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fox-bee926 · 10 months

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Who did this?

Harvey Specter x fem!reader

Masterlist A/N: Wow another one? I'm going to do one more after this and then answer an ask and put all my harvey fics on one post. Then after that who knows. I have an awesome aragorn x reader fic I've been playing around with so I might work on that. Definitely going to try and do more one shots to improve my writing. I really enjoy it but depression makes it a tad hard. Anyways! Enjoy! TW: **This story focuses on the physical abuse between the Reader character and her boyfriend. I am not responsible for the content you consume so please be advised. There are explanations of abuse, but no explicit scenes of abuse occurring.** abuse (physical and emotional), hurt/comfort, Harvey being very sweet, mention of painkillers but I'm talking like 2 tylenol or ibuprofen or something Word Count: 2.5k

You run across the street to the Pearson Hardman office building, just about soaking wet. All that protected you from the rain was a newspaper you bought right outside your building. You prayed all the way to work that it wouldn’t just completely break under the force of the rain. You had spent almost thirty minutes on makeup, twenty five more minutes than you usually spend. To go along with that, you couldn’t find an available taxi because of the rain. Not even the pain in your shoulder had let up, despite taking a couple painkillers.

Your boyfriend had gotten a bit angry with you last night after you went out socializing with some friends. It wasn’t your smartest move. You knew he didn’t like you to hang out with your guy friends without his permission. But you didn’t think it was that big of a deal. The feelings of your heart conflicted with your rational mind. All you know is you love him and he loves you. Which is why he gets upset when you go out without him. But then why wouldn’t he make time to go out with me alone?

You shook those thoughts out of your head as you swiped your card into the building. You took the time in the elevator to dry off with your sweater. Which was consequently soaked. Curses rang out in the elevator- cursing the sweater, the weather, your boyfriend, you didn’t know.

You sat down in the chair next to Donna and exchanged greetings. “How are we looking today, Donna?” You smiled as you saw Harvey sitting in his office. The only person getting into the office earlier than him was Donna.

“Full day as always. Oh, Jonathan from accounting asked for Harvey to look at his expense accounts for this last month. He won’t of course- but as long as they get to Harvey’s desk, Jon won’t speak another word about it until the next thousand dollar dinner with a client.” Donna goes back to typing rapidly on her computer.

“And then the cycle continues,” You let out a hearty laugh for the first time since you left work last Friday. “I’ll get on that. Anything else while I’m in accounting?” You gather up different file folders that you need to take down to accounting anyway.

“Nope, say hi to Mr. Expense Forms for me!”

“Will do, Donna.”

You quickly walk to the elevator and down to the accounting department for Jonathan's expense reports. Harvey is still in the same spot as he was when you left as you open the door to his office. You make sure to open the door with your left arm, with the papers in your right.

“I got a delivery for Harvey Specter from Mr. Jonathan Expense Forms from accounting. Fuming as always. You might want to lay off the fancy dinners for a week.” Harvey rolls his eyes at the notion.

“Sweetheart, you think I’m that good at my job that I don’t need fancy dinners to win over clients? You must think very highly of me.” He chuckles smugly as he writes words you can barely read on a legal pad. You deal his snark back just the same.

“Of course I think you’re good. You’re my boss, I’m legally obligated to think so.” You both laugh until you reach with your right arm to set the folder on his desk. You let out a noise just loud enough for Harvey to be concerned.

“What happened to your shoulder?”

“It’s nothing, I just fell.”

At this, Harvey looks up. You were never one to be clumsy, let alone fall so hard as to hurt yourself. As Harvey’s eyes assess you, he notices a large dark bruise on your wrist- both your wrists in fact.

His silence worries you, and you follow his eyes to your wrists. “Oh my goodness, I’m so sorry-” You quickly try to pull your sleeves down to cover the spots. Remnants of rain water drove through the foundation.

Harvey takes a few deep breaths as you stand there in shocked silence. For the smallest second, you think he’s going to hurt you. Rationally, you know the notion is absurd, but the mind that has dealt with angry men keeps you silent.

Harvey finally speaks after taking a minute to process the information he’s pieced together.

“Who did this to you?”

You’re taken aback, that small part of your mind thinking he would call you unprofessional or weak. “My... My boyfriend. He just gets a little annoyed with me sometimes. It’s truly nothing. I’ll do better to cover them-”

“A good man being annoyed never results in bruises. How did this happen?” Harvey has to go against every part of his nature not to rush out and ask Donna everything about this man, then subsequently find him. He’s thinking that those boxing lessons are actually going to come in handy.

But he knows he can’t. He knows that if he moves like that, or moves at all, he’d terrify you. He can see how your eyes dart around. Towards the door, towards your wrists, and towards himself. He didn’t know how you would react if he even stood up.

“I fell into a bookshelf. He pushed me a bit and I lost balance.”

“You mean he shoved you into a shelf.”

The way Harvey phrased it made you feel uncomfortable. “That’s a bit harsh, but you could phrase it like that.”

He stared at you in disbelief. This wasn’t the woman he saw on a daily basis. The woman that dealt with almost every slimy man that came into the building. The woman that he had slowly fallen in love with since she arrived here.

The woman before him seemed like a shell of the woman he met three years ago, and he couldn’t help what came out of his mouth next.

“Do you know how you sound? You should never be bruised, shoved, or red eyed if you’re in love. That’s simply not how it is, and I’m sorry you’ve been made to believe that.”

At this, the dam broke.

Tears had been pooling in your eyes from the moment Harvey saw the bruises. But at his last words you let out a pained sob. It hadn't sunk in just how bad it had gotten. Your boyfriend had done this a few times before, but had never gotten so harsh until last night.

All the pain from the last year had come rushing in, and you were about to break right in front of your boss. Heavy tears started to run down your face. It was at this moment you were glad you never wore heavy makeup. You did your best to stifle the sounds and cries that tried to escape, but outside, Donna still saw through the glass.

Immediately, Donna calmly walks in. She takes one look at you, then Harvey. With a single nod from Harvey, Donna lets out a quiet "Car is on its way."

Unfortunately that made you feel even worse. "I'm so sorry, Harvey. This is completely unprofessional-"

Harvey finally stands up and walks towards you. At this point, what you need isn't space. He places his hands as gentle as can be on your arms to coax you to look at him. And you do, but looking at your red eyes and wet tears streaming down your face up close make his heart break even more.

"I don't give a shit about professionalism. Donna is getting the car and my driver is going to take you home-"

"No! He's there, he's been trying to move in with me and doesn't have a day job. He's just been staying there..." Your sentence trails off as you’re trying to process what you’re actually saying. Are you really doing this?

"Okay, then my driver will take you to my place and give you a key. We'll talk about the next steps when I get home. I'll get you some things from your apartment, okay?"

The tears were gone purely by witnessing Harvey be so calm, and you nodded slowly. All you could do was follow the sound of his voice. Like a lighthouse in a raging storm.

Donna entered the room quietly, "The car is here."

"Good. Donna will walk you out." You nodded, not saying a word. You turn to walk out of Harvey’s office, but he reaches out for your hand. “You’ll get through this, alright?”

You give a small smile. However, your mental state did not display the same sentiment. Your mind was reeling from what had happened in the last- what, 10? 15 minutes?

Donna leads you out the back staircase as a gesture of mercy. She knew that you didn’t want anyone else to see you like this. Harvey wasn’t exaggerating his view of you. Everyone in the office saw you as an unbreakable force.

Harvey’s driver opens the door for you. You look back at Donna, who is smiling sweetly. “I promise, Harvey will take care of everything. The only thing you need to worry about is taking care of yourself, okay?”

You gave Donna the same small smile you gave Harvey. You were at the edge of your sanity at this point. Now that you’ve gone through all the sadness and shock of the... situation, you were embarrassed. Angry. Angry at yourself for letting a man put his hands on you for a full year. Angry at Donna for knowing exactly what was going on and getting exactly what was needed. Angry at Harvey Specter for being so goddamn perfect that you couldn’t help the butterflies that always arose in your stomach whenever he talked to you. Angry at the world for putting you in this position.

Wordlessly, you exited the car once it stopped in front of Harvey’s building. You reached his apartment without thought. You took your heels off, and put your purse on the closest counter you saw.

And you cried.

_______

Harvey exited the elevator with a large box held in his hands. It was purely full of necessities. A week's change of clothes, toiletries, some books he knew were your favorite. Everything else he could buy new. He looked down and saw your heels on the ground and your purse on the table beside him.

Once he set down the box on the floor, he saw you. You looked even worse than at the office. Your beautiful hair was frizzy and pulled in odd directions. The worst part was the absolutely destroyed look on your face. Eyeshadow and liner were smudged on your red tinged eyes which stared into space in front of you.

Harvey sees your body stiff as a board on the edge of his soft couch, seemingly ready to run at a moment’s thought. “Have you been sitting like that since you got here?”

“No. I’ve only just sat down.” Your arms leaned on your knees, hands folded in your lap.

Harvey tries to ignore the hoarse sound in your voice. “Well, you can relax a bit if you’d like. I got you some more comfortable clothes if you want to change.”

Your brows furrow as you think. “Did he give you any problems?” For the first time since he came in the front door you look at him. He was visibly more relaxed than he is in the office. His suit jacket was tossed on the coat rake next to the door and the sleeves of his dress shirt were neatly folded up his arms. He walked towards the kitchen to the freezer.

“He didn’t get a chance. Don’t worry, he won’t hurt you again.” He walks over to where you’re sitting on the couch and sets down an ice pack. His shirt was obviously wrinkled, and his knuckles held the slightest tinge of blue. The thought of Harvey hurting someone made your stomach flip, but you didn’t feel quite so bad for the receiving party.

“Let’s get some ice on that shoulder, huh?” He could tell you were still sensitive, but it felt more subdued than the scared woman he saw in his office.

You nodded in agreement about the ice pack. You hadn’t really stopped to think about it until he said something. As you unbutton your shirt to reveal your nude colored undershirt, you wince. The swelling of the bruise had gotten worse since you hadn’t taken anything for it. You hadn’t noticed the pain when you were crying, but now it just felt terrible.

“Let me help.” You give Harvey a look when the words come out of his mouth, a glimpse of that fiery woman that he knows. But you sigh and relent. You managed to undo a few buttons at least before Harvey steps in.

He unbuttons your shirt down to your stomach and pulls the shoulder of the shirt down just enough to slide the ice pack onto the skin. As soon as it’s securely placed between you and the couch, you let out a groan. In relief or pain, you don’t know. All you knew was that the cold felt absolutely wonderful on your swelled skin.

You and Harvey stay like that for a while, the exact amount of minutes you don’t know and neither does he. Harvey is the first to speak.

“You’ve been awfully quiet.”

You give him a look that says “I wonder why, dumbass.” But you refrain. “I’m thinking.”

He finally sits next to you on the couch and reaches his arm to grasp the top of the cushions. In his mind he excuses it as getting more comfortable, but the opportunity to touch you is also a bonus. Harvey was not a man of wise words for comfort, moreso actions and touch.

In a singsong voice, trying to lighten the mood, he says “Whatcha thinkin’ about.”

You smile a true smile and look towards him. Then the thoughts in your head come rushing in and the smile falls from your face. “I’m thinking about how I’ve been with him for so long that I don’t know how to live my life without him. So much of my life has been conforming to his ideals, his feelings. How am I supposed to love and be loved after him? After I’ve split my soul into so many pieces that I’ve lost track of where they all are?”

Both of you sit in silence, not sure what to say.

“I was definitely not expecting that.”

“I am... extremely sorry I said that, please just ignore-”

“I wasn’t finished, sweetheart. Firstly, I think you should see a professional about these feelings. But in the meantime, we can work on that together.” Harvey smiles, but then falters. “I- I mean, if you want. I’m not trying to get in your pants, I promise, all I’m saying is that I’m here whenever and you can stay as long as you want and-”

“Thank you, Harvey. It means a lot to hear you say that.” You laugh at the sight of a flustered Harvey Specter.

“To paraphrase, you're not alone in this. Not ever.”

You reach over with your good arm and pull him into as much of a hug as you can muster. In return, he pulls you close. Neither of you ever want to leave.

#xreader #harvey specter #harvey specter x reader #harvey specter x fem!reader #fanfiction #fics by foxbee #suits #fics #harvey specter/reader #harveyspecter/fem!reader #harvey specter/you

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breachverse · 9 months

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Breach: Chicago War Zone - WIP Update 18 - 26th of August 2023

… Hoo boy, this was one of the biggest I've ever made in one go.

Update 18 has been released! over 60k worth of words, finally finished the entire Chapter 2 Part 2 for the FBI route. This update is mostly for the FBI route with only minor fixes for the Archangel route. This update also includes the 1st hangouts for both Megan House and Rita Collins.

You may play it on the link below.

Breach: Chicago War Zone (Updated)

DEVELOPMENT LOG#18 (26-August-2023)

(B2.1.1.23.08.26)

Alpha - 18

Bug fixes, code and grammar fixes, WD40 fixes everything

C2P2 FBI: Finished day 1 events

C2P2 FBI: Continued FBI arc to day 2 downtime

C2P2 ARC: Fixed sewer tokens not setting correctly

C1P2 ARC: Upgrading heist vehicle armor now cost money

MISC: Added flash grenades to inventory stat

Alpha - 18.5

C2P2 FBI: Added hangout status to the day 2 breakfast scene

C2P2 FBI: Fixed crashing after the Greg scene

C2P2 FBI: Fixed eating sandwich crashing the game

C2P2 FBI: Finished day 2 events

FBI Hangout: Added Megan House's hangout part 1

FBI Hangout: Added Rita Collins' hangout part 1

FBI Store: Added Holliday's opening scene

FBI Store: Added Holliday's randomized cold opens COMPLETED: Chapter 2 Part 2 of The FBI branch (100%)

W.I.P.: AA Hangout Part 1 (26%) W.I.P.: AA Store system (85%) W.I.P.: FBI Hangout Part 1 (46%) W.I.P.: FBI Store system (65%) W.I.P.: Stat screen upgrade (40%)

Word Count: 823,723 words including codes (Last update was 759,012)

Good lord, 62k words worth of update. I honestly don't know what to say, this is the biggest I've ever written in one sitting. For those of you wondering, yes I am doing alright. Just a bit tired is all.

My prediction was that I would've gone over 40k words when I added Collins and Megan's hangout but, ooh boy, I didn't expect to be able to finish the entire chapter, but, yeah, that happened.

This update consists of the newly finished Day 1 and Day 2 of the FBI route, completely finishing off Chapter 2 Part 2 of the FBI route. Along with a few fixes, this is mainly a story update focusing on the FBI arc. There is no new Archangel route content. There is also some new hangouts for the FBI with Megan House and Rita Collins being available for hangouts. I can now finally move on to Chapter 3 Part 1 for both the FBI and Archangel arcs in update 19.

As part of this announcements, I would like to also announce that this is as far as where the public demo will go for now. From this point on, I will be focusing on private testing on patreon only. But fear not, I will update the public demo periodically with all of the hangouts and all of the available side missions.

I don't know what to go is with the Hosted Games requirements, but I may also update the public demo with the full beta version of the game going all the way to the last chapter at the end of development.

With that all said… I can officially say, it is now smooth sailing from here.

Thank you all so much for the love and support you've given throughout the entire journey. It's been a long 4 years but, we're getting closer to the end now.

Much love! ❤

Link to the CoG Forums post

I also have a Discord server!

As always feel free to drop however many screenshot feedbacks you'd like, either in the forums or in our Discord channel!

#breachverse #breach update #breach: chicago warzone #choice of games #interactive fiction #bcwz #breach the archangel job #if wip #choicescript #hosted games #cyoa #dashingdon #if game #interactive novel #breachverse news #btaj

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jewishcissiekj · 2 months

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Since Asajj Ventress appeared in recent media and is set to appear in future shows and Star Wars content, I've seen a lot of people starting to read Dark Disciple. but besides that book, there are so many stories featuring Asajj over her 22 years of existence. So if you are looking for some recommendations and entry points to Asajj outside of the TV shows, here are some recommendations to get to know her a bit better, in both the Canon and Legends timelines:

(for anyone looking for a definitive list of everything she's ever been in, I also have that)

for anyone looking for just the list of recommendations without all my babbling, scroll down to the bottom, it'll be there.

Canon

Dooku: Jedi Lost Audiodrama - Script by Cavan Scott, preformed by full cast (also available in Script format) Starting off, this masterpiece. Telling the dual story of Asajj and Dooku, Jedi Lost is genuinely some of the best Star Wars content out there, in my opinion. Taking place early in The Clone Wars, it tells Asajj's journey battling her ghosts and uncovering her Master's history. It requires only the context of the prequels and The Clone Wars, and I wholeheartedly recommend it to anyone who likes the Prequels, Dooku, or Asajj.

Brotherhood - by Mike Chen Continuing with the book that serves as an introduction to Asajj in canon (chronologically), Brotherhood presents an interesting take on her first meetings with Anakin and Obi-Wan. She's far from the main character here, only supporting the book's plot as the villain and the initiator behind some of the troubles Obi-Wan faces on Cato Neimodia. This Asajj is more calculated, working behind the scenes while still facing off face to face against Obi-Wan and Anakin, and it uniquely handles her character. The book is a Clone Wars adventure taking place before and it requires only the movies' and TCW's context, once again. *While technically taking place after Hyperspace Stories #5, it contradicts that issue's events and makes more sense if it takes place before, so I listed it first (for more info on the contradictions you can go here)*

Star Wars: Hyperspace Stories #5 - Written by Amanda Deibert, with art by Riccardo Faccini (Variant cover by Cary Nord) Taking place shortly after Anakin's knighting, before The Clone Wars show, this is a short and interesting comic story for Asajj. While tying into an over-arching plot of the series, this issue stands alone well. Simply put, Asajj is sent to retrieve a mysterious item by Count Dooku and encounters Anakin and Obi-Wan in the process. It has fun art, fun dynamics, and it's really good.

Worthless - a short story from Stories of Jedi and Sith - written by Delilah S. Dawson with an illustration by Jake Bartok This one is not as set on the timeline, but we do know it takes place while Asajj is still working for Dooku. In short, without too many spoilers, Asajj falls into a pit and has to trust on a Clone Trooper's help to get out. The story is a part of an anthology, but it completely stand-alone on its own. If you can read it on its own, I recommend it, but the rest of the book is also very much worth it if you want to buy it for the story. Dawson captures a version of Asajj that rarely gets attention, before the Nightsisters, and manages to show her identity and tell a wonderful story without that tool that's often overly used (in my opinion).

