#then he jumps down to the shoe cubby to try and escape | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

keanuvibe · 5 years ago

Text

Noses in Roses (John Wick x Reader)

A/N: Hi! this is the teacher!reader x John fic I’ve been working on since literally December 21st. It’s taken me so long, and you’ll see why in the word count. This aint even all of it. I decided I’m going to post this in two parts, as there is so much I want to add to this little world. Anyways; enjoy <3

Words: 12.7k

Warnings: swears, pregnancy, mentions of deceased ex-spouse

Summary: You are an elementary school teacher, first grade to be exact. One afternoon your student, James’s nanny is late to pick him up. You then meet his father, John Wick.

October 9th

“Okay kids, go to your cubbies and grab your art folders!” You smiled at the children sitting throughout your classroom. The children immediately got up, rushing over to grab their things. A gentle sigh escaped your lips as you sat down in your desk chair, hand resting on your pregnant belly. The sun shone into the classroom, casting a golden glow throughout the space. Your eyes watched as the kids eagerly began to make art, chatting amongst the others at their tables.

You are an elementary school teacher, first grade to be exact. You've been teaching for nearly seven years now, starting back when you were twenty-five. You jumped around from grade to grade for about three years before settling into teaching first graders. You've been doing that for three years now, and couldn't be happier. You are also pregnant, six months and three days; expecting a little girl. You were very excited, however things hadn't turned out to how you planned.

You used to be married, in fact you were married for six years. Unfortunately, your husband passed away over five months ago. An unknown brain tumor, you found out a few days after. You were devastated and fell into a deep depression. The only thing that helped was your little baby. When she began to move around at four months, it gave you a renewed sense of purpose. From then on you decided to seek help, and now you are doing better. Sure, there were still the bad days, but they were few and far between. Work helped, not being so lonely all the time. Your coworkers were a big help, always offering to be there for you. Miss Dalton, a fellow first grade teacher, had become a close friend of yours over the past three years. She helped you through your husband's death, and still does. There are days where you’ve cried in her class during lunch.

“Miss (Y/L/N)?” A quiet voice asked. You turned your attention to James, one of the boys in your class. He stood next to your desk, arms holding a paper behind his back.

“Yes, honey?” You responded, looking into the boys dark brown eyes. He shyly held up a piece of paper containing a watercolor painting of a tree. The background had been hastily painted blue, and the bottom green. There was a little sun on the top corner of the sheet as well. Typical kid art.

“I made this for you.” He spoke quietly. You smiled wide, grabbing the paper from his grasp.

“Oh, James, it's beautiful!” You cooed the boy, setting the artwork on your desk. James is a bright young boy, and quite adorable. He was one of your favorites, though teachers don't have favorites. You've never met his parents, as his Nanny tends to pick him up. She also attends his parent teacher conferences. You were curious though; you’ve always wanted to meet the mysterious Wicks.

“Thank you.” He said, cheeks turning pink. You smiled at him and gently pat his shoulder before he returned to his seat.

---------------

Class ended at the usual time, 3:15. You watched as the children scattered, gathering their backpacks and jackets before exiting. From your classroom windows, you watched students load onto buses and cars before taking a seat at your desk, letting out a sigh. You started grading papers, humming quietly before a small knock sounded at your door. Furrowing your brows, you padded over to the entryway and swung open the door. You met the sight of your supervisor, Nancy, and little James standing in front of her.

“What’s up?” You asked, allowing the two of them to enter the room.

“His ride is late, he came to the office unsure what to do.” Mrs. Nelson spoke, sitting James down at one of the tables and handing him a little package of Animal Crackers from her pocket.

“Oh, I’ll handle it from here Nancy, thank you for collecting him.” You spoke to the woman. With a nod, she exited the room.

“I’m going to call Miss Lee, okay?” You spoke to James. Miss Lee is the boys nanny. You’ve gotten relatively close with her, as she’s quite active in Jame’s school career. The boy nodded with a content look, enjoying the crackers in front of his person. You sat back down at your desk, opening a drawer and gathering the kids personnel files. You located his Nanny’s phone number before dialing. There was no answer, even after you've called twice. You took a deep breath, quietly hanging up the phone and looking at the young boy who was sitting at a desk quietly, having finished the crackers. You opened his file once more, noticing another number that'd been scribbled below his Nanny’s. You made out the numbers as best you could and bit your lip before dialing.

“This is Wick.” The phone rang twice before a deep voice answered.

“H-Hi, Mr. Wick. I’m your son's teacher, Miss (Y/L/N). It’s nearly four now, and I noticed James’ Nanny hasn't picked him up.” You stuttered, feeling intimidated by the deep voice. You haven't even seen his face before. Maybe he’s a little dorky but has an attractive voice? Whoa. You've haven't been this flustered over a man since you and your husband started dating.

“She hasn't?” He asked, frustration lacing his tone.

“Um, yes.” You answered, looking at James take a sip from his water bottle.

“I’ll be there in ten.” The line went dead. You nodded and hung up, pursing your lips. So, today was the day you're going to meet Mr. Wick. You were a little nervous, to be honest. James looked in your direction and gave you a warm smile, causing you to feel your heart swell at his cuteness.

“Your father is on his way, James.” You gave him a gentle grin and he nodded in return.

---------------

Mr. Wick did arrive exactly when he said, ten minutes nearly on the dot. You could hear his shoes echoing down the carpeted hallway of the school, he walked that loud and determined.

“Miss (Y/L/N). Nice to meet you.” You turned your attention from James to the figure that had entered your classroom. Your breath caught in your throat upon seeing the man. He was gorgeous. Sharp features accommodating dark brown eyes; tall, larger than six foot no doubt. His hair was long, but cut at his shoulders and gelled behind his ears. He donned a three piece black suit, and sleek shoes to match.

“Mr. Wick.” You swallowed and stood from your seat, hand smoothing your shirt over your pregnant belly. Mr. Wick caught the movement, and you swear you saw his eyes soften at the sight of your bump.

“Please, call me John.” He spoke gently, holding out his hand for you to shake it. His large grasp engulfed your own, the two of you shaking your arms in unison. You broke the handshake, feeling your fingers tingle from his touch and stepped back.

“James is a wonderful boy, he’s quite smart.” You changed the subject, beckoning the boy to come over. You witnessed him blush slightly, jogging over to his father and hiding behind his leg.

“Well, he wouldn't be this way without a wonderful teacher.” John replied, a smile crossing his features. You felt your heart race and shyly straightened your shirt across your belly.

“Thank you.” You responded, trying to hide the hotness of your cheeks. The man nodded, making sure James had gathered all of his things. John was so gentle with his son it made your heart ache. The way he spoke to him was so caring, and the tender touches. You caught yourself staring while rubbing your own bump and quickly blinked, clearing your throat. John’s hands placed themselves on his son's shoulders. You took note that there wasn't a ring donning his left hand. So, there isn't a Mrs. Wick? Interesting.

“Thank you, Miss (Y/L/N).” James spoke, gleaming up at you. You smiled, pinching his little cheek gently.

“Of course. I’ll see you tomorrow, honey.” You spoke, then looked up to John. He nodded at you, and began leading James out of the classroom. You padded back to your desk, taking a seat as the two men exited. However, footsteps once again approached your door and John poked his head back into your classroom.

“When is the next parent teacher conference?” He asked. You bit the inside of your cheek, trying to repress the butterflies that's erupted in your tummy.

“October twenty-fourth, first come first serve at four in the afternoon.” You responded, blinking at the attractive man. He nodded, making a mental note before disappearing behind the door once more.

————————————————————————

October 14th - 11:45am

Your students had just been excused to lunch when your door opened. You set down the sandwich in your hand and looked up, eyes greeting Mr. Wick. He donned a suit, like the last meeting you'd had. He must've come from work. You stood from your seat, brushing off any bread crumbs that'd been trapped on your belly.

“Mr. Wick, what do I owe the pleasure?” You asked softly. Johns eyes smiled as he walked over, towering your shorter frame.

“James forgot his lunch this morning.” John spoke, holding out his sons lunch box. You felt your heart swell at the deed, and grabbed it from his grasp. Your fingers brushed as you passed the container, causing your cheeks to gather a little heat.

“I will make sure he gets this.” You said softly, setting the box on your desk. John still stood, his eyes looking around your classroom. You took the moment to study his face, really gathering in his features. He was older you could tell, as he had a few wrinkles by his eyes And his beard contained little gray specks. His hair was gelled back like before as well. You noticed a small cut along his cheekbone, and furrowed your brow. Possibly a shaving nick?

“Oh, are these their solar system projects?” The man asked, pointing to a display table that contained little clay displays of the planets. You nodded, and walked over to them prompting John to follow.

“Yes. Aren't they cute?” You asked with a soft giggle, picking up one of the displays and showing it closer to John. “I picked colored dough out of the carpet for at least three days after school. I didn't want the custodians to be mad at me.”

John admired your face while you fiddled with the displays. He took in how adorable you were when it came to the kids, always cheerful and loving towards them. At least, from what he's witnessed with James. John hasn't felt much over his life span. Growing up for him wasn't exactly easy, when he discovered he had a son, he promised to be a family-- one he's never had. James’ mother only stayed for a few months of his life before she bailed. She left a nearly folded note on the pillow next to Johns explaining that she didn't want to be a mother anymore. John was left to raise James all by himself, with the help of Nannies over the years. He hadn't tried dating again, maybe a few flings while he was away on work. However after meeting you; he was reconsidering.

He’s also noticed how you don't wear a ring on your finger. Were you single? A part of him hoped you are. Plus, he doesn't even care you're obviously pregnant. In fact, he thought it was cute. You were indeed a cute pregnant lady, wearing dresses with matching cardigans. He wanted to know more about you.

“Anyways, I should run this to the lunchroom so James gets food.” You spoke, setting down the display in your grasp and stepping back to your desk. John nodded, and made his way towards the door.

“I should get back to work.” He murmured, looking back towards you. You grabbed the boys lunchbox and made your way towards the door, meeting John there as well.

“I’ll see you later, Mr. Wick.” You spoke, looking up at the tall man. He smiled at you, nodding in response before flipping on his heel and walking towards the school lobby.

---------------

“James, here's your lunch honey.” You spoke, walking up to your students designated table. James turned to you from hearing his name and he furrowed his brow. You took note of the school look in front of his person and then furrowed your own brow in confusion.

“I always get school food Miss (Y/L/N). That's not mine.” James spoke, pointing at the box. You nodded and clicked your tongue, a little smile crossing your face.

“Right, I must have you confused.” You replied before turning around. Did John lie about his sons lunch just to see you?

————————————————————————

October 24th - 4:07pm

You currently sat at one of the tables in your classroom, three chairs set up across from you. Today was parent teacher conferences, the day you'd secretly been looking forward to. Ever since you met John, you honestly couldn't get him out of your mind. There was something so interesting about him. He was mysterious, broody, and quite handsome. You haven't seen him since your previous encounter regarding James’s lunch box. It still gave you butterflies, but you didn't mind.

You quietly flipped through your students folders when a knock sounded at the door. You looked up, your eyes greeting the sight of John and James. The man was dressed casual today; worn jeans, a white top, and his hair was loose. You resisted the urge to bite your lip and stood up to greet them.

“Mr. Wick, James,” You smiled between the two boys, “It’s wonderful to see you again.” You reached out your hand for John to shake, his large hand once again engulfing your own.

“The pleasure is mine.” John spoke, a little smile donning his cheeks. You felt slightly dazed by his charm, quickly rubbing your hand over your belly and gesturing to the table for them to sit.

“Please, take a seat and a cookie. I baked them myself. ” You smiled, taking a seat for yourself. James eagerly grabbed a cookie, but looked up at his father for permission. John nodded, causing the boy to start eating the frosting-covered treat. You giggled at the interaction before grabbing James’ folder from the pile.

“I must say, he’s smart for his age.” You began, opening the folder and showing John the statistic covered paper, grading his son. You talked him through each basic genre, telling him what James was strong in and what he needed to practice. The two men sat quietly, listening as you explained what you needed to. John even ate a cookie at one point, filling you with butterflies as he enjoyed the sugary delight.

“Thank you, Miss (Y/L/N).” John spoke, standing up. You and James mimicked his movement, and you straightened your shirt over your belly. Johns eyes cast down, softening at the sight of your bump.

“Please, it’s nothing. I love teaching James.” You smiled. “Speaking of; James, how about you take some of your artwork home, hmm?” The young boy nodded, a smile crossing his cheeks as he darted across the room to his cubby.

“How far along are you?” John’s deep voice took you by surprise. You blushed, fidgeting with your shirt before answering.

“Six and a half months.” A little gleam overtook your eyes as you looked down to your belly. Your thumb carefully traced the design on your shirt before you looked back up to John.

“I assume you and your husband are excited?” The man then asked. You let out a nervous laugh, followed by feeling your heart ache. Your husband. You two were very excited.

“Um, actually-” You paused, looking up to John, “M-My husband passed six months ago.” You nodded, pursing your lips.

“I’m sorry to hear that.” John spoke softly, one of his hands coming up and placing itself on the side of your arm, as though he was comforting you. You subconsciously leaned into the touch, enjoying the warmth his hand provided.

“Thank you.” You responded, your voice barely above a whisper. Just then, James returned with some of his art, ready to show his dad. The boy eagerly held up every piece and John commented on each one, praising his son. You smiled at the interaction, once again feeling the warmth cover your nerves. John is a good father. For a long time, you assumed ill of the Wicks; as you'd only ever met the Nanny. It seemed like they were absent parents. Now having met John twice, you felt different. And James seemed to love his father, which helped convince you more.

“You and his mother must be very proud.” You commented as James rushed back to his cubby to grab some more.

“His mother- She’s not… in the picture.” John stated, voice getting quieter with each word. You nodded, your heart cramping at the thought of James not having a mother.

“Oh... That��s unfortunate.” You murmured, looking over to your student. He finished grabbing all the artwork he was content with and returned to you and John.

“Ready?” John asked and James nodded eagerly. You let out a soft giggle at the boys reaction.

“I’ll hopefully see you soon, Mr. Wick.” You commented as the two boys began to exit the room. John nodded in agreement, leading James out by his shoulders. You let out a quiet sigh, sitting down into your seat, resting a hand on your belly. You felt her kick, her little foot pushing the roundness of your belly slightly out of proportion.

“Miss (Y/L/N)?” Your eyes shot up, jumping at the voice that filled the room. John?

“Call me (Y/N).” You responded, standing back up. John walked over to you, his cheeks slightly more pink that before.

“Okay, (Y/N). Would you like to go on a date?” Johns words rocked you to your core as nerve endings suddenly felt like live wires.

“Y-Yes.”

---------------

November 2nd - Saturday - 7:29 pm

Your heart pounded as the clock turned 7:30. John would be knocking at your door any minute. It was weird to think you are dating one of your students parents; was it against the rules? I guess, to you, It was more shocking he even asked. John seemed to have his shit together. You’re a single mother with a low-paying job. It was a mystery how this man was so allured by you.

You studied your figure in the closet door mirrors, your signature date dress donning your body. It’s long, hugs your figure in the perfect spots, and not to forget it nicely shows your cleavage; now that you’re a few cup sizes larger. You slipped on a pair of flat shoes, no longer caring for heels. A little anxious sigh left your lips as the doorbell ring startled you. You made your way to the door, looking through the peephole. Seeing Johns figure, you pulled the door open. The man stood, hands tucked behind his back. He turned his head, a grin growing across his lips as you two made eye contact. He wore a fancier, nicer, suit from the previous ones you've seen him in. His hair hadn't been gelled back and remained loose and untamed, falling above his shoulders. The man held out a bouquet of pink roses in one hand, pushing them towards your figure.

