” his lips curved into a smirk as you let out a breath, “though I would certainly like to be introduced.”

“Let’s get on the plane, then we can play nicey - nicey.”

Zemo brushed past you as Sam followed him onto the jet. Your mind was racing, memories of your past rushing back as they escaped the box you’d kept sealed for the last god knows how many years. “Hey,” Bucky placed his hand on your arm, pulling you out of your thoughts and back to the present. “You good?”

“Yeah,” you nodded. “Just a shock, thought I was getting flowers.” The close contact of Buckys body to yours would usually send you into a tailspin, racing heart and nervous smiles. Now, it was empty; void. Your thoughts occupied by the passenger on the jet.

“I’ll bear that in mind for next time.” He promised as you turned towards the jet, “Let’s get going. The quicker we’re out of Berlin the better.”

Walking down the gangway you took the seat opposite Zemo, Bucky opting for the one to your right across the aisle. Letting your head fall back as the engine roared to life you laughed a little, rolling your head to look at the super soldier. “I thought I was getting some of those famous plums.”

You could feel his chocolate eyes watching and assessing the situation, just as easily as you could feel your nerves tingling on the back of your neck. Bucky let off a casual laugh, his head lolled to the side too. “Next time Doll, I promise I’ll get you some of those plums.”

“Perhaps I could get some too.” Flipping your head back you could tell he was teasing, testing the boundaries that were being set and seeing how far he could push it. “I do love plum jam, especially the homemade kind.”

You set your jaw as his eyes began to dance with mischief. He held the power now and he knew it, you had no choice but to bite your tongue as he toyed with you as innocently as he could. “Well I bet you’ve never had jam as good as Y/N’s, she makes the best jam I’ve ever tasted.” Your heart swelled at Sams sweet compliment as a smile formed as a thanks on your lips.

“Oh I bet it’s delicious.” Zemo drawled, his lilting accent just as you remember it.

“So where are we going now that we’ve broken a convicted felon out of prison?” His eyes dropped from you to look out the window as he took a glass of champagne from the assistant. The old man offered one to yourself, but you declined politely.

“Madripoor,” The Sokovian opposite you drawled in his accent, his fingers pausing in the pages of a book. “Now I don’t recognise this name...Nakajima?”

Leaping out of his seat before you knew it Bucky had one hand fisted in Zemos shirt, the other grabbing a little notebook you recognised as Steve’s. “You touch that again, and I’ll kill you.”

Sinking back in your seat you watched the three men bicker over Marvin Gaye. Taking a cup of tea from the assistant as you relaxed back into your seat, you couldn’t help but wonder why you were heading to Madripoor of all places. You’d only been once, a lifetime ago now, but it made an impression.

“So who are we playing dress up as?” You asked the man opposite you, sipping your tea. You knew his games, and you knew he’d take any opportunity to be the one in the know.

Sam sat forward, “I’m sorry, dress up?”

Zemo heaved a sigh, his hands folding over his lap with a head tilt. “We all have a part to play if we are to get the information we need from Selby. Sam, you will play the part of Conrad Mack aka The Smiling Tiger.” You snorted at Sams expression, his deadpan face betraying his thoughts.

“Seriously? He even has a bad nickname man.”

“James, you will have to become someone you claim is gone.” Your smile dropped, you knew that was going to be hard for Bucky. That much was evident from the scowl on his face. “And you, Y/n.”

His smile oozed mischief. “You will be my beautiful wife, accompanying her husband on business.”

Sam and Bucky began to protest as his smirk grew. “Fine.” Their shouts of protest falling short as you and Zemo started each other down.

“You can’t be serious Y/N.” Sam began, his hands flying to the brown eyed man opposite you.

Bucky shook his head, letting loose a humourless laugh. “If you think I’m letting you anywhere near her, then-”

You felt a swell in your chest at Buckys protectiveness, “It’s either be his wife or his whore,” Zemo’s smirk dropped, his eyes glazing over as you smiled weakly at your friends. “Plus he’s rich, I’m getting some jewellery out of this.”

Closing your eyes to get some rest before you landed, you could feel a set of eyes on you; whether they were chocolate brown or ice blue was a completely different matter.

#Zemo imagine #bucky Barnes imagine #tfatws #tfatws imagine #baron zemo #helmut zemo imagine #marvel imagines #imagines blog #hemut zemo #power broker #sokovia #daniel bruhl #sam wilson imagine #White wolf #falcon #james Buchanan Barnes imagine #james buchanan barnes #james bucky barnes

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let-the-dream-begin · 4 years ago

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In My Daughter’s Eyes Chapter 27: Vortex

Chapter 26

Read on AO3

Vortex: a mass of swirling water that draws everything to it

——

In late August, with September right around the corner, Claire and Faith were about to experience their first hurricane. Claire had experienced all levels of terrifying weather with Uncle Lamb out in the field, including floods, sandstorms, mudslides, and nearly every other manner of natural disasters. Hurricanes, however, had eluded them. They’d only gone to South America one time, and they’d merely seen some heavy rainfall.

Claire had been keeping her eye on the news, seeing how hurricane Matthew was affecting other areas along the east coast. She shuddered to think of them even losing power, let alone anything actually disastrous happening. All news and weather outlets were assuring that by the time it hit the island, it would have lost most of its power, so the storm wouldn’t be devastating, but it would do damage nonetheless.

Claire was doing another scan of the weather channel (which Faith did not appreciate) before work when her phone rang. Jamie.

“Sassenach?”

“This is she.”

“Good morning, lass. Sleep well?”

“I did, is everything alright?”

“Aye, fine. Just wanted to check in. The storm is gonna hit tomorrow; wanted to make sure ye were prepared.”

“Prepared enough,” Claire said, throwing a bar and a yogurt into her purse. “I’ve gotten the bread and milk, as they say. Stocked up.”

“Aye, that’s good. Are ye prepared for losing power?”

“Flashlights are ready with spare batteries and all. Portable charger for the iPad.”

“What about fer you?”

“Oh, I have to be at the hospital before it starts and then stay. It runs on a generator so I’ll be good with a regular charger.”

“Wait, what d’ye mean, stay?”

“Well, I’m considered an emergency worker so I can’t take off. I’m going to have to sleep there if the roads are flooded or blocked with trees.” Claire zippered her purse as she flitted back into the living room, then started pulling on her shoes.

“Ye could be there for days, Sassenach.”

“I know.”

“What about Faith?”

The little girl in question barreled into her as if on cue, waiting for her goodbye. “One second, Jamie. Yes, time for goodbye hugs.” Claire crouched down and gave her daughter a squeeze and a kiss. “Be good for Mrs. Lickett. Yes? Okay, bye-bye.”

With one final kiss and a farewell to Mrs. Lickett, Claire was out the door. “Sorry, what were we talking about?”

“What’re ye gonna do wi’ Faith while ye’re at the hospital?”

“Oh,” Claire said, opening her car and sliding into the driver’s seat. “I’m dropping her off at the Abernathy’s with a few provisions before work tomorrow. After I’ve taped all the windows, of course,” she added wryly.

“She’ll be alright?”

Claire sighed as she started the car. “She’s going to have to be.”

Her voice wavered, and she cursed herself.

“She’s never spent the night away from home. Will she no’ get upset?”

“I don’t really have much of a choice.” She was not defensive or angry, but resigned, sad. She didn’t want to leave Faith at someone else’s house, but she could not very well ask Gail to live with her toddler and child in her small apartment for an indeterminable amount of time. The fact that they’d opened their home to Faith was kind enough. She couldn’t very well ask it of Mrs. Lickett, either. Her children were older, but she still shouldn’t be away from them for that long during a potentially dangerous storm.

Jamie was silent on the other end, and as Claire turned onto the main road, something clenched in her throat. He couldn’t be upset with her, could he? He couldn’t be judging her decision, condemning her for planning to dump her child off during a natural disaster? Logic told her that of course he wouldn’t, but she was so god damned insecure about it all herself that she could not be calmed.

“You still there?”

“Aye,” he answered quickly. “Sorry, I was thinking.”

Claire swallowed. “What about?”

He paused again. “Tell me to shut my gab at any point going forward,” he began uncertainly.

Claire’s brow furrowed. “Ehm, alright…”

“What if…what if I stayed wi’ her. In her own home.”

Claire was gobsmacked. Her mouth actually dropped open in surprise.

“Please tell me no if ye’re truly no’ comfortable, Claire. I mean it. I ken it may be too soon, and I understand. I just thought to offer — ”

“Jamie,” Claire cut him off. “It’s okay…I…” She blinked away tears. “Would you really be alright doing that?”

“Aye,” he said quickly, perhaps a bit too quickly. “Anything I can do to make it easier fer her. It’s gonna be scary.”

Claire swallowed thickly. “She’s heard thunderstorms before.”

“I’m sure. But this willna be like anything she’s ever experienced. And Gail is lovely, truly, she’s a blessing fer ye both, but she’s…she’s no’ you.”

“And she’s not you,” Claire said, finishing for him what he likely was thinking but would never say.

“Claire, I’d never presume —”

“Well I would,” Claire said. “There’s no denying you have the experience that Gail lacks, Jamie. And Faith trusts you. And I trust you.”

He was silent, likely processing what she said. Claire turned into the employee parking lot.

“Besides,” Claire said with a chipper tone that was only slightly forced. “It’ll be good for her to have you all to herself. You’ve never been alone with her before.”

She heard him chuckle. “Aye. Ye think she’ll like that?”

Claire put her car in park, and her heart swelled, warming her from the inside out. “I really think she will.”

——

Jamie arrived the following morning with a duffle bag and a backpack. The sky was already gray, the air thick with the oncoming storm, the wind picking up. He’d half expected the skies to open up on his way there.

The door opened, and his heart cracked. Claire’s sweet, lovely “hello” included a smile, but he could see that frantic look in her eye. She was close to tears. He greeted her gently and then addressed the bouncing, squealing thing below them.

“Ah, yes, hello, wean.” He cupped her head gently to stop her bouncing. “I’m happy to see you, too, lass. Can ye fetch ballerina Minnie Mouse? I’d like to see her if ye dinna mind.”

Like a shot, she was off, eager to please Jamie, and Jamie pulled Claire into his arms. She clung to him tightly, breathing deeply into his neck.

“It’s times like these,” she began shakily, “that I believe Frank was right.”

His brow furrowed. “Whatever d’ye mean?”

“That I should’ve given it up, that I still should.” She sniffled. “I don’t know if I can leave her for several days during…during what they’re saying it’s going to be…”

“It’s alright, Sassenach.” He kissed the top of her head, and then Faith emerged from her room, waving the stuffed animal above her head. “Ah, thank ye, lass. What about…” He wracked his brain, trying to remember any of the dozens of toys she’d shown him. “Daisy Duck? Can I see her?”

She was off again, and Claire laughed wetly against him.

“Listen to me, Claire Beauchamp.” Jamie pulled far enough away so that he could tilt her chin up and look her in the eye. “Ye’re a doctor because it is what God put ye on this Earth to do. Ye’re a damn fine one, from what I gather. Ye’re going to help lots of people in the next few days, people that might have been much worse of wi’out ye.”

“What about the baby that He gave me?” Claire said hoarsely. “The baby with…so much that she needs from me…”

“It’s not just you,” Jamie said, with the most careful combination of firmness and gentleness he can muster. “No’ anymore.”

Claire rested her forehead against his, breathing deeply. “It’ll be alright,” he assured her, Faith puttering back in with the next toy. He praised her quietly, tucking Daisy under his arm with Minnie. “I will do everything in my power to see that she’s alright these next few days.”

“I know,” Claire said, then pressed her lips to his. “I know.”

Faith was reaching up, bouncing again impatiently. Jamie handed her back down her toys; evidently, she did not like them out of place for very long.

“I can’t thank you enough for this,” Claire said, squeezing his hands. “I think I’d be beside myself if I left her away from home. Well,” she laughed dryly, “more so than I already am.”

“It is an honor to ease yer burden, mo ghraidh.” He lifted their joined hands and kissed her knuckles fervently.

Claire led him around the apartment to show him one last time where everything was kept; Faith’s vitamins and nighttime medicine, snacks, candles, spare batteries, matches. Jamie had remembered, but he let her show him all of it again to ease her mind. He knew it helped her feel like she had more control over the situation.

“Once the power goes out,” she said, gathering her own duffle bag with her overnight essentials. “Either soybean butter and jelly, cold cuts from that cooler that’s still in the fridge for as long as they’ll keep, or the spaghetti-o’s. Just pretend you’re using the microwave or something and she’ll never know the difference.”

Jamie nodded seriously, though he’d remembered all that, too.

“And watch her with the fridge. She’ll keep it open and stare in there looking for something which is bad enough when there is power. Make sure she doesn’t let the insulated coolness out if you can help it. Though if it’s gone for too long it’s a moot point.”

“Right. Got it.” Jamie nodded curtly. A large gust of wind howled outside, rattling the windows.

“Jesus.” Claire shuddered.

“Ye’d better get going before ye get stuck in the oncoming downpour,” Jamie said.

“Right.” Claire froze in the middle of the living room, her eyes glued to Faith, sitting cross-legged with Angus’s head in her lap, calmly stroking his fur. Jamie’s heart strained, and Claire looked like she might cry again. She exhaled heavily and crouched down next to Faith.

“Hey, baby.” She cupped her little head and smiled. Faith kept her attention on Angus, and Claire gently tapped her nose. “Can you look at me, Faith?” She did not, and so Claire took her hands off of Angus and held them between hers. Somewhat annoyed, Faith looked up at Claire, obviously waiting for her hands to be released. “Hi,” Claire said. “Remember what we said? Quiet hands, quiet feet, and quiet mouth for Jamie.” She pointed to each mentioned body part. “And listening ears on.” Claire poked each of her ears, one after the other. “Mummy will be gone for a few days, but Jamie is going to play with you, and keep you safe. It’s all going to be okay. It might get very dark, or very loud, and there might not be any tellie. But Jamie is going to make sure you’re okay. Yes?”

Faith moaned impatiently, and it was unclear if she was listening.

Jamie is going to make sure you’re okay.

Jamie’s chest involuntarily puffed out, and his back straightened. He silently and solemnly vowed to do just that.

“I’m going to miss you, lovie.” Claire cupped both of Faith’s cheeks. “I love you.” She held up the sign, and Faith mirrored her as always, pressing their foreheads together.

“I’m going to call every day. I’ll talk to you on the phone. I promise.” Claire pulled Faith in for a hug, squeezing her tightly. “Big goodbye hugs,” she whispered into her hair.

When Claire released her, she stood up with a heavy sigh. Jamie was holding her duffle bag, and he walked her to the door.

“Please be careful,” Jamie said. “Text me when ye get there.”

“I will.”

He kissed her deeply, pressing her tightly to him. When their lips parted, he looked into her eyes, those swimming pools of amber and honey. On his tongue was something he’d known, something he’d been burning to unleash from within him since April.

I love you.

Instead, he swallowed thickly and kissed her forehead. “Drive safe, Sassenach.”

With one final squeeze of his hand and a reassuring smile, she was gone. Jamie ran a hand over his face before peeking out the window to make sure she pulled out of the driveway. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to tell her. Christ, he’d wanted to reply with it the second he watched that video; he’d wanted to tell her that day in the office, he’d wanted to tell her on the ferris wheel, the carousel, he’d wanted to tell her when she fell asleep and drooled on his shoulder halfway through The Godfather, he’d wanted to tell her when he’d finally positioned himself between her legs and entered her, and felt so completely fulfilled and complete, and every time he was in that position thereafter.

But he didn’t. He couldn’t. Not until she was ready to hear it.

He knew she was scared; no matter how well this was going, he knew she was still worried and paranoid. He wouldn’t rush her.

A giggle pulled him out of that train of thought, and he realized that Claire’s car was long gone. It had also already started to rain, and it would definitely get nasty soon. He turned to see Faith grinning impishly down at Angus, who was licking Faith’s open palm over and over. This was something she did often, put her palm right at his snout and wait for him to oblige her. Jamie supposed she liked the tickling sensation. He smiled and made his way to the couch, sitting down and watching Faith with her loyal companion for a while.

Claire had given him a whole list of things that Mrs. Lickett usually does with Faith while Claire is gone for the day. There was play-doh, the big clunky legos (both good for fine motor), the flashcards for identifying signs, and of course coloring. On the list, Claire wrote that when Faith colored with Mrs. Lickett, Mrs. Lickett always — underlined several times — signed the color that Faith picked up. Color identification would be a big deal once she started school.

Something else that Jamie knew would come once school started was the school district-provided tablet for text to speech communication. Claire had been recommended speech therapies to get a head start on that, but she’d turned them all down, insisting that it was very important to her that Faith know how to sign before relying solely on the screen. And since Faith had proven capable, she’d stuck to that.

It amazed Jamie how Claire somehow just knew what was best for her child. Jamie saw all too often at the stables parents that had no idea what they were doing. Which was understandable and nothing to be judged about. But when he’d reach out, recommend additional services, hint that they might get more out of equine therapy if they approached certain things a different way, they didn’t want to hear it. It was hard to watch those kids regress because their parents weren’t willing to set their pride aside and admit they weren’t aware of something. But his reach only extended so far, and if he was going to sleep at night, he had to let those things off his conscience.

With Claire, if someone offered her advice, she could plainly tell them that she’d already researched that and had either tried it or decided it was not going to work, but thank you very much. Prompt speech therapy, for instance. If Jamie had a nickel every time Claire complained to him that yet another person had recommended Faith try it, he’d be quite the rich man. Prompt speech involved a lot of touching, and Faith would certainly not be okay with that. Even if it meant her daughter would never say a word, Claire would not put her through it. Not even an eval.

And Jamie admired the hell out of her for it.

After letting Faith continue with Angus for a bit, Jamie intervened and ushered her into the kitchen for some “structured play with learning benefits,” as Claire had referred to it. Faith, having never done any of the listed activities with Jamie, wanted to do every single one. They went on even longer than Jamie had anticipated she would sit still for because playing these games with Jamie was a novelty. They built a castle with a wall with her legos, made several snakes and desserts out of play-doh, colored, and worked on signs. Faith was not satisfied until every single card was flipped over and worked on. Jamie knew full well that she did not insist on such a thing with Mrs. Lickett. It made him grin smugly and melt at the same time.

It was pouring in earnest by the time Jamie finished getting through Faith’s stack of flashcards. Instinctually, he checked his messages from Claire, even though she’d told him hours ago by now that she’d gotten in safely. The wind was picking up, too, turning into a constant roar.

“Ye’re brilliant, Princess Faith,” Jamie said, giving her a thumbs up. “Ye did such great work today, lass. I’m so proud of you.”

She smiled cheekily and then reached for her crayons and princess coloring book again. Rain suddenly pelted against the kitchen window, the wind having changed direction to blast the water right into the glass. Faith dropped her crayon with a startled cry and clamped her hands over her ears. Jamie had to admit it even startled him.

“It’s alright, lass,” he crooned, getting out of his chair to kneel beside hers. He stroked her back soothingly. “Just the rain. It’s alright.”

She kept her eyes squeezed shut and her hands on her ears, so Jamie switched tactics. He scooped her in his arms, cradling her to his chest. He brought her out of the kitchen and deposited her on the couch. If the wind was blowing into the window in the back of the apartment, perhaps a similar noise would not happen in the front windows. He called Angus over when Faith still would not move or open her eyes, and after a few minutes of deep pressure, she at least opened her eyes. Jamie was then able to coax her into picking a DVD. They were on borrowed time until they lost power, so he thought it best to take advantage of the tellie while they still had it.