Star Wars Adventures: Return to Vader's Castle #3 - Written by Cavan Scott with art by Francesco Francavilla & Nick Brokenshire Jumping forward in the Timeline, we have another Asajj story by Cavan Scott! It has Bounty Hunting, A baby Sarlacc, pretty art, fun coloring, and Asajj. So what's not to love? Like Hyperspace Stories, Return to Vader's Castle also has an over-arching plot, but that's 4 framing pages of Vaneé being a bitch and has no effect on the rest of it. Solid stuff. (it is also the source of the first picture in this post)

Sisters - a short comic story from the Age of Republic Special - written by Jody Houser with art by Carlos Gómez Next, we have a wonderful short story taking place just before The Clone Wars episode "To Catch a Jedi". In just a few pages, Jody Houser brings conflict and personality to Asajj's time on Coruscant. And there's gorgeous art.

Legends

While Legends, and especially the comics, have some of my favorite stories with Asajj, it's hard to recommend individual issues. They can be stand-alone but still connected and ingrained in the ongoing story of the comics. But I tried to hand-pick the best for introduction and knowledge of who Asajj is a character there. So I won't recommend the 12 issues she's in, I set myself the limit of sticking with the same number of recommendations I had for canon.

Star Wars: Republic: The New Face of War - 2-issue Comic arc - written by W. Haden Blackman with art by Tomás Giorello Although I'm assuming you all have at least a passing familiarity with Asajj's character, introductions are still important. And, yes, Asajj first appeared in a different comic and after a month or so in Clone Wars (2003), but chronologically, in-universe, this is her first appearance. The Face of War is comprised of issues #51 and #52 of the Star Wars: Republic comic series, and although Asajj is only in the last page of #51, it's necessary context. This one isn't a must for me, but it sets the ground for her. And it's good. Giorello's art brings a unique perspective to Asajj's character, and by that I mean it may not be to some people's taste. So take your pick with this one.

Star Wars: Republic #53 - written by W. Haden Blackman, with art by Brian Ching If the last one isn't a must, this one is. It is a stand-alone adventure, almost feeling like a (better) TCW episode. Obi-Wan is off to infiltrate a Techno Union base with a team of all-star legendary Jedi that are introduced, and everything goes wrong when they run into the Confederacy's best, Durge and Asajj Ventress. I say it's a must because it establishes the nature of the rivalry between Obi-Wan and Asajj, and gives us such a sense of who those people are. It also lays the foundations to my next comic recommendation.

Dark Heart - short story by August and Cynthia Hahn This one, a 1784-word story, originally published on Wizards.com as a part of The Living Force roleplaying campaign, is definitely not a must, but it's barely 2k words, just read it. In all seriousness though, it captures Asajj's essence and I just. love it. You can read it right now, that's the link in the name, it's up online for free legally. While it is a part of the RPG campaign, I read it individually and had no trouble at all.

The Cestus Deception - by Steven Barnes (The Japanese cover is prettier and has Asajj, ok?) Obi-Wan Kenobi and Kit Fisto head to the planet Ord Cestus to try and convince Ord Cestus's government to ally with The Republic. But under the surface, a mysterious scheme had developed and it gets messy. Never ask me to write a publisher's summary. Asajj is the villain of this one, and I don't have much to say about it, but it is good. Fair warning: it hasn't aged the best in my opinion, and not even in a politically correct sense, some of the descriptions and relationships were questionable at best. If you like Kit Fisto and political adventuring and Clone Wars fights and a mascarade ball, if I remember correctly, this one's for you. It's not much of a story for Asajj but it is a fun read.

Star Wars: Republic #60 - written by W. Haden Blackman with art by Tomás Giorello I have never ever not once said it but this right here is my favorite Asajj story of all time ever. It does require context, though, so here's it: after the battle of Jabiim, Alpha-17 (Legends Arc Trooper, you may have heard of him) and Obi-Wan (a staple in Asajj's stories, he needs to gtfo women's business) are blown up and declared dead. Turns out Asajj Ventress has been holding them in her castle on the planet Rattatak and this is the daring story of their escape. In this issue, Asajj's origin story is revealed, before the Nightsisters had anything to do with her. More than any other Legends issue, it differentiates greatly from anything you know about Asajj in TCW/Canon. She's a warlord, with armies at her beck and call, a military commander, And it's fun. Her origin story is told in this issue, and it's such a great story that shifted my understanding of her a lot. The art, once again, is by Giorello, keep it in mind.

Yoda: Dark Rendezvous - by Sean Stewart (Japanese cover, once again) Last but certainly not least, the Legends Clone Wars book I've heard the most positive reviews of, and was not disappointed in the slightest. It is as good as they say. The story doesn't focus on Asajj, and she isn't even the main antagonist, but she gets a meaningful role in it and has her place and her arc in the story. It's also my favorite approach to how Asajj would act when she has to deal with children. Worth the hype and an excellent book to read unrelated to Asajj.

Alright, that's all! I hope you check out at least one of these, they're all great. As said before, I also have a complete list of everything Asajj in chronological order. Feel free to ask me anything about the list and the things in it. I can also give a complete comic reading list for her, since it's a bit more than just the issues she appeared in. For anyone struggling with the accessibility of these recommendations, I have a hopefully comprehensive guide in the complete appearances post. And now just this list because I promised that:

Canon 1) Dooku: Jedi Lost Audiodrama - Script by Cavan Scott, preformed by full cast (also available in Script format) 2) Brotherhood - by Mike Chen 3) Star Wars: Hyperspace Stories #5 - Written by Amanda Deibert, with art by Riccardo Faccini (Variant cover by Cary Nord) 4) Worthless - a short story from Stories of Jedi and Sith - written by Delilah S. Dawson with an illustration by Jake Bartok 5) Star Wars Adventures: Return to Vader's Castle #3 - Written by Cavan Scott with art by Francesco Francavilla & Nick Brokenshire 6) Sisters - a short comic story from the Age of Republic Special - written by Jody Houser with art by Carlos Gómez

Legends 1) Star Wars: Republic: The New Face of War - 2-issue Comic arc (Star Wars: Republic #51-52) - written by W. Haden Blackman with art by Tomás Giorello 2) Star Wars: Republic #53 - written by W. Haden Blackman, with art by Brian Ching 3) Dark Heart - short story by August and Cynthia Hahn 4) The Cestus Deception - by Steven Barnes 5) Star Wars: Republic #60 - written by W. Haden Blackman with art by Tomás Giorello 6) Yoda: Dark Rendezvous - by Sean Stewart

tag list: @thechaoticfanartist @charmwasjess @metalatl @redsandspirit @slutshartsstuff @housepartyfortwo @karma-malfoy @thelivingforce

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cerridwen007 · 1 year

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Put him in his Place.

Pairing: Javier Peña x f!reader

Word count: 3k (18+)

Summary: Javier comes home from a particularly hard day at work and instead of being able to help him relax and take his mind off work like you usually can, he snaps at you causing you to put him in his place.

Notes/warnings: SMUT,established relationship,oral (female and male receiving), fingering, unprotected p in v, slapping, rough sex, switch reader, switch Javier, powerplay, dirty talk, Javi being a cocky little brat.

A/N: This is the very first smut I've finished and am posting to Tumblr, so please let me know what you think/ what I can improve on. I'm pretty shit at editing but I looked over it a few times so hopefully it's okay/easy to read. Also when I was writing the start I kept thinking the song Sunny by Bobby Hebb would work really well with it for some reason. Like I was picturing it like a scene in a movie,(spoiler) Javi and reader just aggressively making out to that happy song haha, which I honestly don’t know if it's been done before. So if you wanted to maybe play that song just as you are about to start reading and see if it fits. Sorry for the long author's notes. Hope you enjoy it!

Javier and you have been rocky ever since Pablo Escobar got put in prison, a jail of his own design that was basically the opposite of a jail. Yes, Javier has been stressed since you met about work but now more than ever his stress has been through the roof.

Usually you were able to calm him down with a drink and some "relief" and he would be fairly relaxed till something else at work came up. You understood it was a stressful job and a stressful case. You just hoped it would be over soon because seeing Javier stressed all the time killed you a little inside. Although you didn't mind one bit helping him relax in more ways than one. Tonight was a bit different though.

Javier opened the door hard, making a loud bang, he slammed his fist against the door shutting it. "Fucken hell!" You cringed a little at the loud noises before walking over to greet him in the most soothing voice you could. "Hi Javi, baby, how was your day?" It didn't work. Instead of responding "not the best but atleast I'm here with you now" like he usually did before giving you a big long kiss, he angrily walks past you.

"I need a drink"

Before you can go to pour him one he grabs himself a full glass of whiskey and knocks it back in one go. He then starts pouring himself a second glass. You chime in trying to calm the lion. "Honey I made your favourite tonight! And after dinner maybe I could run you a nice hot bath, and then maybe I'll let you have a little show of my new lingerie set!"

Instead of scooping you up and taking you to the bedroom with a sly smirk on his face like you expected him to do he scoffs and shoots down his second drink of the night. He gets up and walks over to the door not even making eye contact with you.

"I'm going out, don't wait up."

You grab his wrist gently, "Hey I don't know what happened at work today, we can talk about it if you want but we don't have to but I don't think it's a good idea to drink your troubles away.

"God, nothing happened at work okay, stop mothering me and leave me like the rest do okay!"

His words hurt a little and they hurt hearing knowing he is hurting and that for some reason he doesn't want to confide in you about it or let you help him. But still you brushed them aside knowing that Javier struggled to open up sometimes.

"Okay I understand your upset Javi but please don't take this out on me okay I'm just trying to help you cause I care about you."

He pulls his wrist away from you and looks into your eyes with an anger you haven't ever seen in your shared home, a look that is only used when dealing with the most terrible criminals in Bogota.

"I’m not fucken taking anything out on you okay bitch, you're just being a clingy whiny child that won't leave me alone, for God's sake I need my space."

Something overcomes you, you are not ever an aggressive person even in the bedroom, and you knew that it was not the normal Javier speaking, no disrespecting, you like that and that he must have had a hell of shitstorm day at work but still, you needed to put him in his place.

You raise your hand and slap him fairly hard across his cheek. You immediately feel bad and go to apologise. " i...i...sorry I didn-"

"Do it again"

"What?"

"Slap me again, harder this time"

" if this is trap I don't want-"

"It's nothing like that, don't get me wrong I love how much you care despite what I said but this what I saw in your eyes as you slapped me, that passion, made me wanna ravage you all night."

Each word he speaks you see the desire grow in his eyes and the wetter you get.

"Stop talking."

You slap a little lower and harder on his jawline leaving a red mark that stings his smirking face. You both lunge at each other holding each other's face in your hands, lips pressed firmly against one another's, tongues slip in and out of eachothers mouth dancing around, encased in wetness.

Javier pushes you against the wall hard, smashing the glass of the picture frame behind you. You moan out in pain and pleasure. You push off the wall walking Javier backwards and your hands start roaming to each other's bodies each trying to get each other's clothes off as fast as possible. Your lips only break to catch your breaths and to get a better look at the buttons.

You push him up against the wall this time keeping you body close to his. He groans a little in pleasure as you do. He pushes off the wall and the shirts come off. In one quick movement he undoes your bra and hoists you up so your legs wrap around his hips. Throwing you against the wall harder times you both moan, you can feel his hard cock pushing against your waist.

He kisses down your jawline, down your neck to your breasts where he fondles them in his hands and sucks on the left nipple, the stimulation of one of your most sensitive areas causes you to moan loudly. You brace yourself with one hand on the wall palm flat. The other hand on the nape of Javi's neck moving up to his soft dark short hair.

He switches nipples, you grind against his cock hinting you want more as the desire builds up in you more and more. He takes the hint and pulls you off the wall putting his lips back against yours, hot and wet. His hands go down you back to your ass where they hold on for dear life. He backs into the bedroom. Your hand that was on the wall now holds his jaw. He turns around and throws you both down on the bed, him on top of you.

He strips your pants off you quickly before doing the same to himself. The heat between your legs rises seeing his toned tan arms flex as they literally rip your panties off you, pulling the shreds down your legs out of the way. He looks like a wild animal about to sink its teeth into prey, eyes alive with anger, hunger and lust. But you're not backing off in fear.

You pull him close to your body and roll so you're on top of him, and grab his member in his boxers firmly, he raises his hips and head up, his brows crease together overcome with pleasure with a tinge of pain. You grab the top of his head, his soft warm brown hair gripped between your white knuckles. Pulling a little you put him in his place.

"You won't do any of that till I tell you to.” you harshly whisper into his face, releasing his cock from your firm grip.

He stares in your eyes not breaking contact, his lips slightly turning into a smirk while his eyes are still very much alive with passion and hate.

"Oh yeah?" He growls

He flips you over so he is on top now. He grabs your wrists with one of his hands and raises it above your head. This is a play for power now. Javier liked your fire and control just as much as he likes having his own. So he wants to test to see how far you will go before you give into him.

"You're going to regret that" you say with a firm tone.

"Make me" he smirks

You lift your head to kiss him. He goes in for the kiss. You swerve and sink your teeth semi lightly into the crevice between his neck and shoulder, leaving a mark that will last a while. Javi pulls away and groans in pain, but is turned on more than ever. While he's distracted you pull your wrists apart from his hold and flip so you're on top again, straddling him.

"You're being a very bad boy," you hiss.

"Can't help it" he smiles, grinning.

You push firmly down on his chest and go to kiss the mark you gave him seconds before. You leave a trail of kisses and bites into his skins down his chest and stomach. He groans with every contact, each making his cock pulse in need of release. You make it to his boxes and pull them down slowly. You lick your lips and purse them around the tip of his dick. He whimpers quietly.

"I haven't even started yet baby and you're already whimpering, can't wait for you to start screaming my name."

You say smirking before putting your lips back on his throbbing dick, pushing the tip past your lips and adding a hand to his thick cock.

You start slow but quickly build momentum and his dick becomes slick with your spit and his precum. He fights the urge to buck his hips up and instead grips the sheets with one of his veiny hands and pushes some of your hair behind your ear with the other.

"F...fuck sweetheart.... you're too good at that!"

You smirk around his cock, your teeth lightly graze him for a second causing him to groan loudly. You fasten your strokes as he moans in total pleasure. You smirk to yourself knowing you almost got it out of him.

Moaning your name turns into incomprehensible whimpers as you bring him to his high, but you're not finished till you milk out every last drop with your hands firm around him, licking everything he has to offer.

Both of you breathless, you go up to his face and passionately kiss, exchanging the taste of him and his pleasure to his own tongue. He goes to sit you up and switch positions before kneeling in front of you so he can offer you some release now.

"Oh... no baby you don't have to do that... tonight's all about making you feel goo-"

"Please... let me... please let me make you feel as good as you just made me feel... let me taste your sweetness."

He was begging you to let him stuff his face between your thighs. God it made you feel powerful, to have a man like Javier on knees before you, you couldn't say no to that. Not to mention that everytime he ate you out, (which with Javier was often because he couldn't get enough of you) he left your legs trembling for the rest of the night from his fucken godly tongue.

"Okay baby, you've begged enough." You tease.

Before you can say another word his face dives between your warmth, head first into your wet folds. He licks a tender strip up your pussy before teasing your pulsating clit with the tip of his tongue. You throw your head back and uncontrollably moan out.

“Fuck!”

He wraps his hands around your thighs and pulls your centre closer to him. He slips a thick finger into you slowly causing you to arch your back into his touch.

"Javi" you breathily moan, totally succumbing to the divine pleasure that this man was devoted to giving you just with his mouth and hands. The pathetic whines you make as he slips a second finger into your hole, pumping them in and out of your pussy make his cock twitch. But he pushes down the need to be buried deep inside you till he fully repays the pleasure you gave him.

Knowing how close you are by the more strangled and loud moans coming from your pretty little mouth, he fucks you harder and deeper with his fingers and further stimulates your throbbing clit with his tongue, very gently biting down occasionally, blending the lines of pain and pleasure.

"Cum for me cariño, give me all your sweet essence to drink. He breathes against your wet centre.

Those words push you over the edge. A series of loud breathy moans escape your mouth, your legs trembling, threatening to crush Javi's head, but he doesn't care or notice. He is too busy working you through your high, licking up every sweet drop of your liquid pleasure he can get from you.

He eventually comes up and crawls up to you cradle your reddened face between his hands, passionately kissing your plump lips.The taste of both of your pleasures are exchanged, dancing around each other tongues. You break away, both of you still out of breath from the previous activities. He lies down on his back next to you.

Your mind flashes back to the start of the night, the events that ultimately led you here. You feel the heat rise in your cheeks once again as the anger you felt overcomes you once again. You think Javi still needs to be taught a lesson, and just thinking about putting him in his place makes your pussy ache in need for his cock to fill the emptiness his fingers left moments ago filled.

Noticing a shift in the air, Javi asks you what you're thinking about.

"Oh just how I still think you need to be put in your place Peña." You growl.

He smirks, loving every second of this new power dynamic he gets. "Oh you gonna teach me a lesson baby" he teases waiting for a reaction out of you.

"Oh you fucken bet, smartass" you snap back. Quickly you move on top of him again and slap his face.

“Your a very lucky man Javi, to be blessed with such a patient partner who is used to dealing your shitty attitude, offering every ounce of love and care she has to you every time you have a bad day at work, sucking your dick so hard you forget all you problems for the night.”

“Oh yeah I sure am lucky-”

You push your thumb to his lips while holding his chin in the rest of your fingers, shushing him.

“I wasn't finished talking!” you snap.

“Someone better teach you a lesson about manners before someone permanently shuts that dirty little mouth of yours.”

Javi gulps, his cock straining against your warm weight above needing more and more to release his show of affection in your tight wet cunt.

You tip his chin up, pulling your thumb down his lips slowly. You push your face close to his, mouths almost touching.

“What, cat got your tongue?” you whisper seductively in his mouth, licking your lips. Your hot breath causes his cock to pulsate even more and goosebumps to emerge over his neck. He swallows hard, a quiet moan escaping his throat.

“Good boy, you finally learnt that it's best to shut up then let your sly tongue ruin the fun for you.” you joke.

You once again firmly grab his throbbing boner and stroke it a few times before guiding it to your entrance, you slowly sit down on it, letting your cunt adjust to his wide length. Breathy moans fall out of both of your mouths. Once you reach the base, you let half of his cock fall out before taking it all again. You fasten your pace, arching your back as the angle his cock hits every time causes your breath to hitch in your throat, making strangled moans.