“I got these for you.” He murmured, a pink blush crossing his cheeks. You took them from his grasp, a giggle escaping your lips.

“Oh, John, they're wonderful.” You smiled, smelling the roses. “Please, come in. I’m almost ready.” You spoke up, quickly jogging to the kitchen and placing the flowers into a vase. You heard the door close, assuming John was the cause, then padded back out to the living area.

“You have a beautiful home.” He spoke, taking a seat onto the couch.

“It’s not much. I had to move somewhere smaller after my husband… I couldn't afford the mortgage on my own,” You sighed, “Plus, with a baby on the way it's more cost friendly.” You shrugged. “God, I'm over sharing.” You blushed, quickly walking back to you room to finish getting dressed.

John chuckled as you exit and stood up, walking to the picture collection you had on the mantle. He saw one containing an ultrasound picture, smiling softly at the ‘4 months!’ that was scribbled under. He then saw another photo slightly hiding behind it, a photo of you and your ex-husband. You were kissing the cheek of the man, arms draped over his shoulders. He must've taken the photo, as he was smiling at the lens. John set the photo back down, straightening his suit jacket as he heard your footsteps trailing towards him.

“I’m ready.” You smiled. John took in your full appearance now, lavishing over how nicely your dress clung to your frame. He bit the inside of his cheek as his eyes glazed over your cleavage, feeling his mouth water slightly at the delicious sight. You always dressed quite modest at work; which were the only times he’d seen you.

“You look beautiful.” He smiled, holding his arm out for you to wrap your own around. You graciously accepted, and the two of you exited your apartment.

---------------

John took you to a fancy restaurant downtown. You couldn't even pronounce the name, it was that gaudy. Tables were dressed with white cloths and centerpieces with candles, chandeliers littered the ceiling, expensive curtains donned the windows, and there was even a string quartet playing in the corner of the space. The host seated you at a table near the window, providing a vast view of the city. You two ordered your food and drinks. Of course, you got the cheapest thing on the menu.

“What made you want to be a teacher?” John asked, watching you twirl some spaghetti onto your fork.

“I’ve always enjoyed kids,” You responded, a little smile overtaking your cheeks, “I'm the favorite Aunt to my nieces and nephews.”

“How long have you been in the profession?” He then asked, quietly sipping on a glass of water. John hadn't ordered any alcohol which was surprising to you. He merely requested a pitcher of water for the table.

“Seven years.” You answered, looking up to meet his gaze. The man's features were softened by the candlelight that danced between your figures. You found yourself getting lost in his eyes before clearing your throat and blushing while looking away.

“And you've strictly taught elementary, or…?” He trailed off, a little smile resting on his lips. You were enamored over the fact he was so interested. It felt flattering.

“My first year I was a sixth grade teacher.” You recalled, resting your napkin over your bump. “It was awful. I only stayed one year before I moved down to fourth grade. Ever since then I've jumped lower and lower.” John watched as you spoke, adoring the gleam in your eye as you blabbered on about your career. He felt the urge to hold your hand gently creep up his finger tips, and he took advantage of the moment, grasping your fingers that were resting on the table. You stuttered over your words, feeling a blush crawl it's way up. John’s hand nearly drowned your own, but it was comforting.

“You know,” You began, changing the subject, “You've never told me about your job. In fact, you're a mystery to me, Mr. Wick.” His fingers tightened around your own at your comment. He also just really enjoyed how you still refer to him as Mr. Wick on occasion.

“Well, I bind books.” He stated simply. You furrowed your brow, his personality not matching his career in your head. Your eyes even drifted down to glance at his expensive suit and quickly back up to his face.

“Really?” You managed to ask, surprise lacing your tone. John chuckled at the comment. His fingers removed from your own as he gently pushed some of his hair behind his ear.

“Yes. There is a market for it.” He followed, taking a sip from his drink, feeling relief cross his nerves. Of course John couldn't tell you his actual job. You'd never see him the same.

“Well, if it pays the bills…” You trailed off with an amused shrug.

---------------

The ride home from dinner was lovely. Johns stunning car hummed as he drove, a quiet classic rock station playing over the radio. John’s right hand was intertwined with your left, while your other hand rest on your belly. You felt the baby moving and smiled, placing your fingers where her small foot pushed your skin. Johns hand subconsciously squeezed your fingers at the sound of your giggling.

“What’s funny?” He asked, glancing over while stopped at a light.

“Sometimes when she moves, I get to touch her feet or hands.” You commented, looking over to John. The adoration across his face made you blush. The car began to move again and the man focused back onto the road. The city passed by as you two may way back to your apartment. You watched as the night life roared around, many people donning their tight cocktail dresses and sparkly high heels. Neon lights from the businesses cast hues of blue and red across the streets.

“John, can I ask you a question?” You asked after the two of you had gotten quiet. Your right hand rest on your bump comfortably, thumb grazing softly.

“Yes.” He responded, his hand squeezing your own.

“Why're you not… scared… that I’m pregnant?” You blurted, feeling a sheer shade of pink coat your cheeks. It’d been on your mind for a while now; since John had begun showing interest. The man was silent for a couple minutes before answering.

“I’ve let myself remain unhappy for a long time... And with James… I need to be at my best. After I met you, I- I felt myself falling. I don’t care that you’re my son’s teacher. Infact, it makes it easier to see you.” The man paused, “I’m not scared because I care about you. Deeply.” John's words caused furious butterflies to scatter throughout your stomach. You bit your lip, holding back both excitement and a smile.

“It doesn't bother you that i'm almost seven months along? ” You asked, rubbing your hand down your belly.

“I don't mind that you're pregnant. It’s kind of exciting.” He spoke softly, his right hand squeezing your left firmly. Your heart felt full at his comment. You didn't respond, only basked in the happy glow surrounding your figures. John turned up the radio a little bit, and the two of you spent the rest of the car ride in a comfortable silence.

————————————————————————

November 8th

Rain pattered down onto the classroom windows as your students sat quietly, taking a vocabulary test. It was the end of the day, and Friday, however you didn't have any plans. John has been out of town due to his job for nearly 5 days now. You didn't know book binding could be such… meticulous work. You tried to coo it out of James as to where his father had jetted off to, but the little boy didn't have a clue. A little sigh passed your lips as you felt some sadness wash over you. You missed John. As weird as that felt; you've only been on one date. You've been texting, and he’ll call you in the evenings, but you wished he was standing right here.

A couple of your students stood from their desks and placed the tests onto your desk. You gave each of them a little smile as they returned to their seats. James came up next, placing his paper onto the stack of the others. He looked up towards you, a little melancholy across his face. You furrowed your brow, and made a mental note to speak with him after class.

The last fifteen minutes of class flew by, and before you knew it the bell rang dismissing the kids. You greeted each of them at the door, making sure they were bundled up from the cool fall rain outside, before sending them on their way. James was the last, you made sure. Just as he was placing a little beanie atop his head, you spoke up.

“James, how are you?” You kept your tone caring.

“I miss my dad.” He spoke, looking down at his feet. You frowned and walked over to comfort the boy. You kneeled, as best you could, at the side of his desk and placed a hand on his shoulder.

“I understand why,” You responded, wishing you could've said ‘Me too’. “Shall we give him a call?” You then asked, the idea popping into your head. James looked up at you and a little smile crossed his cheeks.

“Okay,” His voice was soft, but eager. You stood back up, and trailed over to your desk retrieving your cell phone. James stood close to your person as you dialed and put the phone onto speaker. It took three rings before John answered.

“Hello.” His voice was rough, as though he was out of breath.

“Hi, Mr. Wick. It’s um, Miss (Y/L/N). I have James here with me, and he-”

“Hi daddy!” James exclaimed, excited to hear his father's voice.

“Is everything okay?” John asked. There were a few muffled grunts coming from the other line and you furrowed your brows. What could he be doing at the moment? Binding books too aggressively?

“Yeah, we’re fine... Are you?” You asked him, looking up at James.

“When are you coming home?” James interrupted any answer John couldve given with an innocent smile. You could hear John speaking a few muffled words.

“I’ll be home tonight.” The man's voice was rough. It honestly gave you flushed cheeks. Well, to be fair, your hormones right now are out of control; being this pregnant. John made you feel like a fifteen year old, not being able to control yourself.

“Oh, wonderful.” You managed, a smile crossing your cheeks.

“(Y/N), I’m going to pick you up, we’ll have dinner with James at my home.” John’s voice floated out of the phone and butterflies erupted in your tummy.

“That sounds lovely.” Was all you managed.

---------------

John arrived to your apartment around six-thirty that evening. His vintage car roaring outside was the tel he’d arrived. You carefully trotted down your apartment’s stairs before climbing into the man's car. He greeted you with a kiss on the cheek, as you haven’t actually kissed yet. No, he was too much of a gentleman on the first date. You wanted to feel what those lips had to offer though. God. Your hormones.

You hadn’t been to John’s home yet, and when he pulled through the gate, your eyes bugged. His home was nice, large, and private; emphasis on large. John pulled into the garage, exiting the car first and opening the passenger door for you. You thanked him as he grabbed ahold of your hand to steady your frame from falling. He then escorted you inside. Your eyes met the sight of a lavish kitchen, covered in white cabinets and light wood floors. It’d been used, as there was a pile of dirty dishes in the sink and little food remnants on the countertops. Did John cook dinner? After being gone on a business trip for five days? The man continued through the house, towards-- you assumed-- the living room. You could hear James’ laughter coming from the area, and the sounds of a TV.

“James?” John called as you two entered the room. It was spacious, donned with a fireplace and a TV above it. The little boy turned his head, facing you and his father. A smile crossed his face upon seeing you and jogged over to where you two stood.

“Miss (Y/L/N)!” He exclaimed. You let out a little chuckle to his enthusiasm.

“James, you can call me (Y/N) when were not in class, how does that sound?” You spoke softly, placing a hand onto the boy’s shoulder. He nodded, still remaining cheerful. John’s hand found its way to the small of your back and rest there. You felt a blush cross your cheeks and glanced back at the man who donned a loving gleam in his eye. Upon further study, you noted another cut on his cheek, this time higher on the bone. This was the second time you've seen the man with some type of injury. John could sense you’d noticed the abrasion to his face, and cleared his throat, gearing to speak.

“I made dinner, shall we eat?” He’d already begun leading you and James towards the dining room. The table had already been set, and the food sat scattered across the surface in serving dishes. John pulled out your chair and you graciously thanked him as you sat. James eagerly climbed into the chair across from yours, and John sat at the head of the table. He wasn’t wearing a suit, surprisingly. He donned dark jeans with a white shirt and jacket atop. It was almost more sexy to see him dressed down.

“You made all this?’ You asked to confirm.

“I don’t mind cooking.” The man answered, tying his hair back into a bun to avoid getting it into his food. You bit your lip seeing his exposed neck and shook your head, clearing away the thoughts. John served the two of you, filling your plates full of food. You felt your baby kick excitedly and softly chuckled placing your hand over your belly. John’s free hand grabbed your own at the sound, his eyes fixated lovingly on you.

The three of you ate dinner comfortably chatting about school, John’s job, random things James would babble on about. It was lovely to feel apart of a family again. You’ve been so lonely since your husband’s passing, and John brought so much of that familiarity back. You haven’t even kissed yet. You didn't care though, opportunities take time.

After dinner, you and James settled on the living room couch as John put on a movie. You watched as the man pulled it from the shelf, and noting how it was a VHS tape.

“John, is that a VHS...?” You trailed off, feeling laughter bubble up as the man held it up for you to see. The object looked worn, lovingly though. That tape alone is probably thirty years old.

“Yes, it is.” He spoke, raising his brows at your amusement.

“I haven’t seen one of those since 1997.” You giggled, biting your lip at him. He smiled and shook his head, sliding the tape into the player. He clicked the rewind button causing the machine to begin a loud whirr sound. While John was fiddling with the VHS, James politely asked if you could get a cup of juice for him. You nodded, standing up with a little extra effort, and padded towards the kitchen. Your eyes searched the cupboards, curious as to which one actually held the cups. Goodness, Johns home was elaborate. All of this from a book binding job. You never would've thought. It seemed somewhat suspicious, however. Of course if the relationship persisted, you'd really need to find out what was going on. The mans mysterious wounds didn't help the fact.

“Third to the left.” John’s voice caused you to jump, and turn to face him. He stood in the entryway, leaning against the doorframe. His arms were folded, causing his biceps to be more defined. You caught yourself staring at his muscular arms and blushed, quickly gathering a cup from the instructions he’d given you.

“You scared me,” You hummed, opening the fridge and grabbing a bottle of orange juice. You heard his footsteps get closer to your figure, followed by his hands wrapping themselves around your waist from behind. John’s full body was pressed against your back. Butterflies soared through your tummy and goosebumps formed where he touched you.

“I didn’t mean to.” His voice was low, near your right ear. He kissed the top of your head and you set the juice down, turning to face him. Your belly pushed the two of you apart slightly, causing both of you to chuckle, as you quietly apologized. John put his hands onto your waist, pulling you as close as you could manage. You looked up, forgetting how tall he was compared to you, and met his eyes staring back with adoration plastered across his face.

“I guess I can forgive you.” You smirked, placing your hands atop your bump. You and John kept eye contact before he broke it, glancing down to your lips. You felt yourself slowly standing on your tippy-toes and your hands moved up to rest on his chest. John’s lips connected with your own, and you inhaled softly at the sensation.

“Wow.” You murmured, breaking apart. John smiled softly, his hand creeping up to the side of your cheek and pushing a piece of hair behind your ear. His other hand creeped and rest on the side of your belly. You felt as the baby kicked in the spot John rest his hand.

“Did… Move?” He asked, not forming a full sentence with his eyes widening. You nodded, adjusting his hand to where she was really active. You watched the emotions range across his face, a little smile crossing yours. Had John not experienced James’ mother's pregnancy? It hurt your heart to consider his past: what type of woman abandons her son? You love James, and honestly have since before meeting John; the man was just an added bonus. The thought of him not growing up with a mother caused a tightness to form within your chest.

“Can I ask you something?” You murmured, hearing the movie roar to life in the living room. That meant James wouldn't cause a distraction; though you still needed to give him his juice. John nodded, quietly removing his hands from your belly.

“How old was James when you two met?” Your voice was soft as you spoke.

“A couple weeks, why?” He responded.

“You've… you've just seemed so enamored with my pregnancy and… not that there's anything wrong with that- in fact, I’m kind of enjoying it too.” You trailed on, before shaking your head to gather your thoughts correctly. “I guess it just makes me sad you didn't get to experience the whole… waiting period. The doctors appointments, clothes shopping, putting the nursery together...”

“What are you trying to say?” John asked softly, stepping closer to your figure.

“I have a doctors appointment on the Eleventh, just a 7 month check-up,” You grabbed John’s hand, intertwining your fingers, “Would you like to come?” The man went silent for a moment, and you began to regret the question. Was it too soon? Did you overstep the boundaries? Maybe he doesn't really want the responsibility.

“I’d love to. I’ll just have to arrange my schedule.” John's voice was gentle. The anxiety that had claimed your veins vanished and you stood on your tippy-toes initiating a kiss. His large hands wrapped around your figure, as best they could.