She ended up choosing a Winnie the Pooh movie, jabbing at it with her elbow, hands still on her ears. She didn’t even take them off to put the movie in the player, though she stood by and watched every move Jamie made as he did so instead. As the DVD started playing the previews before the “play” screen, Faith got behind Jamie and started pushing against his legs. He took this as his cue to walk, and he allowed her to push him into her bedroom. He knew immediately what she wanted. He smiled widely as he stepped into the room and picked up the enormous “Pooh Bear” that he’d won for her at the carnival. Faith hummed in excitement and bounced a little as Jamie carried the giant bear into the living room and deposited him on the couch. She skipped back into her room and Jamie gathered the rest of her Hundred-Acre Wood friends, arranging them around their giant leader.

A few minutes into the movie, Faith finally took her hands off her ears and began enjoying the movie in earnest. The wind continued to howl and the windows continued to rattle, but the movie drowned most of it out for now, as did Faith’s giggling and humming along to the little songs. At one point, she moved all of the little toys into Jamie’s lap and tipped over the giant bear so she could lay bodily on top of him. It really was practically a mattress underneath her. She nuzzled further in, humming contentedly and smiling broadly, bottom lip caught between her teeth. Jamie smiled down at her, her eyes fixed on the screen, and then he brought his legs up on the couch, cross-legged, so he could fit every toy she’d given him in his lap, holding onto them with as much care as he would if Faith herself was in his lap.

The power went out before the movie finished, close to the end if Jamie deduced correctly. Faith immediately sat up, nearly toppling off the couch because of her uneven position on the bear. Jamie felt dread settling in his gut, and he immediately wanted to kick himself. He’d made the wrong move, and he was about to pay dearly for it.

Faith slid off both bear and couch and marched right up to the tellie. She began pushing all the buttons on the tellie and the DVD player, the volume of her whining increasing. Jamie set aside her toys and approached her tentatively.

“Faith, it’s alright. Remember what Mummy said? That there might be no tellie?”

With a great wail, she began slapping her hands against the television screen, and Jamie grabbed her wrists.

“No, lass, ye canna do that. No hitting.”

She began screaming in earnest, jerking against him with all her might.

“I’m sorry, Faith. The tellie is all done. I’m sorry.”

Fat tears rolled down her cheeks as she continued to pull against his grip on her wrists. He swiftly picked her up under the arms and deposited her away from the electronics. She pointed at the tellie, bouncing impatiently, wailing all the while.

“Aye, lass. I ken. It’s my fault, I’m sorry.” Jamie genuinely hated himself at the moment. He thought they’d have time before the power was gone, he thought that it would be good for her to be able to watch a movie that wasn’t downloaded to her tablet. He should’ve thought of this possibility, and he should’ve known that she’d be grossly unhappy if the movie was unable to finish. It would drive her mad for hours, knowing that the movie was sitting unfinished in the player. She couldn’t even get it out of the player to put away. One of her biggest OCD triggers had gone off, and it was his fault.

Jamie wracked his brain. Claire had said if she were melting down to either give hugs and cuddles, or to deposit her in her room and let her scream it out. That is if Angus didn’t do the trick. Jamie tried for the hug, but narrowly avoided a swinging fist. Clearly she blamed him for the tellie’s sudden malfunction. As she should, he thought miserably.

He called Angus over just as Faith started swinging her arms with abandon, and Jamie caught one of her fists before it collided with a picture frame on the table behind the couch. She pushed at his hand, punched his arm, pulled backward, but Jamie knew that if he let go, she’d dive right for trouble and possibly break something. Angus arrived just as Faith sank her teeth into the skin of Jamie’s hand.

He swore in Gaelic, and then he pinched her nose shut, causing her mouth to immediately open as a reflex. Jamie shook his hand, hissing in pain, but he didn’t skip a beat. He maneuvered himself to be behind Faith, and he scooped up the photos in her reach. He stood back and let Angus do his job, shoving his bleeding hand into the pocket of his shorts to avoid dripping anywhere else. At least if it stained, it wouldn’t be where anyone could see.

Angus kept hopping up on his hind legs so he could brush his snout against Faith’s screaming face, gently patting her chest with his paw before falling to all fours again. Every time, Faith pushed him away with an indignant yelp, but he kept trying until she sank to the ground with him, tightly squeezing his neck. Jamie sighed with relief when girl and dog were settled in a pile on the floor. He took the opportunity to put a bandaid on his hand before it soaked through his pockets.

When he returned after being in the bathroom for mere seconds, Faith’s screaming had been reduced to a heartbreaking, whimpering sobbing. Angus used his front paws to stop Faith from scratching and hitting her face or pulling at her hair, and he started licking her palms to keep them otherwise occupied. Jamie sighed and quietly made his way to the kitchen, where he could sit down and still see her through the doorway. He kept his eyes glued to her, his leg jiggling and his left hand tapping on his thigh. The urge to press her to him for comfort was painfully strong. Ignoring the urge to comfort was just as painful as it had been with her mother, all those months ago, before he’d ever really held her.

Jamie’s eyes must have glazed over, either with tears or weariness, because when he blinked, Faith was standing right in front of him, still weeping quietly.

“Hi, leannan. What d’ye need?” He restrained himself from touching her. Her hands were laced in Angus’s fur, sitting dutifully beside her. “What d’ye need, Faith? Show me?”

She inhaled slowly with a great tremor, and on the exhale, she put her arms up in front of her with a long, drawn out whimper.

I need a hug.

He heard her, loud and clear.

“Oh, lass…” Jamie’s voice broke, and he practically sprang forward. “Come here…I’ve got ye.” He scooped her into his lap and hugged her tightly, rocking gently. “It’s alright, now. Ye’re alright. I’ve got ye. Dinna fash, now. It’s alright.”

Claire had said that during a meltdown she wouldn’t want to be touched, but that perhaps after, she’d need to be held. Jamie had thought about it, then brushed it off. This was his fault. It was clear she’d blamed him for the mishap. She’d bitten him, swatted at him. She’d take her comfort from Angus until she was calm, and then she’d ask to be fed. That was what he’d thought.

But here she was, clinging to his shirt and sputtering into his neck, wetting his collar.

“I know, mo chridhe, I know…” he soothed. “I’m sorry, leannan. It’s alright. I’m sorry…”

He continued to whisper such platitudes, in both English and Gaelic, rocking her and holding her tightly. He knew how silly his train of thought had been. He’d seen with his own eyes this exact same pattern of kids coming back again and again despite how much it seemed like they hated their parents or guardian. He was always the first to assure a parent that it was never personal, that the child just could not see past their distress and only wanted to swat at whatever was in the way.

But even the thought of Faith resenting him had made him sick, however briefly it came to him. He couldn’t mess this up; god, he just couldn’t.

She burrowed in further, nuzzling her wet cheek against his neck, and then her hands came up to caress his beard stubble. Jamie smiled involuntarily. He knew she liked how that felt. He let her rub her hands and arms all over his cheeks, even shaking his head back and forth so she could feel it across her skin.

And then, after an indeterminable amount of time, she was quiet.

——

Claire [9:22]: Made it here alive. Just in time it would seem. Have a good day. xx

Jamie [9:25]: glad to hear it. stay safe. good luck. xx

Jamie [10:03]: cheerios and a banana for breakfast. made sure she had milk too.

Jamie [10:03]: not in the cereal, mind. I ken she doesn’t like that.

Jamie [10:37]: *photo attachment*

Jamie [10:37]: look at the size of that castle :)

Jamie [11:16]: *photo attachment*

Jamie [11:16]: “snakes. why did it have to be snakes.”

Jamie [11:16]: since i ken you’re too busy to answer, i’m just going to trust that you got that reference.

Jamie [11:17]: don’t panic, they’re made of play-doh. lol.

Jamie [11:56]: *photo attachment*

Jamie [11:56]: the art gallery we’ve created today

Jamie [12:32]: *photo attachment*

Jamie [12:32]: the gang’s all here for movie time. bet ye can’t guess what we’re watching ;)

Jamie [12:32]: got through a bunch of signs cards today btw. she did great. very proud.

Claire [12:46]: Thanks for all the updates. Faith looks so happy in all these. You’re amazing Jamie. Thank you.

Jamie [2:17]: power went out a bit ago. wee meltdown, but she’s alright now. eating soybean butter and jelly. already picked oreos for her treat.

Claire [2:18]: I saw the word meltdown. Do you need me to call? Are you okay? Any blood or bruises?

Jamie [2:19]: everything is fine. angus did a great job. i swear she’s perfectly content now. back to work missy.

Jamie [3:24]: *photo attachment*

Jamie [3:24]: needed to hold the flashlight while she did this so i couldn’t help. shame. i love puzzles. can’t believe how dark it got.

Jamie [3:24]: she’s got the headphones on now. wind is really loud. hope everything is ok by you.

Claire [4:04]: I’ll be able to call at 7:30. If she starts asking for me, tell her that.

Jamie [4:05]: aye aye captain

Jamie [6:02]: dinner promptly at six. spaghetti-os.

Jamie [6:55]: *photo attachment*

Jamie [6:55]: a wee faerie in her den.

——

Jamie tucked his phone back in his pocket after sending the latest message, smiling contentedly. The “faerie den” was a fort of sheets in the living room, tall enough for Jamie to sit up. Draped around the edges above their heads were battery powered string lights that Jamie had picked up a few days ago. He’d also blown up the air mattress that he’d known Claire had (with a battery powered air pump), put on a fitted sheet, and piled it with blankets and pillows from both Faith’s bed and Claire’s bed. Claire had told him to sleep in her bed, so he’d assumed the pillows would be up for grabs to do with as he pleased.

Faith was absolutely enamored with it. The smallness of the space made her feel cozy and safe, and it also made it easy to illuminate, so it was very bright in there in an apartment that was otherwise very dark. The worst of the storm was happening right at that moment, and it was dark as night at six in the evening in August. If Faith hadn’t been wearing her headphones, she’d be inconsolable at the sound of the wind, the occasional crack of a tree, the rattling of the windows. But she was blissfully unaware, petting her dog in her faerie den, tablet at the ready.

After Claire’s phone call, Jamie pulled out his flashlight and led Faith to the bathroom to brush her teeth. On their way there, she tried turning on every light switch they passed, growing increasingly distressed the more she encountered that would not work. When they reached the bathroom, she flipped the switch an uncountable amount of times and then started crying. No matter what Jamie did, she would not allow him to brush her teeth; she just sat on the floor with Angus and cried inconsolably. Jamie brushed his own teeth to the sound of her wailing, and she only got off the floor when Jamie pushed aside one headphone and she heard the words “faerie den” in her ear.

She calmed down very quickly after she was settled back in her bright little safe space. Jamie quickly shot Claire a text that teeth-brushing did not go very well, but that he’d snagged the Risperdal and dropper from the medicine cabinet so he could give it to her without reminding her that the lights weren’t working.

Apparently, she’d be sleeping in the fort tonight. Jamie had anticipated the possibility, which is why he’d included the mattress, blankets, and pillows. The question was whether or not he’d be sleeping in there.

The answer came shortly after when Faith had fallen asleep in his lap at the end of the movie she’d put on for them to watch on her tablet: Brave. Jamie couldn’t hear since she was using her headphones to continue to block out the storm, but he watched it playing, laughing when she did, pointing at the screen and signing to her occasionally. It was a whole new experience, watching her watch it rather than watching it with her. The only audio he got was from Faith herself, humming along to the music. It made his heart ache with love.

They were nestled in a veritable nest of blankets and pillows when Faith fell asleep in his crossed legs, head resting against his heartbeat. For a moment, he told himself he would simply stay in that position all night, that it would be worth it if it brought her a good night’s sleep after the chaos of the day. But then his hip started cramping in the open position, and he remembered he hadn’t given her Risperdal yet. So he had to move.

Cradling her like a tiny infant, he lifted her off his lap and laid her gently atop a free section of the air mattress. He commanded Angus to lay beside her and left the fort to put on the sleep clothes he’d brought in his duffle bag. Just as he got his shirt off, Faith started whining. He quickly finished dressing and crawled back into the fort.

“I’m here, leannan. I’m right here.”

Right. So he was definitely sleeping in there.

After coaxing her to take the dropper of her medicine, Jamie swiped a pillow off the air mattress. She began whining again.

“Come on, lass. I’m no’ going anywhere. See?” He settled in on his pillow, facing the air mattress and looking up at her. “Go back to sleep.”

She did, and Jamie flicked off three out of the four strings of lights inside the fort before laying down again, getting as comfortable as he could on the floor.

——

Jamie [9:02]: she’s asleep. we watched brave in the fort and she crashed. made sure she had her medicine.

Claire [9:11]: Of course you watched Brave. That’s the one she associates with you.

Claire [9:11]: I’m in bed now myself. These cots are not nearly as comfortable as my bed. Especially when you’re in it.

Jamie [9:11]: don’t start talking about me being in your bed. not when i can’t do anything about it.

Claire [9:12]: ;)

Claire [9:12]: Really though, I’m about to crash myself. Sleep well, darling. Give Faith a kiss for me.

Jamie [9:12]: what about me?

Claire [9:12]: I think you know exactly what you can give yourself. From me.

Claire [9:12]: ;)

Claire [9:12]: Goodnight, Jamie.

Jamie: [9:12]: goodnight sassenach

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stillsearchingforsomething · 4 years ago

Text

It’s a love story, baby

February 2021

“What do you want for dinner?” Taylor asks from her position on the outdoor couch in the garden of their Beverly Hills home next to Karlie, who is engrossed in her iPad.

When Karlie doesn’t respond, Taylor shuffles closer and wriggles her way under one of Karlie’s arms so that she’s settled comfortably against Karlie’s side.

“Karlie?” She asks again, pressing a kiss to her neck.

“No judgement ok?” Karlie asks, reaching out her pinky towards Taylor, her eyes raised expectantly.

“Of course,” Taylor promises, liking her pinky with Karlie’s and shaking it. “Tell me what you want?”

“Pancakes?” Karlie asks hopefully.

“Oh…kay,” Taylor says, confused as to why Karlie was so nervous to tell her when breakfast for dinner is one of their favourite things to make.

“And chicken wings,” Karlie mumbles sheepishly.

“Ew,” Taylor says wrinkling her nose at Karlie’s random pregnancy cravings, which have only gotten more bizarre as time has passed.

“Please?” Karlie pleads with an impressive pout.

“Fine,” Taylor relents patting Karlie’s thigh before she rises and heads back inside to start cooking. “Did you take your vitamins this morning?” Taylor asks turning back to Karlie at the sliding glass door.

“Yep” Karlie confirms picking her iPad up again.

“And your green juice?”

“Yes.”

“Good girl.”

“Don’t patronise me,” Karlie fires back. “I’m surprised you haven’t just put me in a bubble until this baby is born.”

“Don’t tempt me Karlie,” Taylor sasses as she steps into the kitchen.

Taylor re-emerges to the garden a half hour later, Karlie’s chicken wings in the oven and she notices that the new version of Love Story is playing from Karlie’s iPad on the ground next to her.

Karlie is lying down on the couch and Taylor thinks she may have fallen asleep until she realises that Karlie is singing along softly, her hands cradling her baby bump.

Taylor has been busy introducing the baby to some of her favourite music having read that it’s good for its development. She’s been playing everything from James Taylor, Janis Joplin and Jonie Mitchell to the Beatles and Dolly Parton but Karlie has been making sure that there is plenty of Taylor’s own music mixed in there too.

“I still can’t believe this is your favourite,” Taylor says shaking her head as she steps back onto the patio.

Karlie’s head snaps up, her face flushing in embarrassment at being caught. “I can’t pick a favourite, I love them all,” Karlie assures as Taylor takes a seat next to her on the couch, pulling Karlie’s legs into her lap.

“But this was the first one that I really loved so it will always be special,” Karlie sighs as Taylor begins to massaging her feet.

A comfortable silence settles over both women, that’s punctuated by Karlie’s sleepy sighs as Taylor continues to work her magic on Karlie’s aching muscles.

“You know in the liner notes for this, the secret message was ‘someday I’ll find this’,” Taylor whispers, unsure if Karlie has fallen asleep. She’s gotten used to Karlie’s more frequent napping during her pregnancy.

“Yeah?’ Karlie asks blinking up at Taylor with a sleepy smile, her heart warming at the thought of a teenage Taylor imagining her fairytale love story.

“I think I found it,” Taylor admits and she almost ducks her head, suddenly shy but she finds she can’t look away from Karlie’s gaze. A smile that’s pure sunshine overtakes Karlie’s face at Taylor’s words and it makes Taylor’s heart flutter in her chest.

“You did?” Karlie gasps with a teasing smile. “With who?” She demands, narrowing her eyes playfully at her wife.

“You know what, I don’t know why I even bother,” Taylor says rolling her eyes. “You ruin all my romantic moments,” Taylor complains, her fingers skirting up the sole of Karlie’s foot in retribution.

Karlie squirms away from Taylor’s tickling fingers and attempts to sit up properly. Taylor can’t help but smile at Karlie’s struggle, her put-on expression melting away at the sight of her normally super athletic wife look a little like a turtle that has been overturned on its shell.

“I’m sorry,” Karlie says as she shifts over and attempts to press a kiss to Taylor’s lips but Taylor turns her head at the last moment and her lips end up on Taylor’s cheek.

“Baby,” Karlie pleads, reaching out to tilt Taylor’s face towards her.

“Forget I said anything,” Taylor mutters, still steadfastly refusing to look at Karlie.

“No, no take-backs,” Karlie gasps, shaking her head decisively and she leans in to kiss Taylor firmly, effectively silencing any further protests.

Super quick pregnancy fluff inspired by Love Story - Taylor’s version

#karlie and taylor #kaylor #rpf #tswizzle #taylor and karlie #taylor is the daddy guys i don't know what to tell you #kaylor baby

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pressedinthepages · 4 years ago

Text

Family Business

Chapter 3: Date Night

A/N: Whoops, our hands slipped. Myself and Margaret (@sometimesiwrite) have completed another chapter about these two silly boys! In this episode, Eskel sees a new side to Julian, and they finally are able to go on their first real date. But will all go as planned? Only time will tell.

also, I, Erica, will not apologize for making Lambert extra sexy.

Warnings: discussion of past death of a loved one, super soft flirting, loss, mourning, brief mention of religious-based homophobia, slightly NSFW texting (nothing explicit), unnamed character being an ass to a hostess, maybe...another k*ss?

Previous chapter: Here! Erica’s Masterlist: Here! Margot’s Masterlist: Here!

ENJOY!

Eskel’s phone vibrated in his pocket as he passed a latte to the last customer of the breakfast rush. It was 10:24. Perfect. Plenty of time to clean up, check the espresso, and… take a look at the notification he knew was waiting for him on his lock screen. He checked around as he rinsed the cloth for the steaming wand and wiped the countertops. Geralt was sipping away at a glass of ginger-apple-kale juice (typical), and Lambert was busy cleaning off the panini press, apparently hellbent on breathing in as much of the cheesy bread fumes as possible (he always did love the smell of a grill top). No new customers. All clear. Eskel pulled out his phone and saw a text notification—Julian.

Still up for helping out? I am...stressing.

Eskel smiled at his phone screen and thumbed in his passcode. I’ll see what I can do, but as you know, Lambert had to dress me yesterday so… you have fair warning.

