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mollymauk-teafleak · 1 month

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but I'm more than a need

So. What happened was @minky-for-short told me about her idea for a painter Husk/model Angel AU and things spiralled from there. Enjoy!

Trigger Warnings: Mentions of drug use, alcoholism, mentions of sexual abuse

Please reblog and leave a comment over on Ao3 if you enjoyed!

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Angel Dust had expected this to be easy. Wasn’t it his job to be stared at?

When Valentino had told him his schedule was being cleared of clients two days a week for a ‘special assignment’, his tone had been sickeningly magnanimous, like he expected his star performer to fall to his knees and shower him with thanks at the prospect. And Angel would, if he didn’t know better.

Being taken off the roster did mean a break from an otherwise endless parade of men with bad breath and bruising hands, reeking of the alcohol they’d needed to overcome their shame at wanting to fuck another man, a break from being so buzzed that he’d disconnect entirely from it all, not noticing how they’d hurt him until he came crashing down. But at least that was the devil he knew, intimately enough to know the taste of its tongue in his mouth.

Time away from the brothel usually meant that Valentino had something much worse in mind.

So when Angel finally arrived at the address on the card, after trekking across what felt like ten fucking blocks from the spot Valentino had him kicked out of the car, and saw it was an abandoned looking brownstone on a shady street corner, he wasn’t surprised. That part of him that never learned to sit down, shut up and accept his shitty life told him to turn and walk away.

But whatever was in that house, Valentino would be worse. So he’d gone up, knocked on the door and was thoroughly surprised when a paint streaked, grouchy man appeared, blinking like he hadn’t seen the sun in weeks and growling that Angel was late, did that asshole pimp not know that paint fucking dries?

And Husker hadn’t stopped surprising him since.

Angel still rolled his eyes at it. Of course Valentino wanted a fucking portrait of his favourite whore, the creep was probably going to hang it in his bedroom. It was so like him, wallpapering this old money aesthetic over the newly minted wealth he’d gained selling other people’s flesh. Angel wouldn’t even mind that Valentino had made a small fortune pimping him out, or how he spent it, if he didn’t treat him so cruelly. He’d signed on willingly, at first, believing the sugared words and promises of finally being free to fuck how he wanted without shame, of being able to drown the nightmares left over from the war in as many drugs as his body could take. But those promises had dissolved away to nothing on his tongue, leaving his teeth rotted and his nerves shot worse than ever.

And now Angel’s pain would be immortalized in oils and hung in a gilded frame.

But at least it would be a proper break. And it would be easy, all he had to do was stand there looking gorgeous, pinned under the gaze of an older man who never had a bottle far from his hand. No different from his usual job except he got to keep his head clear and his clothes on, if the costume Valentino wanted him painted in had enough fabric to count as clothes.

And it was easy. But not for the reasons he expected.

There was really only one reason actually and his name was Husker, Husk for short, an odd name but he hadn’t given Angel any other. At first he’d thought it was a good fit, the painter was grizzled, surly, his eyes hard and his tongue sharp, with hands that shook unless they held a brush or a bottle. He was a hell of a far cry from the rich businessmen and upper class bankers who paid for Angel’s time, who tried to impress him with gifts that Val would take and sweet words that didn’t soften their hands any, but apparently his paintings had once sold for thousands.

Angel couldn’t possibly comment at first, the cramped little studio space had oddly bare walls, but when he’d gotten glimpses of his portrait, he realized just how great Husk must have been back in his day. In nothing more than rough sketches, he was making something almost beautiful out of Valentino’s slightly nauseating ideas.

Which did beg the question, if Angel Dust was finding this so easy, why was Husk finding it so hard?

“You’re moving again, Legs.”

“Am I fuck…” Angel retorted with a grin, which of course meant he was, in fact, moving.

“Hey, you want this to look like shit, it’s no skin off my nose,” Husk looked at him over the edge of his glasses, “I got no reputation to maintain.”

“Good look trying to get this to look like shit,” Angel lifted an eyebrow, brushing his hands down the vaguely Grecian drape of silk that was preserving no modesty. The freckles dusting his skin covered more.

“Don’t underestimate how much I can fuck something up, kid,” Husk grunted, transfering his pencil to the corner of his mouth, picking up an ink brush instead, “I’ve had a lifetime of experience.”

Angel couldn’t help another grin, even as he tried to stay still. That was one of the things he liked about Husk. He didn’t try to be perfect, he didn’t hide his rough edges.

The way his arm muscles flexed as he drew, looking unfairly sexy now he’d pushed his sleeves to his elbows, Angel liked that too.

“Next question,” Husk whipped the brush back and forth across the sheaf of paper on his easel, “Think it was your turn, kid.”

Angel blinked, realizing how long he’d been quiet before Husk spoke. It was so easy for his mind to wander here, with the comforting smells of paint and paper, the soothing whisper of sleek bristles on canvas, the warm sunlight streaming in through the windows. And more than anything, the feeling of safety, knowing that quiet here really just meant quiet, come by honestly, not just waiting for the next blow. He’d been embarrassed the first time he’d dozed off in Husk’s studio, his body jumping at the chance for some real rest and shutting down without asking Angel to give the order.

But after the fourth time of waking up on the battered sofa in the corner with a musty but cozy blanket over him, Angel had found it in him to stop caring.

But he didn’t want to sleep now. Because as much as he wanted to pretend otherwise, he and Husk were on borrowed time, he was at the edge of this peaceful eye in the storm he lived in.

The portrait was almost finished, colors starting to appear at Husk’s elbow as the first draft took shape. Soon Angel wouldn’t be needed in the studio anymore, he’d go back to the stage, back to the brothel, back to living under Valentino’s thumb. And Husk would go back to…well, nothing, by the look of his bare, dusty life. The thought made Angel’s heart ache.

He pushed the thought away, refusing to chew on it. But he wouldn’t sleep away the rest of their time together, either.

“What kind of music do you like?” he eventually asked.

Husk chuckled at that, seeming to let his hands create independently, flying across the paper while the rest of him moved at a lower tempo, “Easy, jazz. I used to play when I was younger, actually. There was a club not too far from where I lived, I’d sneak out and go all the time. A guy there taught me, pretty sure just to keep me away from the bar. Looked old for my age back then…and now.”

“Shut up,” Angel perked up interestedly, “What did you play?”

“That’s two questions now,” Husk reminded him, smirking but he answered all the same, “Sax. Was a fun time but I ain’t cut out for being in a band, don’t play nice with others. Realized I was better at making art for the eyes rather than the ears.”

“Makes sense though,” Angel hummed, adjusting the angle of his arm as the silk started to slide, “You paint the way jazz sounds.”

As soon as the words left his mouth, he blushed, realizing how dumb it sounded, like he didn’t know shit about art or music. Which he didn’t, but something about Husk knowing that made his face burn.

But Husk’s eyes brightened, his wry mouth turned up in a genuine smile, “No one’s ever put it quite like that. But thanks.”

Angel had to roll his eyes at himself, just a little. He’d thought crushes were from a time he hadn’t known any better, another thing his hard life had calcified until he couldn’t make it work anymore, that real, genuine attraction had gone the way of imaginary friends and daydreams. But Husk had cracked right through to that giddy, naive part of Angel, he’d let it stretch and unfurl itself and fly. You could argue it was the part that had gotten him into so much trouble but, in Husk’s studio, it didn’t feel dangerous. It was fun again, simple, pleasant. So he let himself stare, he let himself get butterflies, he let himself blush and laugh and embarrass himself. It wouldn’t last, it wouldn’t mean anything but Angel had never been one for saying no to temporary pleasures. Especially ones that made him act like a damn fool.

“You can ask me two questions,” he hummed with one of his best flirtatious smiles, “Seeing as I snuck an extra one.”

This had been their game for the last month and change. Husk had said he couldn’t paint a stranger, if he was going to put him on canvas then he needed to know him. The thought had got Angel’s back up so Husk had promised it would be an even exchange. He’d ask a question, Angel would answer it and then they’d trade. He’d even said that they didn’t have to be truthful answers, he’d understand enough from whatever lies the younger man chose to tell.

And they’d started as lies, the standard sanitized version of his past Angel gave to any johns that wanted to fake like they’d taken him on some grand romantic date, rather than paid to fuck him in the tackily decorated back rooms of a downtown bordello. But, without even really noticing, he’d grown comfortable with Husk and the truth started slipping in. Now Husk knew more about him than anyone else left in the city and, Angel suspected, he knew just as much about the older guy. He could taste lies, thanks to his profession, and as far as his tongue could tell, Husk had given him nothing but truth, bitter as it was.

“Always one to push it, aren’t you, Legs?” Husk chuckled, switching to a different brush, taking a pull from the bottle of amber liquid before continuing to paint. How he knew the difference between that and the water he cleaned his brushes in, without even glancing at them, Angel had no idea.

“You know it, sweetie,” Angel purred, recognising the color Husk picked up as the color of his own eyes, “Ain’t a proper game if you don’t try and bend the rules.”

Husk shook his head in amusement, choosing his questions without a pause, like he already knew which ones he needed to ask to make the next brushstroke perfect, “What was your biggest fear when you were a kid?”

“Before I turned thirteen? Spiders,” Angel wrinkled his nose, though there was an odd fondness to the nostalgic fear, “Nona’s apartment was full of them, I used to be frightened they’d crawl on my face when I slept. But she loves them, even named them all, the mad old bat.”

“And after?” Husk’s brush hesitated and changed direction at the last moment.

Angel gave a dry laugh, “Father finding out I was a pansy.”

Husk made a sympathetic noise but there was no pity in it, another point in Angel’s book. He sat back suddenly, frowning, “Come tell me what you think of this.”

Already? It hit Angel like a blow to the chest, enough that he staggered as he stepped off the little platform he posed on, enough that his mask almost cracked, “From your tone, I’m guessing you’re not happy?”

Husk gave a grunt, “Not me who needs to be happy with it…”

“Well it ain’t me either, baby, it’s Val,” Angel let the fabric fall, shrugged on a robe and came around to the other side of the easel. The sudden shock of color and movement on the other side of such a plain, gray nothing hit better than some highs he’d had.

Angel didn’t know how to talk about art. He’d seen plenty of it when he was shipped out in France but he’d had other things on his mind then, it had all just been set dressing in this brand new world of dizzying highs and terrifying lows.

So when he saw Husk’s work, he didn’t know how to describe the way it made him feel, he just felt it, in a rush like a wave that took him off his feet. It was the way he took moments in time and fixed them to the paper, turned them into something Angel could actually touch if he wanted, and made them so beautiful in the process. For someone who had so many gaps in his memory, parts of his life eaten away by drugs and pain and terror, it may as well have been magic.

The painting was gorgeous, that wasn’t the problem. It was just a gorgeous painting of a vindictive, controlling pimp’s sex fantasy.

When he first started working on this particular commission, Husk had asked Angel if he was really okay with what his boss had requested, showing him the list of demands with a knowing air, the older man fully aware of what answer was true and what answer he would get. And Angel hadn’t surprised him, glancing over what Valentino wanted and saying that whatever he’d asked for, Husk had better deliver. That’s how Angel had kept most of his teeth.

From the way Husk’s eyes had tightened, he hadn’t found the joke very funny.