He becomes a whimpering mess below you, both from the pleasure you were bestowing upon him and because of his overwhelming need to turn you over and fuck the shit out of you himself, fueled by the need to appease and pleasure the one good thing in his life.

“Please let me fuck you baby make you feel way better than you can make yourself feel bouncing on my dick.”

You stare at him, at first annoyed but then smile knowing that nobody can make you feel as good as he can, even yourself. You felt you had teased him enough tonight not letting him take full control like he usually did. You smirk nodding and give a playful slap on his chest.

“Okay but you better fuck the shit out me pretty boy, make my cunt ache for days after this.”

“Oh mi amor, you won’t be able to even walk for days after this.” he said with a smirk twisting into a devilish smile.

He swiftly sits up to embrace you tightly, his pace quickly surpassing that off your own. The new angle hitting you somehow even deeper than before, causing your eyes to roll back into your head. You now are the one who whimpers pathetically, love-drunk on every mind numbing thrust Javi provides you. Chills run throughout your body as Javi brings you closer and closer to your orgasm. In between his deep grunts and breathes he whispers dirty, dirty words into your ear.

“Yeah that’s right… nobody can make you feel as good..as…I can cariño.”

“I love your tight little cunt….and those little desperate sounds you make… when I fuck the shit out it.”

“God you look so fucken pretty…. when you're about cum on my cock… wanna stay like this… with you forever.”

The both of you are so close, to help you finish he squeezes to tighter, closer to him, kneading one of your breasts with one hand and circling you clit with the other, using his hands as the anchors to enter your pussy as hard and fast as he can. Your hand reaches up to behind his head as you both simultaneously reach your high.

“Ahhhh…. fuck…. Javi…. you feel so good!”

You turn your head and look at him, he leans forward and kisses your forehead, panting hard as he rides out his high. He carefully slips out his softening dick out of your aching, sensitive pussy. You both fall into the bed holding each close as you catch your breaths yet again.

“Fuck I think i’m going to need you come home from work angry more often.” you laugh out of breath.

He laughs against the back of your neck. “Yeah also feel free to slap me whenever you want cause fuck… that was hot.”

You both laugh, nodding. This night turned out better than expected, and you wish to be nowhere else except here entwined closely with the love of your life, hot,sticky and tired after you extraneous activities, slowly drifting to sleep with nothing but the sounds of busy Bogotá and Javi’s deep breaths caressing your neck.

#javier pena narcos #javier pena #javier pena smut #narcos fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #smut #javier pena fanfiction #javier pena x reader

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epitomereally · 7 months

Text

Celestial Navigation by @sabrecmc

18 year old Omega!Tony finds himself Bonded to Captain Steve Rogers. He isn't happy about it until he is.

An absolutely gorgeous story of learning to love yourself, even when you feel like you don't fit in & that you grew up wrong. I'm so happy to have gotten to bind this mammoth work for Sabre & as a gift exchange for @mourningmountainsbindery (who bound me this beautiful copy of Astolat's Let the River Run—JUST LOOK AT THAT COVER!).

Also to anyone who has @ed me lately (looking at u, em @powerful-owl & tacky @tackytigerfic particularly) & I've been derelict in responding, here is WHY.

This has been the longest binding project I've undertaken, both in page count and in time. My original message to Sabre was on March 16th—can't decide if I want to use the laughing or crying emoji here—and the colophon says I made the book in April 2023 (which was when I started typesetting, maybe). I had been randomly perusing dying videos on Youtube in bed on a Saturday morning, as one does, and came across a video showing how to spiral tie-dye. I IMMEDIATELY had a design premonition of the full design for this fic as a two-volume set, planted into my brain wholesale by the binding gods. I learned many new techniques throughout the process (edge painting, edge trimming/sanding, tie-dying/dyepainting, embroidery, typesetting meta from tumblr which copy-pastes with the worst goddamn formatting in the world, kill me now). Overall, alternately extremely painful & wonderful, and I'm extremely proud of this set.

Design-wise, I went whole-hog with the scifi stars theme. Endpapers are recolored versions of the star charts from the Apollo 11 mission:

Title page & chapter titles are both rips in the galaxy:

Epigraphs both star-themed:

Some more glamor shots because I'm so proud 💕

8.6 lbs // 3.8 kgs worth of books (~3000 total pages) 🥰

Celestial Navigation is also INCREDIBLY popular, and Sabre has been incredibly generous answering asks on her tumblr + writing additional one-shots in the universe. There is also a veritable volume of fanart. I was so inspired by seeing @robins-egg-bindery copy of ********, with its appendix of fanart & meta, that I promptly copied them.

fanart redacted because lots of the artists are no longer active on tumblr but just know i am ECSTATIC about the amount of art in these books

Lastly, I love how @clovenhoofbindery includes their 'Illustrator mess' with their bind posts, as a behind-the-scenes look into the wild process of designing these books. I don't actually have an Illustrator mess for this book (the chapter titles & title page pretty much came in one take), but I do have a DYING MESS. It took me sososo many tries to figure out how to get the dye to look how I imagined in my head. I ended up 'dye painting' instead of tie-dying in the end, but my inbox is always open to chat hand-dying/tie-dying/dyepainting (or what I did differently between any of these attempts). Numbers are the dying attempt.

Last process shot: I hand-dyed variegated linen thread to match the colors of the bind, which ends up being incredibly difficult to see on the finished bind, but was super fun while I was sewing!

Materials:

Body font: Kepler

Title font: Compaq 1982

Chapter number font: aliens & cows

Endpapers: recolored versions of the star chart used by Michael Collins during the Apollo 11 mission (archived at The Smithsonian)

Bookcloth: dyed using Dharma Trading Procion Fiber-Reactive Dyes

Title page and chapter headers: designed in Photoshop using the Ultimate Space brush pack by jeffrettalyn on DeviantArt

Metallic embroidery thread: Cosmo Nishikiito thread

I would dye for this embroidery thread. It is LIGHT YEARS better than the classic metallic embroidery thread from DMC: much easier to work with & much more sparkly. Literally so eye-catching; it truly doesn't translate to photos.

Paint for edges: Daniel Smith watercolor tubes in Iridescent Sunstone and Prussian Blue

Note: these are GORGEOUS watercolors. The color is so saturated and strong and beautiful BUT I don't think I'd recommend watercolors for edge painting. They went on very differently depending on the grit of the sandpaper I used for the edges + they sometimes bled into the pages + they had to be set with fixative, which then stuck the pages together.

#blood sweat and TEARS into this bind #and now it is DONE my god #stony #stony fanart #celestial navigation #my fanbinding #posts i actually wrote

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cowgurrrl · 1 year

Text

BWFW

Pairing: rockstar!joel miller x actress!reader

Summary: You and Joel call a truce [3.8k]

Author’s note: dude I’m having so much fun writing this (PS this song is named after BWFW by Blunt Chunks)

Warnings: smoking (don’t smoke kids (drunk cigs don’t count)), Joel being an asshole momentarily, spicy thoughts (no smut), enemies to ???

Joel Miller Caught Kissing Actress After Date: Everything We Know About Her

Hollywood's Newest Power Couple?

Joel Miller Has A New Boo, And We're All A Bit Jealous

Who is Joel Miller's Newest Girl? Everything Their Waitress Told Us About Their Secret Romantic Date

Pictures of you and Joel making out against your front door are everywhere. You can barely log onto Instagram without being bombarded with DM's, comments, and tags in news articles about you two. Melanie even texted you with several headlines attached and a "Great job, kid!" Even your mom texted you about it. Granted, it was a screenshot of a Buzzfeed post, and all she sent you was a bunch of question marks, but she texted you. You try to put it out of your mind by leaving your phone in your trailer when you go to set instead of handing it off to a PA.

You decide that Joel Miller isn't worth more brain power than absolutely necessary. He has his own life, and you doubt he's thinking about you, and if he is, it's probably plotting his next reputation-saving move. The only thing you can do is work, make the best movie possible, and move on with your life until he summons you for another contractually obligated date. It's only a few months. You can make it, right?

You were asking the director about a scene, script in hand, when Ryan strolled up to you with a mischievous look. You ignore him and listen to Greta give you notes and ideas for the next movie sequence. He waits for you to be done with the conversation, like a third grader, before grabbing your arm and pulling you toward him.

"Why didn't you tell me you were seeing Joel Miller?" He asks, and you laugh. He walks you to a more secluded part of set, hiding from eavesdropping extras and chatty interns as they set the sound stage for the next scene.

"It didn't seem relevant to work."

"Not relevant? This is huge," he says, somehow more excited about this than you are, and you cross your arms over your chest. "You haven't dated at all since you made it big."

"Okay, that's not true."

"Really? Before last night, when was the last time you went on a date with anyone? Famous or not?" He asks. You open your mouth to answer, but your brain short circuits as you search through your memories. You're ninety percent sure that your last date was with the guy you had a showmance with before you moved to California. He was tall, handsome, and full of himself just like every other actor. You vaguely remember telling him you booked your first movie with A24, and he said you didn't have the "right look" for A24. Last you heard, he was living with five other roommates in the Meatpacking District back in New York.

"Okay, so maybe it's been a while," you admit, and he raises his eyebrows at you. "Please, don't make this a thing. I've already had enough people clawing at me for answers about it, and I'm exhausted."

"Fine, fine, but you have to promise you'll go out for drinks with me and Carolina on Friday. She's been dying to make couple friends, and I need to make sure he's good for you."

"You don't need to do anything, but sure. I'll talk to him and see what he thinks." You say, and he smiles. Before he can grill you any further, your names are called over the intercom, announcing that they're ready for you, and you silently thank whatever god is out there for getting you out of that situation. You and Ryan walk back to the sound stage and get flanked by people from makeup who need to touch you up and frantic ADs who repeat the same notes the director already gave you. You swear if their heads weren't attached to their necks, they'd run around looking for them at all hours.

You do several takes of the same scene, yet another scene of your characters arguing, this time about what they'll do now that your character is pregnant. Ryan progressively gets more despondent as he sinks into his character, frustrating you as his scene partner and the pregnant woman you're playing. After about two hours of running the same scene over and over again, you're at your wit's end and need to do something different. Everyone on set freezes when you shove at Ryan's shoulders and force him to look you in the eyes for the first time since you started filming. The entire scene shifts as you continue to push at him, tears unexpectedly falling from your eyes as you beg him to say something. It hurts more when he walks out the door without looking back. When Greta cuts, Ryan all but runs back in the door and wraps you in a big hug.

"You're gonna break my heart if you keep doing that!" He says, and you laugh as you wipe away your tears. You watch the scene back together, and jump up and down at how much better it flows. It feels like you're watching magic. Times like this remind you why you became an actor in the first place.

You film a few more scenes before breaking for the night. Your body hurts from carrying so much emotion as you walk into your trailer to gather your things to go home. You barely grazed the door, dinner plans already filling your head, when your phone buzzed in your back pocket. It's a text from an unsaved number, but it doesn't take a genius to figure out who it's from.

The lipstick on the collar was a nice touch, he writes, and you sigh.

That almost sounds like a compliment, Miller, you shoot back.

You're not even halfway to your car when your phone buzzes with another text from Joel.

Paul is really happy with how everything's going. He said he wants us to see each other again before I go back to Texas.

Good timing because my costar practically begged me to go on a double date with him and his wife.

We're already in double-date territory? How official.

Har har. How's Friday night sound?

Sounds like Paul is going to be very happy.

That makes one of us.

The rest of the week flies by with you dodging the online chatter about you and Joel somewhat successfully, but Ryan keeps reminding you how excited he is to hang out with you and your new "boy toy," as he has affectionately nicknamed Joel. You hate it, but he thinks it's funnier that way, so he just keeps calling him that. You swear Ryan was your annoying older brother in another life.

You're curling your hair when he texts you a cute picture of him and his wife in the car with the message, "Ready to interrogate JM." You laugh and return to messing with your hair, mentally going through every possibility that tonight could bring. You're wearing a pink tank top and jeans with pink heels. Nothing super fancy, but it's definitely more dressed down than your first date with Joel. You debate on which necklace to wear and wrap the final piece of hair around your curling iron when your front door opens.

Joel calls your name as he shuts the door behind him. You almost throw the hot iron down as you step into the hallway to face him. He's wearing a black shirt with a matching black leather jacket and jeans. He looks you up and down unapologetically, and you roll your eyes.

"Who told you you could just walk into my house?" You ask as you duck into the bathroom again. He leans against the doorway, crossing his arms over his chest as he watches you spray your hair to help it withstand the California heat.

"Hello to you too, darlin'."

"Don't call me that."

"Why not?"

"Because I don't want you to."

"So, what can I call you?" He asks with a smirk pulling on his lips. You grab your bag off the counter and move to leave the bathroom, but he doesn't budge. You huff as you look up at him.

"Move."

"Answer the question." He says. You think about pushing him out of the way, but he's broad and has those strong guitarist arms and probably wouldn't even flinch. You copy his stance as you rack your brain for an acceptable answer.

"Well, you could start with just my name," you say, and he laughs. "But other than that, I don't know."

"Baby?" He suggests, and you almost gag.

"Absolutely not."

"Which do you hate more? Darlin' or baby?"

"Baby."

"Alright, then, darlin'," he says, stepping out of your way. You scoff and walk past him into the hallway. "You know, you really should get a dog or somethin'. It's not safe for you to just leave your door unlocked like that."

"Oh, with all the psychos running around my neighborhood? I can handle myself but thank you for your input." You say, and he laughs as you do one last sweep of your living room to make sure you didn't forget anything. Once again, Joel opens your front door and the passenger side door of his car for you. You can say many things about Joel Miller, but one thing you can't say is that he's not a gentleman. You think it has something to do with his Texas upbringing, or it might just be a testament to the kind of woman his mother is. You don't say anything the whole way to the restaurant, saving up your mental energy to deal with him for the whole night, and he doesn't fight you on it.

When you get there, you can see Ryan waiting near the host stand through the windows, obviously ready to escort you and Joel to the table. You're surprised that the sidewalk isn't flanked by photographers, but you take it as a good sign. Joel parks the car and reaches for your hand as he locks it. You almost smack it away before remembering you're in public and take it in yours. The smooth ring on his middle finger is cool and smooth, a stark contrast to his calloused palms. Ryan lights up when you two step through the doors, and he quickly wraps you in a warm hug. He introduces himself to Joel and holds his hand out for a handshake which Joel reciprocates.

When he walks you to the table set for four, Carolina smiles and stands to hug you and Joel in true Carolina fashion. Joel doesn't hesitate to pat her back and smile as Ryan jokes about having two of the prettiest women in the restaurant sitting at his table.

"Sorry, I'm a hugger," Carolina says as you sit across from them. Joel lays an arm across the back of your chair like this is a perfectly normal thing he does all the time.

"That's alright, ma'am. I don't mind." He says, and Carolina gives you a look.

"Ma'am? I like him already." She says, and you laugh.

Joel settles into the dynamic between the three of you easily and listens as Ryan tells stories from set and press events. It's no small feat that you let Joel meet two of the most important people in your life, and even though you didn't tell him to be, he's on his best behavior. He doesn't try to annoy you or do anything inappropriate in front of them. He compliments Carolina, calling her ma'am even after she told him he didn't have to, and exchanges dude-bro stories with Ryan all night. Except for the arm on your chair, he doesn't make any affectionate moves which you're grateful for.

With Ryan and Carolina there, it almost feels normal. It could also be your third glass of wine helping you relax too. Ryan makes a snarky comment about your drinking, to which you flip him off. "I'd be drinking too if I had to work with you all week!" Carolina says. Ryan feigns a blow to the chest, and she smacks his shoulder. "Did he tell you that Elizabeth started calling you Ryan's movie wife?" She asks, and you laugh.

"God, I hope she doesn't repeat that at school. Otherwise, you," you point at Ryan. "Are going to have a lot to explain to that poor teacher."

"Who's Elizabeth?" Joel asks as you take a bite of food. You hum to let him know you'll answer in a second, but Carolina beats you to it.

"Elizabeth is our daughter."

"And my goddaughter," you jump in. "She's the best kid in the world."

"Well, of course, you think that because you're not there for bedtime," Ryan says, and you roll your eyes.

"You're just mad because she's as stubborn as you are."

"That is... not entirely untrue."

You spend the rest of the dinner laughing and messing with each other. You even catch yourself leaning into Joel's side because he's so warm and comfortable, and the wine is making you deliriously happy. When the bill is placed on the table, you all fight over who gets to pay until Carolina chucks Ryan's card at the waiter. Joel holds his hand over the table, and Ryan shakes it in a form of masculine affection. "You really didn't have to do that, man," Joel says. "Next dinner is on me, alright?" He could be saying it to save face, but the idea that Joel likes Ryan and Carolina makes something in your chest feel warm and fuzzy.

Ryan practically carries Carolina to the car so they can relinquish the nanny for the night, but you and Joel go upstairs to the rooftop bar. You reason that it's high enough to hide from paparazzi, and you also needed an excuse to get some fresh air. You both order water and perch on a couch in the corner. At first, you don't say anything. Not because you're mad at him but because you're worried you'll ruin the night if you do. However, you don't need to exchange words for Joel to see you shivering and put his jacket over your shoulders. You smile and turn to look at him.

"This is the second time you've given me your jacket."

"Want me to stop?" He asks, genuinely curious, and you shake your head. A soft smile takes over his features, and you have to look away before you get sucked in.

"What'd you think of Ryan and Carolina?" You ask as you take a sip of water. His arm rests behind you again, and he adjusts to get more comfortable.

"I really liked 'em. They seem like good people."

"They are. Ryan and I were friends before I even moved to LA," you say. "I think they liked you too."

"Yeah?" He asks, and you nod. You meet his eyes again and hope he can see your sincerity.

"Yeah. Thanks for not being a total dick to them." You say, and he laughs. He puts his water on the table in front of you before reaching across you to dig into his jacket pocket. This close, you can smell the detergent he washed his shirt with and see the freckles faintly littering his skin. He doesn't break eye contact with you as he pulls a pack of Marlboro Reds and a lighter out of his jacket before relaxing into his spot again. Maybe it's the wine in your system or the joy from the night still filtering through your skull, but you don't take your eyes off him as he lights a cigarette. The ember glows brighter as he takes a drag and turns away from you to exhale. His jawline is sharp, and his neck looks especially pretty as he takes a breath.

"What're you thinkin' bout, pretty girl?" He asks, breaking your train of thought, and you smirk as you lean forward. His eyes drop to the neckline of your tank top, giving you the perfect opportunity to snatch the cigarette out of his hand and put it to your lips. He watches as you take a drag, your lipstick staining the filter, and exhale with a sigh.