Three little dots floated on the screen. Julian was typing. Eskel glanced around to make sure no one was waiting for help and that Lambert was minding his fucking business.

Ok, option one:

And then, an actual photograph of Julian sitting in front of his mirror wearing a tastefully loud dress shirt—black with white vines and flowers. As Eskel examined the photo more closely, he realized that the young man was also wearing a… a well-fitting pair of dark boxer briefs. Thankfully, the hand not holding the phone was resting in his lap and obscuring anything salacious. Eskel blushed bright red and immediately lowered his phone. He breathed out slowly. Okay. Okay! This is… this is okay. This is a normal adult thing to do. Eskel’s mouth was very dry as his phone pinged again. There was no reason to be feeling embarrassed or… Then again, maybe he hadn’t meant anything by it. After all, Julian was younger, less inhibited, had fewer hangups about modesty. And even if he did mean to be an absolute scoundrel, this was… healthy. Yeah. Healthy. Eskel arrived at the conclusion that, at the very least, Julian trusted him, and he clung to that as he opened his phone back up, desperately wishing he wasn’t at work.

And option two:

Now Julian had on a pair of pants, thank Christ. But Eskel couldn’t help but laugh. They were bright red corduroy bell-bottoms and potentially the most atrocious things he’d ever laid eyes on, even with his self-reported lack of fashion sense. Julian was also sporting a navy vest. But this was no ordinary, everyday, run-of-the-mill kind of vest: it was decorated with large jewel-tone flowers emulating stained glass, and covered so much of the base colour it was barely visible. What was perfectly visible was Julian’s bare torso underneath. Arms, shoulders, and the top of his chest were on full display, while a coquettish tilt of his head gracefully extended his neck. Jesus. Eskel could just make out the crease and dimple of a grin on the side of Julian’s face in the mirror as he turned his head away. You cheeky little bastard.

Eskel’s fingers hovered over the keypad for a moment before settling on a reply. He didn’t want to encourage him too much and risk an… awkward situation at work. On the other hand, he still deserved a little credit for boldness. Well, those are two very different options Julian.

Julian’s reply was almost instant. I CAN HEAR YOUR JUDGEMENT FROM HERE.

Eskel chuckled, Only of your fashion choices, I assure you ;)

Meanwhile, across town, Julian gaped at his phone in amused surprise. He...that bastard winked at me...good. Julian looked over the piles of sequins, florals, polyester, and lycra he’d stripped out of his closet, feeling quite pleased with himself. His eyes tracked to the one chair in his bedroom on which he’d carefully draped his already-ironed outfit for that evening. (Oh come on, give me some credit. I’m not completely helpless. I know how to dress for a date).

Julian shucked off the pants, a favorite, and let the vest fall to the floor. He carefully pulled out a pair of bright, sparkly golden boots and zipped them up to his knees before striding back to the mirror. He snapped a quick picture, cropping it to show just enough and still be considerate of the recipient. His phone shwooped it back to Eskel, and Julian worried his bottom lip while he waited for a reply. Had it been too much?

Eskel’s phone buzzed in his pocket as he handed a coffee and a muffin to a customer. He reticently reached into his pocket. How far was he going to take this? His heart beat a little faster as he opened his phone to reveal the photo. “Yup okay, that’s…” He closed his phone and leaned heavily on the counter, exhaling a little too intentionally.

“Mouth a little dry?” Geralt was beside him holding a glass of water with a slice of cucumber happily floating inside.

“I—what? No, I’m…”

“Texting with the Boy? Just drink the damn water and try to keep it cool.”

“Yeah, that’s great advice, Geralt, thank you.” He drained the water in a few gulps and heavily set the glass back on the steel counter, “Jesus.”

Geralt said nothing, but took the glass away, giving his brother an encouraging pat on the back. His amused laughter was audible, though, as he grabbed his iPad for inventory.

Eskel took a deep breath and opened his phone again: Perfect. You’ll fit right in.

Eskel sighed as the bell on the door chimed three times in quick succession, a line already forming as his new customers looked over the cold case. Right on time. His phone vibrated once more in his pocket while he started taking orders, and he stepped over to the espresso machine as Lambert took over the register.

***

Julian ran his hand through his hair, letting it flop artfully back down as he gave himself one last once-over. He had on a dark pair of jeans which he’d rolled up just high enough to show a peek of his bright fuschia socks, which somehow didn’t class with his red Doc Marten brogues. The shirt he’d actually chosen to wear was navy blue with red, fuschia, and turquoise plaid accents on the inside of the cuffs and collar, pearlescent buttons glinting down the front. He’d arranged his sleeves carefully for an optimal pop of colour, and he’d left just enough buttons open to be both casual and flattering—showing off a hint of chest hair and clavicle—while still being subtle.

Julian’s phone let out a muffled ding from...somewhere in the room. “Shit, where’d I put my…” He hadn’t heard back from Eskel all afternoon. He probably got busy, he told himself, but a part of him still couldn’t help but worry he’d pushed too far too soon. In his joyful impulsiveness, he’d lost track of the fact that they hadn’t really talked about anything—boundaries, preferences, that kind of thing. It made sense that they hadn’t, they’d only just had their first date (kind of). But after the fiasco of the previous night, he’d wanted Eskel to feel wanted, appreciated.

He eventually did find his phone, tucked just barely under the edge of his bed after a somewhat frantic shaky-handed scramble. How it ended up there, he’d never know. A text from Eskel blinked at him from the screen and Julian’s lips turned up in a soft smile as he unlocked his phone with a cold thumb.

Sorry for the late reply, had a bit of a busy day. Just finishing getting ready, can’t wait to see you :)

Julian held his phone to his chest and sighed, happy and relieved, turning to the mirror propped up against his closet door. “Okay, Jules. You can do this. He likes you. He kissed you. He was flirting with you this morning, and you did not scare him off. It’s just dinner. Everything’s gonna be great. It’s gonna be lovely food, and...wait, where are we going again?”

Right on time, his phone dinged again. Here’s the address for the restaurant. Should be about a fifteen minute walk from your place.

Great, thanks. See you soon :) Julian looked at his watch. Shit. “Okay. Time to go.” He paused with his hand on his doorknob, “Uhh, phone, wallet, keys… do I need a jacket? What temperature is it?” It was an awkward temperature. Jacket would be too warm. No jacket would be too cold. “Oh my God, fine, I’ll carry it.” With that, he locked the door behind him and clattered his way down the musty, worn stairs of his walkup and out onto the sidewalk.

Eskel nervously loosened his tie a little, not wanting to look too rigid, and adjusted his sleeves. “Okay. Okay, okay, okay. It’s just dinner. He likes you… Jesus, he better like me after all that.” He gave his hair a final mist of salt spray (he may have been out of touch with fashion, but the one thing he would always pride himself on was his hair). His mind wandered back to their kiss the previous night and felt a thrill tingle through him. It had been so unexpected and so… was heartfelt the right word? It had been passionate, but not just in a sexy way—though it had been that, too. Eskel was discovering that Julian was proving himself capable of a great amount of emotional depth as well as unbelievable cheek, and he was genuinely looking forward to seeing him again.

He glanced at his watch. Here’s the address for the restaurant. Should be about fifteen minutes from your place, he typed hastily, wanting to give Julian a grace period in case he really was struggling to figure out what to wear—though Eskel had strong suspicions that he already knew full well what he was planning on wearing and that the morning’s texts had been for his sake alone.

Eskel carefully pulled the tan jacket over his shoulders and peered around his living room in case he’d forgotten anything. His eyes landed on the framed photo above the fireplace. He took a tentative step forward, “Hey, Jo. You’re still lookin’ real good, you know that?” He took a few steps closer, and modeled his outfit. “Not bad, right? I’m, uh, listen, I’m going on a date tonight. I’ve met someone.”

He leaned against the mantle, hands resting on either side of the recently-dusted frame, a melancholy settling over him as he looked at the familiar face. He shok himself out of it, “I think you’d like him. A lot, actually. He’s, well he’s a lot of things, but he’s…he cares. And I think he could make me happy if I play my cards right.” He smiled, “Thought you’d want to know.” He glanced at his watch, “Alright. Wish me luck.”

He gave a loving wink to the photograph and turned to the door, feeling for his keys in his pocket before letting it lock behind him.

The breeze blew gently through his hair as he waited for Julian outside the restaurant, going over the list of Fun Things To Ask On A First Date in an article he had pulled up on his phone. It was a cool evening, but it was clear that winter had more or less had its last laugh: the crocuses were starting to come up in the planters on the sidewalk, and the air had that sweet smell that only came with warmer weather. A beam of sunshine illuminated the sidewalk and passersby as Eskel kept an eye out for his date. He wasn’t waiting long, though, and smiled wide as he caught a glimpse of well-coiffed chestnut hair and a flash of bright blue coming towards him.

Eskel greeted him with a kiss on each cheek, but he was quickly pulled into a firm hug. Julian pulled back so his blue eyes could give Eskel a proper once-over.“You look unbearably handsome, Eskel, how dare you.”

“Julian, you look very nice. Can’t help but notice you’ve worn, let’s see, none of the options you tormented me with this morning.”

“Are you disappointed?” Julian asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Nope,” Eskel replied simply, opening the door and letting his date enter first.

“And they say chivalry is dead,” Julian cooed as he brushed past catching a whiff of mellow cologne—smokey and sweet with hints of cedar and maple. They were greeted by a young woman at the host stand who smiled gently at the two of them.

“Hey, Jess” Eskel smiled in return, carefully placing his hand at the small of Julian’s back.

“Eskel! It’s been a while since you’ve stopped in, I guess the cafe’s keeping you three pretty busy. I’m so glad it’s doing well!” Julian glanced back and forth between the two of them as the gears finally clicked into place. Jess led them to their table, tucked away in a private corner, and Julian slunk into the booth as she walked away.

“You didn’t tell me that this was your dad’s restaurant!?!?!” Julian hissed lightheartedly.

“Yeah, well, I didn’t want you to think my whole family would be watching us,” Eskel cheeked as he filled Julian’s water glass from the carafe on the table, and was met with a quizzical look. “In all honesty, it’s one of the few places I can always get a table on short notice this late in the week. Besides, it’s comfortable.”

A few more gears clicked. Of course. This was a public place where he not only knew the staff, but also knew the space like it was his home: he’d worked the bar, served guests, hosted… He felt a sense of ownership and belonging. It didn’t matter whether people stared and whispered, because he knew the placement of every single piece of glassware and cutlery, and they didn’t. The restaurant itself was like family to him.

Julian nodded understandingly, and grinned as their server approached the table. He was tall, with honeyed skin and dark wavy hair, startlingly green eyes, and an impeccably-groomed goatee. “Hello there, can I interest either of you in any drinks to start off?”

They each ordered a glass of red wine and Eskel sat back, quietly observing his companion. Julian’s sea-blue eyes were flicking back and forth over the menu before him, his brow furrowed at the sheer number of different options, some of which contained ingredients printed in Italian.

“Can I make a recommendation?” Eskel cocked his head with a smirk.

Julian pursed his lips for a moment, glancing up at his date before gluing his eyes back to the menu. “Yes. I am terribly out of my depth.”

“I said the same thing to Lambert last night. Listen, why don’t I order for us, and we can both relax a little?”

Julian’s eyes swept over the menu one last time, “Please, God, yes.”

“Anything you don’t like, aside from spicy?” Eskel asked, taking Julian’s menu from his helpless hands.

“Not a huge fan of alfredos.”

“Well, that’s fine, we’re both drinking red and that doesn’t pair with cream sauce, I wouldn’t allow it, anyway,” he answered back. It was an offhanded comment, but Julian caught the radiant heat off Eskel’s flare of confidence as the restaurateur casually glanced over the menu. This was a different Eskel, completely in his element with absolutely no doubt in his mind that he was correct about every decision he was about to make. Julian wanted to jump across the booth and pick up where they’d left off the night before. Instead, he sipped his wine, savouring the palette as it tingled the back of his throat and warmed his stomach.

“You’re very sexy when you talk about wine pairings.”

Julian watched a pretty pink flush spill up Eskel’s chest and neck, just barely tinging his cheeks. Their server had impeccable timing, choosing that exact moment to make a beeline to their table. “And how are we doing over here? Ready to order?”

He may have been briefly flustered by Julian’s comment, but Eskel’s tone immediately shifted into that of a professional in his home environment, “We’ll start with the carpaccio with the truffle oil, please, and then I’ll have the penne calabrese, and he’ll do the spaghetti carbonara. And could we get a bread basket before the starter, please?”

“Of course. All delicious choices, I’ll get everything started for you.” Their server left them once again, and Eskel felt Julian’s fingers brush over the back of his hand.

“I don’t know how to explain this,” Julian murmured, barely loud enough for Eskel to hear, “but that was incredibly attractive.”

“What, ordering food?” Eskel laughed but didn’t move his hand away. Instead he let himself relax into Julian’s touch.

“Well, yes, but there was more to it.” The musician’s slender fingers gracefully coasted over the landscape of knuckles and veins—accentuated by years of pouring neatly from full bottles and carafes, and carrying water glasses and full plates. “It was your demeanour; the way you held yourself, looked out of your eyes, it all shifted a little. It was subtle, but it’s… sexy.”

Eskel smirked and leaned back in his seat, letting Julian’s fingers lazily fiddle with his, “Really?”

“Yes, really. It’s—you’re confident and in your element. You’re highly skilled.” Julian paused for a moment, scanning this new Eskel in his natural habitat, “You could take over and serve this entire restaurant if you needed to. Couldn’t you?”

“Easily,” Eskel answered, his brow set in easy certainty. His expression quickly softened into an easier smile, and he gave his date a little wink. “But don’t tell the—”

“So sorry to interrupt,” their server had glided his way over to the table with surprising stealth, “but the chef was wondering if he could have a word with you, Eskel.”

Eskel sighed, clearly having wanted to avoid playing Backup Owner for the night, “What, about the order? Or is it something else?”

Their server shook his head, his dark locks shaking over his forehead, “He wouldn’t say, just asked me to bring you back to him for a moment.”

Eskel deflated, looking conflictedly back to Julian. It was part of his life, being in the restaurant business meant being on-call almost any time during business hours for any number of things. Still, if this date was going anywhere meaningful, he didn’t want to start their entire relationship by abandoning him to tend to a work crisis. Julian reluctantly let his fingers drift away from Eskel’s hand, “Go on, I’ll be fine here, it sounds important. Just don’t get roped into working in the kitchen?”

“I may be a workaholic, but I’ve never once abandoned a date at the table. Back in a sec.” Eskel heaved himself out of the booth and followed the waiter around the dining room and through the doors to the kitchen, fully ready to step into his Owner’s Son Who Used To Work Here shoes.

However, it wasn’t the head chef waiting for him. It was… the owner’s son who used to work there.

“Hey! How’s it going out there?”

“Lambert. What are you doing here?”

“Well, you never let me wear my chef’s coat at the cafe, so-”

“Sorry, let me try again: what the fuck are you doing here?”

“Okay, okay, fine, I’m here to spy on your date. Happy?”

“Of course not!”

“You’re both looking good tonight. I mean his shirt? Bold, makes a statement, mature-yet-playful—although I have some questions about his taste in footwear. But hey-hey-hey, is he holding your hand? It looks like it, but I can’t see the wall side of the booth from the pass—”

“Lambert…” Eskel could have sworn he felt his hair actually bristling, “I cannot fucking believe you—that you would have the-the the audacity to think it would be appropriate to just—I mean, on a Thursday. How many people’s schedules did you have to mess up in order to work tonight?! Do you even remember how to be back here?”

“Please, I’m a professional. Like riding a bike.”

A metal spoon fell to the floor with a loud clatter and Eskel took a long, deep breath, “Listen, we’ll talk about this later—and believe me, we will talk about this later—but right now I have a very handsome, very thoughtful, very patient date (who does, in fact, have very soft hands), waiting for me in the dining room.”

“Okay, okay, go, I’ll text you later. But hey, hey, listen: you’re doing great, big guy. Really great. Love the menu for tonight. And the wine pairing? Ballsy to order the wine first but, damn, when you know, you know.”

“Thanks, Bert.”

“Go get ‘im, tiger!”

“Unbelievable,” Eskel muttered as he went towards the kitchen door. “Corner!”

Eskel strode back to their table, and found Julian looking intently at something in front of him, chewing on a slice of bread from the basket that now sat on the edge of the table. As Eskel got closer, he saw it was a phone, and immediately felt the lack of weight in his own pocket.

As if sensing him, Julian looked up, his eyes sparkling under the comfortable lighting in the booth. “W-pray tell, my chivalrous date,” he murmured as Eskel came to a hesitant stop at the edge of their seats, “why do you have a list of Fun Things To Ask On A Date?”

Eskel slowly, carefully slid into his seat across from Julian, feeling the tips of his ears starting to burn. “I-uh...found the article earlier...a-and, well, like you, I was feeling a little nervous... here, you know what, we can just forget you ever saw tha-”

He reached for his phone, but it was quickly held out of reach, “Oh, nononononono, we are so doing this,” Julian smiled wickedly, his chestnut hair flopping as his head bobbed with glee. Eskel dragged his hands up his cheeks and rubbed his eyes dejectedly, glancing around to see if any of their fellow restaurant goers could help free him from the private hell that was going to be the next twenty minutes.

“Question One: What’s one thing you want to ask me but you’re too nervous to?’ Ooooh starting dramatically,” Julian twinkled his fingers for punctuation.

“Oh God, do we really have to—”

“Oh yes. We do. Come on,” Julian waved him on in encouragement, “no wrong answers, I promise. Only a bit of fun.”

Eskel groaned, leaned back in his seat, and folded his hands in his lap. “Alright, fine. How old are you?”

“Twenty-six,” Julian answered without hesitation. “How old are you?”

Eskel grimaced, “Forty-two.”

“And yet you don’t look a day over thirty.”

“Hey, I work in customer service, I know a placation when I see it,” Eskel smirked playfully. “Let’s—can we move on to the next one?”

Julian grinned sympathetically, turning back to the screen. “Question 2: zodiac sign?”

“Hmm, late February, that’s Pisces, right?”

Julian smiled and nodded, “Indeed. I’m a Taurus. Stubborn-yet-endearing, thank you very much.”

“I don’t know all that much about star signs. What does all this mean?”

“Well, it means we’re compatible, in theory. Pisces are generally loyal, empathetic, intuitive, private… Taurus tends to be stubborn, patient—can be a little possessive, but I’m working on that. According to one horoscope, I apparently ‘dislike synthetic fabrics’ which is patently false as previously demonstrated by the contents of my closet.”

“Yes, and thank you for that, by the way. It was worth almost having a heart attack at work.”

Julian winked as he scrolled along down the list. “Glad you enjoyed that, because I know I certainly did. Now, what’s your lOvE lAnGuAgE?”

Eskel frowned, “What’s a ‘love language?’”

“Oh, it’s how you show and accept love. Here,” he opened the quiz on a new tab, “You can do it while I’m in the restroom.”

Eskel gratefully accepted his phone back and watched Julian meander his way to the men’s room. He breezed through the quiz questions, thinking he may as well be with his niece at a slumber party and wondering whether they were going to be playing Never Have I Ever next.

“Physical Touch, apparently,” he answered, pocketing his phone as Julian slid back into the booth.

“Well, we’re proving very compatible this evening. I’m the same. With some gifting thrown in from time to time. Where’d you put the phone?”

“You mean my phone? In my pocket.”

“Well, give it, I want to keep asking you questions!”