But Angel knew what he’d see when he looked at the paper but an image in his own mind and something realized in ink and paint, brought to life by Husk’s clever hands, were two very different things. The Angel on the page was much truer to his name, he was angelic, pale skin glowing, freckles scattered across his skin like flecks of gold, eyes bright and blue and innocent behind flaxen hair. But he was a fallen angel, chains securing his hands to some part of the background that Husk would draw in later but, even without it, they looked inescapable, raw chafe marks in a wincing carmine visible below their cuffs. And the fabric looked somehow even less, like a rough hand was in the process of tearing it away to leave him naked and flushed. And there wasn’t a single scar on that perfect, porcelain skin.

It wasn’t him. It was the role he was supposed to play for Valentino, the fantasy he was forced into. And seeing it in front of his eyes, he could almost feel the weight of those chains on his own wrists and, fuck, they hurt.

“It’s exactly what he wants,” Angel said truthfully, making himself smile at Husk, “You’ve done a great job.”

But the older man’s frown just deepened, etching the lines around his eyes and mouth more firmly. Angel realized then that he wasn’t looking at the painting, he was only looking at him.

“It’s shit.”

The sudden sound of the paper tearing away from the pad made Angel flinch but he couldn’t deny there was some catharsis in seeing it crumpled in Husk’s surprisingly strong fist.

But he was the one who had to fight for his own misery, “Husk, no, it’s good! It’s really good, Val will love it.”

“You don’t,” Husk pitched the failed painting into the dented old furnace he’d light whenever he noticed Angel shivering.

Angel opened his mouth but no words came out. It wasn’t so easy to lie to Husk as it was to lie to everyone else in his life.

“That isn’t the point,” he finally managed, “Husk, honey, if you take any longer with this, he’s gonna start getting mad.”

Like it wasn’t already too late.

He’d seen it in Valentino’s gaze every time he left the club for Husk’s studio, the building jealousy, the brewing sense of danger that Angel was so depressingly familiar with. They were meant to have been done inside a week but that week had rolled on and on, Husk getting to this point in the process, the moment where he should have let Angel go, and then starting over three times now. Every painting had been gorgeous, it had been lecherous, it had been exactly what Valentino wanted, and each one had ended up in the furnace as soon as Husk had seen Angel’s reaction.

And if his boss’s simmering fury had just been directed at him, he wouldn’t have minded, the daydream was worth it. It was what he’d said about Husk that worried him.

“It should be the point and I’ll fucking well tell him so,” Husk reached for the bottle again, draining it in one swallow that left his voice a smoky growl, “Valentino can get as mad as he wants, I ain’t scared of that up jumped pimp.”

Panic tasted bitter on Angel’s tongue and sharpened his words, “You should be. If you don’t realize how dangerous he is, you need to learn fast, Husker, because I’ll be damned if I let you get hurt because you stuck up for me. I’m not worth it.”

Husk’s eyes darkened, his voice softening, “You really believe that, kid?”

Angel realized he’d said more than he’d meant to, feeling more naked than he had when there was only a swathe of fabric between him and Husk’s gaze.

“I have to,” he said eventually, voice trembling ever so slightly, “There ain’t another way through.”

Husk looked like he was going to say something, like there were some words pulling at the tip of his tongue, desperate to fly. But suddenly the fight went out of him, shoulders slumping, the words becoming a low groan as he pinched the bridge of his nose.

“I need another drink,” he muttered, “Gimme a second…”

He went into the back room of the studio that served as his living space, that rickety, sagging bed and chipped wardrobe and lopsided bookcase apparently holding all he owned in the world. But Angel knew there were several bottles of whiskey under the bed, enough that he didn’t need to ask whether Husk had served in the war too. Only a soldier needed that much poison to hand.

Selfish tears threatened to choke him the moment he was alone. He’d done the right thing, he knew he had, but it still hurt like a bitch. He let himself have a moment to almost cry about it before scrubbing his eyes with the sleeve of his robe and moving to the furnace. He’d fish out the draft, he’d tell Husk to use that painting and he’d be done with this. The daydream had been nice but it needed to end, before someone other than Angel himself got hurt. He could see that now.

There were several balls of crumpled sketchbook paper in the furnace’s grating, he couldn’t remember which one he needed. He came up with a handful of them, as well as an annoying smear of soot on his fingers, pulling a face of irritation as he unrolled one at random.

And felt his heart stop in his chest. It was a drawing of him but it wasn’t the one he was looking for.

It was a quick, hurried drawing, like Husk had done it on impulse, something to keep his hands steady or to keep them off the bottle for just a little longer. Angel wasn’t dramatically posed, dressed up in silk, he didn’t look alluring or otherworldly, it was just a sketchy of him from the neck up. He was doing that grin he tried not to do because it made his nose turn up and his teeth look huge but the way it was drawn here, it looked…adorable. Natural.

He looked so happy.

It was dizzying, seeing the way somebody else could look at his flaw and find beauty in it. Not Valentino’s warped, fake idea of it but real, actual, honest. Angel didn’t think he’d known the difference before looking at this drawing.

He knew what he should do. He should drop the sketch back in the furnace, pretend he’d never seen it. He should light it up himself, let that version of himself blacken and curl and become nothing, go back to Valentino and the devil he knew.

But his hands weren’t connected to his brain, reaching for more balls of paper the way he reached for the next pill or line of white powder, the next bad idea that would be sweet in the moment then do him more harm than good.

Some pages just had one drawing, some had a few. The sketch of him asleep on the couch was full body but around it were isolated hands, eyes, a smile, every inch of him noticed and practiced until it was perfect. Angel was smiling, he was lost in thought, he was yawning hugely, he was guarded and wary, he was alight with playful mischief. He could match the expressions with memories of the last few weeks, stories he’d told Husk or bad jokes he’d made. Things he’d said and done so offhandedly but apparently they’d mattered enough for Husk to commit them to pencil and paper.

Finally, after pages and pages of careful studies of himself, he found the draft painting done for Valentino. Seeing them side by side, it was heartbreakingly obvious, like he held night in one hand and day in the other. How he looked to someone who wanted him and how he looked to someone who loved him. Who he had to be and who he wanted to be. Angel Dust and Anthony.

Angel didn’t hear the footsteps behind him until it was too late.

“I’m sorry, kid, I shouldn’t have stormed off like that, I…Angel?”

He felt his stomach drop, whipping around, arms already drawn to his chest in defense and eyes screwed tightly shut, “I didn’t mean to look, it was an accident, I’m sorry.”

But the blow he’d learned to expect never landed. There was no anger, no explosion, just a long pause where the only sound was the city outside the windows shifting into evening, oblivious to the two of them.

“Angel…fuck, I’m sorry.”

Surprise made him open his eyes, Husk just leaning in the doorway, slumped like a man too tired to fight anymore.

“I never wanted to put you in this position,” his voice was rough, heavy, in a way that had nothing to do with the drink, “I swear, those sketches…they were just be trying to get this fucking lunacy out of my system, I was never gonna act on it. I don’t want to be just another deluded old idiot leering at you like he’d got any damn right to.”

“Husker…” Angel breathed, unsure what to do, holding onto the pages of sketches like he was afraid someone would take them away.

“I just…it’s been so long since I talked with anyone, since anyone wanted to hear what I had to say,” Husk ducked his eyes, wincing, “I shouldn’t have let you in, I should have known better but you’re so…” he shook his head like there weren’t even words but it was there on the page, “I’m an old fool, Angel. That’s all. I’m sorry, I understand if you want to leave.”

Angel felt the weight of the choice. Again, that hard learned fear was pulling at him, telling him what he should do, what was safe, what was smart. Telling him that he didn’t deserve it. But for the first time in his life, he was able to drown that voice out, his grip on the pages, on his hope, tightening.

“I don’t want to leave,” he murmured, taking a step closer to Husk.

The older man’s eyes widened, looking like he didn’t know whether to believe what he’d just heard, “What?”

“I want you,” Angel said it again, feeling the truth in it now, feeling it steel himself.

He put the sketches to one side, resting his hands on Husk’s chest, letting himself have what he knew now he’d wanted for so long. Maybe even longer than he’d known Husk.

“Angel,” Husk’s own hands responded, settling on his hips like nervous birds, “You have a right to know, when your boss came to hire me, he…he offered me you. For a discount he said I could…have you while I worked. And I didn’t take it, I never would but I just…I need to know that this is what you want, not something you feel like you have to do just because I got a stupid crush on you.”

The news didn’t surprise Angel in the slightest, Val had used him as sugar on top of deals plenty of times before. What did surprise him was Husk’s mouth twisting in disgust at the idea, the restraint holding him back until he heard Angel’s answer. What surprised him was finding himself in the arms of a truly honest man.

“Baby,” he smiled, as big as he wanted to, not caring how it looked, “Believe me, I know what a bad idea this is. I know what I’m risking, I know what I’m asking you to risk. But I’m here anyway, ain’t I? So I know how much I want this, how much I've been wanting you since I walked through your door.”

Apparently that was all Husk needed to hear. His hold on Angel became certain, pulling him that last inch closer until their bodies pressed together, “Then I’m yours, baby. For however long we got.”

The moment their lips met, Angel knew the answer was not long enough. He knew in an instant that he’d never get tired of the way Husk kissed him, of that taste of second hand whiskey and those strong arms around him, feeling safer than anything had for a long damn time. He didn’t hurry, he didn’t want to press forward into the next thing, he just reveled in kissing Angel like if it stopped right there, it would still be enough. Angel found himself nearly climbing Husk, gasping and whimpering in between hurried breaths, nearly screaming when the older man shifted and pressed his leg up between Angel’s.

“Fuck me,” he moaned desperately, needing Husk more than he needed air, so much he as burning with it.

“You got the kit for that?” Husk’s voice had become a growl, something Angel felt as much as he heard.

“I’m taking the fact that you have to ask as a professional insult,” Angel smirked, only the promise of having this man inside him able to make himself let go.

He scrambled for the bag he’d left in the corner along with his clothes, Husk dropping back on the sofa to wait, warm golden eyes never leaving him. With that gaze pricking pleasantly across his skin, Angel shed his robe, stepping out of the pool of pink silk and coming back to Husk wearing only a lopsided grin.

“Fuck, look at you, baby…” his hands were as reverant as his gaze, both stroking down Angel’s narrow body, drinking in every freckle and angle and scar with as much adoration as he settled in the older man’s lap.

“Now you,” Angel tugged impatiently at Husk’s suspenders, “It’s my turn to stare.”

“Ain’t gonna be half as pretty,” Husk warned, the skin on his cheeks darkening a little but he didn’t resist as Angel yanked down the collar of his shirt and pulled open buttons, kicking off his shoes and shoving down his trousers.

Under the slightly bedraggled clothing, Husk had scars of his own. Everything about him seemed designed to contrast Angel, dark skin where he was pale, strong where he was wiry, thick black hair across his chest and down between his legs where Angel just had a dusting of gold down, the curve of a beer gut where drugs had left Angel nearly concave.

He wasn’t pretty. He was fucking gorgeous. Angel had to drag a fist across his lips to check he wasn’t drooling.

Husk’s blush only deepend but now he was grinning rather than looking anxious, “You have weird tastes, baby.”

“Guys who are nice to me? I know, I’m a hopeless degenerate,” Angel cackled, before pressing the small jar into his hand, “I want you to do it…”

“My pleasure,” Husk rolled his hips, letting Angel feel the press of his erection against him, beaming when it made him tremble and whimper hungrily.