"Thinking bout you."

"Me?" He raises his eyebrows as you pass him the cigarette back. His thumb traces your lipstick stain before he puts it back in his mouth. "What about me?"

"About how stupid this whole situation is," you gesture vaguely around you. "About how we really shouldn't be so mean to each other."

"You're a sentimental drunk," he says, passing you the cigarette without acknowledging it, and you smile. It really wouldn't be that hard to pull another cigarette out of his pack for you, but he doesn't. Your fingers graze his as you take it, flicking the ash to the side. He waits until you blow smoke out of your nose to mess with the sleeves of his shirt and nod. "But, maybe you're right."

"Oh, say it again." You say, and he gives you a look. You pass the cigarette back even though about half of it is burned down from you two sharing it. His long drags don't help salvage it.

"I really shouldn't have said what I said bout you sleepin' with people to get famous. That was really fucked up, and I'm sorry."

"It was really fucked up. And unoriginal. And fucking stupid. And completely untrue," you say, and he looks a little worried. "But, thank you for apologizing." He nods and offers you the last little bit of glowing cigarette.

"Can we call a truce?"

"A truce?"

"Yeah. We'll stop goin' out of our way to make each other's life fuckin' miserable and move on. Maybe at the end of this, we could even be friends." He says, and you take a deep breath as you take the cigarette from him.

"You always make peace agreements with nicotine?"

"You're my first, pretty girl."

There's that fucking nickname again. It's better than darling, and you should hate it, but the way he says it makes your head swim. You inhale the last drag and stub it out in the ashtray next to your water as you try to get your thoughts under control again. You catch the bartender looking over at you and Joel, and an uneasy feeling crawls up your spine. You swallow it down and look at Joel.

"I'll agree to a truce." You say, smoke leaving your mouth as you talk, and he smiles.

"Should we shake on it?" He asks. You glance between him and the bartender and scoot closer to him. His eyes flick from yours to your lips and back up to your eyes.

"I would say yes," you whisper. "But, I think that bartender figured out who we are."

"So, what should we do instead?" He asks, his voice so low that you almost miss it over your own heartbeat. You want to roll your eyes at how stupid his question is but kiss him instead. His hands come up to your jaw, and you wrap your hand around his wrist to keep him there. There are traces of nicotine and tequila on his lips, but you can't focus on it too hard before his teeth graze your bottom lip. He swallows your gasp and soothes the sudden pain with his tongue. You would push him away and yell at him if it didn't feel so good. You can’t help but wonder what his mouth would feel like on your neck or your thighs. You wonder what pretty girl would sound like in between pants and broken moans. You wonder if he’d leave bruises on your inner thighs for you to find in the morning. The thoughts startle you out of the moment, and you pull away from him, turning to kiss the inside of his wrist.

"'M getting tired. Can you take me home?" You ask. He looks like a kicked puppy but nods anyway. He holds your hand the whole way down the stairs, through the restaurant, and to the car. You make shitty small talk the whole way back to your house like nothing happened, but you're grateful to have moved past the suffocating uncomfortable silence. He taps on his steering wheel again and changes the station when his own song comes on the radio, making you laugh. When he pulls into your driveway, you linger for a moment and look at him through the darkness. "Thank you for being so nice to my friends."

"I really did like 'em," he says. You pick at your nailbeds as you try to find a way to apologize for abruptly ending the evening. You feel bad for some reason. You were actually having a good time together, and then you made it weird. "Can I walk you to your door?" He asks, and you take a deep breath.

"I think I can get myself inside. Thank you, though."

"Welcome." He says as you unbuckle your seatbelt and open the door. Joel's jacket shifts around you, and you suddenly remember that you're still wearing it.

"Oh, here. Let me give you your jacket back before I forget."

"Don't worry about it." He waves you off, and you furrow your eyebrows at him.

"What do you mean don't worry about it? I'm not gonna steal your jacket, Joel."

"You're not stealin' it. You're just borrowin' it, right? I bet tabloids will eat it up if they see you wearin' it," he says. "Besides, it looks better on you anyways." You laugh and shake your head as you adjust your purse on your shoulder.

"Goodnight, Joel."

"G'night, pretty girl." He says. You shut the door and walk up the sidewalk to your front door, secretly cursing that stupid fucking nickname and how weak in the knees it makes you. His car lingers in the driveway until he sees you unlock the door and flicker the front lights at him, letting him know you got in safely. He honks twice before pulling away and driving off into the night.

You make a point to lock your door behind you and lean against it. You let out a shaky breath like it will expel his voice from your head and jump when your phone buzzes in your back pocket. When you pull it out, a bright text from Melanie stares back at you.

Two dates in a row?! You're killing it! This will be over before you know it <3

And attached to her scarily cheerful text is a picture of you and Joel kissing. It's blurry and obviously taken from far away, but it's there nonetheless. You pinch the bridge of your nose and send her a thumbs-up emoji before sending Ryan a "made it home" text and turning your phone off. The image of Joel's teeth scraping your bottom lip burns into your eyelids as you close your eyes and try to figure out where the fuck you go from here.

#one for the money two for the show #the last of us #joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller fic #joel tlou #the last of us x reader #joel miller the last of us #joel miller fluff #joel miller au #the last of us au #tlou au #joel x reader #joel miller drabble #joel miller x female reader #rockstar!joel miller

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muddyorbsblr · 1 year

Text

i have never

See the full 14 Days Collection here! See my full list of works here!

Summary: When you reveal to your co-stars that you've never had a positive experience kissing anyone, let alone a good experience doing more than kissing, Tom visits you in your hotel room to rectify that situation.

Pairing: Tom Hiddleston x Reader

Word Count: 1.9k

Warnings: steamy moments (this is 1 of the 2 non-smut stories from this collection); language; mention of bleeding

Things to be aware of: coworkers to lovers; reader isn't inexperienced but she's had horrendous experience

"Okay I might need help with this, I gotta be honest."

You showed the page that you placed a little pink post-it flag on to your female co-stars, Scarlett and Lizzie, the flag pointing to the part of the script that showed your character had to kiss Loki and a look of 'contentment and relief' had to be visible on your face.

"Wait why? You've had kissing scenes before," Lizzie prodded, looking at the surrounding dialogue of the kiss.

"Yeah, I know, but those kisses were meant to be awkward and I had to be visibly uncomfortable, which is great because that's all I know how to be when a guy kisses me." You grimaced as memories of sloppy, teeth-knocking, way too rough kisses gone wrong began to flash through your mind like a train wreck slideshow.

"Oh sweetie…if you're worried that it's gonna be bad because Tom's going to make it uncomfortable, you got nothing to worry about," Scarlett commented with a chuckle. "Man's never had a bad kiss scene in his life. Ask Lizzie."

"Mmhmm. Yup. Can confirm," the redhead said with a playful grin on her face.

"Well that's all well and good but I'm not worried about him giving me a bad kiss. I'm worried that I will." You slumped your shoulders as they gave you doubtful looks. "Alright then let me put it this way. All the kisses I've had off camera are…fucking awful. On camera I can look past because it's supposed to be awkward and dorky and maybe even so cringe I wouldn't wanna watch it even if you paid me. But the guys I've kissed in private? Let's just say that the least traumatizing kiss I've had ended with my lip bleeding because the fucker bit me too hard."

"Babes, that's absolutely awful!" Lizzie looked at you with her jaw to the floor. "Are you telling us that every guy you've slept with is—"

"Fucking awful? Yep. They didn't have any redeeming qualities. And before you even ask, yes, that means that I have fucking faked it. For years. No one's ever got me to the promised land." You slumped in your chair from the admission. "So that's why I need help. I haven't the first idea how to even look like I'm content because every experience I've ever had is…subpar."

The two promised to help you until you three were called to set, imparting knowledge about imagining a wave of calm overtaking you coupled with the contradicting feeling of a wild fluttering in your stomach. Actions-wise, to pull him closer, as if you couldn't possibly be close enough, clinging to him as if your life depended on it. And the desperation that implied this was a last kiss, because ultimately it would be for your characters, considering the tragic death the Russo brothers had in mind for Loki.

It'd also be the first and last kiss you'd have with the man you'd had a raging crush on since years before you were even a blip on Marvel's radar, so you took all their advice to heart just to make sure that at the very least you didn't leave a horrible impression with him once this scene was over.

After all, you still had all of promo period to get through and considering that the Marketing team had already found your old socials from high school and had concrete evidence that you absolutely had a phase where you shamelessly fangirled over Tom Hiddleston, they would most likely test your sanity and pair you off with him for some, if not most, of the press junkets.

That was the whole reason you were currently in one of the dining tents, your head slumped down on a table as you watched a whole bunch of kissing scenes on YouTube while you furiously jotted down notes on the back of your script. Your scenes were finished for the day, and all you had to do was wait for someone in the costume department to assist you out of your costume. You retrieved your phone from security, meaning you were no longer allowed on any of the filming sets considering how careful all the execs were about spoilers getting out.

"Elizabeth told me I'd likely find you here." You jumped in your seat at the dulcet tone of Tom's voice filling the former quiet of the tent, quickly straightening your posture and turning your phone off, putting the face down on top of your notes. "Apologies. I didn't mean to startle you."

"No, no, it's all good, really," you chuckled out, the nerves beginning to peek through in your shaky tone. It was borderline impossible keeping your composure around him considering that he'd been in a tight-fitting black muscle tee, the rest of him clad in his character's leather pants and boots, putting on egregious display what exactly Marvel had to edit out during post production of the first Thor movie. "What's up?" you squeaked out.

"Truly, nothing. I just wanted to tell you I look forward to filming with you tomorrow." He placed a hand on your shoulder, bared by the rather revealing nature of your Enchantress costume, his thumb gently stroking your skin. "I'll see you tomorrow, darling. I'll see if I can get someone to assist you with your costume."

Your heart caught in your throat as you watched his eyes give you a once over, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth, before leaving the tent.

Here lies Y/N Y/L/N. Cause of death? Sanity and ability to breathe were stolen by Thomas William Hiddleston.

Knock Knock Knock

You looked up from your position on the couch, your neck and back straining from being hunched over and taking notes as you watched compilation after compilation of the "best tv and movie kisses" on YouTube. Every bit of preparation you could do for tomorrow's scene short of trolling through Tinder or Raya, you would willingly do.

After all, if you looked stupid in your hotel room practicing how to kiss on your hand but no one else was around to see it, did you actually look stupid?

Yes. The answer was yes.

"I didn't order room service!" you called out in the direction of the door and sending the mistaken server on his way, turning back to face the TV and somehow transpose in your mind that the actors in the scene were you and Tom, trying to plan out how to move your body the way theirs moved, to not lean in too much so that your teeth didn't knock together, and to not even think about any lip biting considering your own dreadful history--

Knock Knock Knock

You groaned at the insistent mistaken case of room service and turned off the TV, flipping your notes over so that in case they were of the nosy variety nothing could leak. The last thing you needed throughout production was Holland and Ruffalo greeting you tomorrow morning with open arms and goofy grins saying "One of us! One of us!"

"I'm sure you're mistaken, buddy, I didn't order any--"

You opened the door and realized it wasn't room service on the other side. It was Tom, looking at you with a soft amusement in his eyes, the mortification spreading through your system at the knowledge that he was seeing you clad in a loose cotton ruffle sleepwear dress that went down the length of your arms and fell to your knees.

The farthest cry from the allure of Amora. And yet the best possible representation of yourself in real life.

"O-Oh uhh…hi," you stammered, constantly shifting your posture in your attempt to seem casual. "What's up?"

You felt even more chagrined when those eyes that haunted your every dream since you were a teenager that was every bit the awkward dork that you were at this moment once again gave you a once over. Only this time the smirk graduated to him biting his lip. What is his deal? Is he really just trying to make me spontaneously combust? Burn off the final shred of sanity that I'm holding on to? Did he choose me as his use case for a scientific study to prove that death by swooning was most definitively a thing?

"Y/N I heard you earlier today with Scarlett and Elizabeth." Someone call the cemetery and have them erect my tombstone. "I didn't intend to, but I'd been walking by the area and--"

"Ohh fuck," you groaned, pressing your hands to your eyes and spinning in your spot trying calm your racing mind. "Look I'm really sorry maybe we could talk to Anthony and Joe and we could have them write the scene out comp--"

Your words caught in your throat in a hitched squeak as you felt his hands wrap around yours, pulling them away from your face. "Look at me, please." You opened your eyes and became stunned silent when you saw a tenderness in his as he framed your face in his hands. "I'm not here to ask you to talk to anyone about getting the scene written out."

"Then why--"

He silenced you by pressing his lips to yours, all the words beginning to melt away. What little knowledge you'd gotten seemed trivial now, as he coaxed you to kiss him back, as the world around you seemed to fade and a strange quiet washed over you. As you felt your entire body come alive with every tender brush of his lips against yours.

So this was what they meant.

He pulled away from you, one arm wrapped securely around your waist to keep you close, and the other hand gently cradling the back of your head. "I came here because you are a woman who deserves to be kissed breathless. Often. By someone who knows how." He gave you a soft smile before slanting his mouth over yours, tongue gently brushing along the parting of your lips as if asking for entrance.

It was as if your whole body weakened once you parted your lips and felt his tongue gently flicking against yours. His arm tightened around you as he lifted you up seemingly effortlessly and pinned you to the wall, his lips never once leaving yours.

When Tom broke the kiss you were both gasping for breath, the air once again leaving your body the moment his lips latched on to your neck, his hands roaming down your body until they hooked around the backs of your knees to wrap your legs around him. You had to clap a hand over your mouth to muffle the resounding moan that escaped you the second his hips rolled into yours.

"No, darling," he groaned against your skin, one hand reaching up to wrap around yours and pry it away from your mouth. "I want to hear you." He moved away from your neck and brought his face inches from yours. "I also heard one more thing. A downright sacrilegious thing. About how you've had to fake your pleasure with everyone you've laid with."

He placed your hand on his shoulder, which you quickly hooked around his neck to hold yourself up as he lifted you away from the wall and walked further into the hotel room, making your mind spin with what he intended to do next. "So you heard that, too, huh?" was all you could say as you did your best to remember how to breathe.

"I did. And I wish to change that, too. If you'll let me."

You could only nod before his lips were back on yours again as he laid you down onto the bed.

A/N: I had to fade to black some of these stories if I wanted to meet deadlines, okay? 🤣

'everything' taglist: @lokisgoodgirl @lokischambermaid @imalovernotahater @mygfloki @lucylaufeyson3 @thomase1 @fictive-sl0th @mochie85 @laliceee @xorpsbane @gigglingtigger @silverfire475 @cabingrlandrandomcrap @vickie5446 @salempoe @lokixryss @sinsandguilt @lokidbadguy @alexakeyloveloki @glitterylokislut @cakesandtom @girl-of-multi-fandoms @mischief2sarawr @thedistractedagglomeration @five-miles-over @goblingirlsarah @huntress-artemiss @lilibet261 @holymultiplefandomsbatman @lovingchoices14 @devilsadvocactus @lokiprompts @sititran @ladyjames78 @kikster606 @evelyn-kingsley @kats72 @creationsbyme @coldnique @athalialaufeyson @simplyholl @tallseaweed @sarahscribbles @unlucky-number-13 @ozymdias @maple-seed @ladyofthestayingpower @wolfsmom1 @km-ffluv @psychospore @loopsisloops @iamlokisgloriouspurpose @lovelysizzlingbluebird

#14 days of valentines collection #tom hiddleston x reader #tom hiddleston x female reader #tom hiddleston fanfic #tom hiddleston fanfiction #tom hiddleston imagine #muddyorbs writes

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leiawritesstories · 8 months

Text

1778 (My Soldier Boy)

Rowaelin Month, Day 28: Wartime Sweethearts AU

A/N: this might just be the most American thing i've ever written lmaooooo 😂😂 so here's the context: the fic is set during the American Revolutionary War, which took place from 1776-1781. Rowan is a soldier in the Continental Army (the American side) and Aelin is the only daughter of a Loyalist (sympathetic to the British) family. and they're star-crossed lovers, yay!! posting this partially as a lil birthday treat to myself but mostly for you, hope you enjoy :))

Word count: 2.8k

Warnings: archaic language (i'm a nerd lol), mentions of war, old outdated traditions, mentions of battle, brief mild angst, flirting

enjoy!!!

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

16th July 1778

Heart of my heart,

I write this in secret, barely able to make out my letters by the faint light of this single candle. I apologize for the sloppiness of my script; my governess would have a fit if she were to see this chicken scratch. Of course, I would then retort that she ought to have taught me to read and write in near darkness, as that is the more useful skill these days.

A few words, my love–we are leaving in three days.Yes, leaving! Mother has only said that it was what she and Father thought best, given the current…unrest. I am perfectly capable of reading the unspoken words. We are leaving because they fear what our neighbors might do while we sleep. We are leaving because the English are so hated here. We are leaving because nobody has seen or heard from my brother in months. Nobody save me, that is. I know where Aedion went, and I know what he is doing.

If you love me, Rowan, please send word that my brother is safe, that he is well clothed and has some form of roof over his head. Please. It will calm my nightly worries at least a small bit.

I do not know where we will go, only that we cannot make a scene of our leaving. We must pretend that we are only going into town like we typically do, except that our cart will be full of our belongings, rather than grain and butter to trade. I suspect we shall attempt to head east, towards the port at Baltimore, and from there we shall attempt to book passage on a ship. Father seems convinced that returning to England is the best course of action.

I do not want to leave.

They do not know that, nor do they care. It breaks my heart to admit it, but they do not. They expect me to keep quiet and obey. I have heard them discussing the possibilities of our lives once we return to Mother’s family estate in England–marriage. My marriage. To some titled landowner’s spoilt son, who gives not a whit what I want or who I am as long as I can give birth. I refuse to subject myself to such a fate.

Rowan, my love, I write this both as news and as a warning. I will not silently accompany my parents in their hasty retreat. I cannot abandon my brother in the middle of a war, nor can I leave you, the other half of my soul.

I will be waiting for you, my love. I swear it.

To whatever end,

AAG

Heart in his throat, Captain Rowan Whitethorn marched in step with his regiment up the muddy road leading into Baltimore. The bustling port city was largely unmarred by the war that continued to rage on, continuing to serve as major sea access for traders and soldiers alike. As he and the men that called him their leader entered the city proper, Rowan breathed a short, soft sigh of relief. They had two weeks of leave, unless they were called back into battle, and he fully intended to use those two weeks to the fullest.