Eskel leaned his elbow on the table, resting his chin in his hand, “No, I don’t think I will. Later. I want us to enjoy ourselves. Actually enjoy ourselves. And the carpaccio will be up soon.” As irritated as he was with his younger brother having commandeered the kitchen, he was looking forward to the promise of an impeccable dinner. He was feeling more relaxed now, largely thanks to the joyful enthusiasm of his date, but he didn’t want to rely solely on the dubious contents of a Cosmo quiz to make a meaningful connection. Julian let himself get lost in the freckled honey-nut-hazel and the secret sadness tucked behind them. Eskel, too, took the opportunity to look, really look, at Julian’s almost-too-blue and the subtle edge hiding amongst the kindness and charisma. And so they just...looked at each other for a moment. No pretense, no joking. Taking each other in.

Julian startled at the sudden sensation, but smiled as he realized Eskel had taken his hand. He’d broken their eye contact to make sure he didn’t knock anything over in the process, but now that he’d found his bearings, the cafe owner looked back across the table to his date, “You know, I… want this to work.”

The young musician’s eyes grew big and his cheeks flushed hot with the sudden outpouring of sincerity. He already cared about Eskel more than he thought he should after so short a time, and it was both a shock and a relief to know that Eskel might be experiencing the same thing. “W—I—”

“I know that it’s early. And I know there’s a lot we still don’t know about each other. And a lot that we’ll need to figure out, and maybe we won’t be what the other needs and that’s fine. We can always go our separate ways. But I want you to know that I’m… taking this seriously.”

Julian tried to put words together, but was cut off by the re-return of their overly-handsome waiter. A large plate of thinly-sliced raw beef tenderloin was presented, prompting an abrupt release of their hands. Eskel thanked the waiter, and Julian’s stomach rumbled as he scrambled a bit to close the gap in their conversation. But what could he say to that?

He intercepted Eskel’s hand on its way to a slice of bread, “Thank you. Really. I’m taking this seriously, too. I mean that.”

Eskel gave a small sideways smile, “Let’s eat.”

Julian carefully took a portion of the carpaccio, set it on his own little plate and took a bite, and oh god the most delightfully combination of flavours and textures met his tongue. They ate contentedly, not sharing many words, but also finding it hard to look away from each other. What an excellent evening. The food was exceptional, the wine was warm and bold—hell, the whole week had been so pleasantly unexpected that they both settled into a kind of trance.

After a few minutes and with not much appetizer left, Eskel topped off their water glasses. “Alright then, my turn,” he said, dusting his hands free of bread crumbs and wiping his mouth on his napkin.

Julian blinked and swallowed abruptly. “For…?”

“Picking the questions,” Eskel pulled his phone back out and kept it well within his grasp. “Come on, there are actually some good ones in here, believe it or not.”

Julian nodded and shrugged, “Ask away.”

Eskel cleared his throat as he scrolled through the list, finally settling on his three questions. He learned that Julian worked days at an artisanal candy shop in town where he was in charge of making marshmallow animals, which he clearly enjoyed as well as having the skill and patience to do. The next question revealed that Julian had an irrational hatred of polenta, and Eskel despised parsnip, citing that they “taste like carrots wearing perfume.” The final question turned the conversation to their childhoods which proved a little more serious. Julian, it turned out, had grown up in a small, predominantly Christian town. Needless to say, his well-meaning, churchgoing parents had had a difficult time adjusting to the fact that their one and only precious little angel was, in fact, undeniably homosexual.

Eskel’s phone found its place in his pocket once more while he collected his thoughts. “I’m sorry if that brought up any—”

“No no, it’s fine! It’s a part of my life, it made me who I am now.” Julian gently set his now-empty plate aside.

“Do you, uhm, are you still in touch?”

“With my parents, you mean? Yes. We had a bit of a rocky start when I came out, but once I shipped off to university and they had some time to think a little, we started over. It’s—they try. They don’t always get it right, but they try.”

“Could be worse, I suppose. Still...”

“Family’s what we make. Sometimes we’re born with family, and sometimes we find it. Sometimes it’s a bit of both. We’ve all come a long way in the last few years.”

“That’s good to hear, I’m happy that they’re able to be supportive.”

Julian nodded, stroking his thumb over the back of Eskel’s knuckles. “Enough of my sob story, your turn. Best part of your childhood.”

“Well, once we got old enough that Lambert wasn’t ‘the baby’ anymore, we started running around causing havoc. Of course, I always tried to keep the peace, but my brothers are fucking maniacs. It’s not that I never got into any mischief myself, I was always just...better at not getting caught. I don’t think that either of them know the definition of the word ‘subtle.’”

“No, not from what I’ve gathered,” Julian smirked as he cast a quick glance at the kitchen doors. Eskel followed his gaze and caught a hint of Lambert’s hair ducking out of view and he shook his head.

“Truly? He is the bane of my existence. I love him to death, but he may end up in the fucking wall tonight,” Eskel sighed, rubbing his weary face as Julian laughed brightly.

Their server came around with their main course, and refilled their wine glasses before leaving them to their dinner. “Now, I know it’s tempting to eat the whole thing,” Eskel began as he dusted fresh parmesan onto their plates from the little bowl between them, “but we do still have dessert. My advice: don’t be a hero. We can bring home leftovers.”

“You’re going to kill me with all of this,” Julian sighed as he spun his fork in the fresh spaghetti before slurping it up. His eyes rolled back in his head, and he tried hard not to make undignified noises at the dinner table. Eskel chuckled joyfully and ripped a slice of bread in half, dipping into some of the sauce. Julian thought if Eskel committed to their…. whatever this was… even half that much as he was committed to his food, he could count himself pretty damn lucky.

“Is this how you grew up eating? Just this? Casually? Every night?” Julian wondered aloud as he continued to stuff his face as gracefully as he could.

Eskel shrugged, “More or less. Of course, we dress it up for the restaurant, and it wasn’t always pasta. Same idea though, especially when Ma was still around. Pops is pretty protective of the recipes nowadays.”

“He’s very protective of all his children, then,” Julian winked, twirling his fork for another mouthful of pasta. “When did—I mean, if you don’t mind the question, when exactly did your mum… uh?”

Eskel smiled, “No, I don’t mind. Geralt was ten, I was nine, Lambert was… five I think? He doesn’t remember much, bits-and-pieces here and there, but Pops gets out the photo albums once a year on Christmas.”

“Wow, so he like, raised you.”

“Pretty much,” Eskel nodded proudly. “He stepped up well. Of course, everybody makes mistakes. But here we are! He kept us all alive, and that wasn’t an easy feat.”

Julian shook his head with a laugh, “No, I bet not. I imagine he’s proud of you, though.”

Eskel shrugged, “Yeah. We try not to bring too much shame on the family.” A little hazel-eyed wink lightened the mood and the two continued to enjoy their meal and each others’ company. Eventually, Julian pushed his plate back.

“I absolutely cannot eat anymore if I’m going to have dessert. This was delicious.”

“I’m glad you liked it. It’s a favourite of mine.” Eskel got the attention of their waiter, “Could we get these boxed up please?”

“Absolutely. Any interest in dessert?”

“Two espressos and a tiramisu, please. And two spoons. Thanks.”

As they waited for their dessert, Julian reached across the table, waggling his fingers for Eskel’s phone. “My turn, please!”

Eskel begrudgingly handed Julian his phone, and he immediately opened the page back up. “Are you… a morning or a night person?”

“Night. I hate mornings.”

“Ironic, since you chose to open a coffee shop.”

“I know. I still haven’t forgiven myself. You?”

“I can be a morning person if I need to be, but I prefer staying up late. I write better in the evenings.”

“You have about a minute and a half before the espresso gets here,” Eskel said with a smirk, his ears having pricked at the sound of the espresso grinder kicking on.

“Okay, okay. Last one: why didn’t your last relationship work?”

Eskel went quiet. Cleared his throat. Stared at his hands on the tabletop. “I’m not going to avoid that question, Julian, but I’m going to table it for now because I don’t want to answer it here. Later,” he added with an affectionate touch to the back of Julian’s hand.

The musician tilted his head sympathetically, “Of course. And obviously, you don’t have to tell me. But if you want to, I’ll listen whenever it feels right.”

Eskel nodded and straightened his tie, giving himself something to do with his hands. “Thank you. I do want to. Just...not right this second.”

“I completely understand,” Julian reassured him before chancing a glance at the kitchen door which was swinging suspiciously.

The waiter returned with their parceled pastas, and then once again shortly after with a beautifully layered, barely-holding-together tiramisu, and their coffee.

Eskel sipped on his espresso as Julian daintily dug into the dessert-y corner nearest him: it was the creamiest, moistest, most delicately sweetened tiramisu he’d ever tasted. “Dear sweet Baby Jesus and the Mother... Eskel—and I need you to answer me honestly—do you, or do you not, know how to make this? Because if you do, I—you’re not going to have to work very hard to keep me around.”

Eskel smirked and set his now half-empty cup down, “It’s a family recipe, we can all make it. It was kind of a rite of passage growing up. You know Papa trusted you in the kitchen when he put you on Dessert Duty.”

“Maybe you could teach me someday?”

Eskel narrowed his eyes over the rim of his small demitasse cup, “Hmm maybe. Not yet, though. I still have no proof you’re not working for a rival restaurant. Someday. For now, I have to entertain the possibility that you’re a double agent.”

He took his own hearty spoonful and flashed Julian a bright smile as he chewed. Lambert had prepped this. He could tell. Every element was executed with clinical precision, from the saturation of the biscuits to the subtle eggy sweetness of the custard—even the dusting of cocoa on top was perfectly proportioned with the rest of it. Lambert had truly, from start to finish, outdone himself, and Eskel couldn’t help but think his younger brother’s hijacking of the kitchen was about more than just spying on his date. No, he’d wanted it to be perfect, as good as it possibly could be; though of course he’d never say it. He didn’t have to. Lambert was a snarky pain in the ass with a heart the size of a cruise ship. This was him saying it.

Having polished off the remains of their dessert and espresso, Eskel went to the restroom and settled the bill while Julian put on his jacket, and the two made their way to thank the hostess one last time before heading into the now-dark evening. As they approached the host stand, however, Eskel stopped walking. He was in earshot now, and didn’t like what he was hearing.

“...don’t understand, what about that table?” An irritated middle-aged man and his dinner companion were standing in the doorway.

“Once again, sir—and I’m very sorry—but that table is reserved and there’s a one-hour wait without reservations.” Jess was clearly flustered, but holding her own as Eskel hovered nearby.

“Well, then, where are the people whose table that is?” The man blustered, pointing to a recently-vacant, un-bused table.

“I’ve phoned them, and have been assured they’ll be here within their five-minute wind—”

“You know what, that’s okay, we’re going to take a seat, thank you,” the man pushed past, no longer even looking at Jess, clearly speaking solely for the purposes of shutting her up. On his way, he collided with the broad-chested, half-Italian-half-Polish son of the restaurant’s proprietor.

“That table’s reserved,” Eskel said, coolly. Julian felt a shiver down his spine as this new Eskel he’d caught glimpses of all night took full form. He seemed to occupy twice the amount of space he had before and the vague threat of physical force loomed in the distance like a far-off thunderstorm. Oh my. Julian took a few measured steps back, not sure quite what to expect. Still, it wasn’t fear that whirled in the pit of his stomach. Rather it was something much warmer, a mix of admiration and curiosity that turned over and over as he watched the scenario unfold.

“Excuse me?” The man’s watery eyes flashed indignantly as he looked Eskel up-and-down. He scowled and made to step around, “Mind your own business.”

“This is my business.” Eskel once again put himself between man and table. “To be more precise, it’s my father’s business, but we’re a close family.”

“Well, then, you should train your staff better. This girl has absolutely no idea what she’s doing. We have a reservation! We told her we had a reservation, and now she’s telling us we have to wait an hour because of her incompetence. It’s a liability to your business, having staff that can’t handle simple things like reservations, can’t keep track of a simple thing like that, you ought to fire that girl!”

Eskel looked over the man’s head to Jess who shook her head, shrugging helplessly as she pointed to the reservation list. “This woman,” Eskel continued, “has been with us for seven years and has helped us to streamline and optimize our reservation system at least three different times. She’s more than competent, she’s an asset, and now I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to leave. You think you can come into my father’s restaurant—any restaurant—and insult the hostess, refuse to abide by carefully structured systems and policies, and force your way to a table that’s meant for someone else? There is no table for you this evening.”

Julian’s eyes widened as he watched from his safe distance, pretending to scroll on his phone so as not to draw attention to the fact that he was hanging onto every word of this interaction. Eskel was magnificent: grounded and calm, his tone still polite but inarguably authoritarian. Julian would stake his life on Eskel not being a violent person if he could avoid it, but for someone his size, even the vaguest possibility of an altercation would be enough to make an opponent question their choices.

“What?!” the man blustered again, utterly aghast at being denied.

“I will repeat myself once: you are not welcome in this restaurant tonight. Within five minutes of walking through that door, you’ve abused and disrespected the staff, and abused and disrespected the policies of this establishment. I wish you and your companion a pleasant dining experience elsewhere.” The crossed arms as a final punctuation were almost over-the-top, but the gesture drove the point home.

Julian glanced over to Jess. She was clearly finding the whole experience immensely gratifying (who wouldn’t? It was every service worker’s dream come true). But there was something more behind her relieved expression that told Julian she was also deeply touched. It was easy to see why: Eskel at peak protectiveness may as well have been a lioness or a mother bear warding off a potential threat to her young. Besides, he was clearly enjoying himself.

“Unbelievable. This is unacceptable. I’ll make sure the Star and the Herald hear about this.”

Eskel said nothing, but gestured with an open palm towards the exit, taking a few steps forward. The irritant had no choice but to vacate the premises. There was a moment of silence as the dust settled and after a deep breath, it was Eskel who broke the silence, “Sorry about that, Jess. Are you okay?” He tapped her elbow in familiar reassurance. She nodded, taking a sip of water. It was fine, she was just a little flustered. “Want to step out for a minute or two? I can watch the door. That is—if…” he gestured to Julian, having suddenly remembered exactly why he was there in the first place. He received a flippant wave and a shrug (‘yes of course you can send the flustered hostess on a break’) and took Jess’s place at the host stand while she went through the kitchen to get some fresh air.

When she returned, Lambert poked his head out the kitchen door and whistled to get Eskel’s attention, “‘Ey! Tutto bene?” All good?

“Stiamo bene.” We’re fine, Eskel answered with an easy shrug. “Chiamerei Papà.” I’ll call Dad. He held the door once again for Julian as they made their exit, pausing to say goodnight to Jess with a familial kiss on the cheek and a reminder that his number was still on speed-dial for a reason. The two stepped out of the restaurant and,—after a final pause for Eskel to call Papa Vesemir and explain what happened—fell into a slow and comfortable amble.

The two of them walked leisurely, their shoulders bumping back forth for a while. Julian glanced up into the sparkling stars overhead and back down to where the moon shone over Eskel’s skin. He noticed that Eskel seemed a little tense, and he knew that it wasn't because of the most-recent incident. No, a question was pressing very loudly into the creases of Eskel’s forehead, and Julian so desperately wanted to know the answer—not to be nosy, but so that he could help in some way, maybe. But in the last few days he’d already gotten the sense that Eskel was a private man, and that any amount of prying would only lead to friction.

Eskel’s hand fidgeted nervously with the keys in his pocket as they wandered down the ambling side streets of Little Italy—most of them one-way with barely a car in sight in contrast with the busy main drag. He thought back to the photo above his fireplace. If he was going to take this step, it was now or never. If it went badly, there was no great loss. A good few dates, maybe the possibility of something more, but no heartbreak. If he waited, he would only run the risk of making things much worse for much longer. They wandered into a small park where a modest bridge stretched over a pond filled with ducks and small fish. They crossed halfway and stopped in the middle, relaxing in the little pocket of nature tucked away inside the large city.

Eskel took a deep breath, worrying his lower lip slightly with his teeth, and Julian couldn’t tear his eyes away as he watched him gather his thoughts, wondering exactly what information he was about to be smacked with. Does he have a secret family no one knows about? Maybe he’s a secret agent. That’d be coo- no, Jules, stay on task, he’s clearly going through it.

“So…” Eskel kept his eyes trained on the far side of the pond, watching the ducks float and mingle under the stars.

“So…” Julian said, resting his elbows gently on the old, weathered wood of the bridge rail.

“You asked earlier about my last relationship, and I would like for you to have an answer.” Eskel sighed and ran his hand down his face, discreetly scratching at the long scar on his cheek. “It’s...it’s not a happy story, I’m afraid.”

Julian stayed quiet, letting Eskel take the time he needed to say whatever it was he needed to say. His hand twitched to reach for him, but he pulled back. Let him have space. Does he need space? What if he doesn’t want space? Damnit, Julian, he’s a grown man, he’s fine just let him… be.

Eskel turned and leaned against the railing with his arms crossed in front of his chest. When he spoke, his words felt rough in his throat, but it felt good to be saying them. Felt right. “I was married before.” Julian’s eyes widened as he raised his eyebrows. He didn’t know why, but Eskel had given off a strong bachelor vibe, not at all what he would have expected from someone who’d already been settled down before. “College sweethearts, got married the summer after we graduated, got situated together as best we could—you know, nice apartment, grown-up furniture, houseplants. We made plans to move out of the city, saved up enough to put a small downpayment on a home somewhere quieter. And we did. Front lawn, backyard, space for a garden. It wasn’t much and it was right by the tracks, but it was ours. Packed everything up, rented a U-Haul (we didn’t have much stuff)... A week and two days after we moved in, a drunk driver ran a red going 100 in a 50 zone and ploughed into the passenger side door—damn near tore the car in half. I wasn’t alone.”

“Oh, shit,” Julian breathed, his eyes welling with tears, “I-I don’t know what to say, except I am so sorry…”

Eskel shook his head, still adamantly staring into the distance, his voice a little thick, “Thank you, Julian, you don’t have to say anything. I just… I wanted you to know. I’ve moved on, but I still love her, if that makes any sense.”

“I understand. Thank you.” Julian rested a hand on Eskel’s shoulder, and received a grateful squeeze from Eskel’s hand as it came to meet his. “So… I do have one question. If it’s alright, if not I can save it for another time if you’d rather not—”

Eskel shrugged dismissively, “No, no, it’s all on the table, you should be able to ask. What’s on your mind?”

“It’s just… you said… her?”

Eskel nodded, “Yes.”

“So you…”

“Found someone I loved.”

Julian nodded, feeling the tears finally break through and trickle down his cheeks, cooling in the night air. He cleared his throat, “Eskel? Could I maybe—unless you want some space, which is fine, you can just tell me but—could I hold your hand? I just, I feel like I want to but don’t know if you—”

Eskel slid his hand over the rail and grabbed onto Julian’s hand, their fingers intertwining gently. Julian squeezed, scooting a little closer to Eskel so that he could feel the warmth radiating from beneath his soft suede jacket. Julian sighed softly, mirroring Eskel as they both looked over the water. “Why now? Why me?”

Eskel finally looked over, and Julian met his eyes. His cheeks were flushed and his eyes were bright and full of mourning and pain and something lighter, something that felt a lot like hope. “I think you came along at a good time.”