Even slick with Vaseline, Husk’s fingers were fucking big. Angel found himself squealing like a fucking rookie when his hole finally opened for him after a few coaxing strokes, burying his face against the curve of his neck as he pressed inside. But Husk knew his business and in a moment it was bliss and nothing else, making Angel cling to him so fiercely that there would be an impression of the other man’s dog tags on his chest when he pulled away.

When Husk curled his fingers against that sweet spot inside him, the pleasure took on an edge of panic, almost too much between that blinding pressure and his cock trapped between the warmth of their stomachs, the pre he was spilling like a fountain making it slick and hot.

“Gonna…fuck, Husk, I can’t hold it…” he gasped, fingers digging into his shoulders.

“You say that like it’s not the aim, baby…” Husk purred smokily, tongue tracing the curve of his ear.

“Not like this,” Angel begged, voice strangled as it had to shoulder past gasps and moans and pleas, “On your cock. Need to feel you, wanna make you feel good too…”

The arms around him became soothing, like he was being rocked, Husk shifting to give him what he wanted, “You do, baby. You do. You’re doing so good.”

Those words set his nerves alight as much as the fingers crooked inside him until Angel almost sobbed, “Please…”

“I got you,” the loss of the fingers was heartbreaking until he felt Husk’s cock press against his entrance, thick and hard and hot enough to burn, “Breathe, baby, you’re so tight, you gotta let me in…”

Those strong hands slid down to Angel’s hips, holding tight so he couldn’t force himself back and take him, damn the pain. It was slow, careful, but the reward was all the sweeter for it, Angel’s eyes nearly rolling back as he sat on Husk’s dick, feeling so full he didn’t know how he wasn’t unraveling completely.

“Fuck…” Husk’s voice cracked, a hand sliding up to tangle in Angel’s hair, the other draping around his hips to keep him close.

“As good as you imagined?” Angel panted, nuzzling at his shoulder.

“Better…”

Husk rolled his hips like the sweetest music was playing in his head, purposeful, rhythmic, wanting Angel to feel every inch. At first Angel couldn’t even scream, everything in him utterly surrendered, every cell in his body devoted to chasing after that feeling. But he soon realized he didn’t need to, Husk would give it to him and give it gladly, as sure as the tide. He fucked into him slow but the pace built gradually, leaving Angel free to moan and shriek and beg. He couldn’t let Husk mark him, as much as he wanted it, but he could sink his teeth into him, sucking hard until he’d have something to look at in the morning and feel less lonely.

Angel knew how to read people’s bodies, he knew they were about to fall. Husk throbbed deep inside him, his own cock was stiff as a board and trembling between their bodies. He wanted to beg Husk to hold on, to wait, just a few seconds more because even those would be sweeter than anything he’d ever get again. But he might as well have wished for the moon.

So Angel did what he’d always done and took a hand in his own destruction.

He moved his hips faster, grinding down hard on Husk’s dick and whispered in his ear, “Come for me, baby.”

Husk did, with a yowl like a cat in heat. Angel was a second behind, painting both of their chests and crying out his lover’s name, letting his voice shatter on it. They were both left ruined, gasping, only held together by the other’s arms around them.

It was a long time before Angel trusted himself to speak, morning back to rest his forehead on Husk’s, “Will you draw me? Like this?”

Husk’s smile was warmth itself, “I’ll do my damndest, baby.”

It came out beautiful. Of course it did.

Afterwards, when their lovemaking was just an ache in his hips and a slick feeling between his legs, Angel sat back in Husk’s arms and looked at the sketch like he was trying to etch it onto his brain. The pencil version of himself wore Husk’s shirt rather than his own, eyes heavy lidded, his smile crooked and blissfully tired, happier than Angel had thought his own face would ever look.

Even if the moment had ended for them, he’d always have this. He had this proof that someone had loved him.

“Can I keep it?” his voice was raw and shaky, “And some of the others?” In case I come to my senses and never see you again.

Husk kissed the side of his head, squeezed his hand gently, like he’d heard the words left unsaid, “They’re yours. But I’ll draw you better ones if you like? Ones that didn’t spend a few days in the furnace?”

Angel smiled up at him, seeing that some of the soot from his fingers had smudged on Husk’s cheek, “I think these are perfect the way they are.”

“Then they’re a good likeness,” Husk murmured, pressing the next kiss to his lips.

Angel leaned into it, letting himself have another temporary pleasure, letting himself have a moment to not think about anything but Husk. What he’d do tomorrow, fuck, what he’d do in the next moment, he had no idea. But he wouldn’t think about it now.

“It is stunning, isn’t it, Angel? Who’d have thought the old drunk had some talent left clinging to him…”

Valentino’s voice was full of smug satisfaction and smoke, faintly red billows of it hissing from between his teeth and scratching at Angel’s nose. He didn’t flinch, he’d grown used to it over the years.

“It’s exactly what you asked for,” he hummed in what would sound like agreement, looking up at the painting now slotted cozily into its new home on the wall of Valentino’s office.

The frame was a tacky travesty, of course, gilded and overblown but he supposed the image inside was as well. Husk had delivered exactly what he’d been asked, once Angel had convinced him to. It was exactly like the draft piece that nearly ended up in the flames, just more polished and done in rich, sumptuous oils, his wanton blush more rich, his eyes shining brighter, his pose more tempting. Valentino was nearly salivating looking at it.

“You’ve never looked more tempting, my dear,” he crowded Angel closer, voice almost warm though his hands were like vices on his shoulders, “In fact, I can think of no better advertisement for our little club, you’ll have the deviants of the city flocking to our doors just for a glimpse of this…and then they’ll pay through the nose for the real thing.”

“Yes, Valentino,” Angel hummed, not taking his eyes off the painting.

“I believe I’ll take Mr Husker up on his kind offer, now I know his talent hasn’t faded along with everything else. A few pieces like these in the hallway, my profits could triple…and with the discount he mentioned, well, I don’t know what you showed him or shook in front of him but the old fool’s half in love with you. Very nice work, baby…”

Angel shrugged, gaze still fixed on the painting, “Just a generous guy, I guess.”

“Don’t make me laugh, sweetling, you’re not good at it,” Valentino said curtly, “I want you on stage in ten. With how much time you’ll be spending in that studio, you’ll have to make it up to me. Double shifts for the rest of the week and I don’t want to hear you bitching.”

Angel flinched a little but he didn’t take his eyes off Husk’s painting, not even when the office door closed with a slam designed to put him on edge, “You won’t…”

Of course Valentino hadn’t noticed it. But it was the first thing he’d seen as soon as he’d stepped into the office after Val had called him in so he could gloat over it. Husk hadn’t let him see the final piece, just reassuring him that it was finished and that his boss would be happy with it. And now Angel knew why.

Valentino didn’t look past the eyes, the beckoning gaze, the perfect body begging to be ruined. But Husk did. And that's why one of the chains in the links that bound the painted version of Angel was cracked. Almost all the way through, about to break entirely, if he just pulled hard enough. Valentino saw him chained but in Husk’s painting, Angel saw himself fighting and, against all the odds, about to win.

It was a nice dream.

Angel turned away from the painting, thinking about where this had begun. It was supposed to be easy. It should have been easy, it was Angel Dust’s job to be stared at.

But this was the first time he felt like he’d been seen.

#hazbin hotel #huskerdust #husker #angel dust #hazbin angel dust #hazbin husk #husk #painter husk au #please reblog and comment!

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scnderisms · 9 months

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⸻ CIERRA RAMIREZ. SHE/HER /have you ever heard of BABYDOLL by ari abdul, well, it describes VALERIA ‘VAL’ CRUZ to a tee! the twenty eight year old, and DESIGNER was spotted browsing through the stalls at portobello road market last sunday, do you know them? would you say SHE is more domineering or more CREATIVE instead? anyway, they remind me of best dressed superlatives, energy filling up a room, and a shiver down your spine maybe you’ll bump into them soon!

this is a coming up story , but val doesn't like to talk about that . she is proud to be a first generation american , but is still in the phase of her career where she wants the company name to be associated with money . ' it sets brands apart early on . people want to work with you if they feel like they have to be able to afford it . '

still , incorporating personhood and feminism in their brand is at the core of val's desire to get into design ... even if she hasn't quite gotten to that part yet .

valeria cruz is still considered a young designer by any means . people have been telling her since she "made it" three years ago , that there is a curse . designers starting in their twenties usually flatline at thirty . that means these are the years that val has to make count .

even though val doesn't believe these superstitions , she doesn't not believe them because growing up her mom had been very superstitious .

val's mother is her best friend and whole world . it is the only person in the world she feels loyalty and love and everything inbetween .

val credits her entire success to her mom working her ass off to put val through fashion school . val paid off her house and paid to put her father with dimentia in a home to be cared for . her mom still visits , but val stopped about a year ago because he doesn't remember me anyway . part of her questions this decision .

val is confident to a fault .

she only trusts her mom and herself .

biggest fear is failure and not being remembered , triggered from her father's inability to remember her now despite their treasured years together .

is a workaholic , always checking her email and her phone .

even though val likes to pretend she's a lone wolf , she gets really down with too much alone time . she needs the stimulation and good energy of other people .

for this reason , val is someone you want to have in your corner .

she will show up for you when she can and if she can't , she will use every resource humanly possible to help you .

has put friends / family through rehab , school , etc.

truly believes she deserves the best things happen to her because she goes out of her way to be the best person to others . if she can't be the best , she doesn't show up .

despite some of this uptight nature , has a really good sense of humor .

is most attracted to a good sense of humor , a good sense of style , and a good relationship with their mother .

#val:intro #nottinghillintro #tw dimentia mention

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dannyphantom-justiceleauge · 3 years

Note

If ever there was a situation where the rest of the JL discover that Danny is human before Bruce (somehow) they all take one look at Phantom's human form and had a collective realization that they should never let Bruce see him outside of his Ghost form or else his Parental Instincts will most definetely kick in and adoption papers will be filled out by the end of the day

the running joke that batman adopts any dark haired, blue eyed child is powerful. though i’m not sure why the other jl members would try to stop him.

i also feel danny will probably have a joke about billionaires trying to adopt him, because this would be the second time this happens. you think he’d be able to get lex luthor to want him? i think Arrow counts as a billionaire.

now i want a fic that is just danny accidentally collecting billionaire father figures, not because he needs new parents or wants them but because they’re all fascinated by this kid in some way. a good chunk of them have villainous intent obviously. danny is scientifically fascinating so the danger of experimentation is obvious. i’m pretty sure a few other billionaires are just immortals so they’d be interested in danny because he’s semi immortal.

danny: i have parents

vandal savage: but for how long?

ra’s al ghul would want him so bad. ghost powers potential use in assassination. plus the relationship between the Lazarus pit and ectoplasm. lots of potential plot here. i could see dani also joining in on the collecting billionaires/ getting randomly adopted thing.

there’d also be a point where the billionaires would be refereed to as his sugar daddies, as they inevitably try to buy him. the fenton’s business gets heavily funded by several billionaires, which ironically makes vlad’s claim on them weaker. hard to throw his money around when the other billionaires are fighting over them. i could also see danny’s popularity jumping up because of his finances improved.

we’re gonna ignore that there’s an episode where the fenton’s got rich and danny became a jerk because that episode was dumb. i see it more as danny having no idea to do with all this attention and just wanting to be left alone. he likes the popularity at first, but being surrounded by people all the time makes it harder for him to get away to fight ghosts.he’s also probably struck by how shallow it is. i know in the series he wasn’t allowed to grow out of being shallow, but as fair as character development goes, he really should have. there were a lot of moments where it was criticized and he should have grown past it. so surrounding a mature danny with shallow people would probably be frustrating

i could however see him trying to hang out with val again and getting his parents to hire her dad, so that her financial situation recovers. that would actually be pretty interesting. danny basically trying to make up for her dad losing his job, even though that wasn’t his fault. takes the steam out of the whole ‘phantom ruined my life thing’ if her life is no longer ruined. though phantom’s not the one getting credit for helping her. i could also see val trying to return to the popular kids group and finding it unsatisfying. after all they immediately abandoned her in her moment of need and she know what it’s like to work and struggle for things.she and danny could definitely talk shit about how shallow and unimportant the popular kids convos are. and sam is just standing in the back loser corner with her millions of dollars going “what did i tell ya!?”

tucker would also probably be jealous but i feel he’d easily be pacified by danny just handing him knew tech whenever he complains. alas i’m not sure how much tucker has grown out of his shallowness, though he’s also had several learning opportunities

i see a lot of comedic and plot potential in this concept, sorry i didn’t really adress your question. - Hestia.