“Enjoy your leave, men.” He saluted. “We shall regroup here in two weeks.” The blue-jacketed men broke ranks and ambled into town, most of them probably dispersing to the nearest pleasure house for a good strong drink and as many hours with a woman as their few remaining coins could buy. Rowan didn’t begrudge them their pleasure.

After years of war, they all needed whatever solace they could find. As did he.

Fingers instinctively wrapping around the small, precious bundle of letters in his jacket pocket, Rowan strolled towards the calmer part of town, the residential section not so crowded with soldiers on leave, traders, merchants, shouting vendors, and all the rest of the noise, chaos, and diverse cast of characters that populated a thriving shipping town like Baltimore. He glanced at the street markers as he walked, searching for the one with a blue stripe painted around it.

There.

Pulse hammering louder than gunfire, he turned down that street and walked past tidy clapboard houses interspersed with the occasional grocer, butcher, baker, and seamstress. He was certain every single one of the handful of people he passed could hear his thundering heartbeat, but none of them had said anything to the young man whose ragged blue jacket marked him an officer in the Continental Army who was walking up their quiet street like it was perfectly normal for him to do. One motherly lady had simply offered him a smile and a “thank you, son,” which had struck him right to the heart.

He emerged into a busier street, full of shops and taverns and public houses, the businesses bustling but not crowded with soldiers and sailors like the cheaper taverns down by the wharf were. Eyes scanning the signs, Rowan walked up the side of the street. The building he was looking for appeared suddenly in front of him. A brightly painted kingsflame flower adorned the pub’s wooden sign, its carefully wrought petals the work of a singular artist. An artist Rowan knew as well as his own heartbeat.

With his heart in his throat, Rowan walked into the pub. Immediately, a peal of soft, faintly raspy laughter caught his ear, and his attention snapped to the bar at the back of the softly-lit, cozy space. Behind the well-worn oak bartop, her golden hair tied back with a blue rag that he recognized as his own old shirt, stood the woman who owned every last shred of his heart.

Aelin Galathynius glanced over towards the door, and the whole sky lived in her vivid eyes.

Tin clattered against the bar.

Surprised grunts arose from a table full of stocky, gray-haired farmers.

And with a rush of air and a strangled gasp of his name, Aelin was in his arms, tears glittering in her eyes, warm and solid and real and clinging to him as if her life depended on it.

He was here.

Rowan was here, whole and healthy and standing on his own two legs in a much-patched blue jacket and dirt-stained trousers and battered boots, and his eyes were on her alone.

Aelin flew across the pub floor and all but leapt into her soldier boy’s arms, clinging desperately to him as if he would vanish unless she held him tight. She buried her face in his shoulder and drew in a deep lungful of his scent, the faint trace of mountain pines clinging to him even beneath the layers of sweat and grime. Hot, salty tears of joy leaked into his shirt through a tear in his jacket’s shoulder.

She felt his deep, familiar chuckle rumble beneath her ear. “Why are you crying, my love?”

“I’m crying,” she sniffled, raising her head to meet his adoring gaze, “because you smell so bloody awful that my eyes are watering.”

He tipped his head back and laughed, loud and unrestrained. “God above, I missed you.”

“I missed you more,” she returned, tracing her thumbs along the sharp juts of his cheekbones. “Every day felt like the longest one yet.”

“I’m here now,” he murmured in the soft voice he only used for her.

With tears pooled in her eyes, Aelin leant an inch forward and kissed him, her soldier boy, with all the pent-up fervor of the last several months. She’d been so terrified when her parents announced that they were leaving the Colonies, afraid that she would be uprooted from the life she’d come to love and forced to marry some stuffy lord and shut away in a manor house forever. The very idea that she would be forced to leave Rowan, her love, and Aedion, her brother, without knowing whether either of them would make it back to Baltimore unharmed was enough to disrupt her sleep. She had hardly dared to hope that her desperate escape plan would work until she stood on the pier and watched her parents’ ship depart without her on it.

Every long day of pouring pints of beer for rowdy sailors, handsy soldiers, and disruptive drunken no-goods was worth it to have her soldier boy back in her arms.

“Where–ah, Rowan!” Breathless, Aelin poked him in the ribs, pretending to disapprove of the promising way he kissed her throat. “We’re in public.”

“Let’s fix that, shall we?” He set her down onto her feet, caught her hand, and grinned. “I believe I need a bath, my love. Could you help me with that?”

“You are incorrigible,” she laughed. She pecked a quick kiss on his lips and led him out of the pub and down the streets, turning into a quiet neighborhood and leading him up the front steps of a tidy little brick cottage with a blue front door. “Please be kind about the mess.”

“I’ll show you a mess,” he whispered into her ear, far too tempting for his own good.

She flushed, her cheeks staining bright pink. “Rowan!”

“Aelin,” he mimicked. They were safely inside the house, so he looped his arms around her waist and pulled her flush against him. “I’ve been dreaming of you for months, love.”

“And you’re going to bathe before you act out any of those dreams, my love.” Giggling, she ducked out of his embrace and led him down the short hall to a washroom. “The tub is full, but it might be cold.”

“I don’t care if the water is cold.” He shrugged off his jacket and stepped out of his boots. “It’s a hell of a better bath than we get in the army.”

She sighed fondly. “I’m still going to boil some water.” He made to protest, and she placed her fingers over his mouth. “Ah-ah, soldier boy. Let me spoil you. Besides, the hot water is half for your filthy clothes.”

“Fine,” he acquiesced. He shed the rest of his dirty, worn clothing and climbed into the tepid bathwater, groaning quietly as he sank into a proper bath for the first time in too long. “Join me, love.”

“Soon.” She kissed his forehead and dropped a washrag and a bar of soap into the tub. “When you stink a little less.”

His playful growl followed her all the way out to the front room.

Following the bath–where she had indeed joined her soldier boy and taken his mind off the weight of war for a few moments–and a hearty dinner, Aelin exchanged her regular blouse and skirt for a soft cotton nightdress, braided her hair, and settled into bed with a lantern lit on the side table and a novel in her hands. Rowan was in the washroom; the faint splashing of water indicated that he was scrubbing out his uniform like he insisted he wanted to. So she opened her novel to the page where she had last left off and lost herself in the tender romance unfolding amidst the pages. She was so absorbed in the novel that she didn’t notice the mattress shifting as Rowan climbed into the bed and settled down beside her.

His soft, low chuckle drew her out of the novel-world. “Good story, Ae?”

“Wonderful,” she murmured. Reaching the end of the chapter, she placed the bookmark, closed the book, laid it aside, blew out the lantern, and tucked herself into his side, her head against his chest.

“I missed you,” he whispered after a peacefully quiet interval, stroking one hand idly up and down her back.

“And I you.” In the faint moonlight, her eyes met his, months of pent-up yearning and uncertainty glossing their turquoise depths. “I am sorry I didn’t write more.”

He soothed her worry with a gentle kiss. “I would likely have found you before your letters found me. ’Tis the life of a soldier.”

She hummed in agreement. “On that note…when did you last see Aedion?” Her older brother, whom she loved dearly but whose rashness she did not ignore, had vanished from the Galathynius home early last spring, leaving no indication of where he was going or why. Aelin alone had an idea of what he had gone to do, because he had confided his wishes to her. He had gone off to be a soldier in the Continental Army, but his unit were scouts, which meant that he could be anywhere between Philadelphia and Yorktown.

Rowan exhaled a long, controlled breath. “The last time our paths crossed was in September, at the camp outside Newport. He mentioned going south, but no details.”

“South.” Aelin rolled the idea over in her mind, forcing herself not to consider the harsher implications. “Was he…how was he?”

“Healthy, as far as I could tell, and tired, but so are all of us soldiers.” Rowan ran his hands along Aelin’s tense shoulders, encouraging her to relax. “He said to give you his love and that he’ll do unspeakably horrible things to me if I hurt you.”

Aelin laughed. “Now that sounds like Aedy. Too protective for his own good, he is.” Idly, her touch trailed along the slope of Rowan’s shoulders, tracing the new scar that slashed from his right shoulder down towards his pectoral muscle. “Tell him that I will return the unspeakably horrible favor if either one of you does anything stupid.”

“Indeed I shall.” Laughing softly, Rowan pulled Aelin flush against his chest, her heartbeat atop his, and kissed her. She sighed into the kiss, threading her fingers into his overgrown hair.

“I don’t want you to go back,” she murmured after they had separated.

He swallowed thickly. “We both know I must.”

“I know.” Her voice was a fragile thread. “I’m keeping you all to myself for the next two weeks, though. It’s only fair.”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way.” He pressed a kiss to her forehead. “I love you, my wildfire.”

She smiled tenderly at him. “I love you too, my soldier boy.”

Mid-November, 1778

Aelin,

I apologize both for the shortness of this note and the fact that it took me so bloody long to write it. There is something I must tell you, and I can only hope that you hear it from Rowan rather than me and my paltry excuse for a letter.

We are marching to Savannah. Intelligence has it that the Redcoats intend to advance upon the city, and we cannot let the stronghold go without a fight.

I cannot promise that I will be able to write for any amount of time, and as much as I hate to do this, I leave you all my affection. I will stay as safe as possible, that I can promise. The moment I am able, I swear on my blood that I will come to you, and if possible, that I will bring Rowan.

Stay strong for us, dear sister.

Yours,

Aedion

The short note had reached her in late January of 1779, after three and a half months of ever-increasing tension and worry spurred by the grim reports coming up from the South. Before he left in mid-November, the same time Aedion’s letter was dated, Rowan had revealed that his unit was headed to Savannah to reinforce the troops already there. He had been confident that, with the extra reinforcements, the Army would be able to stave off the British–if not all on their own, then at least long enough for the shipment of French troops to arrive.

Just before the New Year, the newspapers reported Savannah’s defeat.

Since then, all Aelin had received was silence. No letters, no notes, nothing listed in the papers, no weary soldiers showing up on her doorstep. The fact that Rowan’s and Aedion’s names remained out of the papers was but a small measure of comfort; all too often, fallen soldiers’ names never made it onto the listings.

The cloth tying back her hair was black now, the only outward sign of suffering she would allow herself. The people who came into the pub noticed her quiet demeanor, the way her usual vivacious cheer was dampened, and passed quiet condolences to her across the worn oak bartop–a squeeze of the hand, a mourning mother’s shared tears, a word of comfort, a “thank-you” from someone who rarely spoke those words. It lifted her spirits a bit, but not much.

Every night, she trudged home to her quiet little house, cradled a small watercolor portrait of Rowan–done a year ago, it was the only portrait she’d ever convinced him to sit for–stared down into his painted face, and refused to let her captive tears fall. Though her heart and soul ached for her soldier boy, though her sleep was disturbed by nightmarish imaginings of what could have happened or could be happening to him, she refused to let her tears fall until she knew his fate for certain.