“Did you… I mean… have you been with many—”

“I’ve gotten all the rebound out of my system if that’s what you mean,” Eskel smirked brightly and Julian was surprised at the relief he felt to see joy come back to his companion’s face. He nudged Julian’s shoulder, “Don’t worry, I know what I’m doing. At least, when it comes to people. Clothing is a different story, I’ve said as much myself. I like you, Julian. And I meant what I said about taking this seriously. You know, I… this might sound odd, but I like the way you make me feel. It’s a good feeling. And if it’s alright with you, I’d like to kiss you.”

It was slow and fluid, the way Eskel turned to face Julian, gently sandwiching him between the bridge railing and his own warm body. He didn’t crowd, didn’t press, but the soft wool of his sweater met the crisp cotton of Julian’s button-down and a thrill turned in Julian’s stomach as two large hands cradled the sides of his face. Julian swallowed and reached a tentative hand to Eskel’s right cheek. He didn’t flinch or pull away, but almost leaned into the musician’s cool fingers as they traced the jagged lines.

“May I?” Eskel’s whisper was almost plaintive and Julian could feel his breath trembling as he nodded.

Their lips crashed together and they both breathed deep in a mutual swell, noses filling with cologne and freshly laundered clothing, and the crisp smell of dampness that rose from the chilly water below them. Lips, hands, tongues, hair, bodies pressed closer, their breaths misting in the cool spring air. Only the soft sounds of sleepy ducks and the latent rumble of distant traffic could be heard as the two sunk into each other, relished one another. For Eskel, it was part-relief, part-comfort, hope and reassurance. For Julian it was also hope, but a hope that he could be good enough, be someone for Eskel to rely on, trust in. And so far, much to his amazement, he seemed to be succeeding.

When they did finally part for air, neither of them seemed keen to stray far. Eskel leaned his forehead against Julian’s, his eyes still closed as he caught his breath. Julian, however, couldn’t keep his eyes still, drinking in every ounce of Eskel that he could reach. “You, uh…” Eskel swallowed in a gulping breath, “you still have time to run for the hills.”

Julian chuckled and touched their lips back together sweetly, unhurried, a soft peck in the moonlight. “I’m not running anywhere, I promise.”

Julian could feel Eskel’s smile pressing into his own lips, and he knew he was a goner. “Good. That’s very good…”

They stood there for a while more, lingering in each other’s space as the moon peeked out from behind a cloud, hazy and golden. Though, as more clouds threatened to cover the stars in a dewy mist, Eskel murmured in Julian’s ear, taking his hand and leading him down the path towards Julian’s apartment. They took their time walking back, chatting quietly, sometimes playfully bumping shoulders until they finally reached Julian’s door. It was late, almost 10pm as they stood at the front of the walkup, both feeling slightly chilly.

“I would invite you in but… roommate. And I haven’t told her I’m seeing anyone, so. Not that I expect—er, I mean, whatever you, uh—”

“We’ll figure it out,” Eskel said calmly with a hand on Julian’s shoulder. “Plenty of time.”

With that, they said goodnight, and Eskel promised, once again, to text when he got home.

Meanwhile, Lambert had his back pressed up against the side of the restaurant, its windows dark and oblivious to the shenanigans taking place in its side alley. The usurping chef moaned as his bottom lip was gently pressed between a set of teeth, tugging gently, wantonly, with the promise of leaving him tender and swollen and wanting for nothing by the end of the evening. He knew what Lambert wanted, the smarmy asshole was an open book, and the waiter was always happy to oblige. Besides, Lambert wasn’t the only one getting something out of it. Oh no, this was an equal transaction, enthusiastically participated in by both parties.

Lambert threaded his fingers into thick, dark waves of hair and swallowed the moan he received in response. He felt the pair of hands around his waist slide down to his backside and squeeze tightly, grinding their hips together sloppily, desperately.

“I uh-” Lambert gasped between their lips, “I wanted to thank you again for helping out tonight, Aiden. It uh, I know how much Eskel needed that and-”

“Quit being such a sap and shut up so I can kiss you,” Aiden growled, pushing Lambert harder against the cold brick wall at his back and Lambert was very quickly at a loss for words. Did he have to be up at the ass-crack of dawn to go into the cafe? Yes. Was this just the beginning of a—hopefully—very long night? Aiden hooked a finger in Lambert’s belt and began tugging him towards his car. Yes, yes it was.

***

#family business #collab #eskel/jaskier #eskel/julian #fluff #modern au

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farfromparker · 5 years ago

Text

It’s Just a Game

Tom Holland x Reader

Summary: Based on this blurb.

Warnings: Sexual themes but nothing explicit

A/N: I’m so angry y’all. I don’t have my computer so i’m trying to update this on an iPad and somehow the first post was deleted????? So sorry for anyone that was tagged the first time around. I hate technology :(

Word Count: 2.3k

“What are you doing tonight?” Haz asks, spread out on the couch. “Why are we barred from the house until tomorrow morning?”

“Y/n is coming over and I haven’t seen her since I left for filming and we wanna catch up.” Tom answers simply, studying the fridge. Definitely going to need to buy more beer for tonight.

“Uh huh.” Harry says from the armchair, nose in his phone. He glances up at Haz and winks. Haz returns it with a knowing smile. “You finally gonna tell her how you feel?”

That stops Tom, his brows bunch as he looks out from the kitchen at the two of them, “What?”

Harry sighs and puts his phone down, twisting in his chair so he can look Tom square in the eyes, “I know you’re really thick but we’re not stupid. You guys have been in love with each other for years.”

Harrison is nodding from the couch. “But see, the question is how’s he gonna do?”

Harry turns to Haz, “Oh yeah, good question. We both know this div can’t actually work up the guts to tell her flat out.”

Tom tries to interrupt, “I’m not - we don’t -“ it’s no use.

“Well step one is alcohol.” Harrison continues.

“And we know Tom will have that covered.”

“Alright so a drinking game... truth or dare?”

Harry shakes his head, “Nah, way too obvious.”

“Okay um” Harrison rubs his fingers across his chin. Tom chucks a water bottle at his head but Harrison catches it easily. “Oh I know!” He shouts suddenly, grabbing his phone.

Harry gets up from the chair and sits next to Harrison. He watches Haz type away on his phone and Tom sees the glint in their eyes.

“Oh that’s fucking perfect!” Harry exclaims. And alright, Tom has to know now.

“What?” He asks, walking out into the living room and Harry and Haz share a look again. “Will you fuckers stop looking at each other like that?”

Harrison laughs and shows Tom his phone. He’s on YouTube and the video is titled Rock Paper Scissors Hickey. He watches for a minute. It’s the rules of the game everyone knows but the loser is subject to the winner giving them a hickey. Tom’s skin prickles.

“Fuck off,” he bats the phone away. “And get out of my house.”

“Testy,” Harrison says. But they don’t argue, they had agreed to give Tom the whole house for the night and they have a feeling they might have finally pushed Tom to the truth.

“He’s just needs to get laid.” Harry remarks, opening the front door.

“Well luckily y/n is on her way over.”

Tom darts to the front door quickly and they dash out, laughing. He slams the door, harder than necessary but honestly, fuck those two.

***

He comes back from the store with definitely more beer than the two of you need but Tom couldn’t decide on which beer he wanted (so he got both) and he knew of at least three different types that you loved (but he didn’t know which one struck your mood) so he got all of them.

It’s already getting dark when he makes the second trip inside. You won’t be here for another hour so he busies himself around the house. And as much as he hates to admit it, he can’t stop thinking about that video. And about what Harry and Harrison think. He wasn’t in love with you. And you definitely weren’t in love with him. You were best friends. And sure you had shared a bed too many times to count. And maybe, occasionally he dreamt about you. And of course he missed you while he was away. And sure he talked to you in some fashion every day... but that didn’t mean... he wasn’t... and you weren’t...

There’s a knock on the door that startles him out of his thoughts. A smile cracks his face so large his cheeks hurt as he opens the door.

“Hey,” you barely get the word out before he’s engulfed you in hug. You smell like lavender and your arms wrap tightly around his waist.

“I missed you so much.” You whisper in the crook of his neck and he’s nodding.

“Me too, so much.”

He welcomes you inside and you kick off your shoes. He gets you a drink, and you make fun of the fact that he has three different options for you. He shrugs it off and starts talking; about filming, about Cleveland, and you’re so proud. You know how hard he worked, how much time and effort he put into Cherry. You can see how satisfied he is with it, how excited he is for it to come out.

“I can’t wait for you to see it.”

“I can’t wait to see it.” You smile, putting a hand on his thigh and squeezing. Your touch feels different, there’s a swoop in his stomach and he takes a drink of his beer to try and mask it.

“Enough about me, how are you doing? Tell me about work.”

That takes you both down a rabbit hole. What’s changed since he’s been gone, the gossip from your office. Tessa is a distraction on more than one occasion and before you know it you’re cracking into a new case of beer.

Tom doesn’t know how many drinks he’s had now. He knows the garbage clangs loudly when he throws another bottle in it though. He also knows he’s been paying more attention to your lips, to your fingers. His skin is hotter where you to touch him.

And. That. Stupid. Game.

You’ve just grabbed a new beer, settling down in your spot on the couch next to him when he finally mentions it. He’s losing his filter and it’s all he can think about.

You snort, “What?”

He shrugs, taking a swig, “I don’t know, H showed it to me.”

You’re more than skeptical but also a little drunk, “There’s no way rock paper scissors hickey is a real thing.”

“Course it is, I saw it on the internet, and everything on the internet is true so,” he shrugs, smirking at you.

You bite your lip before taking a long swig of your drink to try and drown the butterflies that have erupted in your stomach. This feels a bit like a dare though, and you can’t let Tom hang this over your head if you say no so, “Alright Holland, you’re on.”

Rock. Paper. Scissors. Shoot.

He’s rock, you’re paper, you smile triumphantly.

“I’m nothing if not a gentlemen, so ladies first.” He says, moving closer to you, tilting his head up and offering you his neck. You turn towards him and lean in but you can’t stop laughing against his skin. You’ve always been a bubbly drunk but this is something else. Quickly, you press your lips to his neck, running your tongue along the flesh for a moment before pulling away.

He’s shaking his head, “No, there’s no way that’s gonna leave a mark. You gotta do better, I expected better. C’mon you can’t -”

You bite down, maybe a little harder than you had planned, but you had to shut him up. You feel the muscles in his neck flex. He sucks in a sharp intake of breath and bites his lip because he can’t make a noise this early in the game.

After what feels simultaneously like seconds and hours, you pull away, studying the mark. You bring your hand up, pushing a finger into the skin around it and he hisses.

“That’ll definitely bruise.” You say, confidently, happily.

He clears his throat, “Good, that’s the point. Ready for the next round?”

You raise an eyebrow, “Are you?”

He rolls his eyes and puts out a fist. Rock. Paper. Scissors. Shoot.

He goes for scissors this time, you land on rock. A small laugh leaves your lips, “Opposite side this time?”

He licks his lips and nods, exposing the left side of his neck. You’re not as hesitant this time, placing a hand on his thigh as you lean in. Your lips meet his skin and you open your mouth, licking and sucking. His hand comes to rest on top of yours, fingers twitching when he feels your teeth drag against his flesh.

You pull away and admire your work. Eyes flashing to the other side of his neck to see the first mark. It’s darker now, starting to turn purple and a wave of possessiveness washes over you. You did that. Your mouth and tongue and teeth left a mark like that on Tom’s neck.

“Alright, next round.” You say, voice sounding foreign to your own ears, rougher than you had expected.

Rock. Paper. Scissors. Shoot.

He goes back to rock. And you land on paper. He clears his throat and grabs his beer. You take a second to look at him, really look at him. There’s a blush sitting on his cheeks and you know it’s not from the alcohol. He puts his drink down and locks eyes with you. His lips are shiny.

“You’ve rigged this somehow.” He says steadily.

You smirk, comfortable and satisfied, feeling in complete control. He’s got matching marks on each side of his neck so it only makes sense to go lower this time, settling on a spot at the base of his neck, close to his collarbone.

You lean in and you can hear his uneven breathing. He gets fidgety as you suck the skin into your mouth, fingers twitching in his lap. It’s your teeth that finally pull a moan from his mouth and you don’t stop, driven on by the sound. You rest a hand on his hip, the other coming to wrap around the base of his neck, holding him in place and steadying yourself. You feel him flex up into your touch.

It happens like a choreographed dance move. His hands move to the underside of your thighs to pull you into him. He doesn’t have to do any convincing though because you’re already moving, pressing yourself closer to him and into his lap. You hold your weight up on your knees, nervous about settling fully into his lap.

The proportions are off from this position and you have to move away from his collarbone towards his jawline. His cologne is heavier here, permeating your senses and you’re not drunk off just the alcohol anymore. You drag your teeth against his skin and he swears, grip tightening on you.

Slowly, you pull away. Feeling like everything is heightened; the sound of his breathing in a room that’s too quiet. You’ve been this close to him a million times before but you study each freckle now, like you’re seeing them for the first time, a beautiful constellation painted across his face. You glance into his eyes and they pull you in, deep brown, like melting chocolate and you feel warm all over. You raise a hand to cup his cheek, his eyelids flutter at your touch, leaning into you as you brush your thumb gently against his skin.

“Rock, paper, scissors,” you whisper, “I choose rock.”

“Paper,” he whispers back, glancing into your eyes before leaning in. You gasp when you feel his mouth on you, hands coming up to rub through his short hair. He moans softly, you can feel the vibrations against your neck but the way he’s kissing and licking you doesn’t increase in urgency. He’s taking his time, tasting you, feeling you against his tongue and you can’t control the shivers running down your spine. He’s got a hand under your butt, the other splayed across your back, holding you firmly yet delicately.

When he stops, you can hear the question in his movements. He raises his head slowly and your eyes slide shut, the affirmation he was asking for. His lips find yours and the world stops spinning. It’s soft and gentle, emotions pouring out from the both of you and that warmth spreads further, settling in your chest like the final puzzle piece has been placed.

***

Hushed whispers pull you from sleep, loud enough to be heard over the lull of the fan. Slowly, you open your eyes and reorientate yourself with your surroundings. The sun light is streaming in softly through the curtains, painting the room a delicate yellow. Tom is sleeping comfortably next you. You can feel the weight of his arm thrown over your stomach and you smile to yourself as you relive last night. Every touch and kiss, every moan and sigh.

Absentmindedly, you had been running your fingers lightly across his arm and he smiles. His fingers tighten on your waist and you glance at him, smiling back.

“Morning, love.” He says, voice laced with sleep and he pulls you in closer, skin against skin.

“Morning, handsome,” you return, kissing his lips softly.

More whispering.

He opens his mouth as if to say something but shuts it quickly, glancing towards his bedroom door. He looks back at you and smirks, untangling himself from the sheets and standing. You bite your lip as he bends over to grab some boxers, admiring his ass. He glances back at you and winks.

He throws you a shirt of his and a pair of boxers. You dress quickly as the whispering continues. He walks towards the door and looks back at you, making sure you’re decent. When he’s satisfied, he opens the door quickly.

Harry and Harrison practically trip over each other, startled by the door opening and Tom crosses his arms over his bare chest. Harrison studies him for second, counting the purple bruises littering Tom’s body, even sees one poking out from under the band of Tom’s boxers. He nods as if in approval, impressed, and pokes his head around the wall so he can look at you directly.

“I see you liked the game, y/n.”

Taglist: Let me know if you want to be added!

@xximaweirdoxx @selfcarecapmain @billythebully09 @cyrusandhiscollaredahirts @honeymarvel @billieishottttttttt @lovinnholland @oh-annaa @little-miss-naill @holland-in-disguise @wordless08 @multifandomgirl-us @tiktok-spideyy @fangirlfree

#tom holland #tom holland fic #tom holland x reader #tom holland fanfic #tom holland fluff #tom holland smut #my writing

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fandammit · 5 years ago

Text

Look how long this love can hold its breath (3/?)

Alright, I officially do not know how long this is going to be. I had a plan at one point...like 4 thousand words ago. I have an ending in mind, now it’s just about writing Ben and Devi to get there in a way that makes sense. Strap in, folks -- and thanks for reading!

Part 1 || Part 2 || On Ao3

*******

“Is Shira, like, weirded out or anything that I’m staying over here?”

It’s the third night of Devi living with him, which is definitely a sentence he never in his life thought he’d say. They’re sitting across the table from each other working on their pre-cal homework, snacks strewn across the space between them.

He glances up to see her chewing on her lip, waiting for his answer. For some reason, he doesn’t know quite how to say that the two of them aren’t together any more, so he just shrugs and looks away from her.

“It doesn’t matter.”

She sighs heavily and he hears her lean back against the chair.

“She’s pissed, huh.” She sounds genuinely upset, and he looks up and sees her chewing on the corner of her bottom lip. “I’m so sorry, Ben, I didn’t think about how she might feel about this.” She clears her throat. “I mean, did you tell her that, like, you and me, you know…” She gestures between them and shrugs.

It takes everything within him not to ask what she means by that. He’s trying to be normal, to pretend like he never tried to kiss her -- twice! -- to act like he never wanted to.

He thinks if things were like they used to be, he’d make some snide comment about how she should be so lucky to be here with him. If things were like it used to be, his reply would be designed to remind her that he was better than her, manufactured to make her feel small.

But if things were like they used to be, they’d never be in this position in the first place. He isn’t sure of a lot lately, but he’s sure that he doesn’t want them to go back to things as they used to be.

So he decides to go for a new normal.

“We, uh --.” He scratches the back of his head, then gives her a small, lopsided smile. “We broke up.”

“Oh.” She blinks rapidly, then leans forward with a sympathetic slant to her mouth. “I’m so sorry, Ben.”

And the thing is, she does sound genuinely sorry about it, and for some reason that makes him feel more than the actual breakup did.

He shrugs again.

“It’s no big deal.”

She tilts her head at him as though trying to figure out what he might really mean. But the truth is, that’s really what he means.

“I mean, you guys were together a while.”

He nods.

“We were but --.” He taps his fingers on the table, trying to put it in a way that doesn’t make both of them sound callous and shallow, even though that’s exactly what they are. “I think we liked the idea of one another more than who the other person actually was.”

It’s the softest way he can put the reality that Shira really only liked him for his money, and he mostly liked her for the simple fact that it meant that someone wanted him.

“Huh.” She sits back in her chair and looks at him. “That’s deep, dude.”

“Yeah, well, you should know by now that I have stores of wisdom beyond your comprehension, David,” he drawls out, though it’s less cutting than it once would have been.

She rolls her eyes at him, but that motion, too, isn't as sharp as it used to be.

*******

“Jesus, Kevin McAllister’s kind of homicidal.”

It's Friday night and they’re only halfway through her very first showing of Home Alone, but he can tell by the tone of her voice that that’s the conclusion she’s come up with for the entire film.

“I mean, it’s a fun 90’s children's film that I don’t think we’re meant to take as having any bearing on real life,” he replies dryly. “But, yeah, he absolutely is.”

She’s curled up on the seat next to him in the screening room, her feet tucked in under her and a blanket draped across her legs.

They’re sitting in the exact same two seats they sat in during his party when he tried to kiss her, a fact that seems to bother her not at all and that he can’t get out of his mind for more than two minutes at a time.

Which means he’s spent a good duration of the movie being very aware of the placement of his arms, the movement of his limbs, the slant of his body. He’s also tried to make sure he hasn’t spent too much time looking at her, though that backfires when she asks why he keeps looking just past her right shoulder every time she talks.

He’s at least grateful that she’s somehow never seen Home Alone, because it means she hasn’t completely picked up on how incredibly weird he’s being.

“I mean, these guys should’ve been dead like, ten times over with all the shit he’s put them through.”