#Danny Phantom #dpjl #DC comics

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elocinnicole · 2 years

Text

Bad Religion

Pairing: Collin Hoskins x OFC Black!Reader (Shauna Lewis) Rating: T Requested: No, came to me while listening to Frank Ocean. Word Count: 772 Summary: Shauna goes to a party and is reminded that Collin is and always will be in love with someone else.

Tagging: @iknowthekoolaidflavor @wreakhavoconmacroissantdiggs @nikole-witha-k

Let me know if you want to be added to future Collin and Shauna fics

Shauna sipped from her red cup while bobbing her head to the music. Collin has back home from jail for about a month, so they threw a welcome home party at Nancy’s. Shauna remembers the night that she got the call from Ashley that Collin was arrested. Between her, Nancy, and Rainey, they tried to bail him out but they didn’t have enough. After a year of being locked up, Collin was finally home. Shauna, Nancy and Miles were the only people to visit him while he was away, her more than anyone. Shauna would put money on his books, call him, and even send him books to read. Even after all of that, Shauna was still a friend to Collin. Her mom would question why she was doing all of that for Collin and Shauna would simply reply with “He’s Zan God father,” that’s what she told herself every time she put herself out there for him. She’s doing it for Zan. Shauna was pulled out her thoughts when she heard that laugh, her head shot up and there was Collin laughing at whatever Yorkie and Miles were arguing about. Shauna and Collin locked eyes and he smiled gently which immediately sent butterflies to her stomach. He started walking over and she could hear her heart pounding in her ears.

“Hey Shauna,” Collin greeted pulling you in for a hug. You returned the embrace, loving the way his arms circled around you. Just as quick as it started, it was over.

“Is that for me?” Collin asked gesturing to the card.

“Oh, um, yeah, it’s from Zan.” She said handing it to Collin “He made it for you.”

“Thank for coming, Shauna. I really appreciate it, everything.”

“You know I got you, Collin. If you’re still looking for a job, my Dad got some connections down at the post office.” Collin smiled warmly. Shauna loved the way Collin smiled, no matter how big or small it was, he smiled with his entire face.

“Thanks Shauna, between you and Miles, y’all really supported me. You’re like a sister to me,” Sister, Shauna tuned out everything else Collin said after that and kept replaying that sentence over and over. ‘You’re like a sister to me.’

“You know I always got you, Collin. Um I’m gonna go get some food.” Shauna said before walking off. It felt like she just got hit in the face with a piece of glass, she needed some water, no, something stronger than that. When she walked into the kitchen, that’s when she saw Val.

“Hey Shauna, I didn’t know you were coming,” Val said with a tight lipped smile

“Yeah, I just wanted to stop by, Zan made a card for Collin.”

“That’s cute,” Val said with a phony smile plastered on her face.

“How are you?”

“I’m good, actually do you know where Collin is? I have something important to tell him.” Please don’t let this bitch be pregnant, Shauna thought to herself

“You gotta tell me what?” Shauna cursed under her breath as Collin walked over to Val, she fought the urge to turn away when they kissed one another

“I have some good news, I was able to get you a job at Commander.”

“Oh shit, for real?”

“Yeah, I talked to my boss and he said he was down a mover and you can work with Miles.”

“Babe, you’re the best,” Collin beamed. Babe? She didn’t even visit him when he was locked up. Now after all these months, she gets him a job and she’s ‘babe’.

“It’s been fun guys, but I have to go pick up Zan,”

“You sure—-”

“Thanks for coming, Shauna. We appreciate it.” Val finished Shauna nodded her head and made her way out of the house. She tried to hold back her tears until she got in the car but in her haste, she ran into Ashley.

“Shauna, girl what’s wrong?”

“I’m fine. Just tired,” Ashley looked behind her and saw Collin and Val in the kitchen, she looked back at her friend with sympathetic eyes.

“Ash, I said I’m fine I gotta go pick up Zan.”

“Okay, call me when you get home.”

“Okay,” Shauna made her way out of the house as quickly she could. She didn’t want another person asking her what was wrong. When she finally got inside her car that’s when the tears came flowing down her face, she can’t believe she was so stupid. Collin is with Val no amount of phone calls, visits, or cards was going to change the fact that Collin and Val are a couple. The only person that needed to understand that is Shauna.

#Collin Hoskins x Black!Reader #Collins Hoskins #Black!Reader #Blindspotting #Ashley Rose #Val #Shauna Lewis #Blindspotting Imagine #Daveed Diggs #Jasmine Cephas Jones #Janina Gavankar #elocinnicole #Spotify

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bellylivesthepoguelife · 3 years

Text

i need you. [part 2]

Note: I can’t say “THANK YOU” enough to @mbabystein for beta-ing this! I sent it when I was *thought* I was done, and she said, “hang on a sec.” After discussing, I added 1,000+ words to it, and it is SO much better than what I initially wrote! I can’t WAIT to hear what y’all think of this one! ;)

Also! I got this request a few days ago and it fit SO perfect that i HAD to use it for part2!

Request: Hey can I request "I just want you to hold me." with jarah b??!💗

Word Count: 2.8K

(Part 1)

It's an hour later when their tears stop, and a numb, tingling sensation creeps into their bones. They don't speak for the longest time, each unable to escape the funnel of thoughts ringing too loud in their heads. Sarah is the first to break the silence. Sitting up straighter from where she was slouched against John B's chest. She doesn't look at him as she speaks.

"How mad are you." It's not phrased like a question even though it is.

She feels him swallow and clear his throat. "I'm not mad, Sarah."

Her eyes almost roll, and she's thankful that they're not looking at each other. "What are you then?" Silence. "I know you're feeling something."

His head makes a soft thud as he rests it against the wall he's leaning against. She'd bet a good amount of money that his eyes are closed as well.

"So many things."

She tries to ignore the thumping of her heart, tries to even out the quickening of her breaths. "Please tell me." She whispers. "I need to know what you're thinking."

There's more silence as he forms his thoughts. "I'm scared." He confesses.

She wraps her arms around him, hoping she can make him feel some of the comfort he'd been providing her. "Me too."

"How are you feeling?" His hands run up and down her arms, his unconscious way of comforting her.

"I'm terrified." A kiss is pressed to her hair, and the tenderness of it catches her off guard. The tears come before she even realizes, and she sits up straight, wiping at her eyes. "And I want to stop crying!"

John B smooths her hair back a couple times. "It's okay, you can cry."

"I don't want to cry. I want to talk."

He pulls his knee up to rest his arm it so he can still play with Sarah's hair or rub her back. "So let's talk."

She's quiet for a long time, staring straight ahead. John B stays silent, allowing her the time to think and gather her thoughts but he's still the first to break the silence. "You know if you want to talk about things, you have to actually say the words you're thinking?" He smiles and plays with a piece of hair before tucking it behind her ear. "Don't shut me out, Val. Please. Let me into that pretty head of yours. Let me help you carry some of this." Sarah turns to look at the man sitting on the floor with her, the only thing he wants is to help her. "You can start from anywhere, and we'll work our way through it."

Nodding, she takes a breath and allows him into the hurricane of her thoughts "Okay, well obviously I'm going to get fat--bye-bye bikinis..." She rolls her eyes and John B has to focus on not letting a smile break out on his face; because of course that would be the first thing out of Sarah Cameron's mouth. "...and I'm going to get sick all the time, which is obviously no fun." John B echoes something that sounds like "definitely no fun" and the commentary makes her smile. "Then there's telling everyone, and--fuck--what is everyone going to think." She runs a hand through her hair. "Who even is everyone? I don't exactly have the best parental figures in the world. My dad and my brother are in prison. How am I going to be able to even look at Wheezie." John B nods. "We obviously have to tell JJ, Pope, and Kie, and they're just gonna give us even more shit for being irresponsible."

"I think they may surprise you."

"Really?" She deadpans. "You really think they're going to be excited about this and not give us any shit?"

He sits up straighter. "I don't know about any shit, especially knowing JJ, but he'll just give it to me. I think they'll be nicer than you think."

"They're gonna be weird about it I know it." John B doesn't comment, and she shakes her head to herself. "Can you get me a drink?"

"Of course." He knew better than to push. Especially given the current high-stress environment, he decides changing the topic might be a better route. "When did you find out?" He stands up to stretch before walking over to the mini fridge in the corner to grab a couple waters that he knew would be stashed inside.

She pulls her knees to her chest, and rests her chin on top. Her arms come to hold each other in the pyramid of space her legs make. "This morning."

"Before you called me?" He clarifies, walking back over and handing her a water before moving to sit on her bed.

She nods in agreement as she takes a sip of water, standing up and stretching before moving to sit next to him.

They sit side by side, against the wall that the dorm-standard twin bed was pushed up against, legs extended out, Sarah's head on his shoulder, while John B's arm rest across her thigh. Sarah rubbed his arm, giving him time to process.

"We should probably get you to a doctor," is the first thing to come out.

Her body tightens when she realizes what he might be insinuating. She tries to seem nonchalant, aloof, as she gauges him warily. "Why?"

"I mean, isn't that what you're supposed to do?"

"I guess..." The impulse to narrow her eyes at him is intense.

"Well, I'm assuming there's some medicine, or something that you have to take, right?" His eyebrows furrow together, and he looks at where his hand rubs circles into her thigh. "Or something to help you with getting sick all the time?"

Sarah looks up at him as he continues, but she's more comforted knowing that his only concern is her.

"There's tests you have to get too, right? Like--I don't know blood tests or something? I don't really know a lot about this." He looks down at the water bottle he's playing with in his right hand.

"Neither do I." She admits. Sarah Cameron knew how babies were made, obviously, and even had thought about having them with John B one day. One day that was years down the road, not when they were only 19. She didn't even know if John B even wanted kids. Sure, they had talked about it in passing but never with any serious intent. He and JJ were the free spirit, fly-by-the-seat-of-your-pants, don't-make-plans-more-than-a-year-in-advance kind of people. She wasn't expecting him to be excited by the news by any means. Hell, she's not even thrilled with the idea right now. But he's still here, with her. She knows he loves her. Has to keep reminding herself so the fears of "he's going to be so pissed" and "he's going to leave you" stay far away. Having him here helps reinforce it.