---------------

November 11th

Your hands rest on your pregnant belly as you sat in the waiting room. Some random song from the 2000’s played over the speaker system as quiet murmurs from the people around you filled the spare silence. You didn't like hospitals, and had good reason not too. That was part of the reason you invited John to tag along. He hadn't arrived yet-- as you agreed to drive separate due to work conflicts-- but you at least expected him to be somewhat early.

A quiet sigh escaped your lips as the doors opened, however another couple walked in. Couples. That's all who was surrounding you currently. Your eyes glanced around the room, quietly observing the life around. There was a man and woman one seat to your left, giggling over something on a phone. Across the room sat two women lovingly holding hands and rubbing the pregnant belly of the other. Next to them were another man and woman, however she looked not as far along. There were a few others, but you didn't bother looking at them. Seeing them all so gleeful made you realize how lonely you must look, sitting by yourself. Granted, you've been to all your appointments alone, however now that you've got John it almost hurts more. Where is he?

The room smelt like a sterilized hospital. You weren't fond of the aroma that coated medical centers. Your history with hospitals hasn't always been great; your husband's passing is a cruel reminder of that. The scent triggered memories you didn't like to recall.

-- 6 and a half months earlier --

You pushed the heavy emergency room doors open, breathing rapidly. The beat of your heart was hard and unregulated as you ran to the receptionist. Time seemed slowed as the woman calmly directed you towards your destination. You pushed passed groups of people in the lobby, making your way to the floor and room the receptionist had given.

You shoved the door open before entering the hospital room. A doctor stood over the figure lying on the bed, clipboard in hand. Your eyes filled with tears as you approached the bed, your lifeless husband under the sheet.

“It was unexpected, Mrs. Austin. He collapsed at work, there was nothing anyone could've done.” The doctor's voice was trying to show remorse, but you know the woman didn't actually care.

“Miss (Y/L/N), we’re ready for you.” A small woman dressed in scrubs caught your attention, breaking you away from the memory. Right. You nearly forgot you’d changed your last name after his passing. It hurt too much, so your therapist recommended you change back to your maiden name. You nodded towards the nurse and used the chairs armrests to help you stand.

“How're you today, hun?” She asked, throwing a smile in your direction while opening a door to the exam rooms. She donned colorful scrubs, the top being some type of pink and purple design while the bottoms were a solid baby pink.

“I've been better.” You answered, following the short woman into one of the rooms. She gestured for you to sit onto the exam table before quickly washing her hands in the rooms sink.

“What’s got you down?” She asked, drying her hands and sliding on a pair of latex gloves. You climbed onto the table, looking around the bleak, cheaply decorated room.

“Oh- it’s- it’s stupid really.” You stuttered, waving your hand in dismissal, but the nurse gave you a raised brow look. She grabbed a blood pressure arm wrap off the wall and paced over to you.

“If it’s stupid, you wouldn't have reacted like that.” She murmured, wrapping the device around your arm.

“Okay, well my-” What the hell do you call John? “My boyfriend is supposed to be here, but he’s obviously late.” John's most definitely not your significant other-- at least you haven't had the conversation yet. You've only been on one date and a handful of hangouts. He felt like your boyfriend, you weren't gonna lie, but he isn't.

“Men.” The nurse scoffed, rolling her eyes. You chuckled at her comment. The two of you fell into silence as she took your blood pressure. You studied her face, noting the age added to it; guessing she was in her late fifties. She wore her hair back in a messy low bun and had a few grays scattered throughout.

“Sorry, I just realized I didn't catch your name.” You spoke up as she was getting ready to take your temperature.

“It’s Connie.” She smiled warmly.

“How long have you been a nurse?” You then asked as Connie had you stand up to gather your weight. She led you over to the scale, having you take off your shoes first.

“Thirty- three years. Everyday I experience something new.” The woman answered, writing down your weight and guiding you back to the exam table. She then used her stethoscope to gather the rhythm of your heartbeat. You two fell back into silence as she finished taking your vitals. You didn't know what it was, but she made you feel a little better. Sure, John didn't show, but there was nothing you could do. You still had the ultrasound anyways, maybe he’ll arrive then.

“Alright honey, you are healthy. We’ll get you over to the ultrasound room in just a couple minutes.” Connie spoke, wrapping her stethoscope back around her neck. You thanked her softly and she gave you a reassuring smile as she exited the room. A quiet sigh left your lips as you rubbed your belly, feeling the baby kick.

“Just you and me, kid.” You murmured as the sensation of her foot hitting your hand occurred.

You only waited for about two minutes before a knock sounded at the door and a figure walked in. Your eyes looked up to greet those of John. He looked a little rough around the edges. His usually gelled hair was out of place, his suit seemed disheveled and there was an obvious cut across the bridge of his nose.

“Hi,” He murmured, quietly closing the door.

“Are you okay? What the hell happened?” You immediately asked, sliding off the exam table and waddling over to his person. You reached your hands up, moving his face via his chin and assessing the gash across his nose.

“I’m fine.” The man responded, dismissing your question. “I’m sorry I’m late.” Your eyes studied his own with doubt sprinkled into the mix, but you shook your head, turning back around and sitting onto the exam table.

“It’s okay. I haven't gotten the ultrasound yet.” You responded, sitting down with a sigh. John nodded, sitting in the guest chair. His long body was slightly too large, having to stretch his legs. Even though you were upset, you couldn't stay mad for too long. Whatever the reason he was late must've been serious, and you honestly didn't feel like getting into it. You just wanted to go to the ultrasound and see the baby. John’s chair was close enough to the exam table that he placed his hand on your knee, thumb rubbing the area. You placed your hand over his own, causing the man to look up at you.

“I-I’m not mad.” You spoke, voice soft. “It’s just slightly alarming when you're late and arrive with wounds. How do you get so many? This isn't the first time I've seen your face cut, John. It’s worrying me.” You didn't mean for it to sound like such a lecture, as though you were scolding a student, but it did. John even slunk into his chair, the feeling of shame floating through his veins. The man didn't speak for a few moments, contemplating in his head whether to tell the truth or not.

John’s career isn't exactly conventional, he’s never told anyone about it before; save for James’ mother, who also was in the profession. He wanted to tell you, so badly. Lying to your face about most of his life always stung. He wishes he could tell you about the fact he’s an extremely skilled assassin with a large reputation under his belt. He wishes he could explain the cuts and bruises that litter his body on occasion, and why he has to leave for days at a time. But he can't. He doesn't have the courage to tell you and lose you.

Another knock interrupted the silence that had taken over the room as Connie walked in.

“Miss (Y/L/N), Mr. (Y/L/N). We’re ready for you in the ultrasound room.” The woman greeted, a smile across her cheeks. You looked over to John, quizzical as to why she referred to him with your last name, a question you’ll need to find the answer to later. John helped you stand up from the exam table, keeping his hand on your back as you began your walk to the other room. Connie opened a door to a darkened room and gestured for you to enter. You thanked her, walking into the space. You climbed onto the chair while John stood by, helping you sit comfortably.

“How are you today Miss (Y/L/N)? I’m Nora, i'll be doing your ultrasound today.” The doctor walked into the room, a wide smile on her face. She was younger than Connie, probably late thirties.

“I’m good, thanks.” You responded, gearing to pull your shirt up. Nora gathered a small tray of items, then rolled it over to the chair she was going to sit in. John’s hand wrapped around your own, giving it a gentle squeeze. You looked up at him, feeling bad for lashing out earlier. His eyes were filled with adoration, a small grin across his face. You'd nearly forgotten this was his first ultrasound.

“Alright, lift your shirt slightly higher, the gel is going to be cold.” The woman spoke, pulling on a pair of gloves. She switched on the machine, grabbing the gel from her tray. Her hand hovered over your bare belly and you flinched as soon as she poured the goo.

“Never get used to that.” You chuckled, watching as she used the machine to find the baby. John’s hand squeezed tighter as the heartbeat sounded over the little speaker.

“There's her heartbeat.” Nora murmured, finding the spot on your belly where you could make out her body and head. “And here is her head, her arm is poking here, and there's a leg and foot.”

“She's getting so big.” You spoke, sadness lacing your tone. John leaned down, kissing your forehead. He felt his heart swell at the sound echoing in the room.

“Yes, but she is healthy and happy. Has she been active?” The doctor asked, moving so you could see a different angle.

“God, yes. She’s always moving.” You answered with a laugh, glancing up to John whose eyes were fixed on the screen. His hand was still laced with your own, holding it tightly.

“Would you like pictures?” Nora then asked, removing the device she held from your belly and placing it onto the tray. You nodded as a response and the doctor was quick to type a few things into the machine before giving you a roll of paper towels to clean your tummy off. She then exit the room to go grab the printout of the ultrasound.

“Hey, why did she call you by my last name?” You asked John, throwing away the dirty paper towels and pulling your shirt down.

“I had to lie about us being married so they'd let me back.” John responded, watching as your cheeks tinted pink and a silent ‘Oh.’ left your lips. He padded towards you and pulled you into his chest as close as he could, due to the bump.

“I'm sorry I was late.” The man spoke softly. He gently kissed your forehead afterwords.

“It’s okay. You made it to the important part.” You responded, looking up at him. The cut across the bridge of nose still stood out, and you also noticed a little bruise on his cheekbone. You didn't see that when you first saw him. John leaned down, catching your lips against his own. You sighed dreamily into the kiss, running your hands up his chest and to the nape of his neck. He smiled into the kiss, however the moment was lost when Nora knocked on the door and stepped in.

“Here are the photos,” She began, handing you over an envelope, “And we’ll see you next time Miss (Y/L/N).”

---------------

You shivered when the cool autumn air hit as soon as you stepped out of the hospital. John’s hand found its way to your lower back as he began to follow you towards your car. His large figure towered over your own as you waddled beside him, hand resting firmly on your bump. You approached the vehicle and unlocked it, John standing closely behind you. Before you climbed in you grabbed the envelope from your purse, gently sliding out one of the ultrasound pictures and placing it into John’s hand.

“Thank you for coming.” You spoke softly. John held the photo up so he could see, a smile growing across his face.

“I should be thanking you for allowing me to.” He responded, opening his wallet and sliding the picture in, followed by kissing your forehead. You let out a soft giggle, one of your hands gently grasping his chin. You guided his head to greet yours, lips touching ever so gracefully. His free hand placed itself on your waist, fingers gripping onto your shirt.

“I’ll be leaving again.” John whispered softly, breaking the kiss. You felt your heart squeeze at his comment.

“How long?” You asked, trying not to let the sadness of your person be evident. The man still caught onto your shift in tone, a slight frown covering his features.

“Four days. I’ll be home early Saturday morning.” He responded, voice soft. You nodded, looking down at your belly. The silence that covered the air caused a chill to run up your spine, knowing the man was staring down at you. You quietly let out a breath, rubbing the top of your bump.

“Okay, well, we’ll be waiting patiently for your return.” You then spoke, looking back up. His eyes softened, realizing you were talking about the baby too. He gave you one more, heavenly kiss. His hand gripped your waist tightly, the other at the nape of your neck. His lips dominated your own in such a pleasing way, you'd need to take a cold shower later. The man ended up breaking the kiss. His eyes scanned you over; causing you to drown in his brown eyed haze. You bit your lip feeling a shyness wash over your person, and you swiftly turned to get into your car.

“(Y/N)?” The man asked, his hand wrapped around your arm to stop you.

“Yes?” You answered, turning back around.

“Will you be my girlfriend?” His voice was deep, and so softly spoken; you could listen to him speak for hours.

“I thought you'd never ask.” A smile overtook your cheeks as you squeaked from joy. John wrapped you in his arms, bringing you in for another kiss.

---------------

November 16th

Sirens echoed throughout the silenced streets. You groaned, adjusting your pregnancy pillow after being awoken by the noise and peeled your eyes open. Save for the city lights that shone in, the room was room was mostly pitch black. A sigh escaped your lips as you searched for your phone amongst the sheets. Your hand wrapped around the device, and you pulled it from under the blankets, your eyes greeting the screen. Blinking, you adjusted to the brightness and looked at the time. 5:32 AM.

“Great.” You huffed, laying the phone back down. Looks like you weren’t getting much sleep tonight. It’d already taken you two hours to fall asleep, and that was only three hours ago, 2AM. You looked at your phone again, unlocking it and opening up messages. You met the conversation you had with John earlier; he was at an airport\, while you were trying to go to bed. He’d left on another work trip on Tuesday; now it’s Saturday. Luckily, he was coming home today, but not for another hour.

John - 2:17AM: Shouldn’t you be asleep, little one?

You - 2:18AM: I can't sleep :(

John - 2:20AM: Why is that?

You - 2:23AM: Baby is sitting on an organ. And I miss you.

John - 2:24AM: I miss you too. Only 4 hours and I’ll be home.

You - 2:27AM: James can't contain his excitement for your arrival. He’s been counting down the days.

John - 2:28AM: I want to see you before we go to see James. It’ll be in four hours.

You - 2:30AM: That’s okay. I’m excited. I’ll probably be awake, but if not, the spare is under the rug.

John hadn’t replied after that, only leaving you to assume he’d boarded the flight. You fell asleep shortly after you’d sent the last text anyways.

Another siren roaring down the street caught your focus and you sighed, climbing out of bed. The cool air of the apartment caused a shiver to crawl down your spine and you swiftly grabbed a robe you’d tossed over the hamper. You then exited the bedroom, making way to the kitchen. You flipped on the light, grabbing decaf from the cupboard and beginning a brew. As the aroma of coffee filled your little apartment, you walked to the windows, opening the curtains to the still dark morning sky.

A sigh fell past your lips as you cast your eyes to the framed photo of your ex-husband. You subconsciously rubbed the side of you belly while picking it up, feeling the baby kick. The smile on his face caused an ache to form deep in your chest, and you furrowed your brows from the pain. Maybe you weren’t as moved on as you thought. It was difficult, however much you tried. His family, the Austin’s, still wanted to meet their newest family member. Your ex-mother-in-law demanded you give the baby the Austin last name, but you protested. To be honest, you wanted to move on from that part of your life, and she was always mean to you anyways. Not that that was the main reason, no, it was simply too painful to be keeping the memory of him around. You couldn’t even speak his name.

Swiftly placing the photo back, face down, you made your way to the kitchen. The coffee maker steamed and hissed, filling the pot as best it could. You grabbed a mug, followed by pouring just enough creamer to satisfy before taking the pot from it’s dock and pouring the fresh coffee. You glanced at the clock, reading 6:03.

The jingle of a key caught your attention, causing you to flip around and witness as John entered your apartment, spare in hand.

“John!” You exclaimed from excitement, making your way over to him. He dropped his bags, bringing you into a tight embrace. Your belly bumped his person, but he didn't mind, he was content having you back into his arms.

“I've missed you.” The man spoke, voice low. He used his fingers to pull your chin so your faces aligned and kissed you with such hunger; his beard scratched slightly. A deep sigh of content left your lips as the kiss broke and a lazy smile crossed your face.

“I missed you too.” You spoke softly, running your fingers through his raven locks; tucking what you could behind his ear. His dark eyes searched your own and you felt a blush crawl up your cheek. He leaned down kissing you once again, before breaking away and gathering his bags. You went back into the kitchen, quickly fixing John a new pot of coffee. As you poured in fresh water, his arms wrapped around you from behind, and his head rest against your own. You could tell he was exhausted, probably from the long flight. There wasn’t enough time to go back to sleep before he promised the Nanny he’d return and release her from work.