“Again -- children’s movie.” He grimaces as they watch Marv’s foot hover above a protruding nail on the stairs, then turns and faces Devi so he doesn’t have to see it. “You know, there was an article a few years back that theorized that Kevin McAllister grew up to be the villain for all the Saw movies.”

Her eyes go comically wide.

“Dude! I can totally see that.”

He takes out his phone and starts googling the article so that he can send it to her.

“I mean, I’ve never seen any of the Saw movies, but I know enough about them generally to think that it’s a pretty good theory.”

He feels Devi clamp onto his arm with her hand.

“Ben, how have you never seen any of the Saw movies?”

He looks down at where her hand is resting on his arm, then back up at her. Tries to focus on the incredulous look on her face rather than the warm pinpricks of her fingertips settling on his skin.

“I -- uh. Um. Well, I --.”

Oh dear God, he is such a mess.

“Are you trying to think of some excuse for why you haven’t seen a modern horror classic like Saw?” She says with a smirk, then (blissfully? unfortunately?) lifts her hand to cross her arms in front of her chest. “I can’t believe you made fun of me for not seeing Home Alone when you haven’t seen Saw.”

He breathes out a relieved sigh and turns into a scoff at the last moment.

“I’m not much of a horror movie guy.” He clears his throat. “Besides, Home Alone is a classic.”

“Saw is a classic!”

He rolls his eyes.

“I’m not sure that a movie about someone sawing off one of his own limbs could be considered a classic.” He quirks an eyebrow at her. “Or, you know, even good.”

Devi gives him an incredulous look.

“Uh, I believe 127 Hours was nominated for like six Academy Awards, Ben.”

“Yeah, I walked right into that one.” He turns to face her. “But, 127 Hours was an inspiring story of survival, humanity and hope. Saw is the story of some guy making people complete stupid tasks because he thinks it’ll teach them something. It’s basically a demented version of Mr. Shapiro’s class.”

Devi lets out a loud shout of laughter, and he feels a pleased grin spread across his face.

“You know what, I love that description so much I won’t even argue with you.”

“Finally ready to admit that I’m your intellectual superior?”

She rolls her eyes.

“You wish.” She gestures at the screen. “But no, you’re making me miss the movie.”

She settles back into the chair and turns to face the screen. They watch the last half hour in comfortable silence, and when it’s over, Devi turns to him.

“So one of your favorite childhood movies is about an 8 year old who terrorizes two grown men and probably gave them both traumatic brain injuries before sending them to jail?”

He huffs a small laugh.

“I think it was probably more getting to see the story of a kid being so important to his parents they flew home from Paris to be with him. Like, gee, wonder what that must be like.” The last part is as bitter as he’s let himself feel lately -- and definitely more bitter than he’s let himself say out loud. He regrets it when he glances over at Devi and sees her giving him a sympathetic look. It seems selfish and unfair to complain about his parents given what she’s been through, so he gives her a half-smile and a shrug. “It’s fine, Devi.”

She shakes her head.

“It isn’t, but we don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want.” She gestures towards the screen. “So, given that you picked the first movie, the next movie choice should be mine.” She turns back to him and grins. “And my choice is Saw.”

He scoffs, but only to cover up the smile that is creeping up on him.

“So we’re doing a marathon now?”

“Two movies isn’t a marathon, Ben, it’s a double feature.” She stands up to grab the bowl of kettle corn she put on the floor earlier and puts it back on her lap. “I mean, really it’s like we’re watching the spiritual sequel to your favorite childhood movie, so I’m actually being pretty generous with my movie choice.”

“Wow, truly magnanimous of you, David. I’m so grateful.”

“You’re welcome,” she says without a trace of irony, then gestures for him to pick up the iPad next to him so that he can start looking for the film. “And I know you’re used to watching movies in this dope setup, but I’m not, so we’re going to revel in the dopeness of it until I get tired of it, which will probably be never.”

They don’t own Saw because no one in his family would ever want to watch it, so he clicks over to their Amazon account to buy it.

“I actually don’t use this room all that much. It isn’t as fun by yourself, so, this is --.” He glances over at her and shrugs. “It’s nice.” She gives him a smile that might be described as soft, if he were doing such a thing as cataloging her smiles. He turns his attention back to the iPad screen before he can do anything stupid like tell her how pretty her smile is, and scrolls through the list. “There are eight Saw movies?” He says incredulously. “How are there eight Saw movies?”

Devi shrugs.

“They’re cheap to make and people keep watching them, hoping any one of them will be as good as the first one.” She takes a sip of her soda. “Spoiler alert, that hope remains unfulfilled.”

“Wow, you’re really doing a great job at selling me this franchise.”

“Hey,” she says, slapping him with the back of her hand. “I wasn’t trying to sell you the franchise, just the first movie.” She moves the popcorn bowl between them and settles back into her chair. “Now shut up and get ready to see the type of person Kevin McAllister became when he grew up.”

*******

They end up watching all of Paddington 2 (his choice, to scrub the horrifying but admittedly -- and surprisingly -- alright Saw from his memory) and Cabin in the Woods (Devi’s choice, as an example of -- in her words -- a legit awesome horror film, to which he finds himself agreeing).

By the time they finish it’s nearly 3 A.M., and they’ve eaten their way through two huge bowls of kettle corn, an entire tub of Red Vines, and a mixed bag of mini candy bars.

“You wanna choose another movie?” Devi asks, even though she’s all curled up in the comfortable plush of the chair with her head pillowed on her arms.

“So I can sit here and watch it alone while you snore next to me?” He turns off the screen and climbs out of the chair, stretching his arms over his head. “C’mon.”

“You go,” Devi mutters, her eyes now closed. “I’m comfortable here.”

He gives a small chuckle.

“Yeah, well, you won’t be when you wake up in a few hours with a sore neck and numb feet.”

“Nuh uh,” she counters as she buries her face further into her arms. “I’m smaller than you, I can fit.”

“Devi, I know from experience that these chairs are deceptively comfortable now, but it’s killer for your back and neck.” He crouches down and attempts to tug the blanket off of her. “Besides, you’re not really that much smaller than me.”

Devi gives a tired smile, and he has to twist his hand into the blanket to keep himself from doing something truly idiotic like brush away the stray curl that’s fallen across her face.

“At dinner one night my mom asked why I let you rile me up so much when you’re like 5’2.”

She huffs a laugh, and he finds it so immediately and absurdly appealing that he can’t even find it in himself to be all that insulted.

“First of all,” he starts, once again trying to pull the blanket from her and getting a weary, half-assed scowl in return for his trouble. “I’m 5’5. Secondly, I’m glad you just admitted that you’re always talking about me at the dinner table. Not that I didn’t already know that you’re obsessed with me, but it’s nice to hear it straight from you.”

She opens one eye just so she can roll it at him.

“You’re the worst, Ben Gross.”

“I know you’re just saying that because I’m trying to get you out of this chair.”

She groans and throws the blanket off of her, then lifts her head off her arms and sits up.

“But why make them so comfortable if they aren’t even good to sleep in?”

“Specifically to torture you, obviously.”

“Hrmph, you would.” Her eyes are half closed again, and she’s leaning dangerously to the side. He’s worried that she’s going to curl back up in the chair again, but then she lifts her arms out in front of her.

“Are you...doing your best zombie impression?”

She scowls at him -- or she tries to, at least. Her eyes are closed and it’s like her face is too tired to dedicate itself to the expression, so the result is much less menacing than it is adorable. He’s glad she can’t see him right now because he’s almost sure the look on his face would give it all away.

“Help me up, you dick,” she says, though there isn’t any heat in the words.

“Oh well, geez, since you asked so nicely.”

She smiles sweetly at him, though her eyes are still closed.

“Help me up please, you dick.”

He huffs a laugh and hopes it sounds casual, which is how he should feel, instead of slightly panicked, which is how he actually feels.

He reaches down to grab both her hands in his and pulls her up. His brain is yelling at him to let go of her immediately, but his traitorous hands aren’t listening, and he just keeps them wrapped around hers as she sways unsteadily on her feet.

“Dunno why I’m so tired,” she mumbles, her head falling forward with her eyes still closed. Her face is half hidden by the wild mass of her hair and he feels his fingers twitch at the thought of gently tucking a wayward strand behind her ear. “Must be ‘cuz your movie commentary is so boring.”

He makes a noise that he intends to be a laugh, but it just comes out a breathy sigh instead. His hands are still loosely wrapped around hers, and she’s standing so close to him that a stray curl brushes across the edge of his chin every time she breathes.

“Yes, that must be the reason,” he murmurs, because speaking quietly seems like the only way to hide how he’s feeling right now. “Not the fact that it’s 3 in the morning, we just watched four movies in a row or you’ve been sleeping in a bed that you aren’t used to.”

“The bed’s comfortable,” she says, her words slurred with sleep. She lifts her head at him with her eyes closed and wrinkles her nose as she smiles, then gently tips forward and rests her forehead on his shoulder.

He freezes, and it takes all of the self control he’s ever possessed to not wrap his arms around her shoulders, rest his cheek against the top of her head and just breath the moment in. He thinks he might want that more than he’s ever wanted anything in his entire life, and it feels particularly cruel of the universe to grant him that knowledge at the very same moment he has to fight to not have it.

Devi makes a motion that he can really only describe as nuzzling into his shoulder, which causes him to take a sharp intake of breath and then just...does not breath for the next half minute. He’s so acutely aware of his senses -- the softness of her palms against his fingertips, the scent of her lavender shampoo, the gentle slope of her cheek pressed against his chest -- that for one wild moment he seriously entertains the possibility that he’s developed superpowers.

“You’re more comfortable than you look,” she mumbles, the words muffled because she’s half saying them into his shirt. He thinks she must truly be on the verge of sleep to have said it at all and not immediately recoil in disgust at the words.

If he were not so focused on keeping his breath calm and even, on telling his arms to stay glued to either side of him, and devoting too much energy to keeping his fingers from interlacing with hers, he would say something quippy and casual about how there’s more to him than meets the eye, or gently teasing about the fact that she so clearly thinks about how comfortable he might look in the first place.

But he doesn’t have the focus or the will to be clever, and there’s nothing casual about what his heart is doing right now, so instead he just makes a strangled noise in the back of his throat and grits his teeth.

He takes a deep breath in and out again, slowly bringing the crashing wave of his feelings to a somewhat manageable level, then forces himself to let go of her hands.

He flexes his fingers a few times, then reaches up and sets his hands gently on her shoulders and takes a step back from her, the space between them allowing him to clear his head a bit.

Her head lolls forward against air, causing her to frown and flutter her eyes open momentarily.

“As much as I’d like to see you try to sleep standing up, I don’t think it’s humanly possible,” he says, smiling at her when she opens her eyes and gives him a bleary stare.

“You don’t know that,” she replies, opening and closing her eyes a few times to try and inject wakefulness into them. “I bet I could.”

He shrugs.

“Well, I bet you’d sleep better in a bed.”

She heaves a deep sigh, then gives him an inexplicable and lazy salute and a sleepy smile.

“See you in the morning, Ben.”

“Good night, Devi.”

#never have i ever #ben x devi #devi x ben #my fic #there needs to be more fic about the period when she stayed at his house #that's such a lush scenario for fic people!

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bedbellyandbeyond · 4 years ago

Text

Mystery Baby Theatre, Part 2

(Short Story Post, 2/6)

As expected, the little sick event drove in the views. Reggie’s newest pregnancy was a hit and he strut his stuff in front of the camera whenever his partner asked. The kids loved it too whenever there was a new baby on the way because it meant more family activities together because Carlos liked to show off how family driven they were on camera. Unlike his previous pregnancies though, Reggie found himself having a much harder time. Eating became difficult with his morning sickness and he only craved alcoholic drinks, specifically wine. This left him a little bit tipsy all the time. He also wanted to smoke. He wanted to smoke cigarettes really badly even though he’d never smoked a day in his life until now. He’d been told to expect these cravings by the mystery sire and that it was safe to indulge them. Smoking and drinking was bad for their videos though, so he had to do it in secret, but because he did it so often, he had less chances to be on screen. He was right about feeling the baby kicking early on: only a couple weeks after the first video, he could already see visible movement from the foetus inside. No other pregnancy has such development so early and it did not help him sleep at all. At night, Reggie spent hours rubbing his belly, hoping the baby would calm down so that he could get even just a few winks of rest.

As obsessed with the belly as Carlos was, he was first to notice appearance changes. As Reggie’s baby grew, the veins on his stomach had started to darken more than any of his other pregnancies, almost looking black under his skin, like ink had been injected into his bloodstream. By month four, his skin was webbed with them, starting from his belly and radiating up into his chest and down to his thighs. They bulged a little and anywhere there were clustered, his skin was overly sensitive and sore. Rubbing lotion on it seemed to help just a little with the pain, but the dark veins didn’t go away. For the most part, they avoided doctors. They found one they trusted to help with Reggie’s health through his pregnancies, but they still preferred not to go too often as they’d had one too many stalkers and they didn’t need anyone harassing their source of medical attention. Their doctor however was just a human doctor and Reggie always refused to have ultrasounds done to preserve the surprise of it all, so a lot of guesswork was involved in treating him. Carlos was more concerned than Reggie seemed to be about it. Yes, he loved the mystery and the views, but he loved Reggie more and this pregnancy was worrying him more than any of the others. “Mi príncipe, how are you feeling this morning?” Carlos asked one day, as Reggie came into the kitchen. He was now six months along and had their youngest, Ocean, on his hip. The blue babe had tear stained cheeks from finishing a little fit and clung to Reggie for comfort. Their little fist scrunched up his shirt, exposing a bit of belly. “You know, rough night, but I could be worse,” Reggie admitted, going and sitting down at the kitchen table. He placed Ocean on his shrinking lap and wiped their face down with a tissue. “Could you warm up a bottle for us?” “Is he hungry?” Carlos asked, getting up to prepare the formula. Reggie had already had top surgery before ever getting pregnant so he could only bottle feed his children. “They, babe,” Reggie reminded. “Please remember.” “Lo siento, my love,” Carlos apologised. Since Ocean was born a mixed Yulinian child, their sex was not like a human’s so at first, the couple had attributed the baby with the gender they believed they looked like they had but were quickly corrected by Yulinian fans who informed them it was proper practice that Yulinians born on Earth should use neutral terms and should be given the choice to choose genders when they are older. Carlos had been nervous about following it, but Reggie had been all for it especially since he had a few non-binary friends, so he insisted they do their best to work with that for Ocean. “Are they hungry?” “We’ll see. You know Ocean,” Reggie said. “They never know what they want…” “Fair.” Carlos threw the bottle in the microwave and went over to give Reggie and Ocean each a kiss. “Are the others still asleep?” Reggie nodded. “Brynn’s up but she’s on her iPad. Pretty sure she's addicted.” “Of course, but all the kids have them these days...” Carlos placed his hands on his hips. “What will you be up to today?” “I don't know... Maybe some yoga?” “You should see if you can get Vance to join you. He has karate tonight. Extra stretching could help.” “Oh, is it really karate day? I think his gi is in the wash.” “There's time.” “I know, I just don't have energy.” “Don't worry about the laundry. I can finish the laundry,” Carlos said, getting the bottle out of the microwave when it beeped. “Anything you need me to do.” “What are you up to today?” Reggie asked taking the milk. He tested it on his wrist. “Are you making a video?” “No, no... It’s a family day, babe. We should take the babies out somewhere.” Reggie shook his head starting to feed Ocean. “I don’t think I’m up for outings today… If you want to take them though, knock yourself out.” “You know I can’t do it without you.” Carlos leaned over the back of Reggie’s chair and placed a hand on his stomach. He blinked when he felt the squirming inside. “Reg, you didn’t tell me the baby’s kicking right now.” “It’s always kicking,” Reggie said. “It never stops so I guess I’m just so used to it now, I don’t even notice. Sorry babe, I know how much you love feeling the kicks.” “Yes, but this is a bit ridiculous,” Carlos said. “Are you sure you’re okay?” “I swear, everything’s perfectly—” Reggie was cut off by their doorbell ringing. They had the smart home all hooked up so their phones also buzzed. Reggie groaned. “What did Vance order this time?” “You know he’s banned. It’s probably my new smart toothbrush,” Carlos considered straightening up. He pulled out his phone to check the camera. “…No, it’s some guy in a suit.” Reggie tilted his head. “A suit? It better not be who I think it is…” “Who?” “The fucking government. They probably want to do tests on our children. Don’t answer it.” Carlos started pocketing his phone, but the doorbell went off again and his notifications when crazy. “They’re very insistent…” “Then tell them to fuck off.” Carlos nodded. “I’ll deal with it, you stay here.” “I had no plans on moving,” Reggie said, clearly occupied with feeding his child. Carlos jogged to the front hall and stood at the door. Through the door window, he could tell the suit was taller than him but skinnier. He pulled out his phone again and used the intercom option through the doorbell. “Hola?” “Hello, is this the residence of Carlos Fuerte and Reginald Tran?” “Who is asking?” “I am agent Korsgaard from the APID. I’d like a word with you.” “You’ve had a word. Now you can leave us alone.” “Sir, I understand that my team has contacted you before and that these encounters have been less than pleasant. I can assure you, I am here peacefully.” “Then peacefully go away.” The agent let out a long sigh. “...I have had to watch every single one of your videos to determine the health and safety of your partner, your children and yourself. Now we've checked in before, but your partner’s current pregnancy concerns us, and we are not sure that he is safe to give birth this time around. We just want to help.” Carlos paused. He was pretty concerned about Reggie too. This pregnancy did seem a lot different from the others. But Reggie insisted he was fine so he wasn't sure what to do. “...You're a fan?” “A fan? Well, I wouldn't...” “You've seen every video?” “Correct.” “Even the OnlyFans videos?” “Yup....” “Name one.” Korsgaard stretched his back and placed his hands on his hips. “... 'I eat Jell-O off my fiancé's ass'...” Carlos lit up with glee. “You are a fan!” “So, can we talk?” “No. Please leave my property.” The agent let out an exasperated sigh. “Okay... I left a card in your mailbox with my contact information. I urge you to be in touch.” “Bye.” The agent started to walk away down the driveway. Once he was off camera, Carlos jumped up and ran to the window on the side of the house. “Psst! Hey!” Carlos called the agent back. “Sir!” The agent cocked an eyebrow and returned. “Korsy, please.” “I'm sorry I was so rude,” Carlos said. “Reg was probably listening in on the whole conversation through our camera system app thing. I didn't want him to think I'm willing to talk to you.” “Are you?” “Yes!” Carlos started to crawl out the window. “I'm worried about Reggie!” Korsy rushed forward, worried the man was going to fall. “Hey, be careful!” “Haha, calm down.” Carlos hopped down from the window and straightened up. “A real fan would know a short drop from a first story window is not going to hurt me.” “You've been hurt countless times,” Korsy said. “Maybe physically,” Carlos admitted. “But not my spirit.” “That's not really... Anyway, can we talk here, or do you want to go somewhere else?” “Here's fine,” Carlos said. “The cameras near here only point towards the front of the house. Blind spot.” “...Have you evaded your partner like this before?” Korsy asked. “Yes, but mostly just for surprise gift deliveries,” Carlos said. “I instruct the drivers to leave things in the bush over there so Reggie doesn't see. You know, in case I'm not home.” “Ah. Adorable.” Carlos smiled. “So, um, do you know what's wrong with Reg? Can you tell?” “We don't know,” Korsy said. “It's the fact that we don't know which concerns us. All of Reggie's past pregnancies we've seen the species before. This one, we don’t think we’ve ever seen, and it appears to be adversely affecting his health." “I've been saying that to Reg from day one but he won't listen to me,” Carlos said. “He's more concerned about the views it can get us and keeping the surprise, but I care more about him. I don't want him to get hurt.” Korsy nodded. “Your partner needs to be seen by a professional. If he'd come with us back to APID, a doctor would be able to assess his health risks.” “He's not going to let that happen,” Carlos sighed. “Reggie's too stubborn. Isn't there any other way?” Korsy raised his hands. “I really can't say. Your best chance is a full examination.” “I can barely get him to go to our family doctor,” Carlos complained. “I don’t think I can get him to co-operate.” “Well, we can’t do anything without your co-operation.” “You can’t just, ya know, kidnap him or something?” “Absolutely not. The government cannot detain citizens without warrant to do so.” “So get one. Doesn’t the government pull strings like that all the time?” “I’m not going to arrest your partner just because you ask me to. Everything you and your partner are doing here is within your right. We just want to help.” Carlos went quiet, thinking for a moment. He looked over the agent then paused on a specific feature of his. “Wait…” “Sir, please don’t stare at my ears,” Korsy requested, noticing where the man’s eyes were directed. “You’re something else, aren’t you?” Carlos said. “Are you, like… A goblin or something?” “A…A-A goblin?!” Korsy scrunched up his nose. “I’m not a goblin, I’m an elf!” “Oh! Sorry, that’s what I meant,” Carlos said. “You must understand the mix up.” “Frankly, I don’t!” Korsy growled. “Goblins are tiny, ugly and greedy little creatures… Elves are a tall noble race.” “Lo sciento, I got the wrong word,” Carlos apologised. “I’m sorry, you know I’m not a native speaker… Anyway, I think I know a way I can get Reggie to participate.” Korsy placed his hands on his hips. “Really?” “Yes. I think I can get him to co-operate if you’d agree to father our next child.” Korsy blinked. “I’m sorry, what?” “We haven’t had an elf before,” Carlos said. “You’re handsome too. Reggie would probably be very excited, though he wouldn’t like that I’d know...” “Absolutely not.” Korsy turned around and started walking back to his car. “Goodbye, Mr. Fuerte. You have my information.” “Wait, please!” Carlos begged. “I’ll pay you!” Korsy stopped and turned around furiously. “Mr. Fuerte, my race isn’t for sale!” Carlos put his hands out. “Okay, okay. No need to shout. I was just trying to think of a solution.” “I recommend you talk to your spouse. We can’t help otherwise. Understand?” “Understood.” The agent got back in his car and drove off, leaving Carlos to figure out how he was going to climb back into the window.