If nothing else, she owed him--and the child just beginning to stir inside her womb--that fragile hope.

~~~

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@live-the-fangirl-life

@superspiritfestival

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@elentiyawhitethorn

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#my writing #rowaelin month #rowaelinmonth #rowaelin month 2023 #rowaelin #aelin galathynius #rowan whitethorn #rowan x aelin #rowaelin fanfic #rowaelin fanfiction #throne of glass #throne of glass fanfic #throne of glass au #revolutionary war au #american revolution #happy birthday to me

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whatsnewalycat · 1 year

Text

Designated Person | Chapter 3

Pairing: Francisco "Catfish" Morales x F!Reader

Chapter 3: Puzzle Pieces

Series Summary: When posting bail for Frankie Morales, your former employer and former lover, you unwittingly designate yourself as his third party custodian during his pre-trial release. Your often tumultuous relationship with him is given a new set of rules and put to the test. Can the two of you co-exist peacefully, or will you crash and burn?

Rating: Explicit (18+ only)

Word Count: 8.2k+

Content / Warnings: Reader POV, nannying, infant / toddler, infidelity, past romantic & sexual relationship, flashbacks, awkward conversations, first date, first kiss, platonic (???) cuddling, confrontation, argument

Notes: Yeeehaw hi, friends. I don't know that I've mentioned this previously, but "reader" is like mid-to-late 20's for the purposes of this story, so there's a bit of an age gap there. And there was a power imbalance with their relationship to begin with and stuff so I'm just putting that out there. This chapter gives big "Bike Scene" by Taking Back Sunday vibes if you're into that lol. That's all I have for now! Thank you for reading.

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Finally, it’s quiet.

You’re not sure if it’s a full moon or what the fuck is going on, but today has been particularly hellish in the Howard household.

The youngest two children, Ashton and Jaxson, are four and three, respectively. Which can be great when they play together, or when you find activities for the three of you to do while the oldest is at school. But then there are days like this, when neither of them want to do the same thing and both of them want your undivided attention. You can barely finish appeasing one before the other starts crying.

To add to the chaos, when the eldest Howard child, Emmaleigh, came home from school, she promptly stomped up the stairs to her bedroom, then slammed and locked the door. As Jaxson tugged on your shirt and screeched for you to continue reading names of different species of whales pictured in his animal encyclopedia, you tried to coax her out of the room to tell you what was wrong, but she wouldn’t budge.

On days like this, by the time Marla gets home, you’re essentially a bundle of nerves with knotted muscles.

You take another peek into the family room, where Ashton and Jaxson are settled into the cushy microfiber sectional watching Finding Nemo. They both seem content and neither of them notice your presence, so you tiptoe up the stairs to the main level, into the kitchen.

With a heavy sigh, peel the electric blue post-it note off the dull, cream colored vinyl countertop. The message, written in Marla’s neat, rounded hand, reads: OK to DoorDash dinner.

“Thank fucking god,” you mutter under your breath, then pad over the dark hardwood floor to a laptop sitting open on the dining room table. As you place an order for food from a local burger joint, you mentally give thanks to Marla again. Not only will dinner from Emmaleigh’s favorite restaurant lift her spirits, but it takes a load off your mind.

You’ve nannied for about a half a dozen families, and Marla is the most easygoing mom you’ve dealt with by far. Generally speaking, you’ve found your families with two or more children are less rigid than families with one child. You think that Marla is especially lax because she’s a single mother and, as the founder and CEO of an adult toy company, a bona fide hashtag girl boss. She knows that her children can be a handful and isn’t immune to giving in to their demands for junk food and screen time.

Your last job, with the Morales’s, was much more structured. Angie had very specific instructions, typed up the night before and automatically emailed to you at 6am each morning. Of course, you could have pinpointed her as type A during your interview, when she pulled your resume out of a color-coded accordion file of potential candidates, followed by a pre-printed list of questions she used to jot down your responses.

Her shiny red fingernails were long and pointed to sharp tips that clacked against the tabletop of a local coffee shop. Round, brown eyes with little flecks of gold looked up from her questionnaire to you as the interview came to a close.

“The hours are 7 AM to 6 PM, Monday through Friday. My husband gets home at 4, but I would need you to stick around and make dinner while he helps with Sarah.”

“Oh, ok,” you nodded, frowning in confusion at the overlap.

She leaned forward slightly, as if letting you in on a secret, and explained, “He doesn’t know what the hell he’s doing. I love the man but he’s useless in the kitchen.”

You chuckled at this, grinning, “I get that a lot, actually. I just don’t usually get an extra set of hands to help me with the kids.”

“He’ll stay out of your way, don’t worry,” she winked, then took another cursory glance at the questionnaire before telling you, “Well, you’re definitely the most qualified person I’ve interviewed. I think you’d be a great fit for us. What do you think?“

“Is- is that a job offer?” you stammered. After your last family’s mom was laid off a month prior, you were abruptly out of work. This was the break you desperately needed.

Her cherry red lips curved into a disarming smile and she nodded, “But, if you need time to think about it-”

“No,” you interjected, almost a little too forcefully, then softened and added, “I’d love to.”

Before noon on your first day working for the Morales’s, you had grown attached to Sarah. The six-month old baby had a chocolate soft serve swirl of hair right at the top of her head like a crown, and it wiggled like jell-o every time her big bobble head would sway and jostle. Her deep brown eyes were round and expressive. Whenever you had one-sided conversations with her, she'd coo and babble in response, raising or furrowing her eyebrows, like she was contributing even though she couldn’t understand a lick of what you said.

After laying her down for a nap, as you tiptoed down the hallway away from her bedroom, a picture frame hanging on the wall caught your eye. You stopped to examine the photo of Mr. and Mrs. Morales from their wedding day.

Angelica’s pearly, knee-length dress hugged her hourglass shape. A white tulle shawl hung over her shoulders and draped down her arms, rhinestones scattered across the fabric. Her jet black hair was loosely pinned back, save for a few strands of long, wavy bangs left to frame her heart-shaped face. Her makeup was done up as fiercely as it was that morning and during your interview. Razor-point black winged eyeliner painted on behind her long, black lashes. Perfectly arched eyebrows. Her alluring lips were shiny and red, just like her fingernails.

Who you assumed to be Mr. Morales wore a fitted black suit, but no tie. He had bronzed skin and broad shoulders that pulled his posture straight. The man’s brown hair showed the beginnings of curls, his sparse facial hair trimmed close to the skin, save for a pronounced mustache. He had a strong nose and chin. His dark brown eyes and dimpled smile made your stomach flutter.

The happy couple stood next to each other on the steps of what looked like either a church or a courthouse. Mr. Morales had one arm tucked behind his bride, whose hands were clasped around a small bouquet of white lilies. Both leaned their heads towards the other while they faced the camera and flashed the kind of practiced smile reserved for professional photographers.

Blood rose to your cheeks when you realized you were staring at the groom and attraction was pooling between your thighs. You glanced around self-consciously, then down at the floor as you made your way to the living room.

For the remainder of the afternoon, time worked like a garrote, twisting around your neck, tighter with each minute that drew you closer to 4:00.

When he came home, you were participating in tummy time with Sarah. She babbled and blew spit bubbles at you, careening her wobbly baby head around to focus on your smiling face. The heavy door to the garage opened and slammed shut. Your heart skipped a beat when he ascended the stairs and looked around, doling out a polite smile and wave to you.

“Hi there,” you greeted, then asked Sarah in baby talk, “Is that your daddy? Do you wanna go see him?”

She cooed.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” you chuckled, then rolled to your knees and propped her on your hip as you stood.

“How was she?” he asked, tilting his head with a smile to Sarah. The dulcet baritone of his voice reverberated through your chest. You swallowed hard as you realized that he’s so much more handsome in person.

“She was great! Woke up from a nap about an hour ago, then she ate 8 oz from her bottle. Did a little tummy time, as, um, as you can see,” you handed her off to him. As you did this, his hand slid over yours accidentally. It was rough and warm and made your stomach flip. Your heart was thudding like you had just run a marathon.

He nodded at Sarah, copying her wide dimpled smile, then met your eyes, “Ang said you might need my help while you cook?”

When he made eye contact with you, all the air left your lungs and your brain short-circuited. He blinked in anticipation of your response, causing you to snap out of your daze, stuttering, “Y-yeah, sorry, um- yeah,” you winced in embarrassment, “She wanted me to make dinner when you got home, said you could help with Sarah while I do that.”

When you looked back up again he was smirking at you. That did not help the state of your composure. Your face was like a heat lamp and you averted your gaze, “I can get started on that now.”

While retreating into the kitchen, you pulled out your phone and found the recipe Mrs. Morales sent to you. He followed you into the kitchen, sans baby, heavy work boots clunking against the fake honey oak linoleum flooring. You tried to act as normal as possible when you turned to the fridge and he was already there, bending over to get a beer out of the crisper and asking, “You want one?”

As desperately as you wanted to say yes, abso-fucking-lutey yes, it was your first day with this family, so you declined.

“Do you drink?” he questioned further, still hanging over the open drawer in the fridge when he peered up at you.

You nodded, “Yeah, but…”

He fished out a second beer, then pushed the crisper closed with his foot and stepped away from the fridge, chuckling, “I think you need it.”

Teeth clenching your tongue flat, you fought the urge to tell him to shut up. You approached the open fridge and retrieved the necessary ingredients before nudging it closed with your hip, “I don’t know. I don’t want your wife to get mad at me. Um, drinking on the job and all.”

While you told him this, he twisted the cap off of one bottle and put it on the counter next to him, then the second, which he placed on the stovetop for you. As he stepped back and leaned against the counter to face you again, he said, “I won’t tell on you, don’t worry.”

Your heart was in your throat attempting to strangle you. You turned around and flashed a joking eye roll at him as you accepted the bottle, “Sure.”

He winked, grabbing his beer as he pushed off the counter towards the living room, calling back, “Let me know if you need anything.”

“Um, yeah, same,” you laughed nervously.

Frankie slams the passenger side car door shut and you put the car into drive, “How’d the meeting go?”

His seatbelt locks in place with a click. He stretches out in the seat that’s now constantly set to his preference: slid as far back as it can go, reclined to a wide, obtuse angle. His knees settle far apart and he looks out the window, pressing his fingers to his lips as he shakes his head.

Your nostrils flare at this annoying lack of response, but you try again, “I already ate, do you need me to stop anywhere for you?”

He doesn’t move when he mumbles, “I’m fine, thanks.”

You roll your eyes and turn the radio up in an attempt to dampen your irritation with his brooding.

After arriving at home, both of you trudge inside to your separate bedrooms. You strip off your day clothes and replace them with a baggy, tie-dyed t-shirt and a pair of black cotton shorts. Your skin still feels too tight, muscles too tense for comfort.

Fuck, you want a beer. Or a lay. Or both. Some kind of release.

Your phone buzzes from your nightstand, so you grab it and find a new message notification from Tinder.

> RORY: > You free tomorrow night?

With a grimace, you toss your phone onto your bed, then exit your bedroom to find Frankie rummaging through the fridge for something to eat. He has also made a wardrobe change into lounge wear, retiring his hat for the evening, sporting a pair of gray sweatpants and an old, weathered Metallica t-shirt.

“Did you change out of your crabby pants, too, or are those on under your sweats?” you tease.

He scoffs and glances over at you, “I’m not crabby.”

“Sure you’re not,” you tiptoe past him into the living room, where you collapse onto the couch and turn the TV on.

Flipping through Netflix for a while gives you little inspiration. The chair in the dining room groans as Frankie sits down to eat whatever he was able to find. You holler to him, “Whadda you wanna do tonight?”

“Besides get hammered?” his response from the dining room table is muffled by the food in his mouth.

“Obviously,” you snort.

“Mmm,” he hums, pauses for a beat, then sighs, “Fuck, I don’t know.”

You scrunch your nose up and try to brainstorm ideas. Immediately your mind plummets into the gutter, reminding you how fucking hard he made you cum on Monday. The memory electrifies your skin and sends your heart racing in your chest.

It was so fucking reckless.

Reckless and perverse and so fucking hot you wanted to tear your own skin off afterwards.

Whatever the opposite of that is.

“Do you wanna do a puzzle?” you call back to him.

At first he snickers, “A puzzle?” But then another moment passes and he asks, “What kind of puzzle?”

“I have a few. Let’s see,” you squint up at the shelf on your wall that’s lined with boxes of board games and puzzles, “Freddie Mercury, pandas, space, or gnomes.”

You hear him chewing as he soaks in these options, then he says, “Freddie Mercury.”

While he finishes eating, you clear off your coffee table and pull the box down from the shelf.

“A thousand pieces? Goddamn,” he sits down on the floor across the table from you, dusting his hands off before sifting through the box of puzzle pieces.

“We don’t have to finish it tonight,” you tell him as you scoop some into your hand and pick through them, “Try to find the edge pieces.”

The two of you isolate all the jigsawed pieces with at least one flat side and spread them, shiny, printed side up across the table. As you click a few together, Frankie’s cell phone rings.

When he pulls his phone out of his pocket, your eyes flick to the screen and see Angie’s contact photo. It’s a selfie they took together while on vacation in Australia, their smiling faces shiny with sweat and rosy from booze. Your stomach knots.

“Hey,” Frankie answers.

His dark eyes scan the room and meet yours. You immediately drop your gaze to the puzzle pieces and hum to yourself as you blatantly eavesdrop.

“Yeah, does that still work for you?”

There’s an indistinguishable soprano response from his wife.

“Let me check,” he says to Angie, then holds the phone to his shoulder and mumbles to you, “Hey do you think you could give me a ride tomorrow morning at 10?”

You nod without looking up at him.

“Yeah that works,” he tells her, shortly followed by, “Ok. Yep. Love you, bye.”

A stake plunges through your heart.

He puts the phone back in his pocket and resumes his thorough examination of the puzzle pieces, eventually mumbling, “Thank you, by the way. For giving me a ride.”

“Sure,” you glance up and flash him a quick smile. When you turn your attention back to the puzzle, you ask, “Are you excited to see Sarah?”

“Yeah,” his voice is lifted and warm, and you can tell he’s smiling, “Fuck, I miss her so much.”

What you want to say is I do too, because it’s the truth. That attachment you had to her never really went away. But it seems pointless.

“Are you guys doing anything or just sticking around the house?” you ask.

“We’re gonna go to the zoo, then Ang is gonna throw something together for dinner,” he clicks two puzzle pieces together and hums thoughtfully to himself.

“Is she still super into penguins?”

He chuckles, “Yeah. Last time me and Ang took her, she started screaming every time we tried to leave the exhibit.”

You laugh and shake your head, “Every goddamn time. I always had to bribe her with ice cream.”

“She’s so stubborn,” he grins and sits up on his knees to lean over the puzzle and get a closer look, “Just like her mom.”

A weight pulls at your stomach. You feel obligated to ask, so you do, “How are things with you and her mom?”

He’s quiet as he contemplates this, staring at the shiny pieces, thrumming his fingers against the table. With a sigh, he answers, “I don’t know.”

You try to keep your breaths metered, as to not give away the thudding in your chest. Adrenaline-spiked blood whooshes in your ears.

Frankie continues, “Things were better when I got arrested, but, you know…”

Your eyebrow raises on its own accord, but you don’t comment. If things were better, why was he doing blow and driving drunk? Nope, none of your fucking business.

Not my chair, not my problem.

“I’m kind of nervous about it, actually,” he admits quietly, “Spending time with her and all that. I really want things to work.”

“Why?” your mouth asks before your brain can tell you to shut the fuck up.

“She’s my wife. And- and the mother of my child,” he scoffs and shakes his head, “I love her.”

The sharpness in his tone drives the stake in your heart down further. Your eyes flick to his and see that he’s studying your face, stare hardened to steel. Those three words eat away at you. What he said was: I love her. But you know what he wanted to say was: I love her.

You nod in response, dropping your gaze back to the puzzle. Your body moves autonomously, clicking a few puzzle pieces together, scanning for matching patterns, while your mind plays it over and over.

I love her.

Static buzzes in your chest. Your throat feels tight, so you clear it, then tell him, “I don’t know if I’ll be able to pick you up afterwards.”

“Why not?”

“I have a date,” you inform him, glancing up to gauge his reaction.

“Oh,” he murmurs, then frowns, “That shouldn’t be a problem.”

Silence settles over the two of you. It’s just the scrape and click of puzzle pieces across the tabletop and hums of contemplation. You notice the way he seems to get buried in his thoughts, pressing his fingers to his lips, gnashing his jaw back and forth. A sick satisfaction roils inside you.

You decide to call it a night when the edge of the puzzle is put together. When you sink into your bed, you open Tinder and send a response to Rory.

< ME: < Definitely. What’re you thinking?

The message is opened immediately, and he responds.

> RORY: > Wanna get dinner?

< ME: < Yes please :)

> RORY: > Pick you up at 6?

< ME: < It's a date

The BBQ place Rory takes you to is busy and loud, its high ceilings making plenty of space for every noise to ricochet off the wood paneled walls down into your eardrums. You’re seated across from him, resting your chin in your palms, elbows pressing into the wobbly table top as you listen to him talk about his job as a personal trainer. When you shift in your seat, your legs stick to the black vinyl upholstery, and you wince at the sensation.

Your eyes trail his rigid biceps that pull his t-shirt sleeves taught. A faded black tribal tattoo peaks out from beneath the white fabric. From the shirtless pictures on his Tinder, you happen to know he has a whole collection of douchey tattoos lining his sun-tanned, muscular body, but you might be willing to overlook that.

You mark his tattoos down in the “things you don’t like” column in your brain.

Rory is conventionally attractive in a very masculine way, his face all hard angles with a dimpled, squared off jaw. Straight, white teeth are almost always visible behind the peak of his thin, bow-shaped lips.

He seems like the kind of person that has a standing appointment with a hairdresser that knows exactly how to trim his hair into a close, neat cut without him giving instructions. You’re willing to bet he takes a shower at exactly 6 AM every day, then applies just enough product to make his golden brown hair stand at attention. He probably food preps and has like six hard boiled eggs or something equally rich in protein for breakfast each morning.

Every part of him seems disciplined and routine. Stable. You mark that down in the “things you like” column.

When he asks you what you do for a living, you tell him, and he asks how you got into the nannying business.

“Growing up, I took care of my younger siblings all the time. I’d babysit for the neighbors and stuff, too. It just naturally evolved after I graduated high school,” you tell him, meeting his stunning hazel eyes with an easy smile.

“Do you have a big family?” he crosses his arms on the table and leans in. The off-kilter base of the table responds, shifting towards him.

You nod, “I have an older brother and three little sisters. My brother, Ben, is two years older than me. My sister, Marlene, is four years younger. Then there’s Leah, who was born two years later. And Rachel is the baby, who came a year after Leah.”

“Five kids,” he marvels, “Wow. No wonder you had to help out so much.”

You smile politely at this, although you know your role as their caregiver had more to do with your parents’ active social calendar than the sheer number of children.

“Do you want kids?” Rory inquires, his brow furrowing in a way that tells you the answer is important to him.

“Oh, definitely,” you respond, take a sip of your water, then continue, “I don’t know about five, that seems like overkill, but more than one for sure.”

This seems to please him. His lips curl into a smile.

“What about you? Do you have any siblings? Want any kids?” you stab the ice in your glass of water with the straw, then return your eyes to his.

“Two brothers. I’m the middle child,” he rubs his hands together and smirks, “And, yes, kids are no doubt a priority for me.”

You smile and nod in acknowledgment. Mark it down in the “things you like” column.

His eyes linger on yours and you feel blood rush to your cheeks. The waitress appears with two trays of food, placing them on the table. As you eat, you find out that Rory was born and raised close to where you were, in another coastal town off the Gulf of Mexico. He was transferred to Kissimmee about two years ago as part of a job promotion.

“What brought you here?” he questions, then picks up the ribs on his tray and tears a chunk of meat off the bone.

You shake your head, “Moved here with my ex-boyfriend. He was from the area originally. I needed to get the fuck out of my hometown, so he suggested moving here.”

You kick yourself for mentioning your self-exile from Ruskin, and hope to god he doesn’t ask why you needed to leave. First dates are no place to recount the ruthless campaign ran against you until you couldn’t take it anymore.

“What happened with him?”

A sigh of relief expands your lungs. You answer, “Fell in love with his high school sweetheart.”

“Wow, that blows,” he frowns, “Been there. Cheated on. It feels terrible.”

“That it does,” you mutter, pushing kernels of corn around the white plastic bowl on your tray, “He told me about it when it happened, at least. And they’re really happy together. Got married and had kids and all that.”

“No offense, but he’s still an idiot,” he declares with conviction, “I mean, who would do that to someone as gorgeous as you? Besides, cheaters are all scum.”

The compliment warms your insides. You smile demurely and bat your eyelashes at him outwardly, while inwardly you make a mental note to never mention your past with Frankie to him.

After you finish eating, Rory pays the check and drives you back to your house. The living room is illuminated through the window facing the street. When he puts the car in park, he glances up at it and frowns, “Do you live with someone?”

“Yeah,” you chuckle nervously, “I have a roommate. They must’ve come home while we were out.”

“Can I walk you to your door?” His voice is low and sultry.

You bite your bottom lip and nod.