“Would you like some coffee?” You murmured softly, watching the machine pour the liquid into the pot. The man nodded, too lazy to verbally respond. You directed him towards the couch, sitting his figure down and placing a pillow into his lap. You then grabbed his suitcases, rolling them over by the couch.

“Do you want to change from that suit?” You murmured. John made eye contact, a lazy nod as his answer. You gave him a short nod before returning to the kitchen. Though you were in a separate room, there was still a view from the kitchen into the living room. Meaning, you could see as John began to change. The room was still dim as the sun hasn't risen yet, but your lamps illuminated just enough so your eyes could make out Johns figure as he stripped down to his boxers. You studied his torso, eyes widening at the bruises that covered his flesh. You also met the sight of his tattoos just before he slipped a white t-shirt over the exposed skin. Blinking, a blush crawled your cheeks and you turned around, pouring John’s coffee into a mug to avoid staring.

You thought back to the bruises, concern coursing through your veins. How could a book binder have such painful bruises? And leave on trips one to three times in a month? You didn't want to admit it, but a suspicion that John was lying about a large aspect of his career was starting to feel true.

Without another thought, you brought him the mug, placing it on the side table next to the couch. He thanked you, taking a sip of the hot liquid.

---------------

November 28th - Thanksgiving

The radio played a holiday tune while you worked on basting the turkey. James sat quietly across the bar from you, coloring in a ‘First Thanksgiving’ drawing you’d printed out for him. John wasn’t currently home, as he was out on a mission to purchase pie filling before the stores closed. It was Thanksgiving today, the first one you didn’t dread attending, as it was going to be only you, James and John. John brought up the idea a few weeks ago, mentioning how he’d like to have a real family dinner, for James. It made your heart swell, the man mentioning it as family dinner.

So, here you were making dinner for the three of you. Your family was upset that you had decided not to go home, but you claimed you didn’t want to fly at nearly eight months pregnant. You hadn’t told your family about John yet. Your parents loved your ex-husband, and the thought of you moving on already would make them throw a hissy fit.

“(Y/N)? Can you get me juice?” James’ sweet voice broke you from your thoughts and you nodded at the boy.

“Sure, honey.” You smiled, setting down the basting tool, and opening up the fridge. The absence of the juice became evident and you sighed, turning around to deliver the bad news.

“It looks like we’re out.” You spoke, closing the fridge. James furrowed his brows before perking up again, an eager smile crossing his cheeks.

“Dad has the old fridge downstairs! He keeps more juice down there.” The boy spoke eagerly. You chuckled at his enthusiasm and nodded, shucking off the apron you’d put on before you began cooking. The size of your bump has started to get in the way, causing many spills to happen. So, you purchased the apron to save your clothing.

“Okay, sweetie. I’ll be right back.” You answered, ruffling the boys hair. You exited the kitchen, making your way to the closed door that led to the basement. You felt slightly nervous, as John seemed quite private regarding the basement. In fact, you remember an instance where James wanted some type of drink and John refused to let you go downstairs to get it. His reasoning was the fact you’re heavily pregnant, but your suspicion of John’s lies provided there was another reason.

Twisting the handle you opened the door to a dark staircase, leading to a blackened room. You swallowed, flipping on the lightswitch and grabbing the banister as you made your way down. The first item you saw was a desk covered in tools used for book binding, you assumed at least. The desk was neatly organized, not even dust was out of place. Yours eyes scanned the space, seeing an old armoire next to the desk. You slowly opened one of the cabinet drawers, eyes greeting the sight of three black suits hanging neatly. Furrowing your brows, you snooped more, opening a few other compartments of the wardrobe.

Your breath caught in your throat, eyes greeting the sight of three pistols laid out neatly within a drawer. Your mind raced to the image of John’s bruised body, and the numerous cuts you’ve seen litter his face. There were few other things littered within the drawer, besides the guns. One was a photo. You picked it up first, examining the item. It appeared to be a photo of John and another woman. You felt your heart pull at the sight, but you kept studying the image. He was kissing her cheek as she smiled gleefully towards the camera. The physical condition of the photo wasn’t great, it was worn on the corners and had a few fold creases. There was even a few small stains that resembled brown dots scattered across it. Was that dried blood? You shook your head, placing the photo back into the drawer before grabbing another item.

The heaviness of the necklace you grabbed next took you by surprise. A beaded chain with a large cross at the bottom was all the jewelry had to offer. You studied the cross, noting how it lacked actual gems in the design, though there were holes for small stones. It was worn, like the photo, but remained intact. Why would John have this? He’s made no mention of religion before, nor even implied he was active in a church. It wasn’t anything special, but it must be related to the other items in the drawer.

You placed it back down, grabbing the last remaining thing from the drawer. It resembles that of a watch, a pocket watch; the one’s where you pressed a button and the cover opened to reveal the clock. You studied the outside of it, noting how it had a foreign language across the edge and an intricate design. It was a faded golden color, a few dirt stains covering the metal. You bit your lip, pressing the little button. The small device popped open, and you gasped as it took you by surprise. Inside, there wasn’t a watch, but a bloody thumbprint. Your eyes widened, and you swallowed heavily. Who are you, John Wick?

Suddenly the garage door sounded overhead. Heart racing, you quickly shoved all the compartments closed, slipping the small fake-watch into your pocket. You then waddled over to the fridge in the corner, opening it and spotting an extra jug of apple juice. Grabbing it, you hustled up the stairs, hoping to beat John into the kitchen.

“...Where is (Y/N)?” You heard John speak just as you opened the basement door. His eyes caught the movement and you blushed sheepishly, closing the door with the apple juice in hand. You could feel John’s stares coating your person as you waddled over to the two of them.

“James wanted juice.” You spoke softly, eyes glancing between the boy and John. You placed the jug onto the countertop and James’ eager self grabbed his empty cup shoving it in the direction of his father, silently asking him to pour the juice. John removed his eyes from you and opened the juice for his son, filling the cup with it. You placed your hand into your pocket, feeling the cool metal of the… thing. You weren’t quite sure what it is, and as to why there's a bloody thumbprint inside of it. It was scary. You thought you knew your boyfriend, but this? This was curious.

You watched John put away some of the groceries he’d gotten while you put your apron back on. His handsome figure caused an ache to form in your lower abdomen, but you didn’t have time to be horny. You needed to know who this man is. Was he some type of mafia boss? You know those guys are prevalent in New York. Oh my god, (Y/N). You’re dating a mafia boss. Wait. No. That’s dumb. Was he a dirty businessman? Does he do shady shit? You shook your head, letting out a huff of amusement from your stupid thoughts. You stepped in front of the turkey, continuing on with basting.

“Can I go watch cartoons?” James asked, setting down some crayons in his grasp. You looked at his drawing and noticed how he’d finished coloring it in. Sure, the people were colored variants of blue and green, but he completed it.

“Sure, baby.” You answered without thought. After the boy had scurried off, only you and John remained in the kitchen. It was silent, save for the radio that still played Christmas music. You could feel John was a little tense, and it was probably due to you going to the basement.

“You know how I feel about you going down there.” John spoke up after a few moments. He’d begun to gather the items needed to begin the mashed potatoes.

“Your son wanted a drink.” You merely answered, however the guilt of taking the device was beginning to eat at you. You subconsciously placed your hand over your pocket, and John’s eyes caught the movement.

“What’s in your pocket?” His voice was low, causing your heart rate to pick up speed. You grasped the item in your hand tightly, anxiety coursing its way through your veins. You swallowed thickly, looking at John. His stare was heavy, eyes dark. It caused a slight stir in your abdomen from the tension. You bit your lip, keeping eye contact before pulling the item from your pocket. You twirled it in your hand before you held the metal piece up so that the man could see it.

“Who are you.” Your voice was low, asking the question in the form of a statement. John grabbed the device from your hand, slowly, as though he didn’t want to scare you. You studied his face as he stared down, avoiding eye contact. A quiet sigh escaped his lips as he looked back up at you, sadness evident. You felt your heart soften at his expression, your guard lowering slightly.

“I didn’t want for you to find out this way.” He murmured, staying quiet as to not alarm James. Your heart felt pained and you took a deep breath.

“Who are you, John?” You repeated, voice softer. The man sighed, placing the item down onto the counter and gestured for you to sit onto one of the barstools. You quietly thanked him, sitting on the chair. You watched as his eyes stared at your belly while you rubbed it. Over the time you’ve dated, he’s become really fond of your daughter. He loves to feel her kick, or any movements she does really. He’s also kept her ultrasound picture in his wallet ever since you gave it to him. When he goes out of town, he uses that photo as a way to calm down. That and alcohol.

“I’m an assassin. I receive contracts to kill people, bad people only.” John spoke so quietly, you barely heard. You know he’s trying to remain quiet incase James could hear. You felt your heart rate pick up, the dots beginning to connect. The cuts, the bruises, the occasional small blood splatter across his collar. The guns in the drawer downstairs, the mysterious items as well. John is an assassin; a man who is paid to kill people. You studied his figure; his strong muscles capable of inflicting pain, large callused hands which have been covered with human blood many times, strong, intimidating face with dark eyes. A chill ran down your spine as you made eye contact.

“Does James know?” You then asked, not allowing his stare to intimidate. John shuffled on his feet, almost as though he was a scolded schoolboy.

“No. He doesn't, and I'd prefer to keep it that way. At least until he's older.” He answered after a few moments. You nodded, respecting his wishes. Besides, telling James, whose six years old, that his father kills people will definitely scar the boy.

“What is that thing?” You then questioned, gesturing towards the fake watch in John's hand. He looked down at it, a deep sigh escaping his throat.

“It’s called a Marker. It’s a ‘You owe me, no questions asked’ sealed with their blood..” He answered, popping the device open. He held it so you could see the thumbprint once again.

“And the woman in the photo, who is she?” You spoke up, mind replaying the image of the mysterious lady. John seemed genuinely happy in the image, it almost hurt that it wasn't you being the reason behind his joy. A little off your rocker, sure; However, you're almost eight months pregnant and can blame everything on your hormones. The man shut the marker, sliding it into his pocket. He glanced at the walkway that connected the living room to the kitchen, knowing his son was close to earshot. You gestured for you to stand, and you obeyed, sliding off the bar stool and regaining balance using the counter top.

John grabbed your hand, snagging a cardigan you’d left on a table chair, before leading you towards the sliding doors that led to the patio. He quickly slid them open, tugging you outside before closing them again. You shivered, instantly triggering John to hand you the article. Thanking him softly, you slid the warmth over your chilly arms before looking up again. You found the man staring out into the yard, a lost look donning his face. You followed his gaze, not meeting the sight of anything but the hedges that sculpted the backyard..

“Baby?” You questioned, softening your guard and touching your cold hand to his bicep. He blinked at the sensation, pulling him out of his trance.

“Her name was Helen. She is-” He paused, looking down at you,”She was James’ mother.” A quiet ‘Oh.’ Left your lips and you wrapped your arms around his strong one, attempting to comfort him. You gently rubbed his lower back, a trick you used to use with your ex-husband to ease his anxiety.

“Why do you say ‘was’?” You spoke after a few moments. Was she deceased now? John scoffed, shaking his head. Genuine emotion gathered in the creases of his eyes as he looked down at his feet.

“She gave birth to him in a hotel room in France, not bothering to go to a hospital. He didn't have a birth certificate or social security number. When she showed up with him, she hadn't even given him a name.” He paused with a sigh, “After she left, I finally took him and got him recognized as a citizen. That makes me his sole guardian.”

“How did you not know she was… expecting?” Curiosity filled your veins. You’ve been dating for a few months, you barely knew John. It felt good, minus the circumstances of the conversation, to really see him feel.

“We had a fight about… the business; our careers. She stormed out and never returned- Until James.” He spoke lowly. You wrapped your arms around his core, pulling him in for the tightest hug you could manage. He slowly mimicked your actions, too wrapping his arms around your body. You two hugged in the cold for a few more seconds before you shivered.

“I know this is cheesy of me to say, but... You have me now. I’m not going to abandon you. You’re stuck with me, bub.” You said lightly, slowly inching towards the sliding door. John broke and chuckled from your comment, shaking his head. You smiled, opening the door and entering back into the warm house. Shivers ran down your spine as you pulled the cardigan tighter around your figure. John closed the door and came up behind you, kissing the top of your head.

“Thank you, (Y/N).” He spoke, gaining your attention and leaned down to kiss you. You accepted, enjoying the minor beard burn that came when kissing him. He broke the kiss with a smile, and stepped back.

“You’re welcome, baby. Now I need your strong muscles to lift this fat turkey into the oven.” You spoke, handing John a pair of minnie mouse themed oven mitts.

#john wick fanfiction #john wick fanfic #john wick x reader #john wick x you #keanu reeves #keanu reeves x reader #keanu x you #keanu reeves fanfiction

320 notes · View notes

lwoscar123 · 4 years ago

Text

Search for Closure

This is the full version of the short story. it is a work of fiction all characters and plot were created by me. I should probably warn you that this story has mentions of suicide and murder, so please read at your own risk. anyway i hope someone enjoys this. if you read this let me know what you think.

“Are you sure that this can’t wait until after I’m done with college? I don’t think I’m ready yet,” Alexandria said as she stood on the front porch of her childhood home.

“It’s better to get this over as soon as possible. Besides don’t you want to sell the house? People won’t always be interested in buying it,” her grandfather said putting his hand on her shoulder.

As she fumbled around in her bag to find the keys she tried not to think back to the last time she was in that house. She tried to find comfort in the fact that if she was able to get through this then the horrid house would no long be there to torment her.

“There you are”, she mumbled to herself as she felt the cold metal of the keys and pulled them out of the bag. After unlocking the door, she took a deep breath and slowly opened it letting the light devour the darkness that was locked inside for so long.

Alexandria paused in the doorway before turning to her grandparents. “If it’s okay with you guys I would prefer to do this alone.” Her voice heavy, was it fair to refuse her mother’s parents right to see the place where there child had spent her last moments before choosing to end her misery. “I’ll let you come in when I’m done. I’m so sorry.”

“Alright Dria, just know that we’ll be out here if you need us,” her grandmother said with a gentle nod of her head. Her grandfather nodded in agreement and understanding.

I’m back Ma, sorry it took me so long, she thought to herself as she walked in to the entryway almost being taken by surprise when she saw the shoe cubby and coat rack empty. The further that Alexandria walked into the house the smaller she felt. She was suddenly that stunted fifteen year old that was naïve enough to believe that she was enough to make her mother whole again. She tried to keep her gaze forward. She knew that if she acknowledged the silhouettes that they would lead her down the same path that her mother fell victim to.

The shadows were there to taunt her, to bring back feelings and memories that she would rather keep buried and forgotten. The memories that was only full of loneliness and other negative emotions. .

“Let it go, Andri. Don’t let it control you,” a voice that was warm and motherly said. The voice had startled Alexandria and she almost looked over what it had said when she looked around the empty room in search of the source of it.

Until she had realized what the voice had called her: Andri, it had referred to her using the nickname that her mother would use in the rare and precious moments where she would come back from whatever world she would escape to and recognize that Alexandria was a person with emotions and that she needed someone to be there for her too.