Part 1 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6

#lore #short story #mpreg #Reggie #Carlos #Korsy #mystery baby theatre

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lotusss-flowerbomb · 5 years ago

Text

Insecure

Steve x reader

Summary: Steve is upset you’ve been spending so much time away from home and becomes very jealous of your coworker.

Warnings: Smut eventually, cursing, 18+

*********

PART 1

You walked into your house to see your fiancé sitting on the couch watching TV.

“Hey, love,” you leaned down to kiss cheek and continued to the kitchen.

You heard his footsteps following behind you as you walked over to open the fridge. You looked around the nearly empty box suddenly remembering you hadn’t had time to go grocery shopping this week. You closed it and turned on your heels towards him. The look on his face stopped you in your tracks as he leaned over the island.

“This is the third time this week you’ve come home late,” his jaw clenched.

“Wait, what?” You laughed, “are you serious right now?” The unwavering look in his eyes told you that he was absolutely serious. “Steve, you know I’ve been working on this project. My team has to nail this if I’m going to get that promotion.”

“I don’t understand why you keep this job. It’s not like you have to work.”

“You quit your job and I’ll quit mine,” you challenged him. A moment passed of absolute silence before you bit out, “I didn’t think so,” and walked away.

You stomped up the stairs as he looked after you. Something more was going on, but he couldn’t exactly put his finger on it. Your phone buzzed on the counter and lit up with a text. He tapped his fingers and looked around for you before walking over to grab it. He’d hear you coming long before you reached the kitchen anyway. He unlocked your phone and opened the text.

Alex: Hey, just wanted to say thanks again. Looking forward to the next round even though I’m not sure if you could get any better. Lol

Steve felt his blood start to boil. Who the fuck was Alex and what the fuck was he looking forward to? Another message came through interrupting his thoughts. He saw the dots at the bottom. A reply was being typed. You must’ve been on your iPad when the notification came through.

You: Haha! Thanks, but I can’t take all of the credit. You were more than amazing! These things always work best when partners have true chemistry.

He couldn’t believe what he was reading, but he couldn’t peel his eyes away from the phone as another message was being typed.

Alex: Oh, and don’t forget about dinner at Morton’s tomorrow. Bring soldier boy along if you’d like. I’m sure he’s just dying to meet the person who has been stealing all of your time ;-).

You: I bet, but nah!!! Lol

Soldier boy? So this guy knew about him and the two of you made a game out of making fun of him behind his back? And your snarky reply just added fuel to his fire. Steve was fuming. He heard the soft patter of your feet coming back down the stairs. You’d changed into shorts and a t-shirt and had on your glasses. He’d think you looked so adorable if he wasn’t so angry.

“I ordered a pizza,” you said as you entered the kitchen. You noticed that Steve was practically still in the same spot you’d left him minutes ago. He was now even more upset than he was before you walked away. You walked over to the cabinet to get plates down. He was still staring at you. “What?” You quizzed.

He tossed your phone on the counter, “Who is Alex?” You looked surprised. You hadn’t even noticed he was holding the phone. You angrily snatched it up.

“Did you go through my messages?” You scoffed in disbelief.

“Who is Alex?” He asked again.

“I can’t believe you would violate my privacy!”

“You’ve been coming home later and later for the past few weeks. Always tired and claiming its work. Now you’re spending all of your time with this guy and going on dinner dates? Is this who you’ve been ‘working’ on your project with? Is the project even real or are you lying about that and using it as an excuse to whore around?”

“Wow, Steven, you’d better choose your next words very carefully. You don’t want me spending time with my coworker? You spend time with yours. As a matter of fact, there are times you’re gone for days at a time, alone, with a very attractive woman. Have I ever questioned you? NO! Because I trust you, so why can’t you trust me? Besides, Alex isn’t even a –"

He got closer and wrapped his hand around your arm yanking you into his chest. It stopped you mid sentence as your eyes sparked with shock. “You’d better not go to dinner with this guy tomorrow or I will rip his fucking head off of his shoulders,” he spoke through clenched teeth. You snatched away and slapped him hard across the face.

“Get. Out.” You demanded.

Your heart slammed into your chest so hard you could barely breathe. You walked away and ascended the stairs slamming your bedroom door behind you once you reached the destination.

Steve winced at the sound. He knew he’d messed up when he said you were whoring around, but he just had to take it a step further by grabbing you. The slap literally knocked the sense back into him. He heard the bedroom door open and seconds later something was tumbling down the stairs. It hit the wall with a hard thud and then came bouncing around the railing. It was his suitcase. Not long after his clothes came flying down with it.

“Get your shit and LEAVE!” You screamed.

“This is my house,” he retorted.

“I don’t give a FUCK!” You snatched your ring off and threw it down with everything else and slammed the door behind you again. The shining stone and rose gold band stuck out among his belongings. He scooped it and looked at it. What had he done? He had to fix this. The doorbell sounded and Steve paid for the pizza, sat it in the kitchen and headed back to the front door. He didn’t bother getting his clothes. He just stepped over the suitcase and left.

*********

You applied a coat of lipstick before heading inside of the restaurant. Steve watched you from the building across the street. He couldn’t believe you actually showed up to have dinner with this guy. You looked so perfect in the black knit dress you were wearing. The black sky high pumps he could never figure out how you could walk in looked good enough to fuck you in. He watched as you disappeared into a private room with the host.

He felt his anger begin to arise. He stayed put for a while, so he could calm down. No matter how much he wanted to gut the guy, he knew that he couldn’t. At least not with so many witnesses around. The anger quickly turned to hurt. He loved you and didn’t know what he’d done to make you cheat on him. Of course you complained about the dangers of missions and you worried about him, but he thought you understood his work and why he did it. He moved from his spot in the shadows. He’d asked you to be his wife and he was not about to let some punk just take you away. Not without a fight.

Your phone started vibrating from your purse. You reached in and looked at the called ID. A picture of you and Steve shone bright on the screen. You hit ignore. He called again. After the third call you powered it off and dropped it back in your purse.

“Everything alright?” Alex asked.

“Mmm hmm,” you hummed and picked up your glass to sip. “So anyway, as I was saying –”

The door to the room opened and in walked Steve. He was dressed in a white t-shirt that showed every muscle in his chest, jeans and a leather jacket. He looked absolutely delicious, but way under dressed to be in a place with such a strict dress code. Of course they let him, he’s Captain fucking America. You rolled your eyes.

“Steve, what are you doing here?” He looked down at your ringless left hand. You noticed his gaze and quickly moved your hand to your lap.

“I called you,” he said.

“Yeah, and as you can see, I’m in the middle of something,” your eyes darted across the table.

“Oh, I’m sorry, where are my manners? I’m Steve,” he stuck his hand out for a shake.

“Hello, nice to finally meet you, I’m Alexandra. My friends call me Alex.” She smiled up at him.

Steve’s heart dropped to the pit of his stomach. He looked back at you, your head was tilted to the side and your arms were folded across your chest. If his face was glass, it would be shattered into billions of pieces. He really was a jerk.

“Captain Rogers –” Alex began.

“Oh, no please, call me Steve,” he insisted.

“Okay, well, Steve, would you like to join us?” She asked.

“No, I’m sure he has something else to do. We’re working. I’ll call you later,” you said to him.

“Okay,” he nodded. He leaned down to kiss you, but you turned your head a little and he caught your cheek instead of your lips. He told you he loved you and turned to Alex to say goodbye before making his exit.

“Wanna tell me what that was about?” She lifted a brow.

“He thought you were a man.”

“What?” She laughed.

“Yeah, he assumed because your name was Alex in my contacts, that you were a man.”

“Wow, even Captain America, a man who looks like that and can do what he does, can be insecure. Who knew?” She lifted her glass again.

You finished your dinner meeting with Alex. She told you to put your ring back on and not to throw away everything the two of you have built over this. After having a little bit of a heart to heart with your friend, you made your way home. You were half expecting Steve to be at the house when you arrived, but you didn’t see his car. You were relieved. You stepped inside and headed up to your room to undress. You cleaned up for the night feeling much more relaxed and headed to bed. Flipping on the bedside lamp you saw your ring box and a single rose. He’d come in while you were in the bathroom. You went to the stairs to see if he’d gotten his clothes. They were still there. You pushed the box and the flower to the other side of the bed and climbed in. Eventually drifting off into a restless sleep.

#steve rogers #steve x reader #steve x you #Avengers #avengers smut #avengers fic #chris evans #Smut #marvel smut #marvel fanfic #captain america #Lotusss Writes

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j-elaine-hyde · 4 years ago

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The Bean Chronicles: Part 7

Henry Cavill / Reader / Chris Evans

You spent the entire day wrapped up in a blanket on the sofa, reading every headline and tabloid story about your new castle with Prince Charming. It was the obvious choice, but they took your sweet lament and twisted it into a dig. “A source close to the couple...” was cited as saying you were a runaway bride and now a heartbreaker, a two timer, and the destroyer of friendships.

Everything was blamed on you. But it’s honestly how you felt anyway. You didn’t need the celebrity gossip columns telling you. Pictures of chummy Henry and Chris were posted next to pictures of you and Chris, smiling happy, seemingly perfect. The only pictures they had of you and Henry were of the two of you shielding yourselves and rushing to the car. The whole thing was twisted, facts were missing, and you were the only bad guy.

Seeing the pictures of them together almost hurt more than the pictures of you and Chris. No one knew about Bean. No one knew you had met Henry first. No one knew that Chris moved you out of his house via moving company after a fight with no warning. It didn’t excuse or justify how it all happened, but no one cared that life isn’t purely black and white. And they were taking his side.

“Darling you have to quit reading that bullshit.” Henry came in and took the iPad from you, placing it on the coffee table.

You glared up at him, pouting that you had been caught.

“I need the punishment. I deserve it.”

Henry scoffed as he shook his head, “Come here my little masochist.” He patted his knee.

You shed your blanket and perched on his lap, snuggling close, breathing in his scent.

“You know thats all bullshit. It’s not the whole story. We all played equal parts and did the best we could in the situation, which they know nothing of.” He rubbed your arm, which would normally soothe you, but now it just made it worse.

“They’re not wrong Hen... I am the bad guy. I broke Chris’s heart and ruined your friendship....”

Henry sighed heavily, “And what about everything that was done to you my love? Hmmm? Honestly I don’t even want you to think about that. But you’ve been through an awful lot, and it’s not your fault. I might have lost my friendship with him, but I’m happily with the love of my life who is now my best friend... They can twist what they know however they want. But soon enough they’ll move on, and we’ll always know what actually happened. Unfortunately whether we want to or not.”

Ashley walked in, almost dropping the things in her arms. “There’s a ton of paparazzi outside...”

“We know.” Henry grumbled.

She came into the room and sat her stuff down before plopping onto the sofa. “You doing ok?”

You gave her an unconvincing nod, your face giving you away. “I’ll be fine.”

“You better hold on to her Cavill. She’s got that imma say something face and your street is filled with the wrong people to hear what she’s gotta say....” Ash gave him a look letting him know she was serious.

Henry scowled, but held on to you. “You know you can’t do that, right?”

“Why can’t I?” You jerked your head around giving him a look that said ‘try me’.

“Nope!” Henry slung you over his shoulder and walked down the hallway with you to the bedroom, as you laughed the entire way.

The next morning you were drinking your coffee and peering out the blinds at the mass of paparazzi still posted up outside the house.

“Don’t even think about it, my love. We talked about this....”

You were so dazed while looking out the window you hadn’t noticed Henry standing beside you.

“I’m not going to. But I do have to leave today to go meet the designer at the house. So that’ll be fun.”

“You’re not driving, are you? We can call for a car.”

You turned away from the window, “Ash already did.”

You were in the backseat of the blacked out SUV watching as the camera flashes tried to capture a picture of you for their next story.

You managed to arrive safely at the new house and were blown away by the work the designers had already accomplished. You were still excited but somehow it felt like this new start, safe space, had been violated.

You walked onto the balcony off of the master bedroom to take in the view. It was only a few moments later that you heard that all too familiar sound. Feeling anxious you turned around and went back inside.

“We’ve gotta go.” You brushed passed Ashley straight into the garage. She climbed into the backseat with you, shutting the door behind her. “Should I sell the house? Should we move somewhere else? I was just upstairs on the balcony and there was a photog on the back fence.”

“Don’t sell the house. Don’t let them win. It’s your fairy tale castle and your happily ever after... just hire security.” Her blasé attitude towards the paparazzi made you feel batter. “Just make sure it’s a hot security guard.”

The two of you laughed as you drove through the hoards of lenses.

You pulled into the driveway at Henry’s house, and went inside. You found him sitting in his office at his computer playing online games, shouting into his headset. Taking the opportunity you snuck out and grabbed the iPad taking it into the backyard.

“Chris Evans steps out in Boston with new girl” felt like a gut punch as soon as you read it. It was only fair, but it hurt you nonetheless. You scrolled through pictures of him and some blonde on a date. They were sitting in the park eating ice cream, laughing and smiling.

You knew better, but did it anyway, and scrolled down to the comments. Almost every one of them was hate for you, and praise for him for moving on. “That’ll show her!” Stung a little more than you would have admitted.

You continued on to other sites, pictures of him and women were everywhere. He was never a public person with his personal/dating life, but he was doing this intentionally. You had a sneaking suspicion tomorrow it would be a yet another new girl. His playboy Casanova ways would rear their ugly head in unprecedented ways. He was doing this to hurt you. He was doing it all for show and spite and to save face. You were curious what he was posting and went to his Instagram. The only picture he’d personally posted almost choked you.

There wasn’t a caption. Only endless comments begging him not to be sad, a million broken heart and crying face emojis lined the comments. The others were red angry faces that you were evil and broke his heart. It was too much to bear.

“Two can play that game...” you snarled as you locked the iPad and stormed inside.

You found Ashley going through the mail, deciding not to make a joke about hiding letters, and asked for her help.

You divulged your grand plan and with a quick outfit change sauntered into Henry’s office. You had played different console games before, but were completely new to the world of PC gaming. But you knew Henry loved you, and would let you crawl into his lap as he played. You also knew he had a spare headset he’d offer so watching him would be more fun.

Just as planned, you crawled into his lap, careful to not interrupt his game. With a kiss on the neck, and a quick gesture, Henry pointed to the headset for you to slip on. He continued playing, enjoying the fact you were taking an interest, not the least bit upset to have you snuggled against him.

What he didn’t see was Ashley snapping pictures from different angles behind the two of you. You tilted your head and wiggled your ass, knowing it’d elicit another kiss. That would be the petty gold you posted on Instagram.

You had avoided posting altogether for the last couple of weeks, understandably so. You hadn’t even opened the app to look at the countless notifications. You knew there would be a mix between hate and an out pouring of support.

You stayed snuggled in Henry’s lap until he reached a stopping point. Sliding the headphones off of his head, he hugged you tightly and whispered in your ear.

“I love you Darling... you know that, don’t you?” You could feel his breath hot against your skin, but a quick kiss below your ear gave you goosebumps.

You craned your neck to face him, “I love you more.” Another kiss and you moved to get up before his massive arms locked you in place.

“Hey! Smile you two!” Ashley jumped next to the two of you, leaning forward to snap a picture.

The two of you didn’t even have to pose. You ignored the camera, smiling and laughing at each other, a quick kiss, and just generally being an adorable couple in love.

“Sorry, she hasn’t posted to insta in a while and we need something cute and relevant, to distract from the chaos.”

“Yes... well... a couple that plays together, stays together.”

You laughed as you looked at him, “Is that my caption?!”

He laughed a loud hearty laugh, “No! That’s my comment on whatever you post. You can’t steal it.”

With a grin you shook your head, “Fine...”

Later that night you had finally picked the perfect pictures and edited them. You came up with a caption that seemed like the appropriate amount of smartassery and snark. And with the click of a single button they were posted. ‘The only games we’re playing...’

You tossed your phone onto the sofa and went to the kitchen for a victory snack. You were proud of yourself. You knew Chris would see it and be irritated. A check mate for the childish game he obviously wanted to play. Henry walked into the kitchen to find you sitting on the counter fighting to open a roll of chocolate chip cookie dough.

“Darling...Are you going to bake that? Or just eat it out of the tube?”

With a look of a child caught with its hand in the cookie jar, you bit your lip. “Eat it?” You replied sheepishly.

He laughed as he pulled you to the edge of the counter, standing between your knees. “Are you going to share?”

“Kal can’t have cookie dough....” you shook your head, giving him doe eyes and a pouty lips.

He rolled his eyes as he quickly leaned in and took a giant bite out of the side, leaving an open bite shaped hole.

“Mr. Cavill!!” You screeched and laughed jerking the cookie dough further away from him in a pretend game of keep away. He stood still, giving you puppy dog eyes as he silently spit out the plastic liner. “Ohhhhh gross. You punk.... this is mine.”