He tells you to stay put as he comes around the car to open your door for you. As you walk side-by-side up the cracked sidewalk that leads your house, his hand finds the small of your back. There’s a nervous energy pulsing through your veins, thickening with each step.

When you reach the foot of your porch steps, he turns to you, meeting your gaze and holding it, “I had a really good time tonight.”

You face him, and his hand slides to your waist. A tingle spreads across your chest and heats your cheeks, “So did I.”

His eyes flick to your lips. He leans in. You mirror the movement, eyelids fluttering closed as his lips meet yours. He tastes like peppermint and smells like conifer trees. The kiss is mechanical and his hand is stiff at your waist. It doesn’t awaken anything hungry within you, but it’s nice.

When you pull away, you look up at him through your eyelashes, “Goodnight, Rory.”

“Goodnight,” he smiles wide, big white teeth taking up half his face.

When you open the front door and step inside, Frankie is mid-movement, sitting down on the couch.

“Hey,” you call as you lean against the closed door and pull off your wedge sandals.

“Hi,” he responds, sitting up straight.

It amazes you how much the one syllable says. The slightly panicked upward inflection, the tensing of his shoulders, how out-of-breath he seems. He rests his elbows on his knees and leans forward, hands clasped together, knuckles white.

You drop your purse on the ground, “You getting anywhere on the puzzle?”

He hums and nods, “I’ve assembled quite a few mustaches.”

You tiptoe across the carpet and kneel down opposite him, scanning the clumps of puzzle that he’s managed to complete. It entrances you immediately, your fingers and brain working in tandem, making the world fade into the background. Some time passes before you feel Frankie staring at you. You look up at him and meet his eyes, “What?”

“Nothing,” he shakes his head and smirks.

You blink at him and raise your eyebrows, “Bullshit.”

His smirk breaks out into a smile that tugs at your heart, the way his eyes crinkle into crescents and his cheeks dimple. He drops his gaze to the table and taps his lips, then shrugs, “You just look really nice. That dress was a good choice.”

“Thanks,” you mutter, returning your attention to the puzzle, ignoring the flutter in your chest.

“How was your date?” he asks, trying to seem disinterested, even though his shoulders hunch up to his ears and his jaw clenches.

“So good. I think for our next date, we’ll get married,” you tease, glancing up to flash him an amused smile.

“Hilarious,” he rolls his eyes. His knee starts bouncing and he inquires, “Have you been seeing him for a while or is this a… recent development?”

“It was literally our first date,” you raise an eyebrow at him, then shrug, “He was nice, though. We have a lot in common. I’ll probably see him again.”

He shifts in his seat, but says nothing, so you don’t say anything, either. You find a few more puzzle pieces that correspond and click them together.

“How was the zoo?” you inquire, looking up to search his face, noting his far-away eyes and pouting lips.

“Good,” he answers with strained positivity, “We’re gonna do something next Saturday. Not sure what yet.”

“That’s good,” you tell him. Your voice is dripping with an overly ripe kind of sweetness that seems disingenuous and repulsive. By the way he blinks up at you with a droopy, blank expression, you’re certain he senses it, too. Blood rises to your face and you bite down on your tongue, pulsing your teeth against the soft muscle, savoring the sharp pain the motion causes.

You take a deep breath in, exhaling through slack lips that make a buzzing pbpbpbp sound, then ask, “What do you wanna do for dinner tomorrow?”

He frowns, “Whatever you want, I don’t care.”

“Good talk,” you mutter under your breath, then rise to your feet, “Do you need to use the bathroom before I take a shower?”

Frankie shakes his head without looking up from the puzzle. His fingers press against the pillowy flesh of his lips. You feel an urge to scream at him, to push his buttons somehow, anything just to get him to react, but you drop it.

Once you’ve showered and changed into comfier clothing, you return to the living room and find Frankie laying on his side, curled up on the couch, a pillow wedged between his cheek and his hands. Jungle Boogie by Kool & The Gang is playing behind the opening credits of Pulp Fiction on the TV. You approach with caution, “Do you mind if I join you?”

“Not at all,” he answers and goes to sit up.

“You can stay there, it’s fine,” you tell him. He relaxes back into his previous position as you grab a blanket and pillow from a wicker basket next to the TV, “Want a blankie?”

“Fuck yeah.”

His enthusiastic response brings a smile to your face. You grab another blanket and drape it over his body before settling into the opposite end of the couch and stretching out. He seems stiff when you pile your legs on his over the middle cushion, so you pull your knees up a little further, closer to your body.

“I wanna ask you a question but I want you to know it’s ok to say no,” he says in a somber voice. Your heart immediately starts sprinting.

“What?” you furrow your brow and look over to meet his eyes, but he’s staring at the TV with a blank expression.

“Will you cuddle with me?”

Your stomach flips upside down. You search his face in question, unsure what to say. No, probably. The two of you literally just had a conversation about keeping your relationship platonic less than a week ago. What the fuck?

He finally glances at you and sees the confusion. His forehead creases and his foot starts bouncing under your calf.

He elaborates, “I’m freaking out right now and I think it would help. No funny business, though, I swear to god. I just…”

As he trails off, his eyebrows part and face softens. He shakes his head like he can’t explain it further. His eyes are shiny in the light of the TV and he looks like he’s tearing up. You’ve never seen him cry. But the panic can do weird things. You’re well acquainted with the panic, unfortunately.

You swallow hard and nod, “Y-yeah, that’s fine.”

There’s a momentary ruckus while the two of you scoot and reconfigure. Your back settles against his chest and one of his arms tucks under your cheek. The other wraps around your belly, drawing you close, “You comfy?”

“Yeah,” you answer.

“Are you sure this is ok?” he asks. His voice is low and shaky. It vibrates against your skin and sinks down into the marrow of your bones. If you’re still enough, and keep your breaths shallow enough, you can feel his bass drum heart pounding in his chest at a bpm familiar to you.

“Yeah, it’s fine, Frankie,” you assure him, enveloping his hand at your belly with your own. He takes a deep breath and the exhale tickles your ear.

On the TV, Jules Winnfield and Vincent Vega are chatting about hash, but you can barely pay attention.

Frankie’s warmth is a sedative. It always has been. Much to your disdain, you hope the feeling is mutual. And you think it could be, because his thudding heart seems to slow. His body relaxes against yours.

And it’s so unfair how he can make you feel like this. How, one second he makes you so nervous you could puke, or so frustrated you want to scream in his face, then the next he’s holding you and it’s like your soul is finally resting here with his.

You think about your date with Rory. He was a gentleman and seems like he’s stable and nice enough. The kiss was fine, good even, but not electric. And that’s fine, because in your experience, first kisses are almost always lackluster.

Your first kiss with Frankie was like lightning, though.

Months passed working for the Morales family and you came to be more comfortable with Frankie being around while you cooked dinner. Your conversations were mostly functional, about Sarah or things around their house. But you found him charming and your crush only grew more intense.

Sometimes you would watch Sarah on Saturday nights so he and Angie could go out on a date. One of these Saturdays, they came home at 1 AM, and Angie was hammered.

She stumbled up the stairs and plopped down on the couch next to you. Her black hair was mussed and she was all giggly. She said something in Spanish to Frankie, and turned to you, “Do you wan’ chicken strips?”

“You- you don’t have to feed me, that’s ok, Mrs. Morales-” you stammered, going to stand up and get ready to leave.

“Oh hun, call me Angie, I’m begging you,” she grabbed your arm, “And stay, please! Chicken strips! Come on, hang out with me.”

“Um…” You glanced around to gauge Frankie’s reaction, but he was in the kitchen preheating the oven, so you nodded, “Sure, ok.”

“Yay!” Angie clapped, then sprawled out on the couch and propped her heels up on your leg, “Do me a favor, hun, take these off for me?”

You chuckled and examined the shiny silver clasp of her stilettos, working to undo the strap across her foot as she asked, “So what’s your deal, are you single, do you have a boyfriend, girlfriend, what?”

“Ang, come on,” Frankie chided from the kitchen as he pulled a few beers from the fridge.

“What? I’m just asking!” she scoffed at him, then tilted her head at you with a hazy drunk smile, waiting for you to answer.

You managed to unclasp her shoes, despite her wiggling, and they thudded to the floor one by one.

Frankie walked past, handing an open beer bottle to you, then another to her, before sitting down on the loveseat. He kept glancing over at you and Angie, then up at the TV, which was playing King of the Hill.

“I’m single, yeah,” you sighed and took a sip of beer, “Unfortunately.”

“Hey, nothing wrong with that, girlie. Enjoy it while you still can.” Angie said, then set her full beer bottle on the ground and groaned, “Oh my god I have to get out of this fucking dress. I’ll be back, don’t go anywhere.”

She marched off into their bedroom, swaying gently as she walked. This was all very amusing to you because you had never seen her be anything but intimidatingly perfect.

You pulled out your phone and scrolled for a bit, sipping at your beer while waiting for her. Every once in a while, you found yourself looking over at Frankie, who was picking at the label on his beer bottle with his eyes glued to the TV.

A shrill beep from the oven indicated it was preheated. He rose to his feet and walked down the hallway to their bedroom. You heard the click of the door closing, then he returned to the living room and asked, “She’s passed out, do you really want chicken strips?”

“No, not really,” you chuckled, tucking your hair behind your ear and dropping your gaze to your beer bottle.

“And you don’t have to stay or anything like that, no pressure,” he advised.

You glanced up at him and got caught in his dark, warm eyes for a moment before you shook your head, “No, I’ll stay and finish this, if that’s ok.”

“Of course, make yourself at home,” he assured you with an easy smile, then sat down in the middle of the couch, just a foot away from you.

And you fucking knew what you were doing by staying. That’s the worst part. Attraction hung thick in the air between your bodies. It dampened your skin and condensed inside you.

Every so often in the weeks preceding, you caught him staring at you, and vice versa. More and more, the eye contact lingered just a bit longer than appropriate. Just long enough to make you wonder. It seized your heart and pumped all the blood in your body between your legs and up your neck.

The prospect of his affection was on your mind all the fucking time. Every time he’d laugh at one of your jokes, or brush up against you in passing, or find a reason to touch you intentionally, you wanted it to last forever.

But you didn’t initiate anything. You were content admiring him from afar, wondering if his lingering looks meant he wanted you, too. He was at least fifteen years older than you, married, and your fucking employer. There was no way in hell you would risk your livelihood by making a move on him, no matter how tempted you were.

If he pursued you, though… that would be different. And you desperately wanted him to.

“I’m sorry about Ang,” he said, leaning back against the couch, “She drank a lot tonight.”

You chuckled and shook your head, “Totally fine. We all have to let loose every once and a while.”

He hummed in agreement, and your eyes flicked to his, and they were so intent on your face that your heart started racing.

“And how do you like to let loose?” he rumbled, his gaze dropping to your mouth.

Your lips parted. You managed to quirk a brow and breathe, “Are you sure you wanna know?”

Frankie sat forward, taking your beer and setting it on the ground. You could smell his whiskey-soaked mouth. The woody scent of his cologne. His hand rested on your knee. A shiver jolted across your skin and you swallowed hard.

“I think I might know,” he murmured, sliding his hand down further, setting his thumb into motion against your tender inner thigh, leaning closer.

“This is a bad idea,” you warned him in a whisper, but brought yourself closer to his beckoning lips, insides coiling tight, begging for you to just fucking do it.

“Terrible idea,” he agreed, brushing his nose against yours, bringing his hand to your chin, holding it as he took the plunge and pressed his lips against yours.

The kiss was a slow peck that lingered with heat, and when he peeled his lips from yours, murmuring, “Sorry-” you grabbed onto his shirt and pulled him back in, all hot-blooded and eager, savoring the softness of his pillowy lips, the harsh liquor burn on his breath. You couldn’t help but whimper as his tongue rolled wet against yours. He renewed it with hungry urgency, cupping your cheeks, pulling you closer, both of you completely lost and breathless.

You tried to sit up, to get closer, to crawl inside him if you could, but knocked over the bottle of beer with a sharp clink. Both of you jumped apart at the disruption.

“Shit,” he hissed and stood up, striding to the kitchen. You stood up, too, trying to catch your breath and regain your composure. The spell was broken. The weight of what just happened crashed down on you all at once.

You snatched your purse up off the floor just as he came back into the room with a wad of paper towels.

“I’m sorry-” you faltered.

He shook his head, “No, no, don’t worry, it’s fine.”

“No it’s not fine, you’re-” your eyes darted to the closed bedroom door where his wife was sleeping and whispered, “You’re married. And- and- I work for you, I’m an idiot. I just have a stupid crush. An- and I won’t do it again.”

“Hey, no, don’t-” his voice was pleading and soft. He reached out to you but you shook your head and dropped your eyes to the ground, crossing your arms.

“I have to go, but I’ll see you on Monday, ok?” you pushed past him to leave.

The whole drive home, the whole next day, you were so fucking mad at yourself. You had never done something like that with your employer. It was unprofessional and wrong.

Yet…

The kiss consumed you. It’s all you could think about. You wanted it to happen again. You wanted it to go further. It set you on fire and the flames felt fucking exquisite.

And now, as Frankie is holding you, nuzzling against your shoulder, and you feel whole and calm and safe like you can’t with anyone else, you wonder for the millionth time if you’ll ever find this with someone who loves you back.

You drag the silver tines of your fork across the barest section of your ceramic plate just to watch Frankie squirm at the ear-piercing squeak. Family dinner again. A stalemate for who goes first again.

“I’m gonna keep doing this until you start,” you advise, then make the noise happen again, “I can do this all night.”

He closes his eyes and tilts his head back, sending his cap onto the floor behind him, “It’s just gonna start a fight.”

“I don’t give a shit,” you blink and prop your chin up on the heel of your palm, “Not saying anything will also start a fight, so…”

Frankie just swings his head back to neutral and stares at you, his arms crossed, elbows resting on the table.

You scrape your fork against the plate and smirk at him.

“Jesus fucking Christ fine,” he groans, running his hands down his face before crossing his arms again. His eyes meet yours and he opens his mouth to speak, letting it gape for a moment, then admits, “While we’re living together, I think maybe…”

He snaps his mouth shut into a straight line and drops his eyes to your picked over plate. You rub the tines back and forth against the ceramic rapidly, “Just say it, come on, Franklin.”

He glares at you, half joking, and scoffs, “You know that’s not my name,” then he reaches across the table, trying to snatch the utensil from you hand, “And I’m gonna take that goddamn fork away-”

“The fuck you are,” you laugh as you pull it away from his reach, then try to coax him to complete his thought, “While we’re living together, you think maybe…?”

“I think maybe we shouldn’t have other people over,” he tells you quietly, sitting back in his seat with a sigh, meeting your eyes for a moment before dropping them to the table.

“What do you mean by other people?” you search his face.

“Dates, you know, like,” the muscles in his face tense as he clenches his jaw and grinds his teeth together.

You drop your fork on the plate and cross your arms, “Like the guy I went out with last night? Like you don’t want me to date other people while you’re living here? Really?”

“Like I don’t want to hear you getting fucking railed-”

“This is my fucking house, Francisco, and we are not dating,” you bite off, “Just because you’re jealous doesn’t mean I have to be abstinent-”

“I’m not asking you to take a fucking vow of celibacy, I’m just saying I don’t want to see or hear that shit when I’m here,” he argues.

“Because you’re jealous,” you state.

“Sure,” he shakes his head, “Whatever.”

“You’re such a fucking hypocrite,” you spit.

“What?! How?” he barks, throwing his hands up at his sides.

“Do you know how many times I had to see you and Angie kissing and holding hands and making fucking goo-goo eyes at each other?” you grind out, shaking your head in disbelief, “But I can’t have people I’m dating in my own house? Ok, Frankie.”

“That is not the sa-”

“Bullshit,” you lean into the word as you hurl it at him, then scoff and tell him, “When I went to Australia with you guys, I heard you fucking her every single night. Did you know that?”

His eyes flick to yours. He’s scowling like a sullen child.

“Then you would wait until she fell asleep and- and you would come to me,” you feel the pain from this buried memory surfacing in your chest, burning behind your eyes, “And you smelled like her, and I was-” a sob bubbles up your throat. Tears roll hot down your cheeks, and you meet his eyes so he can understand, “I was so fucking in love with you, Frankie.”

His face softens and his shoulders sag.

“So I really don’t want to hear how uncomfortable my love life makes you while you’re living here,” you sniffle, then wipe your eyes with your hands. He searches your face, but doesn’t say anything. You bite down on your tongue and hold it for a moment, then ask, “Did you ever think about how it was for me? Seeing you two together?”

His adam’s apple bobs in his throat. He shakes his head.

“I didn’t think so,” you mutter, looking down at your half-eaten plate and pushing it away with a sigh, “I won’t have sex with anyone when you’re here. But I’m not going to ban people I’m dating from my own house just for your sake.”

He nods, “Ok.”

Both of you stew in this silence, soaking in the words that were exchanged. It’s not uncomfortable, just heavy with the weight of the conversation.

“Why didn’t you tell me earlier?” Frankie looks up at you.

You search his somber face, “Tell you what?”

“That it hurt to see me with her,” he presses his elbows into the table, clasping his hands in front of his mouth, “I mean, obviously, I should have known, but…”

“I didn’t wanna lose you,” you shrug loosely, gather all of your guts in a bundle and tell him, “If I told you, it would come down to choosing between me or her. And… you’ll choose her every time.”

He sits with this information, staring down the hallway to his bedroom, but so much further. His chest expands with a deep breath, and he exhales, “I’m sorry for hurting you.”

You fight the urge to comfort him and tell him it’s ok. Instead, you nod in acknowledgment.

“I was really shitty to you for a really long time. And- and you’re right. I’m a fucking hypocrite,” he furrows his brow and rolls his head on his shoulders to look at you, “Why did you even agree to this?”

“To be fair, this is not what I thought was going to happen when I bailed you out,” you chuckle, then release a heavy sigh, “But, I mean… I probably still would have done it if I knew. I care about you. And I want you to get better.”

The corners of his lips curl upward just a little, eyebrows lowering as he murmurs, “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” you smile warmly and wait a moment before stretching the smile out wider, “Ralph is gonna be so proud of us.”

Frankie laughs, his dark eyes folding into crescents, and nods, “He’s gonna put a gold star on my worksheet tomorrow.”

You push your chair back and stand up, yawning as you stretch your arms towards the ceiling.

He gets to his feet, too, grabbing his hat off the floor and putting it back on before piling dishes from the table into a stack, “You going to bed, or you wanna puzzle it up?”

“I’m down to puzzle,” you grin, “As long as we don’t fall asleep on the couch again, my neck is fucking killing me.”

“You’re tellin’ me,” he snorts, taking wide strides to the sink, “I’m gonna do the dishes, but I’ll be there in a minute.”

With a nod, you tiptoe into the living room and kneel before the coffee table, examining all the fragmented parts of the puzzle still left to put together. Slowly but surely, it’s starting to resemble a bigger picture.

You’ve always found puzzles to be comforting.

Something about the heap of jigsawed pieces when you open the box. All of them broken and indistinguishable in their own right. How you put them together, bit by bit. Proceeding even when it seems impossible. How, eventually, they all come together to make something beautiful.

[ Next Chapter ]

#designated person #frankie catfish morales #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales x f!reader #frankie morales #frankie morales fic #frankie morales x you #francisco morales #triple frontier fanfiction #francisco catfish morales #triple frontier fic #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal character fanfic #pedro pascal

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ppumeonae-bigvibe · 5 months

Text

"i worry for you."

↖ navigation: ateez masterlist || main masterlist

pairing: mafia! seonghwa x bodyguard/ assistant! gn reader

↬ tags: MATZ being mafia leaders, reader using work as a coping mechanism, mentions of hongjoong once or twice (i'm not really keeping track), not much references of killing/ mafia activities (i think i kept it quite pg!!)

summary: unhealthy coping mechanisms aside, seonghwa wishes you would confide in him first [heads up! seonghwa's thoughts in bold, readers thoughts in italics]

word count: 1,2k words

a/n: this is the most i've ever written in one go (it seems to me my speciality is writing under 1k words because less words = more attention given imo),, i was considering to make this a two part post, but ultimately decided against it // the evil part of me wants to involve hongjoong and make it a love triangle--should i do it?

a/n: (31/1/24) maybe this wasn't as well-accepted i thought it would be...i guess i'll stick to my usual fluffy fics ! to those who supported this thank you xoxo! i actually have written a part 2 separately in tangent with this fic and who knows maybe i'll post it another day

background:

MATZ is an infamous mafia organization run by good friends seonghwa and hongjoong. seonghwa, the brains of the duo is stoic and serious, yet readily supports behind the scenes with logistical planning and meetings. whereas hongjoong, the brawns of the duo is the person at the forefront of many projects, resorting to force when forceful diplomacy doesn't work.

you were someone they found by chance in a dingy alleyway, a tenacious person struggling to make ends meet. under their care, you've been trained as a bodyguard to protect the both of them.

with the many years of excellent service provided them, you were recognized as a highly treasured employee and have been assisting them in many various way, to the extend the two of them trust you with many organizational secrets.

[again, seonghwa's thoughts in bold, readers thoughts in italics!!]

"i see that you have completed my assignment well."

seonghwa spins around in his chair to face you. his gaze lingers on you and you lowered your head, greeting him. this office was a place you frequented to receive your duties, and this one wasn't any different.

your mind drifted to your next agenda, mentally ticking off the various to-do's for the duo. you had just come back from a week long commission and you were to "strung up" to really want to take an off day. you're good, surely, to jump into the next one