The voice that had been there to comfort them through the separation of her parents and had explained to her that it wasn’t her fault they split. The voice that told her they were going to be fine because even though her father had left them she’d at least got to keep the house. That day she had promised the young girl that they would make it just fine on their own and that they will always be together no matter what. A promise that her mother had broke so long ago. Alexandria spent a majority of her time trying to figure out when the promise had lost its meaning.

Alexandria remembered the first and last time she had spoken to her in that voice. God, she wished she could forget them, but they were burned into her mind like a brand.

The first time she heard that voice being on the night of her fifth birthday. A night that she never discussed with anyone, not even her mother. She was supposed to be tucked away in her bed fast asleep, but a sound had woke her up. It was the sound of the front door slamming closed and the heavy thudding of footsteps. Father, she thought rushing out of bed and out into the hallway. Her foot had just touched the landing at the top of the stairs before she was frozen in her place by a loud crashing sound and her mother’s angry voice.

“How dare you?” Alexandria had never heard her mother sound like this before today. “How dare you bring that man in our house?”

“That man is my brother and he has every right to come here. After all, this house belongs to my family and he is Alexandria’s rea-” my father said, he was rubbing the bridge of his nose something he did when he was trying not to explode. “You loved that man or did you forget that you planned to marry him and not me?”

“He lost that right long before Alexandria was born. When he decided to become a murderer. ” my mother screeched, she was holding a baseball bat using it to distance herself from him.

“The only reason he did what he did was because he was protecting you and you didn’t seem to mind it” my father remarked lip curving up at the end “I mean Alexandria is proof of that isn’t she”

“It was a lapse in judgment” she hesitated “Don’t act like you haven’t had any of those”

“Can’t we stop arguing for one day? I just wanted to do something nice for her.” He sighed, “Can’t we talk about this tomorrow. I just want to go to sleep.”

“Something nice? She doesn’t know him or who he is.” She said blocking his way to the stairs. Scared of being caught, Alexandria scrambled back to bed tucking herself in and closing her eyes.

Ten minutes felt like forever in the quiet darkness of her room before she heard the door slam and her mom make her way up the stairs. Her mother paused mumbling to herself before quietly making her way into Alexandria’s room and kneeling by the side of her bed. “I’m sorry. I can’t lose you again, I’m sorry. I love you, Andri” she whispered her soft voice clashing with the odd heaviness that came with those words.

Little did Alexandria know, but her mother cried herself to sleep that night. The more and more she looked back on that night over the years the more empty she felt inside and the more alone she realized she was. Who was that man that her father had brought to her birthday party? How did mom know him? What did her father mean when he said she was proof her mother didn’t hate him? Why did she get the idea that her mother wasn’t talking about her when she came into her room that night? These were some of the questions that have come up since that night; questions that she still didn’t have answers to.

She looked up seeing the silhouette of a young girl cower at the top of the stairs hoping that her parents wouldn’t catch her. Alexandria locked eyes with the girl and watched as the girl gasped and then darted into her room. Alexandria followed her up the stairs and opened the door to her child hood bedroom. Her eyes scanned the room looking for the girl, but it was like she had disappeared. Instead her she saw a desk with a chair in the corner of the room, the same chair that her father had sat in when he told her the history of the house

“Did you know that my great-grandfather built this house?” her father asked a six year old version of herself. To which she responded by shaking her head, her unruly auburn curls swaying along. It was back then that Alexandria thought she was the prettiest. Her skin was dusted with freckles and her bright blue eyes still filled with hope. Back when she was still filled with the innocence of a child.

“He built this house as a way to prove the strength of the love he had for my great-grandmother” he started “when he had first asked her to marry him all those years ago, she had told him that the only way she would marry him was to prove that his love was strong enough to last forever”

“But how did that prove anything it’s just a house? It’s not even that big.” She said, she wished she could go back just for a while. Her parents might of fought often, but at least she had someone who actually cared.

“It might not be big or even good looking but it serves its purpose doesn’t it. It has been here way before either of us and even though it has been through a lot it is still here” he explained with a soft smile. “My father and his siblings were raised in this house and so were his children. In fact my mother gave birth to my younger brother in this very room.”

“You forgot me.” The little girl says and her father raises his eyebrow “I’m growing up in this house too!” she says pointing to herself, her crooked smile on display.

“You remind me so much of my brother” his voice going soft

“What was he like?” She wondered “I didn’t know I had an uncle”“ Have, he is still alive you know” he corrected her “Believe it or not but you met him before. He came to one of your birthday -”

“Alexandria say goodbye to your father, it’s time for him to leave” her mother interrupting. Alexandria wasn’t at all surprised when her parents had begun arguing as soon as the door to her bedroom closed.

It wasn’t even a week after he told Alexandria that story that he just stopped coming to visit all together. She knew that he was tired of the constant arguing, but that didn’t mean he had to leave her all alone. There were plenty of ways for him to spend time with her without having to deal with her miserable mother. It was back then that she should have realized that it was just a house and that if it had a choice it would probably leave her too.

She waved her hand to disperse the shadows and the memory that had clouded up her train of thought. As she headed out the door and into the hallway she noticed that the door that led to her mother’s room was wide open for what felt like the first time in forever. She was never allowed to go into her mother’s room.

There’s no one to stop me anymore she thought to herself as she marched into the bedroom. Halfway into the room her march turned in to a jog and she jumped onto the bed. As she landed a cloud of dust flew up from the mattress and sheets.

“I should have really thought that through” she said going into a coughing fit. She looked around trying to spot anything out of the ordinary as her coughs died down and she waited for her breathing to return to normal. After finding nothing of interest she stood up from the bed and meant to head out of the room.

As soon as she took another step her foot got snagged on something and she face planted the hardwood floor. Regaining her composure she sat up and turned around looking for the culprit only to find a box labeled Andri.

“What are you doing under mom’s bed?” She questioned the box as if it could answer. “You should be in my room”

She grabbed either side of the box and was surprised when it offers more resistance than expected. “You’re a heavy little guy aren’t you?”

She pulled with all her might and still had to struggle, but she had finally pulled the box all the way out. She folded the flaps back and was surprised yet again when all she saw was photo albums. She pulled out the first one and used her sleeve to wipe the cover so that the cover was clear enough to read “The Martin-Arnott Family Album ….hmm”

As Alexandria opened the photo album she was greeted with a picture of a teenage girl in a hospital bed holding a baby that was wrapped in a blanket with a teenage boy sitting in the chair next to her. The teenage girl had shoulder length dark hair that was all over some strands stuck to her forehead due to copious amounts of sweat. Her slightly tan skin and clear complexion worked together to give her the illusion that she was glowing. She gave off this amazing energy that made you completely look over her messy and tired state. She was very petite and being combined with her baby face made her look slightly younger than she actually was. She still looked amazing even though she just spent hours giving birth. She knew the girl was her mother at least that much was obvious, but she looked so unfamiliar almost like a whole other person.

The teenage boy on the other hand was a completely different story. They looked like polar opposites. He was pale and his skin had a yellowish tint to it that made him appear to be anemic. His skin was dusted with an obnoxious amount of freckles no matter where you looked and his short hair was orange? He was of average height and build. He should have looked out of place sitting next to her mother but oddly enough they complimented each other. Instead of staring at the camera he was staring at the girl and Alexandria suddenly felt a pain in her chest.

Is this what she looked like when she was truly happy? Who was the boy next to her and why did he look to be related to her father. Under the picture was the caption “Emily Martin and Jacob Arnott with their new born Andri. (1989)” Emily? That was her mother’s name, but who was Jacob Arnott? Who was Andri? Did she have an older brother? She hastily flipped through page after page until she got to the middle of the photo album in her hands and saw another picture with the same people, but now they were older.

The same teenage boy was now a young man whose hair had been grown out and was styled in such a way that it reminded her of the long hair that James McAvoy had for his portrayal of a young Charles Xavier in X-men. His hair had now darkened to a nice auburn and his skin had finally reached a healthy color. He still had all those freckles though. In his arms was a toddler who also had bright orange hair that was all over the place. He looked almost exactly like the man holding him but instead of his father’s blue eyes his eyes were grey.

The young woman, who still had the appearance of a teen despite being older than the male in the picture, was sitting outside on the porch of the family house in the background as if she had been watching them run around. The caption under the picture read “Me and my two beautiful boys outside enjoying the summer breeze (1993)”

Alexandria placed the album to the side of the box and picked up the second photo album entitled “The Arnott Family Album #3”. She didn’t waste any time flipping through pages and just opened it to a random page to see a picture with my mother and father in cap and gowns it must have been their high school graduation. Jacob was also in frame carrying Andri in his arm the caption reads “Emily (17), Scott (18), Jacob (15), and baby Andri (10 months) (1990)”

She closed the album, placed it on top of the other one, and reached into the box once more this time her hand found a slip of paper. When she pulled it out and flipped it over to read it, Alexandria was suddenly overcome with a sick feeling. It was a news paper clipping and the headline read “serial murderer found dead after breaking into the Arnott family home 5 dead total, 1 severely injured”

On the night of February 5th, the serial killer ‘The Surgeon’ broke into the Arnott family home and wreaked havoc. By the time Emily had woken up and become aware of the fact that there was an intruder it was too late. He had just finished dissecting her 12 year old son and had already killed the other family members that were home at the time. She had called out for her fiancé Jacob forgetting that he had went out with his older brother Scott to drink and unknowingly alerted the man of her presence.

He was on the other side of the upstairs hallway and making his way to her, when Scott and Jacob arrived at the scene. They were alerted to the horrible situation when they saw that the door had been kicked in. Scott had decided to stay outside and call the police. Jacob worried about his fiancé and son entered the house and upon hearing Emily’s screams raced upstairs to their shared bedroom where the man was now standing over her about to strike. Jacob engaged in a struggle that resulted in him being stabbed twice and the suspect bleeding out from multiple stab wounds. By the time that the police arrived the suspect was dead and Jacob had gone into shock from excessive blood loss.

The list of dead in result of this break in is: Thomas Arnott (52), Edith Arnott (53), Faith Arnott (20), Andri Arnott (12), and Greg Barley (age unknown)

Alexandria didn’t know what to believe anymore she checked the date on the paper and it said February 7th 2001. She had been born February 9th of the following year. Was this Jacob person her real father? She thought turning to look into the mirror on her mother’s dresser, but this time instead of seeing her own reflection she saw a man’s. A man with long ginger hair, an abundance of freckles dotted his face and his grey eyes seemed to glare into her. You’re just a replacement it seemed to say.

Alexandria quickly looked through the box once more to see if there was anything else of importance and found a huge pile of letters addressed to her from her biological father. She picked up the bundle and stashed it in her purse, so she could read it in the privacy of her room back home later on.

“Please, just let it go and forgive me” The voice pleaded. Alexandria rolled her eyes

“Forgive you” Alexandria screamed as she desperately looked for something to throw or punch “you want me to forgive you for lying to me my whole life”

“Shut up. You’re not real. Shut up” she said and turned to the man in the mirror who seemed to be taunting her “you’re dead”

“Please Andri” the voice begged

“Don’t call me that” she roared and stormed out the room and down the stairs “I’m sorry” Alexandria’s eyes were drawn to the entry way.

The last time she had heard her mother use that voice was the morning of the day her mother died. Alexandria had woken up late and was rushing around trying to get ready quick enough to catch the bus. She had just finished stuffing her newly printed English paper into bag trying to be careful not to crumple it when she remembered.

“Oh! I almost forgot, you’ll be home later today right? I need your help filling out some information for applications for some summer programs I was interested in.” She called. She was now at the front door and in the process of shoving her feet in her shoes, when her mother responded.

“Yeah I will be, but maybe it would be better if you didn’t apply to any summer programs. Something might come up and it’ll look bad if you applied, but can’t attend”

Maybe if Alexandria had woken up on time and wasn’t rushing to get to the bus stop on time, she would have been able to catch what her mother had actually said and the double meaning behind it. But at last Alexandria didn’t she had just assumed that all she said was yeah. She didn’t realize what her mother had said it until she was in her math class and even then it was far too late to do anything because she was trapped in school for another five hours. When she had rushed home instead of being greeted by the smell of her mom’s cooking she was greeted by what she at first thought was an empty house

“Ma? Ma where are you?” she said as she checked the kitchen and then went to go look in her room.

“Ma.” She hoped that maybe she had gotten tired and went to take a nap.

“Ma!” or she was taking a shower and couldn’t hear her calling her.

“Mom” her heart was racing now as she reached for the curtain that separated the living room from the rest of the house. She closed her eyes slowly pulling the curtain to the side.

“Mo-”she choked on the word. She slowly opened her eyes and at first her heart dropped with disappointment, but soon that was washed away with anger. How could she be so selfish after all that we’ve been through? I thought she said she loved me? If that was true how could she just leave me?

Believe it or not she didn’t cry when she found her, not when she turned to go get her phone to call the police, nor when she had to explain what happened, not even when they cut down her body and covered her with tarp. No, Alexandria decided that 6 months later, when she was introducing herself to her classmates at her new school that that was the perfect time to cry.

“Come here” the voice called beckoning her to the living room. She walked on her shoes feeling heavier and heavier, until she was in the same spot she stood that night, the air feeling the thickest as if she reach out and hold it in her hands. She suddenly dropped to her knees feeling her throat constrict as if the air had turned tangible and shackled her in place.

Alexandria felt the atmosphere start to shift as she was finally beginning to see what her mother had been suffering through and understand that it wasn’t her fault that her mother took the actions that she did. It was just that she wasn’t able to cope and she couldn’t live with the guilt of forcing her problems onto her daughter and that it was crippling her growth.

“Just let it go, I’m sorry for everything,” the disembodied voice that Alexandria believed to be her mother’s begged her. By the end of apology the voice faded out and she knew it wouldn’t come back this time. The house was now the only physical remnant of her the mother and the relationship they had. This house had been here for her mother when she needed it and now it was here to support her. Alexandria knew that in order for her to truly begin to heal and be able to grow any further that she would have to let go of everything that burdened her. She had to first admit to the true feelings that were involved in her mother’s death and the relationship they had when she was alive. She had to acknowledge that she felt the tiniest bit of relief when she found her mother’s body hanging there when she had returned from school and that she had held a deep resentment toward her mother while she was alive and even a while after her death.

She had to forgive her mother because she now knew that it wasn’t her mother’s fault for abandoning her long before she had physically left the world. That her mother was too weak to mother a broken child. When she was a mother that refused to let go of the child that she had lost so long ago. Alexandria wished she could bring her mother back for just long enough to tell her she was sorry that she was so selfish and that she forgave her because she finally understood what she was going through. Alexandria walked out of the house with a new sense of purpose and a new understanding of her mother because she had gained the knowledge that she hadn’t failed to fill the role of a good daughter, there was just some problems that the love and support of a daughter couldn’t fix. She also left promising herself that she would find her real father if he was still around and find out if they shared any other similarities other than their physical appearance.

“You know what,” she said walking over to her grandparents who were patiently waiting for her to come back. “I’ve decide that I’m not going to sell the house. It holds too many important memories” The weight that she had been carrying for years had finally been lifted and her relationship with her mother repaired. She was going to keep the house in the family and return it to the man it truly belongs to, but they didn’t need to know that.

#something i wrote #commingofagestory #here's a short story #pls leave feedback

2 notes · View notes

artemisnightingale216 · 6 years ago

Text

Love and What We Do in its Name: Ch 5- Come Out and Play

Authors Note: Plot happens but not really. Haha. Gonna get into some fun stuff next chapter! Please enjoy! Also, if anyone is interested, we’re still looking for voice actors for the audio recordings! If you’re interested, DM either me or @sagetheai and we’ll go from there!