His breath hitches, and breaks her train of thought. "I mean, they have to make sure you're okay, right?" His words are coming a bit quicker now. "That you're okay. That you and- and..."

She meets his eyes, and sees nothing but fear and concern there. Her hand rubs against his on her leg. "You can say it, John B, it's okay."

His eyes close, and he clears his throat. "That you... and the baby... are okay." He whispers. His breath jerks again just before she sees the first tear slide down his cheek.

"John B." She has to wonder if this is how he felt this morning, when he was still unaware of the situation. Only knowing that she was hurting. She straddles his legs, gently pulling his shoulders from the wall and into her embrace. "It's okay. We're going to be okay."

"I know." It comes out sharper than he probably intends, but he's quick to cover it up. "Sorry." He pulls back, running a hand over his face. "Anyway, what else did you want to talk about."

"I want to talk about you."

He gives a humorless laugh. "We're not talking about me, Sarah."

"You're a part of this situation, too." She gives him a look that dares him to defy her. "So, yes, we're talking about you."

"I'm not the one going through this."

He's deflecting and she knows it. "Maybe not, but you're involved just as much as I am. This is half of you, too."

"Dammit, Sarah!" His outburst startles both of them. She sits back on her heels, legs still on either side of him. "I'm trying to help you! Trying to--be strong for you because I know how scared you are. I don't care about how I feel--I don't want to talk about me because I'm the one that put you in this situation in the first place! So just--just let me take care of you! Please!"

As painful as it is to watch him break, she knows that this is what he needs. Sarah immediately pulls him into her, again. This time his hands wrap around her back, squeezing lighter than usual. She holds his head to her and plays with the hair at the nape of his neck, taking on the supportive role, and allowing him to be the one to break down for once. "I'm so sorry."

She pulls back enough to place a kiss to the side of his head. "It's not your fault. Vlad, we're going to be okay, I promise. It'll be okay." She's not sure if she's trying to convince herself or him, and she doesn't know who needs to hear it more.

It's as if the tears shed stimulate the need to make the fear known because he's pulling away to put his hand on either side of her face. "Sarah," there are still tears falling, and Sarah thinks there's no way she deserves the man sitting in front of her. "You're already getting sick. You're probably only going to get worse! And you're here, and I'm in the OBX, and I don't know the first thing about any of this! I don't know how to take care of a baby! I know they're expensive, so how the hell am I going to be able to support one when I've never even held one! And now there's one inside of you, and..." the thought seems to remind him of something else, because all of a sudden he's frantic. "And you're going to have to go through labor to get it out--oh god. Oh god--"

"John B." He's going to have a panic attack if she doesn't interrupt his spiraling thought process. "John B, look at me." His hands have moved to his head. She's pulling at them, hoping that looking at her while she speaks will ground him.

"You didn't ask for this, Sarah!" He pulls his hands away, and the anguish in his eyes brings tears to her own.

"You didn't either!" The short laugh that leaves her throat is unexpected even to her. "Babe, I love you, but you are completely freaking out. You make it sound like I just told you I only have 6 months to live."

He doesn't respond, and she feels a tug in her chest.

"What do you need, JB." Her voice is soft as she brushes a thumb under his eye. "What can I do to help you?"

There's a ragged breath, another couple moments of no one speaking. "Can you... I just want you to hold me. Please." Sarah's arms are locked around him in an instant, and the confession brings both of them to tears. Just like earlier, they allow themselves to feel the push and pull of the emotions that come in waves.

"This isn't a death sentence." She breaks the silence thinking maybe he needs the clarification. He said he doesn't know anything, but she hopes he at least knows this much. "I'm pregnant. Not dying." She kisses his shoulder to reiterate. "Yeah, you live in the OBX, but I can take a break from classes--"

"I don't want you to have to do that." He interrupts.

"It wouldn't be forever." She concedes. "And if I didn't want to do that, I could always switch to online. Point is: there's ways around that." She runs her hands through his hair, giving him another grounding technique. "Babies are expensive, yeah, but we've got some of the gold money to hold us over, and that's more than enough to support us and a baby." There's a pause, and he nods, rubbing a hand across his face to wipe his cheeks. The tears have subsided for the most part now, and Sarah's hoping that her words are getting through to him. "And yes, I will have to go through labor. But that's way down the road, and we will be able to talk through all of this so we will know what to expect, and make plans so we're prepared."

His eyes slide closed, and he mentally prepares to be his most vulnerable. "Sarah, I can't lose you."

"And you won't." A kiss to his forehead brings a smile to his lips. "You're not."

His arms wrap around her torso again, holding her like his only lifeline. "I'm just--I guess I'm scared that you're going to be upset with how this is going to change everything... you'll blame me... resent me..."

Sarah presses her forehead to his. Looking in his eyes so he knows she's serious. "That's how I felt this morning. I thought you wouldn't want it... wouldn't want me. I mean it's not like this is something we planned on." He starts to explain himself, most likely in disbelief that she would think that of him, but she cuts him off. "But now you're here. Holding me... and we're talking... and now that I know you're not angry and resentful... I don't know. There's a part of me that might be a little excited." His face softens then, her confession easing the tension that had taken a permanent hold on his body. "Do you think that maybe... maybe at some point down the line you might be excited, too?"

He kisses her then, hard and long, like there's a time limit. "I can be excited." He breathes. "I just can't handle the thought of you suffering, or hurting."

She kisses him this time. "I'm pregnant." She repeats. "I'm not dying. There's going to be some hard things, sure, but there's going to be some really beautiful things, too." He smiles then, and she thinks they might be okay.

"Do you think..." He starts, but then thinks better of it.

"Do I think what?"

He shakes his head and looks a bit embarrassed. "No, it's dumb."

She smiles at the change in their conversation, wondering how they both aren't suffering from emotional whiplash. "No it's not. Please ask me. What do you want to know?"

John B plays with his signature bandana and takes a minute to gather his courage, though it comes at the price of making sure there is no chance of eye contact when he asks. "Do you think... that maybe... I might be able to see the test?"

Whatever it was that she thought her boyfriend was going to ask, it sure as hell wasn't that. She just stares at him while her brain takes a minute to process the request. "You..." When she realizes what he's asking, she immediately jumps up to retrieve the piece of plastic from her desk drawer. "yeah. yeah, of course." She scrambles back on the bed, and sits on the edge of where he now had his legs folded underneath him. She hands over the test, and watches warily.

His hands are on both sides of it as he studies the two lines that shifted their whole lives. "Wow." He breathes, glancing up to see her smiling back at him. "Wow."

"Yeah." She agrees. "It's kind of crazy, huh."

"Crazy..." It's as if he can't stop looking at it. "So there really is a baby inside of you."

She nods, though he can't see it because he's still staring at the test in his hands. "There is. A baby that is half of you and half of me." He looks embarrassed again, and she can't help but wonder what's going through his head. "Penny for your thoughts?"

"Can I..." He doesn't elaborate and doesn't look at her.

Here eyebrows furrow. "Can you what, John B?"

He doesn't answer, but moves to sit beside her, even though they're facing each other. His hand reaches out hesitantly, and her throat tightens with emotions that she refuses to let show. "Can I?"

She closes her eyes to stop the tears from falling, and nods silently. She can sense his presence close to her, and the feather-light pressure of his hand on the stomach forces a whimper to escape her throat. She feels his other hand brush the side of her face, and leans into the touch.

"I love you, Sarah Cameron." is the whisper that leaves his mouth before he presses it to hers.

#i need you. part2 #i need you.#jarah b #john b x sarah cameron #obx writing #outer banks writing #john b routledge #sarah cameron #protective john b #jarah b angst #jarah b fluff #belly writes

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beldroxramscal · 3 years

Text

Sway ~ part 1

Javier Pena x female!OC

Word count: 2.690

Summary: One of Javier’s former informants came back to Bogotá. On his way to find out why, he encounters some unexpected trouble.

Warnings: guns, strippers, mentions of sex, language

A/N: No one asked for this and I doubt many people will read this, but I was so proud of myself for writing more than a few sentences, I decided to post this. My first fic in maybe 3 years? This is also my first time not writing for a ship and my first time posting something with my OC (very exciting and terrifying). I have a little more in mind with this, but we’ll see.

English is not my first language and I have no one to beta for me. That is just a very long way to say: sorry, my English sucks.

Part 1//Part 2//Part 3//

However he thought, or God forbid hoped, this night would go, this was not even in his top ten. Sweat rolled down his back, as the barrel of a gun dug under his chin. The mixture of gunpowder, iron, and raspberries hitting his nose while a pair of green eyes looked up at him. All he saw were flames. It was hard to connect her to the woman he saw just 5 minutes ago dancing with soft blue lights reflecting off of the glitter on her body. Along with the soft smiles and white bodice, she looked almost angelic. It was a stupid thought back then, and it’s even more stupid now.

“Layla! I don’t think this is a very good idea,” a shaky voice of reason came from the most unexpected source. Sweet Valentina hasn’t moved from the door since she brought him here, and he almost forgot she was standing there.

“Yeah? You know what’s not a very good idea? Bringing strange men backstage! How many fucking times have I told you?” Layla barked back without taking her eyes off of him. Her voice was angry and annoyed, but she was a complete picture of calmness.

“Look, my name is Javier Pena–”

“And you are looking for Izzy. I heard you. Where is your badge?”

Oh, so she knew who he was. He just hoped that was a good thing.

“Jeans. Back pocket.”

Layla moved to stand by his side as she blindly reached to his pocket. Instead, her hand landed on the small of his back, and she pulled out a gun from the back of his jeans. Without giving it a look, she threw it on the small couch behind her. Finally, she pulled out his badge, and her eyes left his for the first time since he came into her dressing room.

“What the fuck am I supposed to find out from this?” She closed her eyes forcefully, scrunching her nose in frustration.

“I am a DEA agent,” he answered a bit confused. No one ever questioned his badge before.

“So fucking what? Is there only one DEA agent? Anyone can fucking have this. Where’s some kind of picture, name… something. Jesus. Where’s your ID?”

Before he could tell her that it was in the inside pocket of his jacket Valentina started slurring words in a panic. By the look on Layla’s face, she wasn’t sure of what was said either, but it didn’t take much guessing when her last words were, “HE IS THE POLICE?”

“Why the hell are you still here, Val? Just get out.” Layla sounded as tired of all of this as he felt. He had some actual fucking work to do and instead he was here. Trying to figure out why one of his former informants came back to Bogotá and make sure she got out safe again.

“I’m not leaving you alone with him. What if he does something to you?”

“And how exactly would you help me?” There was a silence for a few moments, and then he heard Valentina move. Judging by the sound, she moved very slowly. Layla’s eyebrows raised in question and then her lips turned into an amused smile. “Good girl,” she said finally. Javier tried to turn his head and see what was going on, but Layla dug the gun even deeper into his skin making him hiss. It didn’t matter much either way because Valentina stopped in front of him. His own gun pointing at his chest.

“Now, where’s your ID?” Layla turned her attention back to him.

“Jacket.”

He felt her patting the side pockets and finally find her way to his wallet and ID. She studied it for a moment, looking up at him and back down to the piece of plastic and then, finally, lowering the gun.

“Give him back his gun, Val,” she nodded at her. Valentina almost threw it at him before Layla even finished her sentence. He caught it and put it back into the back of his jeans.