“You won’t share?! With me?! Mrs. Cavill!” He jokingly shouted before realizing what he had said.

His comment caught you off guard for a split second before you wrapped your legs around him, locking him against you and the counter, “Not yet... but I will be.”

He leaned in and kissed you, sneakily distracting you as he ripped the cookie dough out of your hands, holding it up high above his head and out of your reach.

“Give me a kiss....” he commanded.

And you did.

“Tell me you love me....”

And you did.

“Say please....”

You looked up at him with a mischievous grin.

“Please Daddy...”

He dropped his arm, and leaned in, bringing his face close to yours. “Forget cookie dough, now we’re going to bed.”

He threw you over his shoulder and carried you to bed, kicking the door closed behind you.

#romance #fiction #fanfic #chris evans #fanfiction #henry cavill

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renaroo · 5 years ago

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Super Brothers (2/12)

Disclaimer: Superman and associated characters are the creative property of DC Comics. Warnings: Child Abuse, Gender Dysphoria, PTSD and Anxiety, Character Death Rating: T Synopsis: Jon Kent knew he pretty much had the perfect family life, but something still felt wrong with himself. At the height of feeling like an alien in his own skin, however, his world got turned upside down when his parents took in a troubled child who embodied everything he felt he lacked. However, becoming a brother ended up being the smallest of the trials brought by adopting Christopher Kent. And being best friends with Damian Wayne has not exactly helped keep a neutral perspective on the matter.

A/N: This is almost late and I apologize. I have no excuses other than my brain is turning into as much mush as everyone else’s. But I really am enjoying where the future of this story is going and am really excited to get there. But, first, we have to reach some difficult places first.

Before we go further, I must say this: TRIGGER WARNING. There is overt child abuse and child harm in this chapter. It’s not super detailed and it gets cut off, but I do not want people to get upset from it without warning. So please take care of yourself first and foremost.

I’m blown away by the support this fic is getting so far and I appreciate you all so very much! Special thanks to the lovely comments and promotion from @secretlystephaniebrown, @spiralcass, @noartificialfruitjuice, @fred-astairs-dark-impulses, @karagordon, and elietrope on AO3 and tumblr!

Chapter Two: Pay in Full

Damian isn’t surprised when he is the lone attendant of breakfast the following morning. His wrists are still bruised up and a little painful from his restraints, but he ignores them under the cuffs of his school uniform and is the picture of polite society and manners. He eats confidently and alone.

It isn’t unusual, only disappointing.

Fortunately, Alfred is nothing if not an excellent reader of the atmosphere and does not force conversation or dullness on Damian that is unwarranted. He leaves the youngest Wayne to a peaceful meal.

The quiet makes it easier for Damian to overhear Alfred conversing just a step or so into the hall.

“Ah, Miss Cassandra, it is unusual to see you up and about at such an hour,” Alfred’s voice carries with a genuine mix of praise and surprise.

“Yeah, um,” Cass mutters, speech slurred with sleep, “can you, um, take me? Soon? He wanted to talk to me.”

“But of course. I can take you as I take Master Damian to the academy this morning.”

Starring toward the door, Damian lets his oatmeal slip off of his spoon and carelessly plop back into the bowl. He doesn’t even pay attention to the splashes of oats which end up on Alfred’s meticulously cared for table runner. He’ absorbed by the implications of the conversation happening in front of him.

After an encounter with Professor Pyg which ended as eventfully as his did, Damian anticipated some negative news getting to either his father or Grayson. And while Damian didn’t want for Dick to hear about Damian’s poor performances without him, there was at least some trust.

Grayson would be annoyingly supportive and want to use the entire event as some sort of learning experience.

Father is something else entirely.

After a few moments of subconsciously holding his breath, Damian glances down to his oatmeal and finds it suddenly subpar.

He pushes out from the table, chair legs protesting loudly, and tosses the handkerchief from his lap onto the table. Damian is on his feet and in the hall before Cassandra even has time to leave Alfred and redress herself for the day.

“Alfred, I do not need to attend the academy today,” he announces.

The butler tilts his head slightly and raises his eyebrows minutely. “I believe the education system would disagree with you entirely.”

“I have things to discuss with Father,” Damian elaborates stiffly. “Important information that outweighs any supposed social-developments I am pretending to make.”

Cassandra scratches at her jawline and frowns at Damian. She’s assessing him, her dark eyes boring into Damian’s soul and evaluating every tremor of his muscle.

Which makes it even more annoying that her choice of commentary is to say, “Bad at it. Pretending,” she jokes.

“Silence, you,” Damian hisses ferally. “The entire first year I lived here, I had to listen to everyone talk about you and never once did they mention your sass.”

She offers a half-shrug. “Forgot the best part.”

“Tt, more like the worst,” Damian teeters, hands on his hips.

For a moment, Cassandra seems to be ignoring him as she looks over Damian’s head at Alfred and rotates her shoulders. “Maybe shouldn’t go to school,” she offers, surprising Damian entirely.

Alfred seems just as taken by the suggestion and looks at her suspiciously. “Why so, Miss Cassandra?”

“Had a bad night,” she explains. “Probably does have important stuff to say.”

Heat flushes into Damian’s face. His eyes glaze into a distinct red hue and his shoulders tremble as he clutches his hands into fists by his side. There is almost certainly steam coming off of him as anger overtakes him in a way that it hasn’t for ages now.

“How dare you!” he roars.

All too casually, Cassandra glances down to Damian and raises an eyebrow at him. She doesn’t say anything with words.

“How dare you assume so much about me! You don’t even know me!” Damian continues, bringing his fists up as if ready to brawl. “Perhaps what I’m going to do is while you wish to tattle to Father, I’ll tell him the truth about how you are nothing but an interference here in Gotham! That you do not deserve to trespass on my affairs! And that absolutely everyone wishes you would bugger off again so that everyone can go back to the way things were!”

“Master Damian, that is enough!” Alfred says coolly. He never raises his voice, but he never needs to.

Despite himself, Damian snaps his jaw closed. But he doesn’t stop glaring into Cassandra’s face, her eyes. His anger is still boiling over, no matter how much he’s contained it.

Cassandra looks back at him, her face drawn and unreadable.

It makes Damian even more upset.

“That is no way to speak to anyone, certainly not family,” Alfred reminds Damian. “Considering your injuries—“

“I am not injured that gravely, Pennyworth!” Damian sputters again.

“—I can see the benefit to a day of recuperation from school, so long as we do not continue this theme habitually,” Alfred persists. “We will leave for your father’s office as soon as Miss Cassandra is ready to leave. And we will not leave a moment sooner than that.” He looks to Cassandra and pats her shoulder. It’s the only thing that gets her to pull her gaze away from Damian. “I encourage you to get ready for the day at your leisure, my dear.”

After that, the conversation is over, and Damian ends up sitting in the foyer waiting for the better part of an hour as Cass does just as Alfred insisted.

***

“There he is!”

Jon is still wiping at his eyes as he stumbles through the apartment. It’s difficult, in these early mornings, for him to focus on appropriate amounts of strength, so he shoulders into furniture a touch too hard or bangs into the doorframe with enough force to send pictures lined down the walls tumbling down.

Some things that are less natural to him since his coming into power, like flight or his special types of vision, take more effort and alertness. Not his super strength, however fortunately or unfortunately.

He stumbles his way into the kitchen, his feet padding over the shift from hardwood to tile. He can smell the scrambled eggs before his dad even set them on Jon’s prepared plate.

At the table across from Jon is his mom, already in a beautiful silk top with a gold necklace of large geometric squares. Her chin-length hair is curlier than usual which means she hasn’t straightened it. Her lashes are long, nearly swooping down to her cheeks as she looks down to her iPad as she reads. When she takes her cup away from her lips, a dark purple lip stain is left behind on it.

Jon admires her for a moment, scooting into his seat but not pulling up to the table.

“Good morning, honey,” his mom says full of affection. Her violet eyes glance up to his face.

“Good morning,” Jon says back, smiling brightly.

“Leave walking room, champ,” his dad says from behind. Before Jon can even think, two massive hands close in around the edges of Jon’s backrest, then his whole chair is lifted and scooted up until Jon’s chest nearly bumps the table.

“Sorry, Pa,” Jon says automatically, sparing a glance as his father moves over and plants himself in one of the two chairs between Jon and his mom.

Even in a collared shirt and sweater vest, Jon can see what a massive shadow his father leaves for him. He is broad-shouldered and firm, even with his softness. He has a body that exudes power and strength. It’s only with folded in shoulders and deflated presentation that Clark Kent can convince the world there is a difference between himself and Superman.

At home, among family, as Pa, Jon knows his dad is unmistakably Superman.

When Pa’s large hands reach for his cup of orange juice or poke at scrambled eggs with a fork, it makes Jon look at his own hands.

They’re thin, nimble hands. Soft.

Mom has said on more than one occasion that with fingers as long as his, Jon needs to either learn piano or practice keyboard typing. And Jon is certain he has no ear for tunes.

“I almost came to get you a second time, young man,” Pa says between bites of eggs. “I warned you before about staying up late. I know there are plenty of things an eleven-year-old boy thinks are cooler than sleep.”

Curling his nose, Jon shifts uncomfortably. “I’m almost twelve now,” he reminds them. “You said I could push curfew when I turned twelve.”

“And you’re still not twelve,” Mom says, closing out the tabs on her iPad. She looks very seriously at Jon. “And it doesn’t matter what age you are, my mother’s intuition tells me you’re watching scary movies with the Wayne kid again.”

“No, I wasn’t!” Jon squeaks. “I promise I wasn’t!”

“You had nightmares last night, Jon. We share a wall with your room,” Pa says, face the picture of sympathetic. “And it’s okay to have nightmares sometimes, but you’ve been having them a lot lately. Something like that would usually require something scaring you.”

“Like movies,” Mom adds, still eyeing Jon suspiciously. “Is it Gotham? Maybe we shouldn’t let you go to Gotham so much. Especially this time of year. I hate that stuck-up little island, Clark. No wonder he’s scared.”

“Wait, no, it’s not anything to do with Gotham or movies or Damian,” Jon argues emphatically.

Both of Jon’s parents stop and do the thing Jon has come to hate most during their meals. They look up, toward one another, and seemingly carry out an entire conversation with each other through micro expression alone. It would be adorable if they weren’t his parents.

Jon decides to take the time to begin shoveling in his eggs. His dad’s cooking may be simple but it’s always filling.

“Do you want to talk about these nightmares you’re having, Jon?” Pa asks gently. “You and your body have been put through a lot of changes very quickly over the past year or so. You’ve gotten your own powers, you’ve moved schools twice, your mother and I both are back at full time. That’s a lot.”

He chews over his father’s words for a long moment and considers them.

For most of his young life, Jon Kent has been able to tell his parents positively everything on his mind. They are loving, supportive good people. The best people. Whether they’re superheroes or super reporters, they make Jon proud with almost every second of every day.

But his nightmares make his throat fill closed and tight in ways that are impossible to express. He likes to think they could know, but it feels like they couldn’t.

They couldn’t know how certain words or certain looks or certain things make him feel like he’s crawled into someone else’s skin. Like he’s been lying to everyone on accident this whole time. That what people see him as is undeserved.

What could he ever say to explain that?

Not to mention, explaining that he was patrolling in Gotham and got captured by some madman like Professor Pyg is probably worth far more trouble than simply admitting to scary movies with Damian.

“I don’t remember them,” Jon lies through his teeth.

“That can happen,” Pa says warmly.

When Jon looks up, it’s unsurprising to see that his mother’s face is fairly neutral. She looks at him worriedly and unconvinced.

If she plans on saying anything, however, the moment eludes her. Her iPad lights up simultaneously with the default ding of her phone. She glances at them both before getting to her feet. She’s a full inch taller in her heels and wearing Jon’s favorite skirt of hers.

“Clark, are you going to take Jon this morning?” she asks. “I can use it to excuse you from any early bellows from Perry.”

“Of course,” Pa says, leaning back and tilting his head for the optimal kissing angle.

Mom comes around the table and ducks down, holding back her hair delicately as she kisses Jon’s forehead. “Have a good day, hun, I love you.”

“Bye, Mom, you look beautiful,” Jon informs her as she leaves.

He watches her go and takes a breath. His gaze is only broken when his dad holds his glasses out in front of his vision.

“Don’t forget these,” Pa reminds him.

“Oh, thanks,” Jon mutters, taking the thick frames. His motion is stopped, though, as his father doesn’t let go. He glances back up to Pa and raises a brow.

“Jon, do you know how polygraphs work?” Pa asks, still not letting go of the glasses.

“Um, not really,” Jon admits.

“They measure your heartbeat, because if someone’s not a good liar then they will increase their heart rate, and the machine records it,” Pa explains as he finally lets go of Jon’s glasses.

Despite himself, Jon’s heart picks up its pace. He glances down to his lap. “Do you always listen to my heartbeat?”

“Since before you were born,” Pa says softly, running his broad hand over Jon’s hair. His thumb strums the locks affectionately. “And you thought I was the easy parent, huh?”

“I just don’t want to talk about my nightmares yet,” Jon explains worriedly.

“That’s okay,” Pa assures him, letting go of Jon’s hair. “But I’d appreciate you not lying to me or your mother.”

Jon frowns. “I won’t, Pa, I promise. Sorry I did.” He glances toward his mother’s seat and notices her coffee mug sitting where she left it. Her purple lipstick is still staining the side. “Do you listen to mom’s heartbeat?”

“Practically since the day I met her,” Pa laughs, picking up both of their finished plates. “I always listen out for the hearts of the people I love. It’s,” he pauses in thought before continuing his walk to the sink, “it’s comforting to know everyone’s safe.”

Humming some, Jon puts his chin on the kitchen table and focuses. His mom should be in the elevator on her way down. If he uses his x-ray vision he could even watch her. But instead, he listens. It’s hard to focus on the beat alone, to isolate it. It could give him a headache until he’s better at it. But Jon can do it.

It’s one of many things he can do, he can be because of his father — a polygraph.

But as he listens for his mother’s heart, Jon wonders if there are more things he can do and be because of his mother.

“Pa, it’s a good thing to want to be more like mom, right?” Jon asks before he can stop himself.

His pa lets out a deep laugh over the running water in the sink. “Jon, everyone wants to be more like your mother. It’s the most natural thing in the world.”

And that, Jon decides, is comforting.

***

Lor-Zod learns through the sunstones in silence. His eyes are transfixed on their histories and piloting and mathematics, but his mind is distantly occupied.

His mother has stood vigilant at the door, unmoving, the entire morning. She has not greeted him yet, has not introduced herself to him. Standing, quietly, scathingly.

The moment Lor finishes his aeronautics lesson, he feels his mother’s hand close around his wrist. He is reaching for the next lesson, but she is suddenly upon him, stopping him. Her face is mere centimeters from his own. Her nose snarls.

“You are summoned, Lor,” she tells him, as though he should already know.

“Where, mother?” he barely has air in his lungs to ask before he is jerked into the air and guided through the halls of their palace.

As they travel swiftly through their palace, Lor notices for the first time that he has not seen servants or even heard servants all morning. That is beyond unusual, and it makes their giant crystalline halls even more empty than normal.

Something sits unsettled and worrisome in Lor’s chest. He can hear his own heartbeat in his ears.

“What are we doing, mother?” Lor attempts again, voice tight with fear.

“Is a child to speak out of turn?” she asks angrily, her brown hair whipping across her face as she looks over her shoulder.

Lor obediently shakes his head. “No,” he answers.

“Then you have no turn,” she informs him. When she looks ahead once more, her fingers tighten around his wrist. “There is a lesson to be learned today.”

Silence overtakes Lor as they reach the grand hall and entrance of their palace. There still are no servants to be seen, and there is also no sign of the general. Every hair on Lor’s body stands on end as he realizes just how wrong everything is set up to be.

But he cannot even force himself to speak. He knows better. His body knows better.

As they bound out of the giant doors to their palace, Lor realizes that they are opening up to an enormous gathering. There are purple-skinned Jekuul natives for as far as Lor’s unaided vision can see. They all face forward, toward the intimidating staircase to the palace’s entrance. And to the general.

General Zod does not even turn his shoulders toward Lor and his mother as they come to his side. He is facing forward, over the crowd.

Lor is positioned harshly, stood in front of his mother. She swiftly shifts her hand from his wrist to his shoulder, her other hand matching it. They grip him fiercely, nails clicking against the Kryptonian armor beneath.

When Lor looks up to his mother’s face, he can only see her chin as it faces the general obediently.

Then, when Lor follows her gaze, he lets out a soft gasp.

They are not the only ones standing on the stairs. There is also a familiar, tiny purple girl in his father’s grips.

“Ti’ahl? What’s she doing here?” Lor asks before his mother’s grip becomes even more constricting. He feels his chest freeze up, his heart pounding again.

“You are out of turn, child,” she hisses down at him. “Watch.”

Swallowing, Lor looks back to the General.

The General seems satisfied after Lor falls silent, and he begins speaking out in a tongue so strange but familiar. His voice booms and echoes over the silent crowds below. He’s speaking in Jakuul, Lor knows that much, but still not what his father is saying.

For a moment, Lor tries. He tries desperately to understand what is being said, but none of it makes sense. There aren’t even the familiar possibilities of understanding like he had with Ti’ahl just the day before.

Thinking of Ti’ahl, Lor glances down from his father’s face to where Ti’ahl stands trembling in the General’s grip.

She looks paler than yesterday, her purple skin lighter in the face and almost blue in her cheeks. Her big, dark eyes are tear-filled and sunken, her hair messy. It occurs to Lor that she is wearing the exact same clothes that he last saw her in.

Only at that moment does Lor realize she never made it home last night. But he can’t imagine why.

Deep down, Lor wishes to speak to her, to comfort her, to offer his cape once more, but she doesn’t even have it now. Lor wonders, idly, where it might be.

The General’s voice picks up in fervor, growing in a tempo as the crowds below become unsettled.

Lor doesn’t know what to think, what’s going on when he sees his father wrench Ti’ahl’s arm back and up into the air at a frightening angle. It makes the little girl scream in shock and begins crying, tugging.

Not sure what is going on, Lor opens his mouth but nothing comes out.

With a flick of his wrist, the General turns Ti’ahl’s arm completely upside down and a hideous snap echoes through the hot Jekuul air.

Stunned, Lor stares at his father and at the little girl he played with yesterday. The air erupts with high pitched squeals and sobs from the crowds below. Ti’ahl herself hangs limply unconscious, only held up by the General’s tremendous grip on her arm.

His mother holds him down with so much force, Lor feels as though he will sink through the stairs. He can’t look at her, can’t hear her past the thundering pulse in his own ears. He stares only at his father who is happily soaking in the shock and awe of the crowds.

Then, Lor snaps.

All he can see is red and then his father’s shoulder is smoking, singed.

And, for the first time since the night before, General Zod looks at Lor.

“I am disappointed, Faora,” the General says angrily. “You assured me that our child was being raised in the traditions of Krypton. Are those traditions not that punishments are handled by the mother?”

“They are,” Lor’s mother says, aghast, before yanking Lor into the palace doors.

Lor hits the floor before he even sees the smack coming. And it is only the first.

He hardly feels any of it, numb to everything with the sound of that crack echoing throughout his whole body.

#Damian Wayne #Chris Kent #Jon Kent #Cassandra Cain #Alfred Pennyworth #Lois Lane #Clark Kent #General Zod #Ursa #writing #super fic #Super: Super Brothers

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