Ottilie woke the next morning in a state of confusion. Before she even opened her eyes, she realized her bed was much too comfortable to be her own and the scent of the sheets wasn’t right. Once they did open, she was shocked to not be greeted by the wallpaper she’d grown accustomed to over the years, but instead a cranberry painted wall. A small gasp escaped her as she quickly sat up and looked around the room.

It was surprisingly large and spacious, possibly bigger than her cottage. There was a kitchenette, sitting area, and king sized bed which she’d woken up in. The kitchenette was simple with oak cabinets, a matching pantry and counter top, covered lights that hung from the ceiling, and a glossy black dishwasher placed into a cubby beneath the counter top. It was separated from the carpeted sitting area by glossy black tiles that resembled obsidian stone, the dark color more easily hiding any dirt that might have gotten on them. The carpet itself was a simple white, but looked soft and plush to the touch. The sitting area was decorated with black and scarlet antique furniture, an armchair to one end of the black coffee table and a matching love seat to the side, the end tables decorated with floral painted lamps that lit up the room in a gentle golden glow. There was an antique writing desk sitting against one of the walls, stationary and an ink well sitting on top, and across from it was a six person dining table with a crystal vase full of flowers centered on it. Along the wall with the desk were two large windows and an intricately carved glass door, white sheer curtains hung on either side of all three, that led out to a rot iron balcony with a tea table and matching chairs just outside the door. The bed was soft yet firm at the same time, which had aided her in having one of the best sleeps she’d had in a long time, with more pillows than seemed necessary and a floral bed set that was nearly the same design as the lamps.

It took her a moment to catch on to where she was as her eyes darted around the room, her heart racing slightly as she slowly calmed down once she had that peace of mind. Once she was sufficiently calm, she flipped the covers off of her and stepped off of the bed, surprised to see that over half of the bed was still made; she’d tried to tell Charlie the night before that it was much too big for her and she would be more than happy with a queen mattress, but her new manager had insisted that she take it, not taking no for an answer. After she fixed the sheets and comforter so the bed was fully made, she put her slippers on her feet and wrapped her robe around her, feeling chilly in her light blue negligee and matching underwear.

She took that time in the early morning hours to look over her room further, not really having had a chance to the night before. Between running all over town with Angel, starting her job, and moving her things, she’d been exhausted and fell asleep as soon as her head had hit the pillow. She was surprised she’d been able to stand long enough to change out of her clothes and put on her night clothes.

It hadn’t taken them long to remove her things from the small cottage. Once all of her clothes, dishes, and the few knicknacks she had were packed away, there had been ample in the trunk of the limo for her rocking chair, which she’d been afraid she’d have to leave behind. Charlie and Vaggie had both commented on her surprising lack of personal belongings, though Angel had been outspokenly happy he didn’t have to help with any heavy lifting, but Ottilie had simply explained that she’d never been one to become attached to anything she didn’t need. When everything was loaded inside, she quickly wrote a note to her landlord explaining that she’d found another place to live and pinned it to the door, leaving an envelope with a bit of money inside there as well as an apology for leaving so abruptly; Angel had tried to swipe it when he thought no one was looking and tried to explain that he was going to give it back to her when Vaggie reprimanded him for it, but none of them believed him. They’d returned back to the hotel within a few hours of leaving and the three tried to talk her into joining everyone for dinner in the dining hall, but she wasn’t sure if she could handle being around so many people at once just yet, so she’d excused herself and simply stayed in her room.

It was truly an extravagant room, much fancier than anything she thought she’d ever have. She would have to be sure to work and more than earn her keep if they were going to have her staying there. Needless to say, her work ethic was never put into question, but that wouldn’t stopped her from giving it her all.

She jumped slightly when there was a knock at her door, not having heard anyone coming down the hall. Assuming it was either Charlie or Vaggie, knowing that Angel wouldn’t be up at a time like this and no one else would have any reason to call on her, she walked over and opened it without hesitation; she should have been more cautious, especially after her encounter with Alastor the previous day, but it simply wasn’t on her mind at the time. She was surprised to find the hall empty, looking up and down it just to be sure. A bit confused, she was about to close the door when she noticed a wrapped parcel sitting on the floor just outside her door frame.

Staring at it for a moment, she picked it up and took it inside. It was light in her hands and seemed to have been carefully wrapped in lavender paper with a blue ribbon tied around it. She placed it on the dining table, debating whether or not to open it; never during the duration of her time in Hell had she ever received a gift before, much less seen one wrapped so meticulously.

Chewing on her lower lip slightly, she gripped the edge of the ribbon and pulled on it slowly. Once the bow was undone, she peeled away the wrapping paper, careful not to rip it. Beneath the paper was a lidded cardboard box colored the same shade of blue as the ribbon. Even more slowly than she’d undone the ribbon, she lifted the lid off the box and looked inside.

Her eyes widened and a gasp slipped past her lips. Inside the box was a pair of womens work boots that were similar in design to the ones she usually wore, but these were without the tall heels that hers had, making them better suited for labor jobs. They appeared to be brand new, as well. There wasn’t a single scuff mark or stitching out of place on them whereas hers had seen many a better day.

She stared at them for the longest time, unsure what to make of them. It wasn’t as if she’d ordered them and certainly hadn’t asked for them, which would have been terribly rude of her to do so, leaving her to wonder where they had come from. Her first suspicion had been Charlie, who seemed more likely to offer such a kind gesture, but at the same time didn’t seem like the type to leave a gift and turn tail away. Her next was Vaggie, the more practical of the two women, but she hadn’t even known she needed new shoes nor did it seem like she wanted to waste any more money on frivolous purchases. Her last thought was Angel, but generosity had never been his strong suit. It was a perplexing puzzle that she was keen on getting to the bottom of and solving.

She was about to put the lid back on the box and place it back outside, not intending in the slightest to accept a gift that was much too generous for someone like her, but she paused. The new and shiny material seemed to beckon her to them, to at the very least touch them just once before she returned them to wherever they had come from. She lifted her hand and hesitated, as if afraid something might happen to them if she so much as touched them. Swallowing her fear, her fingers grazed the boots. They were just as she imagined them; stiff and unused, but not at all worn and uncomfortable like her current shoes. She quickly learned it was a mistake to have touched them because now she found herself wanting to try them on and see if they fit. Against her better judgement, she did just that.

Sitting down on the edge of the loveseat, she took off one of her slippers and carefully placed a boot on her small, slender foot. It slid so easily on. She didn’t even have to force her foot in. The soles felt like a extension of herself, like they had been specifically made for her, and once she laced up the strings they fit her like a second skin. Standing, she found that they were also just her size, giving her enough room to wiggle her toes but not so much that they slid right off of her.

A near overwhelming sense of joy filled her. It was a lovely and well thought out gift, one that she was sure had cost a pretty penny, but she couldn’t possibly keep them. She hadn’t done anything to earn them and it quite frankly baffled her that someone had wasted their time on her in such a way. She was hardly worth the effort, in her mind, at least.

*****

Ottilie carried the box of shoes downstairs with her, the overwhelming urge to put them on already strong as her feet began to hurt. She knew it was going to be a long day, especially since she was going to be doing more than just laundry. Today being the start of her first official day, she would be cleaning the rooms, switching out the towels, and ensuring the guests had everything they needed. Adding that to the fact that she would have to carry everything around by hand did not make her happy. At the very least, she wouldn’t be carrying around sheets and would only be worrying about the towels, having already done them yesterday.

Before heading to the supply closest to collect her things for the day, she dropped the box off at Charlie’s office. She had no way of knowing whether or not Charlie had been the one to give them to her, but it was the best guess she had. Afterwards, she made her way down the hall and rounded the corner.

An overwhelming sense of deja vu hit her as she bumped right into something broad and solid. She was nearly sent falling back again when an arm shot out and caught her around the waist, holding her as if she being dipped in a dance. A large hand wrapped around her rib, sharp claws poking into her side, one swift movement surely able to rip through her clothing and shred into her skin. The sudden contact made her gasp, her body practically limp in their hold as she looked up into familiar crimson eyes.

“You know, you and I really must stop meeting like this,” Alastor chuckled, his eyes crinkling slightly as his smile spread wider across his face. Ottilie didn’t find comfort in anything about him; his smile sent shivers down her spine and his mere presence exuded danger. His ear twitched slightly as she simply stared up at him, still limp in his hold. “What’s the matter, sweetheart? Deer got your tongue?” He raised his brows slightly, insinuating something with the gesture.

The implication wasn’t lost on her and she found herself glancing at his teeth, knowing full well that he could easily do just that. Ignoring the urge to shiver, she met his gaze once again. “No. I just did not find what you said very funny.”

His eyes narrowed slightly. “My, my. This little kitten has claws. How charming. However,” he leaned in closer, his back bending until his face was looking over hers, making her neck bend back to keep meeting his gaze, “kittens must remember that dears have very sharp antlers. A kitten might be… impaled, if they aren’t too careful.”

“Perhaps the deer should learn to be more careful. Kittens shouldn’t be blamed for the mistakes of a borish animal,” she retorted, unsure of where the bite in her tone had come from.

His eyes widened considerably at the word ‘borish’. Clearly he hadn’t liked it, not one bit. He was obviously a demon who prided himself on his appearance and the way he carried himself. Though that ever present smile was still there, something stirred in his eyes that didn’t bode well for her. He leaned in closer, getting to the point where the tips of their noses were just barely touching. “I would watch what I say if I were you, little one. I am a patient man with a very long fuse, but even I have my limits. I wouldn’t want anything to happen to you… just… yet.” He spoke his last few words slowly as his free hand came up and the tip of his claw ran down the length of her cheek.

She felt her cheeks begin to burn as she watched that hand and felt that claw brush along her skin, any slight amount of pressure likely to slice her skin. She also felt his thumb brushing along the edge of her back, both of his touches sending what equated to a spasm to run throughout her entire body. She slipped out from under his arm, somehow managing not to cut herself on his claw, and stepped away from him. “I-I would appreciate it i-if you didn’t do that a-again. Please excuse m-me.” She briskly walked away, not giving him a chance to reply or do much of anything else.

***

Alastor stood up straight and watched the young maid scamper off, feeling a smug sense of self satisfaction. He’d clearly misread her reaction and realized this as he sniffed the air, not smelling the fear he’d expected. The emotion he smelled was strange, one that he couldn’t place. His smile fell slightly, feeling a bit confused.

If she hadn’t been afraid, then why had she reacted like that, he wondered.

Once she was out of sight, he began to question what she was doing in that part of the hotel. There was nothing really of note, unless of course she’d simply gotten lost. It wouldn’t have been the first time someone had taken a wrong turn in the many halls and found themselves unsure of where they were. Sniffing the air a bit more, he found her earlier scent and began to follow it, curious to see if she’d been going anywhere.

He found himself baffled when he ended up at Charlies office, knowing that she’d gone in there if only briefly. Not bothering to knock, knowing that no one was occupying the room, he opened the door and stepped inside. He glanced around the room, wondering if Ottilie had looked through or taken anything, but nothing seemed to be out of place. He was about to leave the room when he noticed something sitting on the desk.

*****

Even Ottilie was surprised at her own reaction, unsure of her own emotions at the time. True, she wasn’t used to being touched, but she’d never reacted that way before. It hadn’t been from fear, an emotion she knew all too well, or at least not the base of it; she’d have to be a complete moron not to be at least a bit afraid of Alastor. She recalled it being rather strange, how her body had gone into spasms that would suggest she hated the feelings, but she couldn’t recall hating it at all.

She was also surprised at Alastor himself. Angel had touched her numerous times before, though not on a regular basis. Strangers had bumped into her, immediately recoiling at the surprise of her cold skin. Alastor, however, hadn’t even flinched at her lack of heat. His hand had stayed pressed against her, seemingly unaffected like anyone else would have been. She could still feel that arm wrapped around her even know and her cheek was still tingling with the contact.

She touched her face, wondering if he’d managed to cut her during her escape. Pulling her hand back, she found her glove clear of any sign of blood. She checked her smock as well, hoping it wasn’t already ripped after less than a day of having it. A breath of relief left her when she couldn’t find any tares.

A thought came to her. When Angel touched her, she’d always reciprocated the action. When strangers bumped into her, she next to always saw them coming at least a second or two before the fact. Alastor, however, had touched her without her consent or knowledge beforehand. Perhaps her reaction had been because his contact had come as a surprise to her, having not expected or returned the action.

A deep sigh escaped her. She really wasn’t in the mood to be dealing with all of this. She needed to focus. It wouldn’t do her any good to dwell on silly matters. More than likely, Alastor had just been doing something to mess with her. A demon of his caliber probably knew seven ways to Sunday to mess with other people, especially someone who was inexperienced with dealing with such matters.

Her mind put at ease, at least for the time being, she continued on her way to find the supply closet. Vaggie had told her there was one on each floor, so at least she wouldn’t have to carry all of her supplies with her when she needed to go to the next. The only problem was that the closets didn’t appear to be in the same place on each floor. When she went to where the spot where the door should have been, she instead found herself in a pool room. Perplexed, she checked the nearby rooms as well, but they weren’t what she’d been looking for either.

Realizing she had no idea where she was supposed to go, she set off to look for Vaggie and Charlie. It was still early in the morning, so she assumed they’d be in the penthouse and wasn’t looking forward to climbing the stairs all the way to the top floor. Again, she wished she’d put on the shoes, but swatted that thought away; what was done was done and she wasn’t going back on her decision. She was just passing the kitchen when she heard pots and pans banging together. Curious, she opened the swinging door and had to quickly duck down.

An egg flew over her head and exploded into the wall behind her, shell shards and yolk dripping down and onto the floor. Cautiously, she looked back into room to see the kitchen in an even worse state. Flour, eggs, milk, and all other sorts of various ingredients were strewn all over the place, making it look like an explosion had gone off in the bakery section of a market. Pots and pans had been tossed haphazardly, some of them covered in the mess of food all around them. Cabinets hung open with boxes of food hanging out of them, some of the boxes spilling out their contents, and cans were rolling along in disary. Vaggie and Angel were on either side of the island, both ducking down and popping up repeatedly to throw whatever they could get their hands on at each other.

“Why don’t you get out of here with your taco eating, wannabe bullshit?” Angel hissed as he threw a can at Vaggie.

“Why don’t you shove it up your ass? You’ve put just about everything else up there!” Vaggie growled back, her face contorted in anger, and tossed a pan at him.

Angel ducked his head in time to miss it, letting out a triumphant ‘Ha!’ as he popped back up, only to be hit square in the face by another can. “Ow! You can’t just go hitting my bread and butter like that!”

“You’re bread and butter went stale six decades ago!” Vaggie retorted.

Angel flinched slightly and his chin pointed up towards the ceiling so he was looking down at her. “You take that back!”

“I’ll take it back when you-!” Vaggie started before she noticed Ottilie standing in the doorway and stopped, realizing how this must all look. Angel took that that time to snatch up a can in each of his hands and launch them all simultaneously at her. “Ouch! What the Hell!?”

Angel laughed like a mad man as he jumped up and ran out of the room, slipping past Ottilie as she stepped out of the way. “Hey ya, toots! Talk to you later!”