Layla took a few steps back and took Valentina’s hand into her own, giving it a kiss. “Go home, love,” her voice was full of tenderness and warmth as she spoke to the younger woman. Such simple gestures and somehow it felt too intimate for him to witness. “I’m sure Agent Pena will gladly pay for any emotional distress he caused you tonight.” Layla looked up from the woman up to him again with one of the fakest sweetest smiles he’s ever seen.

God, he hated strip clubs. You always pay way more than necessary for much less fun than a fucking brothel. Still, he took out a few bills from his wallet and reluctantly gave them to her. Valentina shoved them into her bra and, with a promise of a call from Layla, left.

“Unbelievable,” he let out, the bizarre nature of the situation finally hitting him.“Can’t say I’ve ever been held at gunpoint by a stripper.”

“I believe that,” she shot him a cold look. “Considering,” she gestured vaguely at him, “your whole deal. I mean, most strippers don’t have the inside information you want and very few of them fuck for money.”

He felt her words burn in his chest as he lit a cigarette to avoid her stare. He pondered if he should defend himself, but it seemed like she only wanted him to know that she knew what went down between him and Izzy. “Where is she?” he asked instead, trying to get to the point of this whole night.

“Safe. Her grandma got sick, so she came to visit her. She leaves tomorrow afternoon.”

“I would like to see her and make sure she’s alright,” he pressed. He didn’t come all the way down here and got his head almost blown off for words of reassurance.

She studied his face, lighting a cigarette of her own. Javier wasn’t sure of what she found out, but after a few moments, she turned her back to him and started packing her things into a bag. “Give me five minutes, and I’ll meet you outside.”

———-

The second she heard the door close behind him her hands tore away at the robe draped around her body. The material was light, but it felt like she was caught in a vice. Letting the flimsy material pool around her feet, she was finally able to take a deep breath. It still did not seem like enough. It did not matter though, she had no time to panic and wouldn’t have until Izzy and David were safely out of Colombia.

Taking one more deep breath she took off the silver bra and thongs and exchanged them for the more comfortable cotton pair she came to work in. She hastily stuffed all the costumes she used that night into her bag and then swept all the trinkets on the table on top of them with one broad sweep of her hand. She was already annoyed at the mess she’d have to go through later.

In her own clothes, she made her way through the back door outside the club. It took a little longer to get to the main street, but still better than being stopped by patrons asking for a private show.

Agent Pena was leaning on the hood of, what she thought had to be, his car. He was just finishing another cigarette, his eyes already on her as she stepped from around the corner of the building and into the street.

“That was more than five minutes,” he commented when she was within the earshot. Pushing off the hood of the car, he walked to the driver’s side without giving her a second look.

“I was hoping you’d fuck off,” she muttered to herself before sliding into the passenger seat.

He started the car and looked at her impatiently, waiting for instructions. She reluctantly told him their destination, not exactly ecstatic that she was about to take him to her flat.

Silence fell over the car when they hit the streets he was familiar with, and she didn’t have to navigate him anymore. Her head rested on the window, and she watched him drive. He seemed tired. Bags under his eyes and even his hands on the wheel kept sliding down now and then. She smiled to herself when his nose scrunched up as if something tickled it.

Pena turned his head as he stopped at an intersection and did a little double-take when he noticed her watching him. “What?” he asked seeming almost self-conscious. It made her laugh.

“Nothing,” she shrugged and kept her eyes unashamedly on him.

He looked at her again, holding her gaze for a few moments as if he was testing her, averting his eyes back to the road when she didn’t flinch. “I thought you wanted me to ‘fuck off’.”

“Oh, I do,” she agreed, completely serious. “I’m also kinda intrigued. I mean, Izzy risked everything for you. I’m just trying to figure out what it is about you that was worth it.”

He seemed to be caught off guard by her honesty. His fingers tightened around the steering wheel, and he shifted in his seat. This was obviously not a very comfortable topic for him. “I think you are giving me more credit than it’s due. I just offered her a safe way from Colombia with her son.”

“Sure,” she nodded, “seems reasonable enough.” The sarcasm in her voice did not escape him, but she just did not want to talk about that anymore. Both of them knew Izzy liked him more than she should have. She didn’t risk only her life, but also the life of her son and her grandmother. It didn’t matter now anyway.

“Is Layla your real name?”

She let out a laugh because the question was simply ridiculous. Especially after that little exchange they just had. The corner of his lip quirked up just a little. He seemed happy she wanted to move on from the conversation as well. “You are the big DEA agent here. What do you think?”

“So, what is your real name?” he looked at her again. The streetlights reflected in his eyes, and she realized that they were not as dark as she previously thought.

“Why? So you can go back to work tomorrow and try to look me up in one of your files?” she kept her tone light, teasing. He seemed more responsive to that, and it was nice to see him relax a little. Plus, she felt she owed him after holding a gun to his head.

“Of course not,” he shook his head, “I’m going back to the office right after I’m done with this.”

She laughed again, and he joined in with his reserved chuckle. “Well, I’m tempted to see how good you are and what you come up with only my address and a stage name.”

“So,” he turned his head to her and slowed down the car when she motioned to the apartment complex she lived in and parked right in front of it. “You think we will see each other again.”

“I think you like a challenge, agent Pena,” she winked at him as she got out of the car.

She closed her eyes in the cool air, mentally banging her head against a wall. Why did she always have to flirt? Barely, but still. It was like a curse she couldn’t get rid of, and it always came up in the most inappropriate of places. Like with a fucking DEA agent who fucked one of her best friends.

Pena closed the car door and caught up with her on the steps into the building. She led him to the second-floor terrace when he tried his luck one last time. “So you won’t tell me your name?”

“No,” she answered simply as she unlocked the door to her flat. “Izzy!” she called out into the apartment, but instead of Izzy, little David came running from one of the rooms.

“Auntie, Nat! Auntie, Nat!” he almost tackled her to the ground trying to show her little cars his grandmother bought him.

“No way! These are amazing!” she yelped, trying to match little David’s energy even if he just told Pena her real name.

“Auntie, Nat,” Pena repeated after the boy with a winning smile.

Natalia just shook her head at him disapprovingly, “that’s cheating.”

“Nat! I made di–” Izzy’s words died in her throat as her eyes landed on the man next to her. “What are you doing here?”

“Izzy,” Pena walked slowly to her, “I just wanted to make sure everything was alright.”

Izzy nodded at him, her eyes blown in shock. “Why are you with Nat?”

Hearing her name, Natalia took David into her arms. “Why don’t you two have a little chat and David,” she turned her attention to the youngest one, “can tell me all about these fancy cars.” The little bugger nodded furiously and twisted his way out of her arms.

“Yes! Of course! He couldn’t wait to show you,” Izzy agreed, kissing her son on the forehead as he ran past her and into Natalia’s room. Nat followed him in silence, only squeezing Izzy’s hand as she walked past her.

Her room was a mess with bags and clothes and toys all around the place. It looked like Izzy was in the middle of a packing up. Natalia made some room on her bed and sat down with David, trying to give him her full attention. It wasn’t as hard as she thought it would. David made damn sure she wouldn’t have anything on her mind but the story of the two racing cars.

It didn’t take long before the doors to her room opened and Izzy came in. She was genuinely smiling, content. “He’s leaving, but wants to talk to you.”

Nat nodded and walked out of her room and to the living room, where Pena was standing by the door with his hands on his hips. He didn’t seem very happy with anything that just happened. “What’s going on?” She stopped closer to him than necessary, but she didn’t wanna risk David hearing anything.

“Do you know how to use that little gun of yours?” he ducked his head down, bringing him even closer.

“I-I,” she stammered. The intensity in which his eyes bore into hers scared her. “Yes… Yes I know how to use it.”

“Good. Izzy doesn’t want me to go with you tomorrow.” He handed her a little white card with his name and put it into her hand. “If there’s anything weird. If you see anyone you don’t like or even if you have just a bad feeling,” he closed her hand around the piece of paper with his hand, not letting go just yet. “I want you to immediately call me, okay?” Somehow he was even closer now, but instead of recoiling from him, she stood motionless.

His eyes slid to her open lips that were unable to form the word to go with her nodding.

“Good,” he said slowly, dragging his eyes up to hers again. She felt as if she was under a microscope as if he could see every emotion she was feeling at that moment plainly in her face. Could he tell how scared she was?

“Good,” he repeated when his eyes landed on hers again. “Call me.”

“I will,” she finally found her voice. It was quiet and shaky and downright pathetic. She should have stuck with nodding like an idiot.

His head was tilting back and forth as if he could not bring himself to get out of her space even though he should. There was no reason for him to stay this close to her now, and she wasn’t sure if there was any need before, but neither of them was ready to make the first move.

With a quick swipe of tongue over his lower lip, he finally stood up to his height, squeezing her balled up fist in his hand as he turned to the door. “Good night, Nat.”

#Pedro Pascal #Javier Pena #Narcos #Javier Pena x reader #fanfiction #Pedro Pascal x reader #female!oc #mine

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pettyprocrastination · 4 years

Text

Rip Out Our Seams and Stitch Us Together

Pairing: Maxwell Lord x Valerie Lord x Black!Fem!Reader

Chapter Five

Word Count: 7k

Warnings: Profanity, mirror sex, choking, kind of face-fucking? a touch of voyeurism, oral-male receiving, penetrative sex, Mean Maxwell fuckin’ lmao, office sex, angry sex, how in God’s name did we get here I am horrible at writing smut so i just want to say i’m SORRY.

Chapter Summary: You take the measurements for the richest family in D.C, Valerie is surprised by her how quickly her son has taken a shining to you and Maxwell has a late night at the office.

Tag List: @captainsamwlsn @ithinkhesgaybutwesavedmufasa @readsalot73 @cinewhore @this-cat-is-dea @holographic-carmen @honestlystop @favoriteff-allcelebs @teaofpeach

Chapters: 1/2/3/4/

“The Lords are coming by tomorrow.” Cassandra looked up from the book open at the register.

“But Mrs.Lord was just in yesterday.” She told you.

“Not just her this time.” You finished off the seam on the ground in front of you as you spoke. “All of them are coming in, her husband and son, the whole gang of rich folk will be here.”

Ever since Valerie stepped into your shop late at night four weeks ago, she made herself a common visitor. Oftentimes she’d waltz in, plop herself down onto a chair and begin to complain about Maxwell’s secretary with the horrid voice or one of her friends who was less of a friend and more of a pain in the ass.

You didn’t know how becoming the friend of a heiress meant her throwing herself into your lap everyday to gossip about other rich people but hey, you weren’t complaining. She was pretty good company when the dust settled.

Three days ago she had called your store, and told you she, Maxwell, and Alastair would be coming in to get measurements taken so you could get the mock-up of their outfits done with their approval to move on to the finished version.

Before she could say anything else you had asked about her son.

“What does he like?”

“What?”

“What’s he like?” You asked, as you spoke your hand picked up the needle once more and began to hem the dress in your lap. “You know, DuckTales, Transformers, Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. I’ve got some stuff I always bring out when kids come into the shop but I don’t know how rich kids work. Do I just hand him money and call him sir?”

“Ha ha.” She droned. “You know if life as a seamstress doesn’t work out, you should pursue a career in comedy, you’d flourish.”

“Aw Val, I couldn’t!” You cooed. “You’d miss me too much.”

You heard her scoff on the other line. From across the store Cass looked at you like you’d sprouted a second head.