seonghwa clears his throat and you replied, a tad bit flustered that you were daydreaming.

"of course. you can trust me."

he gave a curt nod in response, before pushing a manila envelope across his desk towards you. seonghwa watched as you took a step closer to him. reaching out, you swiftly picked up the package, weighing it in your hands. opening the envelope, you sifted through the papers, eyes scanning the documents briefly before slotting them back.

he gave you a moment to set it aside, then spoke levelly, "this is your next assignment." you tucked the package under your arm and bowed, "i understand. i will get right to it." you quickly headed for the door but seonghwa immediately calls out your name, causing you to halt in your steps.

"is there anything i can do for you?" you queried, turning back around to look at him. seonghwa paused, his words full of gentleness as he asked, "have you been okay? truthfully, please, tell me."

he heard the most recent commission was grueling (he had eyes and ears everywhere, even on you), and every time you came back to report something, security had found you crouched outside his door, hyperventilating. that broke his heart, knowing that he had to hear this from an outsider instead of personally from you; even worse that you put up such a front before him, he couldn't get through that wall.

you froze on the spot, taken aback by his question. sincerity coated his words and you find yourself faltering, the carefully pieced together front crumbling.

"i-i'm fine." you held onto the envelope tighter, willing him to just drop the conversation altogether and let you leave. leave and burrow yourself into the next assignment, bottling up everything at the back of your mind.

"i worry for you. i know that you're really excellent at what you do, but these days all i've seen is this...invisible weight you're...carrying around with you." seonghwa stands to his feet and walks towards you.

he's holding back from swooping you into his arms: as a powerful mafia, he should be able to do that, but when it came to you, all coherent thoughts went out the window.

you internally cursed at how you've been read like an open book by him. "there's nothing you need to worry about." you mumbled, reassuring yourself more than him. seonghwa reaches out for you, and you let him hold your forearm.

out of compassion or pity, you didn't know.

his expression softens at your acceptance, "it is my responsibility to care for those working with me, physically and mentally. you, especially. you're not alone, you know that right?"

for some reason, his words rooted deep in your heart and you felt your heart split into two, holding back unshed tears.

you haven't been completely honest with him, yet you somehow have the feeling he knows too. you continue to hang your head, hoping that he hadn't notice the tears forming rapidly.

seonghwa seemed to notice this and he exhales, pulling you into his embrace. you didn't have time to protest against his actions as he holds you close to him, arms wrapped protectively around you.

you were instantly transported back in time to when you were hanging on to any semblance of hope by a thread--a measly fighter in the streets--when seonghwa and hongjoong approached you and offered this job in return.

seonghwa's body is so close to yours that he can hear your erratic heartbeat and hidden sobs. you felt his lips next to your ear, his voice so low that it is barely audible.

"you're safe now. let your tears out if you need to." seonghwa soothes you, his hands stroking your back as if placating a child. you trembled in his arms, more tears escaping you inevitably. you didn't trust yourself to say anything, so you clung on to him tighter, overwhelmed by all the things you've tried to shoulder alone.

seonghwa rubs your back to ease your mind. he whispers and his voice is comforting, "it is okay to cry. i'm here."

and so you did--much like a baby. after a while, when all of the tears left you rather tired, you pulled away from his embrace.

you instantly missed the sound of his heartbeat right next your ear.

he wipes the stray tears with his thumb and you felt a wave of embarrassment flood you.

"i'm sorry for that. i should have..."

"there's nothing to apologize for. if anything, i should have noticed when you started taking commission after commission without any breaks. i should have realized something was bothering you." seonghwa shoots you a wry smile, apology written in his dark eyes.

wordlessly, seonghwa leads you to the lounge sofa away from his desk and sits you down, grabbing his quilt nearby and draped it over your shoulders. he knelt beside you, eyes never breaking contact. despite his cold front, his warmth says otherwise and that never fails to surprise you.

as he stood up, he felt you gingerly grasp onto his wrist, preventing him from walking away. your eyes were pleading him to stay, full of raw vulnerability; he almost wished he had got you to confide in him earlier.

"i'm just going to grab some water for you. i'll be back." seonghwa tucks the quilt tighter around you and tenderly pushes you back to rest on his sofa. he strides quickly out of the room and you slowly shut your eyes.

you knew he was a meticulous person, but seeing him being this soft-spoken unlike his usual stoic self felt like another barrier between you two has dissolved.

you felt like...now you could afford to be vulnerable. in front of him, at least.

suddenly, the room dimmed down considerably. you could tell by the sound of seonghwa's voice and his footsteps that he's returned. your eyelids fluttered open just as he was brushing your hair out of your face.

"have some." you took the cup from him, drinking a few gulps. his eyes never wavered as he placed the cup down, sitting beside you. you struggled to formulate an excuse to leave, but he interrupts your actions with a promise, "whatever you have in your heart, we can talk about that later. no one should have to endure so much pressure on their own."

seonghwa lets his sentence sink in, and when you squeezed his hand, he got all the confirmation he needed. he adjusts himself so that you could lay your head in his lap and instantly, exhaustion hit you. you started to fall asleep, your mind shutting off and your body relaxing completely in his presence.

the world was quiet now.

"rest. i'm here."

@ppumeonae-bigvibe 's work ; likes and reblogs are appreciated <3

#ppumeonae-bigvibe #ateez #ateez imagines #ateez scenarios #ateez park seonghwa #ateez seonghwa x reader

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hareofhrair · 10 months

Text

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Smut/NSFW**

*I'm fine writing about underaged characters in age-appropriate romantic scenarios, ie teens dating or children with crushes, though I will obviously not write NSFW with minors.

**Steamy romance is fine, but I prefer to fade to black before things cross into explicit territory. This is because NSFW is more difficult and time consuming for me. HOWEVER, I am more than capable of writing smut, so if you really want a nsfw scene I'm open to discuss it, with an upcharge and the understanding that it will take longer.

I reserve the right to refuse any work I'm not personally comfortable with. I will fully refund previously paid for work that I've determined I can't complete, and partially refund work the client withdraws after writing has already begun. I prefer to be paid ahead of starting the work, but I'm fine with payment in installments for larger projects. I take paypal and cashapp.

For examples of my work, check out my AO3! I have original works posted there as well as canon fanfic and an ongoing fanventure. Warning for nsfw content.

#writing commissions #homestuck fanfic #fantroll community #signal boost

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voxofthevoid · 7 months

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Twenty Questions for Fic Writers

Tagged by my one and only Jesus @eusuntgratie

I recently cleared out all the ask/tag games in my drafts because I realized I'd reached the pile-up stage of putting things in there and not doing shit. Thanks to everyone who's tagged me in those the last couple of months and sorry I didn't get to any!

1. How many works do you have on ao3?

148

2. What’s your total ao3 word count?

2,005,606 (crossed the 2 million milestone recently and am still buzzing about it)

3. What fandoms do you write for?

I'm only writing for Jujutsu Kaisen, but I'm posting for Jujutsu Kaisen, Bleach, and MCU.

4. What are your top five fics by kudos?

I was so sure it was going to be all MCU, but nope, it's a mix of MCU and Hannibal. God, that was my first Ao3 fandom, and my Hannibal fics are from 2014. It's surreal people are still reading/enjoying them.

if you're looking for jesus (then get on your knees)—MCU

i'm a ghost, you're an angel (one and the same)—MCU

A darkness seen and shared—Hannibal

Ways and Means—Hannibal

the hand you want to hold is a weapon (and you're nothing but skin)—MCU

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

I do! I enjoy the interactions and discussions. Plus, since I'm not a Discord (or group spaces) person, it's how I find fellow fans to chat with, especially during my initial foray into a particular fandom. I do have a huge backlog of some 1.1k comments from 2020 to mid-2021 because I didn't have much time for fandom in that period. I'm chipping away at it slowly, but I'm pretty prompt about replying to everything on my post-2021 fics.

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Hmm, this Hannibal fic, I'd say: Till the bitter end

Let's just say I predicted the series finale in some weird way.

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Most of mine end happily—a few are ambiguous, while others are dark.

8. Do you get hate on fic?

Oh yeah. It's only happened with MCU and Jujutsu Kaisen, and they're mostly cases of overgrown children unhappy that I didn't write the ships or dynamics they want.

9. Do you write smut?

It's my specialty now 😎

10. Do you write crossovers?

Nah. I've done fusion-style AUs, but full-on crossovers aren't something I'd like to write. I'll read them, but I'm picky.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Multiple times (MCU and YoI, iirc), both within Ao3 and offsite.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Multiple times, for multiple fandoms! It's always a delight.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

I did write one(1) fic that way, but it got yeeted into the void when my co-author deleted her entire Ao3 account. I have a copy, I think.

14. What’s your all-time favorite ship?

I'm the kind of person who's most devoted to whatever is eating my brain at the time, so right now, it's Yuuji/Gojou from Jujutsu Kaisen.

15. What’s a wip you want to finish but probably won’t?

My writing superpower is that if I lose interest in a WIP, I also lose all desire to finish it and any guilt about it. And these days, I tend to start a fic and work on just that till it's done. So the answer is—none.

16. What are your writing strengths?

I write some smokin' hot porn, and I'm pretty good at threading character study through it. The porn is the plot, in most cases. I also enjoy doing background worldbuilding that serves to give the narrative a sense of depth despite the focus being on characters and relationships.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Fight scenes, ensemble casts, and sustained plotty plots.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

Ah, I can feel my Hannibal-era Google-translate Lithuanian judging me.

In general, I avoid it, but when I write for anime set in Japan, I tend to work in honorifics. My mother tongue has those too, so I know from experience that there are no English equivalents that capture the same vibe.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Hunter x Hunter, I think. That account no longer exists. On Ao3, it's Hannibal.

20. Favorite fic you’ve written?

I tend to be biased toward my newer works, so this keeps changing. At the moment, it's (let me be clear) every version of the story ends with you being slaughtered (JJK, goyuu).

Tagging (no pressure) 20 people because why the hell not: @possibleplatypus, @actualalligator, @joeys-piano, @cursedvibes, @backwardshirt, @m34gs, @naamah-beherit, @dragongirlg-fics, @crossroadswrite, @spacebuck, @jenroses, @calamitouskings, @knivash, @lo-55, @bookwyrmling, @sorrythatwasamistake, @ddelline, @lilyfarseer, @roughkiss and @deunan306

#...i think that's 20 #i am not counting again #tag game

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jakowskis · 8 months

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💖💙💜 owen harper bisexuality masterpost 💖💙💜

i've had this in my drafts for a minute but i figured i'd finish it up and post it today for bisexual visibility day :D

it hasn't cropped up recently, but i've seen a lot of people who've questioned owen's bisexuality over the years and i thought i'd compile all the 'evidence' (although it completely baffles me that we got a show with five canonical bisexual characters and people want to write two of them off as straight / "heterflexible" ?? there shouldn't have to be 'proof' of owen being bi, RTD said torchwood is about five bisexuals fighting aliens in cardiff which means they're all bi, full stop. also, bisexuals should never have to 'prove' they're bi, and in regards to fictional characters, i'm sick of people nit-picking who 'deserves' to be counted as rep and refusing to 'claim' certain characters if they're morally grey or if the fandom simply doesn't Like them as much-)

but i digress.

so without further ado, here's everything i've found that supports owen's status as a bicon :-)

explicit canon instances

➤➤ obviously, we have to start with his gay kiss in the first episode of the show. there's a lot to be said about that kiss, i'm not gonna get into all that here, but i've seen a lot of people say it's not proof of owen being attracted to men, and i wholeheartedly disagree. you can literally catch him smiling very happily after the kiss (and one of owen's few genuine smiles of the series, too). i don't think a straight man (or even a "heteroflexible" man) would beam at another guy who's just informed him that he wants to fuck him. a fair amount of people have also said they interpreted owen calling the taxi as him intending to get away from the couple, but i don't understand how they're getting that impression, because that smile makes it seem very much apparent to me that running away is the last thing he wants to do.

it's also, notably, the first time we see bisexuality IN the bisexual show, which i don't think should be discounted. like, we see owen do something gay before jack does, for fuck's sake. is it a good first impression of how torchwood portrays bisexuality? no. is setting owen up as a more sex-driven, opportunistic bisexual nicely contrasted against ianto & tosh's more romance-oriented brand of demisexual bi/pansexuality? in my opinion, yes. i love that the torchwood bisexuals all practice their bisexuality in different ways. that's very special to me. 'cause it's realistic! real bisexuals all experience bisexuality differently! obviously it'd be a different story if he was the only bi rep, because lord knows we've seen enough of that already, but torchwood makes an effort to show us five different brands of bisexuality, and five different bi stories that largely only exist in the subtext, that aren't the focus of the show, and it's fantastic. it's all i could ever want out of bi rep, honestly, even if it is a bit dated now.

➤➤ the other explicit moment in the show: asking tosh and ianto for an end-of-the-world threesome in sleeper (s2ep2). i've actually never seen owen bi-deniers (fhdskjf it's a conspiracy) even mention this scene. owen literally asks ianto if they can have sex with each other to his face, and he's dead serious when he asks it. that's... i mean you can't mistake that as anything else. like fhdsjkf??

➤➤ next we jump to some of the, i suppose, extended universe content. whether the books are canon or not is debated, but the novel 'another life' features owen playing an online simulation game, and it makes a point to depict owen flirting with someone with a male avatar + wondering to himself if the guy would be down for cyber-sex. [someone posted part of that scene here. for context, owen's also got a VR headset on during that bit.]

➤➤ another instance is on the website, which some also don't regard as canon, but, i mean, i don't know who worked on the things we see on that site, but obviously they got their information from somewhere. they probably consulted with the writers on the show, or at the very least got notes on what things to touch on. anyway, there's a portion of the site where you can find a 'background check' on owen, and it's just a collection of messages from some ex-lovers of his. one of them is a man.

again, some people disregard the canon validity of the website, but the way i see it, the information on this site was released while the show was airing for fans to look at and to gain further insight on the characters. one of the things they felt a need to tell us about owen, important enough to be featured in his background (wayyy before the katie plot was developed), was that he wasn't just interested in women. personally, i regard that as canon. you can find this here. and even if you wanna say fragments jossed this background, it doesn't joss his, like... identity.

next we have things said by russell t. davies himself + by burn gorman (owen's actor)

➤➤ again, RTD (who's torchwood's creator, but i'm assuming everyone reading this knows that) explicitly described torchwood as "a bunch of bisexuals living under cardiff and fighting aliens". that's not ambiguous. [i don't have a direct source for this quote, it was apparently said on the dvd extras.]

burn's comments on owen's sexuality include...

➤➤ (when asked who owen fancies) "Owen's pretty cocky, he'll try it on with whoever comes along." [x] and yes, this is vague, but vagueness is often interpreted as proof of bisexuality. (for example, in the pacific rim dvd features, newt's bio stating he was interested in "whoever will take him" was widely interpreted by the fandom as him being bi.)

➤➤ (in regards to owen's "let's all have sex" line) "I don't think he [...] thinks about the implications, or whether it's with a man or a woman." [x]

(ok i have to admit, although i absolutely adore burn, i'm not super fond of the way his 2006-08 self would talk about how torchwood handled sexuality*. however! he kind of hit the nail on the head in saying that, even if it's in the context of owen wanting end-of-the-world sex, because my take on how owen sees his own sexuality has always essentially boiled down to thinking he'd be like, "well, why wouldn't men also be an option?" (well, with sexual attraction anyway; i think owen's relationship with romantic attraction is far more complex.) i think he resembles jack in that way; anyone's a prospective sexual partner, if they're attractive and interesting and he decides he wants them, and he's also impulsive as hell, so he doesn't think too hard about gender in the moment if he decides he's into someone. there's not really any hang-ups.)

➤➤ and ofc...

(out of context this could look like he's just jokingly calling owen an alien-fucker, although owen makes his thoughts on alien-fucking pretty clear in countrycide lol, but it was said in the context of owen/andy as a ship [x].)

*if you're wondering what i'm referring to, it's a comment here [x] about how the torchwood team's bisexuality is a result of being in a pressure cooker environment and having a 'wartime mentality', and they just kind of 'take what they can get'. the implication that bisexuality is out of desperation/accessibility rather than attraction is pretty damn icky, BUT i love him lots and he generally seems to be pretty woke these days (+ otherwise has always seemed to grasp why torchwood's rep was so unique and groundbreaking and important) so i'll go ahead and hope that was just, y'know, simple 'being a straight guy in 2008' ignorance. fifteen years is a long time and i have faith his opinions have evolved by now, esp considering he used the word 'pansexual' at a 2016 con [x]. (actually, ok, you caught me, that last bit wasn't super relevant and i didn't need to bring it up, but i just wanted to gush about him doing it because how often do you hear that word out of celebs, especially older and presumably straight ones. and in 2016, too. kinda slay of him, ngl)

aaand finally, some random, non-explicit little things that i think support him being a bisexy king (several of these are goofy and half-serious)

➤➤ in episode 2, they make a point to cut to owen smiling after jack's line about "you people and your quaint little labels". one might argue he's smiling at gwen & carys on the screen, but cutting to him immediately after jack says it very much implies he's reacting to jack's words, and i think it's particularly poignant after, again, we saw him kiss a man the episode prior. (which, another thing - owen's literal introduction features him kissing a man, like that's gotta count for something. if the literal third thing i ever see a male character do ever is kiss a guy, that means something.)

➤➤ and of course, in the same episode, we get "period military is not the dress code of a straight man" .... owen's the only one of them with working gaydar. also what a fruity thing to say

➤➤ speaking of fruity things to say, in s2e10 when they're all watching the old film, owen goes "look at the state of them 💅" and he says it SO cunty for no reason it always kills me fhsdkjfd

➤➤ combat.

➤➤ no, really.

➤➤ bonus: in the combat commentary, it's mentioned that when RTD saw the above scene between mark & owen, he said it was "the gayest thing he'd ever seen".

➤➤ in the three monkeys, a big finish audio featuring owen & andy, owen flirts with andy repeatedly. even if he just does it to be annoying, it's still pretty damn gay. also the pet names... (he calls him sweetheart, sunshine, and tiger. it's half-mocking, sure, especially because it's owen, but there's also a domesticity to it.)

➤➤ and then there's the hope's "you're alive again and you want crisps?!" "be glad that's all i'm asking for" (owen was like 'i will not use this as an excuse to try to sleep w andy i will not use this as an excuse to try to sleep w andy i will not use th') these are the only two audios i've heard with this duo, i'm sure there's more examples in the other two. i know gooseberry literally has owen sabotaging andy's relationship with his gf and that is... woohoohoo.... i'll update this once i get through those.

➤➤ …. this is my personal opinion but i lowkey think he kinda wants john hart a bit when they all first meet him in kkbb hdskjfds. gwen & tosh both seem very charmed by him and they're meant to, it's supposed to be like 'oh, look at jack's ex waltzing in and charming the pants off everyone (ha), and only ianto and jack see through him' - owen isn't given a flirty line of dialogue or even a close-up shot of him eyeing john like the girls get, but if you watch him closely he certainly looks… intrigued by him. i think owen's more of a bi disaster than he lets on.

➤➤ in episode 10, diane notes that owen has "beauty products" in his bathroom. obviously this shouldn't be indicative of sexuality, but how many Straight Men in 2006 were moisturizing lmao. hell, how many do nowadays 😭

➤➤ gwen & owen's dynamic settles into a lovely little friendship in s2 and owen lowkey gives gbf vibes <3 them making fun of the movie in s2e10 together + the cheek-kissing at the end of s2e9… bi besties!!

➤➤ the peace sign he throws up in meat when he meets rhys fdsjk i don't even believe in some of the silly internet jokes abt bi culture but c'mon

➤➤ have you seen his taste in women. diane is soo butch and gwen's a total tomboy in s1. that's bi culture babey!!!! i too like girls when they're boys

➤➤ i already talked about it but the aforementioned scene where he asks tosh and ianto for a threesome... he asks them, like, immediately after they team up and bully him for not comprehending that there's "no phones. phones all broken. anyone there? no, 'cause the phones aren't working." that was suuuch a disaster bi owen moment for me. i too would get a little revved up if tosh and ianto both bullied me at once <3

aaand finally... the biggest Evidence of all....

➤➤ he's a leather jacket bisexual. need i say more

and that's all! thanks for reading!

[credit for the dividers used in this. didn't tumblr used to have built-in dividers? i miss that.]

#mine #torchwood #torchwood posting #owen harper #tell me why im nervous to post this fhdskfds #my anxiety is like someone's gonna get mad at me for this somehow #shhhhh #beating it with a broom #look at my post boy

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