“Ugh! Just wait until I get my hands on you, you oversized-!” Vaggie shouted after him as she gave chase, the rest of her words lost on Ottilie as she broke off into what sounded like Spanish, but Angel only continued to laugh at her threats. He probably couldn’t understand the language any more than Ottilie could.

Ottilie blinked a few times, confused about what had just transpired. Looking back into the kitchen, she noticed a mixing bowl filled with batter, a good deal of it having ended up on the counter rather than its intended destination. There was also a cutting board with a knife and fruit around it, but only a few pieces had actually been cut while the rest sat abandoned. She began to wonder if they’d been in process of making breakfast when a fight somehow broke out between the two, leading her to also wonder if this was a common thing with them.

Letting out a slight sigh, she adjusted her smock, which had ridden up a bit when she’d ducked out of the way, back into place and stepped into the room.

***

Charlie, Vaggie, and Angel came walking toward the kitchen hardly ten minutes later. If anyone within three floors of the main had been sleeping, they certainly weren’t now, the commotion sure to have woken them up. Vaggie and Angel wore looks of guilt on their faces while Charlie looked less than pleased, but not quite angry, at their actions.

“Look, it wasn’t like we intended for it to happen,” Angel pointed out. “Things just kind of… got out of hand.”

“I’d say trashing the kitchen and throwing food at each other is more than getting out of hand,” Charlie retorted, not looking back at him as she continued to walk ahead of them. “This is the third time this week you two have gotten into a fight.”

“Hey, things would’ve been perfectly fine if Queenie over here hadn’t gotten all this schmutz on me!” Angel gestured to his clothing, which had batter splattered all over the front of it. “Do you have any idea how long it takes to get this stuff out?”

“I told you that was an accident! You bumped right into me while I was mixing the bowl!” Vaggie scoffed as she rolled her eyes. She was definitely not taking the fall for this. “I even told you I was sorry.”

“Yeah, and I might have believed you if you hadn’t started laughing immediately afterwards! You don’t just muck up someones clothes and then laugh about it! Appearance is everything to someone like me!” Angel said as he smoothed out his hair, a few pieces of egg shell falling out in the process and making him grimace.

“Than you don’t have much to go off of,” Vaggie gave a half cocked smile as she raised a brow at him.

“That’s it!” Angel shouted as he made a move to jump at her, Vaggie ready and willing to fight him back.

“Alright! That’s enough!” Charlie raised her voice a bit as she stepped in between them, not at all in the mood to have two messes to deal with, her arms spread out on either side of her to hold them back; Vaggie was easy because she wasn’t that much shorter than her, but Angel had a considerable amount of over her and that made it a bit awkward, though thankfully he didn’t try to step around her. Her voice took on a softer tone as she said, “I think we’ve all had enough excitement for today. Let’s just go clean up the kitchen and get breakfast ready before everyone starts coming down, okay?” Vaggie and Angel grumbled an agreement before following her the rest of the way. Once they reached the swinging door, she pushed it open and stopped dead in her tracks.

“Look, I know it looks bad, but-,” Vaggie started as she slipped past Charlie and stepped inside, her eyes finally seeing what the surprise was.

“What’s everyone looking at?” Angel asked as he ducked his head in, his jaw dropping in slight shock.

The kitchen was completely spotless. The fact that there had been a mess of food, pots, pans, and other utensils strewn about never would have been known. The appliances sparkled like never before, looking cleaner than when they’d come out of the box. The tiled floor was sleek and shiny, so much so that they reflected the objects around them, almost looking like a mirrored surface. Any boxes that might have been damaged and their contents put to waste had been removed while the ones that had survived were put back into their proper place, the cabinets now closed once again. The fresh smell of lemons hit them before the food did.

The abandoned fruit had been cut into perfect and evenly sliced pieces where it now sat in a bowl on the island, waiting to be served. The batter had been remade, eggshells and other contamination having left it unusable. It now sat on the counter between the stove and waffle iron. Some of the batter had been placed in the iron and the smell of waffles wafted through the air in a tantalizing aroma while more had been put in a skillet on the stove along with bacon and eggs in two others, the sizzling and popping pleasing to the ears.

Ottilie stood there at the stove, a spatula in hand, which she used to flip the pancakes once the surface had sufficiently bubbled before picking up another to stir the eggs and flip the bacon as well. Angel really shouldn’t have been surprised at the knowledge that she’d been the one to clean up the mess in such a timely, neat, and orderly fashion; he’d seen her clean before, but perhaps not on a scale such as this. Apparently having noticed them out of the corner of her eye, she turned to look at them. “Good morning.” They couldn’t seem to reply, still stuck in their states of shock. “What is it?” she cocked her head slightly, but they still didn’t answer her. A nervous look came across her face and she stepped away from the stove. “H-have… Have I done something wrong?”

That seemed to bring Charlie out of her state and she shook her head quickly to remove the haze from her brain. “No, no! You haven’t done anything wrong!” She got a sense of deja vu, having told her the same thing the day before, but ignored it. “We were just… surprised, is all. From what Vaggie and Angel Dust told me, this place was a wreck. I was expecting it to look like a hurricane went through here, but instead I find it looking better than ever! Plus, you already got breakfast started! This is so amazing!”

Ottilie looked unsure of how to respond to such praise, her visible eye looking down at the floor as her cheeks turned a slightly darker shade of pink and her hands gripping the spatula tighter. “Urm… Thank you.”

“No, thank you,” Charlie said proudly. “If you don’t mind, why don’t you and Angel Dust finish up in here while Vaggie and I go set the table and wake everyone up?”

“I don’t mind at all,” Ottilie shook her head, watching as Charlie guided the still confused and out of sorts Vaggie away. She quickly turned back to the stove, starting to plate the pancakes so the evenly cooked sides wouldn’t burn and did the same for the waiting waffles. “Would you mind getting down a plate and bowl from the cabinet? I need them for the bacon and eggs.” Angel only continued to stare, his mouth still hanging open limply. She looked over at him in question. “Angel Dust?” Still no response. “Did you sprain your jaw again giving someone a bj?”

That seemed to bring him out of it and his mouth snapped shut. “No! I just… wow.” He walked over to the cabinet and pulled out what he’d been asked for. “Did you take some speed or something this morning? I’ve never seen you work so fast.”

“You know I don't do that sort of thing,” she shook her head as she took them from him. “It's not unusual for me to clean fast. I've cleaned your dressing room much faster than this before.”

That really seemed to catch Angel off guard. “Dang girl, you need to slow down.” He took a few of the plates as well as the bowl of fruit up off the island. “Why do you clean so fast, anyway?”

“I…” she trailed off, not sure how to respond, as she followed behind him with the waffles and pancakes. “I'm not sure. It's just… something I feel like I have to do. If I don't work fast…. I feel like something bad is going to happen.”

He fell in beside her. “Hey, nothin’ bads gonna happen to you so long as I'm around, okay? Anyone gives you trouble, you come find me. I don't care who I'm doin’.”

“Don't you mean ‘what’?” she smirked slightly.

“I know what I said,” he replied proudly.

“Angel Dust, may I ask you something?” she said after a moment.

“Need some sex tips?” he wiggled his brows playfully at her.

“Trust me. I probably know just about everything you do,” she shook her head. “It's just… something happened earlier.”

He immediately stopped walking and his head snapped towards her. “What? What happened? Whose ass do I need to kick?”

“No… nothing like that,” she said quickly. It probably wouldn't end well for him even if she did want to send Angel after Alastor; she really didn't want anything bad to happen to him. He looked at her expectantly, waiting for her to explain. “Um… well… nothing bad happened, but…. Someone touched me earlier and… well… I didn't react the way I should have.”

“How did you react?” he asked.

“My body… it sort of… went into a spasm? I'm not quite sure how to describe it. I just remember jerking really hard,” she explained, her eyes downcast towards the food in her hands.

“Huh.” Angel pondered it for a moment, having calmed down since his burst of anger. “Did you hate the feeling when they touched you?”

It was her turn to ponder, thinking back to her emotions during that moment. She remembered feeling confused and nervous at Alastors close proximity, but there had been something more there just under the surface. “No. I don't think I did.”

“Then you probably just wanted to fuck 'em,” he shrugged nonchalantly, speaking as if he were talking about the weather, and the two continued toward the dining hall.

She felt her cheeks burn again and her eyes widened slightly. “No! No, definitely not that.” That couldn't be a possibility. No one in their right mind would want to try to bed Alastor unless they had a death wish.

“Well, okay. Then maybe you're just touch starved,” he laughed at her reaction, unable to hold it back.

“Touch starved?” she cocked her head curiously.

“Eh, it's somethin’ I keep hearin’ the newer demons say. At first I thought it meant they weren't getting laid enough, but then someone told me it means physically touched, not sexually. Somethin’ about being so physically starved for someone to touch you that, when someone finally does, you can't handle it,” he explained. “Personally, I don't see the difference between that and needin’ a good fuck, but that's just me.”

“That's because you never stop having sex,” she smirked again, looking up at him mischievously.

“Damn right, baby! Morning, noon, and night!” Angel said boisterously as he shimmied his hips forward and back, somehow managing to balance the plates and bowl without spilling anything. Ottilie couldn't help but chuckle, her hand covering her mouth to keep from full on laughing at him. “Com'on, toots! Shake them hips! I know you can do it! Work that magic!” If he realized they'd entered the dining room and everyone was staring at him, he didn't seem to care. His eyes met Husks, who wore the same annoyed expression as yesterday and held his head in his propped up hand with his elbow on the table, and he made a kissing motion as he smiled in that seductive manner everyone knew him for. “This can all be yours. All you have to do is say the word.”

Husk stared at him a moment before turning to Charlie and raising his pointer finger as he said, “Check, please.” There were a few chuckles and giggles from around the table while Angel stomped his foot and started to pout, the food nearly falling from his hands.

“Humph. Your loss,” Angel said as his turned his head up, his nose in the air as he placed the plates and bowel down before taking his seat, his arms crossed under his chest.

“Would you stop pouting? It’s not the end of the world,” Vaggie glared at him.

Angel narrowed his eyes at her and glanced towards her hair. “You have eggshells and flour in your bow.”

Vaggie grimmaced as she reached up and frantically batted her hands at her bow, the powdery substance coming off in a thin white cloud and pieces of eggshell flying off only to fly right into peoples faces. A few of them gave her dirty looks as they rubbed at the afflicted area; one that looked like a small female child with short, bright fuschia colored hair stuck out her tongue in a playful manner and flicked the shell back at her. Once she was sure she was clear of any blemishes, she set her glare back on Angel. “Ugh! Why are you so infuriating?”

“Because you make me so infuriating,” Angel smirked as he glared back at her.

“Hey!” Charlie called as the two were about to get back into it again. They turned to look at her, both practically about to jump over the table to attack. “No.” They slowly lowered back into their seats, their cheeks puffed out in with their frowns. She turned once she realized Ottilie was still standing there, looking a bit awkward around things that were completely normal to them. “Oh, I’m so sorry! I almost forgot you were there!”

“That’s alright. I’m used to it,” Ottilie replied as Charlie reached for the plates.

Charlie looked taken aback. “Whoa, wait. That’s not what I meant.” Ottilies expression didn’t seem to change. “Um… Let’s not stand here and let all this delicious looking food get cold! Come, join us!” She took the plates from Ottilie and turned back to the table. “We’re a little short on chairs, but you can take the one next to Alastor! You don’t mind her sitting next to you, right?”

Ottilies eyes widened slightly, not enough for anyone to notice, and her eyes quickly scanned the table before they landed on the red suited demon. While everyone else was fixing their plates and digging in, Alastor was sipping from a cup with a saucer in his free hand, his eyes closed as if he enjoyed what he was drinking. As if feeling her eyes on him, he opened one of his own and gave her a mocking smile as he met her gaze.

Alastor placed his cup back on the saucer and set them on the table in front of him. “Why no, my dear! Not at all! By all means,” he placed his hand on the back of the empty chair next to his and patted it, the tips of his claws tapping it in the process, “have a seat.”

Ottilie tried to swallow around the lump in her throat, but it seemed as deeply rooted there as the fear cutting through her chest like a knife. She took a step back and looked at Charlie, who was watching her with concern. “Oh, no thank you. I’m not hungry.”

“Are you sure? You didn’t eat last night, either,” Charlie said, taking a step forward as if to follow her. “Is something the matter?”

“No, I’m perfectly fine. I don’t usually eat much. I appreciate the offer, though,” Ottilie said quickly, continuing to back away. “I think I’ll just be getting to work now. Please excuse me.”

“Well, alright. Let us know if you need any-,” Charlie started, but Ottilie was already gone, slipping out of the room as quietly as a shadow. “-thing. Gee, I wonder what that was about.”

“If I had to sit next to him, I think I’d run, too,” Husk stated, jabbing a thumb in Alastors direction. He looked over and just barely ducked out of the way in time to miss a fork that came flying towards his head. It soared over him and plunged into the wall, the metal prongs sticking deeply into it. Eyes wide, he sat up and looked at Alastor again.

“Opps. My hand slipped,” Alastor said innocently.

*****

Ottilie was rather happy to be returning to her work. It meant she would be left alone, at least for the time being while everyone was eating. She had no way of knowing if anyone would return to their rooms once they were finished, so she tried to clean them as fast as possible. It only took her five minutes each room to clean the tub, replace the towels, wipe out the sink, remake the bed, vacuum the carpets, remove the trash, and dust the furniture.

She worked barefoot from room to room, putting them back on only when she was out in the hallway, only her socks covering her feet. She couldn’t bring herself to tell anyone the shoes were hurting her feet, especially after finding the shoes outside her door that morning, so she resolved to tell anyone who asked that she simply didn’t want to track dirt into their personal space.

No one appeared to be returning to their room, however. She hadn’t seen anyone since leaving the dining room nearly half an hour ago and she was almost done with the occupied rooms. She thought perhaps when she was done that she’d move on to dusting the furniture and vacuuming the halls. Vaggie had told her both would take an entire work day each, but at the pace she set herself at it would more than likely only take her one. She hadn’t even bothered going to the sixth floor, which she knew to be occupied only by Alastor, already having decided she wouldn’t bother with it today; she now fully understood why it’d been left up to her whether or not she went in there. Who knows what a demon like him had in there.

By the time she finished up in the penthouse, which had indeed been cleaner than most of the other rooms, she’d fallen into a sort of routine. Once she was done with all of her supplies, she would put them back in their proper place in the supply closets and then put her shoes back on before moving on to her next task. Having already replaced her supplies, she walked over to the stairwell door and bent over to pick up her shoes where she’d been leaving them each time. So used to that routine and not even bothering to look down, she didn’t notice that the material clenched between her fingers didn’t feel right. Even when she slipped one onto her foot, she still didn’t notice. It wasn’t until she went to put her foot down that she finally realized something was amiss.

Having expected there to be a heel on her boot, she brought her foot down at an angle so the balls of her foot would be against the floor, but there were nothing there to support it once she went to put her weight down on it. She felt a jolt of surprise and looked down at her boots only to find that they were not her own. She lifted the one she was still clutching in her hand and realized it was the one from the pair that had been left outside her door earlier that morning. Examining the boot now on her foot, she found that it was the same.

Looking around almost frantically, she didn’t see her old boots anywhere. They had somehow disappeared and the new ones were left in their place, practically forcing her to wear them. Now she was considerably confused. She’d left them in Charlies office, clearly intending to return them, and yet here they were.