“Nonetheless.” She said slowly. “Alastair isn’t into traditional children’s activities. He enjoys chess with his tutors, reading, and playing the cello.”

You fought the urge to ask if these were things he liked to do or things his parents wanted him to do.

Maybe rich kids were just built differently.

“I’m just calling to tell you certain adjustments must be made for my son.” She explained, in a tone so formal you hadn’t heard it since you first met her.

“Uh sure.” You sat up, concerned. “What do you need?”

“Certain textures make him extremely uncomfortable for clothing, so be aware that the lining will have to be a soft, smoother material.”

You sat back, observing the swatches already laid out in the backroom. You could grab a few more of softer materials for him to feel and see which one he liked the most. You already assumed as such, since he’s a kid and you remembered how much you hated wearing your church dress because of how itchy it was. “ Anything else need to be done?”

“He can get overstimulated if places are too loud or crowded at times, but since your store hardly has any customers in it.” You could hear the smirk on her face over the phone and groaned. “I doubt that will be a problem.”

“It’s my pleasure to be of your assistance.” You snipped. A moment of silence passed between the pair of you. “But uh, seriously. Don’t worry about it. I’ve made clothes for kids and people with touch aversions before. No sweat.”

“Thank you.” She breathed out. “Really Stitches, I appreciate it.”

At her praise your lips curled into a soft smile. “It’s no problem Val. One question though.”

“Yes?”

“Who the hell names their kid Alastair?”

“I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that Stitches, I’ll see you tomorrow.” A dial tone met your ears and you called out to Cassandra.

“Do we have a chess board in the back?”

---

Valerie walked into her son’s room, clearing her throat so both him and his tutor looked up at her.

“Alastair honey, can I talk to you for a moment?” The boy, only eight, nodded and closed his workbook before standing. The tutor however, shot a hand out to grab her son’s shoulder.

“Mrs. Lord.” The tutor, a man graying at the temples who wore ties so bland she’d rather wear a nose, shot her a condescending smile. “I thought we agreed on not interrupting Alastair’s lessons. It’s bad for his focus.”

“Mr. Lanston.” She shot back in the same sickly sweet tone as she tapped a manicured nail against the wall. “Who’s house is this?”

The man swallowed. “Mr.Lor-”

She clicked her tongue, shaking her head side to side as if scolding a dog. “For a tutor you seem to be quite fond of giving out the wrong answers. So I will ask you again, whose house is this?”

The tutor shrunk back. “Yours.”

“Correct. And who is it that you work for?”

“You, Mrs.Lord.” He said meekly.

“Correct again! Now since this is my house and it is my son you are teaching, I will speak to him if I please. And if you try and insult my son’s intellect by saying a simple chat with his mother will throw him off course, I will throw you out onto the street. Do you understand me?”

The man’s mouth opened and shut like a fish out of water.

“I asked you a question Mr.Lanston.” Her hand tapped against the Cartier watch on her wrist expectantly. “I expect an answer back.”

“Of course Mrs.Lord.” He stammered out, before turning to her son who just barely came to his hip. “I’m so sorry Mr.Lord.”

“That’s okay.” He answered simply, before taking his mother's hand in his and walking out of the room.

Alastair Lord was eight years old, had his mother’s bright blue eyes and his father’s dark brown hair (Maxwell visited a hairstylist regularly but would never admit it). He had already skipped a grade but his parents insisted on keeping track of his studies, even during the summer. Maxwell did it in an attempt to feel less guilty about being stuck at work all day instead of being with his son, Valerie did it so nobody would ever get the chance to use her son’s intellect as a weapon against his own standing.

The Lords didn’t agree on much. But one thing they did agree on was that they loved their son more than anything in the world.

“Do you still want to go to the gala with us in September?” She asked him. Her son’s eyes flicked out to the large glass window that proudly displayed their immaculate lawn, a bird flew along the clear pane before flying up and out of sight. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

“I’ll go.” He said simply. He squeezed his mother’s hand in his with a small smile. “I like going to those fancy parties, you always wear pretty dresses.” He frowned, looking down at the floor for a moment. “I don’t like it when those old ladies try to touch my hair and kiss my cheek though.”

Alastair hated physical affection from those he didn’t know. The last business party of Maxwell’s he went to, a man’s wife tried to give him what she thought was a friendly kiss on the cheek because he was “such a darling little boy!”. Alastair ripped himself away from her in a panic, to which she then got offended and insisted to speak with his mother about his “awful manners.”

When Maxwell came to find his son clinging to his mother’s leg with tears in his eyes, he promptly had the couple thrown out and cut off business ties with the woman’s husband on account of her awful manners.

From then on Alastair’s parents made sure he knew that if he was uncomfortable with a situation, he was to tell them and they would put an end to it immediately.

“Your father and I are going to go see a seamstress to get measurements done for the gala. Would you come with us so we can get a suit made for you as well?”

Alastair looked up at his mother, blue eyes shining and ultimately passive at her question.

“Sure.”

------

It was late at night when he came into his son’s room. Alastair was already in bed, nuzzled under his sheets and head resting against his pillow. Maxwell gently rapped his knuckles against the door before entering, his son’s eyes blinked open. It was always a shock how much they looked like Valerie's.

“How’s the tutoring going?” Maxwell already knew the answer, Alastair excelled in every subject, but he simply wanted to hear his son speak to him.

“Good.” His son replied. “Mr.Lanston said if I keep studying hard I might be able to skip another grade.”

Maxwell sat on the edge of his bed. “Would you like to skip another grade?”

Alastair was already a grade ahead, his teachers would message his parents about how well behaved and smart he was. But Alastair hardly ever spoke about his own experiences at school, about his friends or anything other than his classes.

“I don’t know.” the boy shifted for a moment, furrowing his brows in frustration and it was moments like this that he truly did look like his mother. “Mr.Lanston says it’s good for me to stay ahead of other but-” He looked off into the window of his room, a small sliver of moonlight peeking through the blue curtains. “Fifth grade sounds kind of fun, I heard the history teacher is really interesting and takes us on fun field trips.”

Part of Maxwell, the part still drilled into his head by his mother, nagged that he was sending the boy to that school to learn not go on ridiculous field trips. The other part of him, the part that shone when Alastair called him dad, felt guilt when he saw how apprehensive his son was in telling him how he felt.

Maxwell smiled, reached out to ruffle his son��s hair that was damn near a carbon copy of his own (before he got it dyed of course). “Then you’ll stay right where you are champ.”

“Thanks dad.”

The older lord frowned, before sternly pointing a finger at his son. “That’s Mr.Dad to you, young man.”

His son promptly groaned and threw his blanket over his face. “That joke still isn’t funny!” Even at his disgust, Maxwell could hear his son’s muffled giggles through the blanket and smiled.

“Humor is subjective, son.” Maxwell stood up from the bed, knees popping loudly as he did. Jesus, he was getting old. “Goodnight Alastair.”

Maxwell was already out of his son’s room and halfway down the hall when a tiny voice peeped out.

“Goodnight dad.”

-----

“So what exactly does his son like?” Cassandra stood at the register, head laying in the palm of her hand as she leaned against the counter. The back room had been set full with different fabrics for them to see and either confirm or reject. Which in the classic Lord fashion meant they will either toss it at you with a stiff “this will do” or tell you it’s the ugliest thing in the world.

You sighed. “Apparently he likes to read, play chess and the cello.” You looked toward the old checkers board set out and shrugged. “That was the closest thing I had so lets hope he isn’t as stuck up as his father or dramatic as his mother.”

“Speaaaaking of which.” Cassandra looked up with an excited grin. “You and Mrs.Lord are like, best friends now right?”

You thought about all the times she paraded into your store before throwing herself into the nearest chair (or your lap) before complaining about her day like a soap opera star.

“Well I wouldn’t say best friends, but we’ve certainly gotten closer.”

“What’s she like? Has she taken you shopping? Have you seen her house? Is she as mean as everybody says she is?”

You pulled back for a moment, thinking. “She’s nice for a rich lady, no we haven’t gone shopping and I don’t think we ever will, I haven’t seen her house which once again I don’t think will ever happen, and honestly she insults me a lot but I think it’s her way of showing affection at this point.”

Cassandra giggled. “Like a cat?”

You thought about a cat- a fickle creature that will hiss and scratch in one second, and then demand all of your attention right after.

“You know what? That’s actually a pretty spot on comparison.”

The jingle of a bell met your ears before a stern voice sounded out.

“My god do you people not know what a broom is?”

You turned around, watching Maxwell enter your store with a crinkled nose.

“I know what a broom is well enough rich boy, why don’t I go get one so I can shove it up your-”

Cassandra cleared her throat loudly before motioning to the tiny child at Maxwell’s side.

“Oh, uh-” You realized the boy must've just seen you threaten his father. “Hey little dude. How are you?”

“I’m well, thank you.” The boy responded. Alastair’s voice was just as tiny as he was. He had his mother’s eyes and father’s nose, but his hair was so dark it made you wonder which one of his parents bleached their hair.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, mam.”

Prim posture, perfect manners, not a single hair out of place. He struck you less as a kid and more as a robot but you bit your tongue before smiling back.

“No need for fancy titles with me, little lord. You can call me Stitches.”

Alastair wrinkled his nose, a gesture that made him look so much like his father you wanted to laugh. “That’s a weird name.”

Valerie tutted at her son, blue eyes cast down in disappointment. “Alastair! Don’t be rude.”

“He isn’t wrong.” Maxwell waved off his wife’s scolding of their son. “Besides, I believe we came here to get actual work done on whatever horrid outfits you're making for the gala?”

“Of course.” You turned on your heel, leading them to the backroom where multiple mirrors lined the wall. “I’d hate to take up too much of your time. You’re a busy man after all, I’m sure you’d rather be off making your secretary cry or something equally as important.”

Maxwell rolled his eyes and shucked off his jacket, ignoring the twinge of annoyance he felt at even the mention of his secretary, someone you didn’t even know grated him so horribly.

“Well we can’t all run rotten, hole-in-the-wall shops like this that just beg to be robbed.” He turned a sly eye to you with his nose tilted up. “Some of us have standards after all.”

You smiled. “I suppose you're right about that one Mr.Lord, I doubt my skills will live up to your expectations.” You wrapped the measuring tape around his bicep, using it to tug him so close his powerful facade melted into one of shock.

“And yet-” Your voice curled in his ear like a tempting call, your eyes so focused on taking note of the measurement of his arm Maxwell hoped you didn’t hear his breath catch.

“-here you are.”

Valerie looked up from the fabric swatches in her hand to notice the way Maxwell stared at you while you were blissfully unaware. It was hungry, surprised and oh so desperate. The same way she looked at you.

All while you busied yourself with his measurements, unaware of the inner workings between the billionaire and his wife.

Valerie was pulled from her head when her son handed her a swatch of fabric, a royal blue in color and soft knit against her skin.

“This one is nice.”

She smiled at her son. Out of the corner of her eye she saw you wrap the tape measure around her husband’s chest. She reached down to playfully tug on the collar of his shirt, also a deep royal blue.

“You’ll look lovely in it sweetheart.”

The conversation between you and his father was not nearly as loving.

“Do you have to play such obnoxious music?”

You didn’t bother to look up at Maxwell when he snipped back, you simply focused on the tape in your hands and the measurement of his chest which only made him even angrier.

Obnoxious, what a perfect word to describe you.