She began to wonder if this was in fact Angels doing; practical jokes weren’t out of the norm for him, but this simply wasn’t his style; he would have made himself known as the culprit by now if he had. She had a feeling Charlie would have simply confronted her about returning them rather than do such an offhanded thing and she still very much doubted Vaggie had gotten them for her in the first place. Once again, she was left to wonder who had gotten them for her. Now, however, she also left with the question of where her old pair was.

Looking down, she wondered what to do about her predicament. Would she wear the shoes that had been given to her as a gift, or would she return to her room and get her backup pair? In the moment that followed her internal question, she made her decision.

#hazbin hotel #alastor #Ottilie #charlie #vaggie #husk #nifty #baxter #crymini #angel dust #mimzy #vivziepop

24 notes · View notes

samingtonwilson · 7 years ago

Text

Relationship Tutor: (8) Twenty-First Century Romanticism

relationship tutor masterlist

Summary: College AU. Bucky, a relationship novice, asks for your help in dating your friend. Unable to say no to him, you agree despite everyone and everything telling you not to.

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Warnings: language

A/N: the “there’s a little man right here” line is my favorite. and lol im sorry about this but also, you’re fuckin welcome for it.

An eighteen-page close reading analysis was placed in Professor Pierce’s office mailbox by ten A.M. just as the instructions dictated to you.

You thought the setting of the thick stack of paper in his plastic cubby would have caused waves of relief to wash over you, but you only felt your anxiousness increase twofold. Because not only was Professor Pierce the biggest pain in your ass workload-wise, he also took a century and a half to grade any assignments.

Each time you so much as pictured his greying ginger hair, his creased pale skin, his thin lips that seemed to be perpetually chapped, you felt a prickling under your skin and behind your eyes. Although it was likely that the feeling was due to your lack of sleep, having slept a total of eight hours over the course of four days, you still strongly disliked the concept of Professor Alexander Pierce. Hell, even thinking his name was getting to you.

You shook your head and slung your bag onto your shoulder, your eyes on the screen of your phone as you exited the building. You replied to a few stray text messages from Sam and Steve, halting in your steps as you read over Natasha’s message three times.

You chose not to reply, tossing your phone onto the passenger’s seat of your car and ignoring each subsequent buzz for the sake of general safety and your especially small ability to multitask when your brain was as exhausted as it’d ever been.

You’d decided to call in sick for your shift at the library, muttering something to the elderly head librarian in a voice you hoped sounded hoarse and nasally, because you thought you deserved it. You deserved to lay in bed, to watch television and eat junk food by the shovelful.

You had to repeat that last sentence to Sam several times when he’d requested that you go with him to Clint’s party. He tried to convince you by repeating that it was a Friday, that you needed to get off-your-ass drunk, that you needed to catch yourself another bomb ass lay.

You didn’t particularly disagree with the latter two points, you just thought sleep was a greater priority— especially when you knew Bucky and Natasha would be there. Natasha was, after all, a close friend of Clint’s and it was nearly certain Bucky, a mere acquaintance of Clint’s, would tag along with Steve upon learning of her presence.

You hadn’t seen much of Bucky, likely due to your cave-dweller-like behavior throughout the last week and not at all due to Bucky’s lack of trying.

He’d come to check on you numerous times, turned away from your door when you refused to so much as crack it a fraction of an inch— you knew your bleary mind would cause you to pounce at just the sight of him. Unable to fully leave you be when he was so concerned, he made sure to drop-off any form of sustenance he could get his hands on when he knew Sam was in class.

You were beyond appreciative, but the gesture made your chest ache even more. It made you see him behind your eyelids each time you slept— see what you wanted to be, what you wished he wanted the two of you to be.

Standing at your door, you dug through your bag for your keys and growled in frustration. “Seriously?” you whined. “I just used you in the car and threw you in here three milliseconds ago!”

When a pair of shoes entered your downturned gaze, you lifted your eyes to meet a smirking Sam with his arms crossed over his chest as he leant against the frame of the door. “There a little man in there?”

“There’s a little man right here,” you said in a singsong voice, poking your index finger into his chest as you brushed past him to enter the apartment. “Okay, I’m gonna go sleep until the next century. Goodbye and goodnight, may you attain all the happiness the universe has to offer and may you never forget to use protection.”

“Not so fast,” he sang back, grabbing onto your wrist before you could escape down the hall to your room. “Barnes is on his way over, said to tell you because his texts aren’t delivering.”

You dug your phone from your pocket and sighed when the screen remained black despite the many times you pressed the lock button. “Battery must have died a minute ago. But since when is he considerate enough to announce his upcoming arrivals?”

“Since he walked in here with you pantsless and Stark satiated.”

Your lips fell into a disgusted scowl. “Please never say ‘satiated’ again.”

He nodded with a laugh as he picked up his backpack and crammed in a textbook. “Made extra waffles this morning if you’re hungry.”

“Marry me, Samela,” you shouted, racing to the kitchen and immediately retrieving a plate. “Have a good day in class.”

“Have a good day sleepin’ ya ass off!” he returned, shutting the door behind him and promptly locking it.

You practically moaned as you scarfed down bite, after bite, after bite of the fluffy waffles doused in maple syrup, your eyes slipping shut when you sat back in your chair at the table.

A loud, incessant knocking at the door broke you from your reverie and you growled to yourself. “Yeah, yeah. I’m coming.”

You opened the door with an added dramatic flair you didn’t think you had the energy for, your eyes rolling as soon as you saw him. “Seriously?”

His smile turned into a frown quickly, sidestepping you to enter and crossing to the kitchen to fix himself a plate as well. You figured he must have caught onto the smell. “That’s a nice way to say hello. Hospitality is really your specialty.”

“You have a spare key, Buck. I had no reason to get up.”

“It’s for emergencies.”

“Me getting eight hours of sleep over the course of four days constitutes enough of an emergency.” You sat in your seat once again and picked up your fork to take another bite. “Don’t you have class in a bit?”

“Skipping.”

“What’s your excuse?”

He shrugged as he sat beside you. “Felt like it. Aced my quiz last week, I’m all caught up on readings, and I’m allowed three absences.”

“Wow, look at you.” You applauded him with a playful smile, spearing one of the strawberries on his plate. “You’re excelling.”

He smiled back, his cheeks puffed out from the bite he’d just taken. “I am, huh?”

Shaking your head, you sat back again and crossed your legs at the knee under the table. “Are you going to Clint’s tonight?”

“Thought about it. Doesn’t really feel like my scene.”

“A party with alcohol, weed, and beer pong doesn’t feel like your scene?” you asked, cocking an eyebrow. “In what sort of alternate universe have I arrived?”

He laughed sarcastically and narrowed his eyes into a glare, steel blue even more metallic.

“You know, Nat’ll be there.”

“She told me last night.”

You frowned in what appeared to be consideration but was actually the result of the plummeting of your stomach. You decided to gush instead. “Ooh,” you cooed. “Is that date number two for you crazy kids?”

He scoffed. “Maybe it is.”

“I’m guessing the half-like has bloomed into a full-like, then?”

You were answered only with a wordless shrug, his gaze falling to his plate to stare at the remaining berries and cut-up waffle.

“You sleep with her yet?” you asked jokingly, wiggling your eyebrows suggestively and reaching over intending to poke his stomach repeatedly, but you stopped after one poke. You stared at him in sudden bewilderment. “Do you have a slab of limestone under there? How are you so rock solid?” you poked him three more times. “What the fuck? You eat all day!”

He slapped your hand away with another glare. “First of all, that feels fantastic,” he told you sarcastically. “Secondly, I haven’t slept with her.”

You tilted your head with furrowed eyebrows. Your blood seemed to cool. “You haven’t?”

“Don’t look so shocked, I told you I fully intended on taking this slow.”

“I know, I just didn’t think you meant this slow.”

“Why?” His eyes were a bit wider. “Is this too slow?”

You shook your head quickly. “No, no, no. It’s not. It’s just slow for you. I mean, maybe you should stay celibate until you two hit, like, six months.”

“Don’t mix sarcasm with seriousness. I can’t tell them apart as easily.”

You wanted to tell him no part of that was sarcastic, but laughed anyway. “Do you have an idea of when you want to, for the lack of better words, do it?”

He shook his head, polishing off his glass of juice and leaning back in his chair once he’d finished his waffles as well. “Nope. Do you have any idea of what an appropriate time is?”

“Buck, there’s no set time. It’s right when it’s right.”

“I just feel like it’ll be right when I’m more sure about it, when I’m deeper into it than just being attracted to her. When I feel something— anything.”

“If that’s when you think it’s right and Natasha’s fully into it, then that’s when it’ll be right.”

“Honestly, I’m surprised she hasn’t jumped your bones yet,” you laughed a moment later, looking away from him to focus on the picture frame behind him.

He leant forward, placing his elbows on the table. “Why? Has she said anything?”

She hadn’t, you just would’ve jumped his bones by now. “Ha, I’m not telling you.”

“You’re supposed to tutor me through this!”

“Not by offering up insider information!” you argued, rolling your eyes. “What was your first kiss like?”

“First kiss with her?”

“No, your first kiss with that blonde in 4-A,” you mumbled dryly. “Yes, your first kiss with her!”

He was looking at you sheepishly when you met his gaze again. “I haven’t actually— We haven’t kissed yet.”

Your eyes widened. “What? How many leaves are you turning?”

“You never told me I could!”

You laughed incredulously. “You don’t need my permission!”

You rose from the table with your plate in-hand, hearing his chair scrape across the floor as you walked into the kitchen. You held your hand out for his dish, placing both in the sink and flipping the water on.

“I guess I want to be sure before that, too.”

You squeezed too much lime scented dish soap onto the yellow sponge, hyper-aware of his eyes on you as he stood leaning against the counter. “When was the last time you were sure that you really liked someone before you kissed them?”

“Middle school,” he chuckled with a single shake of his head. “What about you?”

You set one of plates, now clean, into the basket and started scrubbing the next. “Sophomore year of high school.”

He nodded and motioned for you to explain.

“I really liked the guy that sat in front of me in chemistry, he really liked me. He passed me a note to meet him behind the library after school.” You sighed as you flipped the faucet off, setting the other plate into the basket. “He gently backed me into the stucco wall, apologized when he realized I scraped my elbow, and kissed me while we were laughing about it.”

You glanced at Bucky and placed your hands atop the wet granite bordering the sink, scowling at his amused smile. “Stop, don’t make fun of me. It was very high school and very cute.”

“Sounds cute. Very cliché, though. I wouldn’t think you’d be into that.”

You turned to lean your hip against the counter. “What do you think I’d be into?”

“I don’t know. Something less like a Nicholas Sparks novel.”

“I’ve changed since high school.”

He nodded, eyes not wavering from you. “I’m sure you have.”

You were tempted to lean into the warmth you felt rolling off his body, clearing your throat and focusing on the refrigerator door instead. “How do you plan on kissing Nat?”

He shrugged a shoulder. “I was just gonna—”

“If you say you’re just gonna ‘plant one on her,’ I’ll throw up all over you.”

He pushed at your shoulder and laughed when you looked at him. “I have moves, you know.”

Words tumbled from your lips before you could help it. “Yeah? Show me.”

“What?” his voice sounded a bit disbelieving, his smile reflecting the same.

“Show me! Show me a move and I’ll tell you if she’d like it.”

He shook his head to himself and pushed off the counter. “Not to sound like Mr. Chemistry, but I’d back her into something, too. Gently, give her adequate space to leave if she wants,” he told you as he approached you, your backside pressed against the edge of the counter.

His eyes stayed in yours. “Eye contact is key.”

You thought he might be able to hear your heartbeat, the sound thundering in your own ears to the point that all other noises were muted. You stared back at him and loosened your grip on the granite before dropping your arms limply by your side.

“I’d hold onto her,” he continued, a strong arm snaking around your waist so you arched away from the counter and into him, your chests together. A shaky exhale left his lips and you risked a flitted glance in their direction. His arm tightened as he added, “Maybe a little closer.”

The slate blue of his irises was almost molten, his thick eyelashes practically able to brush against your skin, you couldn’t remember if he’d managed an inhale.

You looked at his lips once more, thankful that his grip was holding you up.

He appeared as if he wanted to say something but he only leant in closer, stopping so there was barely a centimeter between you. “Then—”

You closed the distance, kissing him as softly and briefly as you could. You broke away only enough to look over his shut eyes, his parted lips that left a glimmer of hope alive— a hope that he might be just as wrecked as you were.

And you kissed him again.

A groan was pulled from his chest as you let him deepen the kiss and it took just the setting of your hand under his jaw for the kiss to grow warmer, harder, more desperate. Another groan rumbled through him, almost eliciting a moan from you.

Your fingers tangled through the growing hair that fell to the nape of his neck, a teasingly gentle tugging of the strands rewarded with a gasp and a nip to your bottom lip.

Had your lungs not been so drained, you would have stayed there longer, kissing him until your lips grew numb. But you pulled away, eyelids heavy and heart aching behind your ribs with every forceful thump.

You opened your eyes fully and were met with a gaze you could only describe as scorching, needy, and contradictorily relieved.

He then tilted his head and the illusion broke, two of your fingers involuntarily touching your lips.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t— I haven’t slept in, like, half a lifetime,” you explained with a shake of your head. “And I’m really— I’m basically delirious and I should—”

You shook your head again and mustered a smile. “Natasha would like that. You should do it,” you told him while suppressing disappointment when his arms loosened and fell from your body. “I’m gonna— I should sleep. Feel free to leave whenever you want.”

PART 9: INTERMEDIATE REPRESSION

tag list EVEN THOUGH NONE OF YOU ARE GETTING NOTIFIED if you’re crossed off your tag isn’t working! (send me an ask to be added): @sweetstilesofmine @dugan365 @lowkeysebby @eufeme @marveling-at-marvel@anyakinamidala @spookyscaryscully @sighodinson @feelmyroarrrr @sarahp879@spidey-linquentimagines @mackenziesmarvelousgalaxy @aholland01 @lostinspace33@clairedycat1810 @softwhispers @apolleo @sebstancial@buckylovelybarnes@chrys-1029 @sheddingpounds @brooke-supernatural16 @seargantbcky@someonekindalikeyou@marvel-trash07 @chuckennuggets1213 @captainmisfit13@ailynalonso15@lilypalmer1987 @nasasoldier@snuggleducky @acebabe@melswolf19 @e-g-b-o-k @iamzion-therealhabesha @fancybasementpersona @hercrazyfandomobsession@ohmybuckybarnes @sarahp879 @lovely-geek @void-imaginations @mad-girl-without-a-box @stomachfilledwithbutterflies@joulien @followeroonieclassic @tomdarlingholland@rebelfuckingblack @bakerstgirl@starkxpotts@jimmyisfab @normalperson1351 @jehun-prouvaire @peachy-vixen @mcheung0314@wowbarnes @thiccmillions@sumafamouxx @quinn-n-quill @amcrasnow @wheneggsymetbucky @krockszz @brokenanxiety @addictionmarvel @closerstars @captainradicalpassion @rockagurl @directionerfae @shawnsassymendes @irella-nyari @cadence-jeannette @rebel-emerald @blacwings-and-bucky-barnes @little-miss-headphones@winternatalias @iwishiwasnicki @writingcroissant @finallybreathee @saul-buttson@potterglory @samijolles @justahappylilblog @rebeljupiter

#bucky #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes x reader angst #bucky barnes x reader fluff #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes angst #bucky barnes au #bucky barnes college au

1K notes · View notes