The shirts, the tattoos, everything about you was just so...loud.

His eyes flicked forward when he felt your fingers ghost over his chest. Mirrors lined each wall, most likely so your customers could see what the clothes looked like on them from each angle. But as you leaned down to measure his inseam, his thoughts went other places.

Places they definitely shouldn’t have with his wife and son in the same room.

“Do you have to wear such disgusting cologne?”

Maybe it was your attitude, such defiance nobody openly showed him in fear of losing their job, or the fact that you were so different than the tucked in, prim-and-proper future trophy wives he fucked, or maybe it was simply the fact that your ass looked phenomenal in those jeans, but Maxwell couldn’t help but imagine fucking you in front of those mirrors.

He wondered if you’d be loud, head thrown back and calling out his name as he fucked into you without mercy, without care. Maybe you’d be shy, you were so stubborn after all. Perhaps you’d bite your lip, trying to keep your noises stifled so you didn’t give him the satisfaction of knowing how good he made you feel. Maxwell wouldn’t allow that of course, he’d never admit it but he liked having his ego stroked almost as much as his cock. He wouldn’t hesitate to grab your jaw, forcing you to look forward at yourself in the mirrors.

‘We’re the only ones here.’ His breath fanning out over your neck would make you shudder as you stared at your reflection just as he did. Seeing the way your tits bounced with each thrust and the ways your legs trembled and shook like those of a newborn. His pride swelled at the notion that if his arm wasn’t wrapped tight around your waist and gripping you close, you would’ve fallen to the floor by now.

‘Let me hear you.’ He grunted into your neck as your whimpers got louder until you were all but shouting his name. ‘Good girl.’

“It’s revolting really.”

The sinful painting in his mind was torn to shreds when your haughty voice cut through it like a hot blade.

He blinked owlishly, you stood in front of him, tape measure no longer against him but thrown over your shoulder while you crossed your arms.

“What?”

“Your cologne.” You explained with a smirk. “It’s like trying to take measurements in a chemical factory. A little goes a long way Maxwell.” You gave him a sarcastic pat on the shoulder, one he was too distracted to push off because the way his name rolled off your lips.

You had never said his name before.

As quick as the interaction was, you turned to Valerie and Alastair, both sitting at the table behind you. You smiled and held a welcoming hand out.

“You ready little man?”

Alastair looked at his mother, who nodded her head and he slid off his chair to hop onto the pedestal his father previously stood on top of. His father took a seat next to his wife who said nothing.

They both watched their son raise his arms as you held up the tape measure to him with a smile, you were saying something to him, most likely about school or his summer break. Valerie appreciated when you asked her about his interests to make a connection, but knew that was less than likely. Alastair wasn’t one to make connections, something she wondered if he got from his father by instinct or something that was drilled into him by his grandmother.

Before she had been banned from coming to their house.

“I’ll be working late tonight.” Maxwell told his wife. He knew she didn’t really care, their marriage was ten years of working late nights. Telling her at this point was just a courtesy.

“Will your secretary be working as well?”

Maxwell noted the sly dig toward Delilah, but didn’t care enough about the woman to defend her.

“If she wasn’t I wouldn't have hired her.”

Valerie ignored her husband in favor of the scene in front of her. She watched as you held the tape to her son’s leg, nodding your head as he spoke at length while you took his measurements. To say his mother was surprised would be an understatement, he hardly talked to his parents. Let alone people he’s only just met.

Maybe something about you just brought out that side of the Lords.

“Alrighty, you're all good Alastair.” The youngest Lord hopped off the little step and you looked toward his mother with a jut of your chin. “You're up, Val.”

Maxwell looked toward his wife with a raised brow, mouthing her nickname in confusion. She was too busy taking your hand as you stepped onto the pedestal to notice.

“So-” You wrapped the tape measure around her waist, mindful not to let your hands linger. “-how the hell did you two make such a sweet kid like Alastair?”

Valerie smiled at your reflection and ignored the way her heart jumped when you pulled the measuring tape just beneath the swell of her chest. “I’m not sure if that was an insult on my parenting or my personality.”

“Oh definitely an insult on your personality, without a doubt.” You responded seriously, but the tilt of your lips lent it to a gentle tease. “You must be doing something right because that kid is better behaved than you and your husband.” You looked up for a moment and she held her breath.

“Or should I be giving this praise to some poor underpaid nanny you torture?”

Valerie scoffed. “Oh please, Miriam is hardly underpaid and she doesn’t do a damn thing right. I don’t know why we keep her around these days.”

You snorted. “Miriam?” The tape measure pressed to the side of her hip as you measured down her leg. “God, you people really tic every box off the one percent checklist, don’t you?”

Valerie hummed, painted lips curls into a smile. “We try our best dear.”

You stood up straight, hands moving behind her to wrap the tape around her chest with an awkward cough. Even as you willed all your focus on the numbers of her measurement you couldn't help but feel your face grow hot.

“How unlady-like.” She murmured, you didn’t look up to meet her gaze but the smug tone in her voice gave it away. “At least buy me dinner, Stitches.”

You chuckled and spared a glance up.

What a fucking mistake that was.

Blue eyes stared you down like you have been presented on a silver platter and the richest woman in D.C. wanted nothing more than to devour you right where you stood.

“Something tells me I wouldn’t be able to afford it.”

“I’m sure I can make an exception.”

You realized Valerie was alot like the sun, you couldn’t look at her for too long without needing to look away.

You stepped back to write her measurements down and put your hands together.

“I think you folks are good to go.”

You just hoped you wouldn’t end up burned.

Maxwell stood up and scoffed. “About damn time, some of us have real work to do instead of twiddling our thumbs and sewing little dresses.” As he walked by, his eyes flicked over yours in a poisonous glare and his shoulder knocked against yours with his son following behind him like a little carbon copy.

You looked toward his wife, who looked just as surprised by the worsening of her husband’s mood.

“You’re one lucky woman Mrs.Lord.”

“Believe me I know.” She leaned forward to whisper with a wink. “But I know a few things that’ll brighten him up no problem.”

You scrunched up your face and pushed out every image that surged into your mind at her implication. “Okay gross, didn’t need to know that but thank you.”

“Always my pleasure Stitches.”

The door shut behind Valerie as she walked out to their car, throwing one last wink over her shoulder before sliding into the backseat next to her son while her husband slammed the passenger seat door behind them.

“Well-” Cassandra looked over at you with a surprised expression. She must've noticed the fact that Maxwell had seemed to be pissier than usual, you did as well but assumed it was because of some deal that went sour at work or some type of rich people shit you couldn’t even fathom. “-his son seemed nice.”

“Yeah.” Their car turned a corner and disappeared from your line of sight. “They aren’t exactly the fucking Brady Bunch though.”

------

“Daniels-” Maxwell adjusted his collar in the rear-view mirror as he spoke. “-swing by the office. I need to go over some papers for a meeting I have tomorrow. Then take Valerie and Alastair home.”

“Of course sir.”

The driver turned left.

“Mom?”

Valerie looked to the boy at her side. “Yes sweetheart?”

“Can I come with you the next time you see the seamstress?” Valerie looked toward the passengers seat, where her husband sat just as shocked as her.

“You want to go see Stitches?” Maxwell asked. “Again?”

His son nodded, too young to realize how surprised his parents were by his answer.

“She’s funny and nice and she doesn’t talk down to me like other people do.” Alastair looked up at his mother, nervous at her lack of response. “Is that okay?”

That seemed to snap Valerie into action. She smiled and took her son’s hand in her with a loving pat. “Of course sweetheart, Stitches would love to have you around.”

The car came to a halt in front of the Chimtech Consortium building, which stood tall, even against the grit and grime of the busy city streets

Maxwell stepped out of the car before ducking his head into the window. “I’ll be home late tonight champ, alright?”

Alastair held no disappointment nor resentment to his father for the time he spent at work but it didn’t make Maxwell feel like any less of a shit father.

“Okay dad.”

Valerie leaned over to press a kiss to his cheek, leaving a red lipstick stain in her wake. “I’ll see you tonight darling.”

Maxwell smiled. “Don’t stay up too late waiting for me dear.” He took a step back, watching the car drive out of the sight of his building before he frowned and wiped the lipstick off his cheek, which in turn left a red mark on his jacket sleeve.

“Damn that woman.”

The moment he entered the lobby, people seemed to pause before greeting him, none of which he gave a response to. It wasn’t until the elevator door shut that he took a deep breath.

Breathe Maxwell, you’ll run yourself ragged this way.

A tiny titter behind him made him realize he wasn’t alone in the elevator. Out of the corner of his eye he could see brown leather shoes that he’d wouldn’t be caught dead in.

“What’s your name son?”

The boy gaped for a moment before he found his voice. “Michael, sir.”

The door opened with a soft Ding! And Maxwell stepped out before turning to face the young man.

Wiry frame, tall, yet hunched over out of pure insecurity and refusing to meet Maxwell’s eye.

He was definitely an intern.

“Well then Mikey-” Maxwell noticed the way his head snapped up as he spoke. “Get me a coffee and bring it to my office, just the way I like it.”

The intern squeaked out a quick “of course sir!” before the doors shut on him.

Maxwell wondered how long it would take for ‘Mikey’ to realize he never told him how he liked his coffee or where his office actually was.

He turned sharply around a corner, taking note in the sea of cubicles he passed, every employee pausing to whisper and watch him march past without speaking. The sound of marketing calls dissipated as he grew farther away from the flurry of lower rank workers. Huddled cubicles were replaced with sleek halls and grand windows showcasing the city view. When his eyes landed on the dark brown door at the end of the hall he nearly wept.

Sweet sanctuary.

His hand had just curled around the silver door knob, the final obstacle between him and sweet sweet isolation when a shrill voice broke out.

“Oh!” Delilah squeaked, jumping up from her chair with surprise. “Mr.Lord, you're here!”

She definitely should’ve noticed that he had gotten here earlier, given that she was his fucking secretary.

“That I am Delilah.” Maxwell answered gruffly, eyes flicking over to the stack of papers on her desk that she would no doubt forget to file. “I do run this company after all.” Before she could respond with some ass-kissing compliment, he walked into his office and shut the door behind him.

Maxwell rolled his shoulders back, undoing the blue tie around his neck as he sank into his office chair with a groan. He spent more time in that chair than his own bed at this point.

Truth be told there wasn’t much that needed to be done at work today that couldn’t be done tomorrow. He had no meetings for another three days and he’d worked himself ragged the past few days to play catch up, now he was more than ahead of the game. He simply needed to be alone, to clear his head a bit.

But try as he may, he couldn’t calm the rambling stream of his consciousness no matter how hard he fought. When he opened his eyes again and spared a glance at the clock on his desk, he realized thirty minutes had passed since he first sat down.

Maxwell groaned, threading his fingers in his hair and pulling in frustration.

Why can’t you get the fuck out of his head?

That bratty attitude combined with your god awful sense of style should've made you repugnant, somebody he couldn’t stand the sight of and didn’t see as anything worth the metaphorical shit under his eight hundred dollar shoes. Yet here he sat, hunched over in his office plagued with your voice saying his name like a challenge over and over in his head like some sick chant.

Maxwell ran a hand through his hair, setting each strand into place before he pressed the button on his desk and spoke with authority.

“Delilah, could you meet me in my office?”

Only a few seconds later, she came scurrying into his office with poorly hidden excitement.

“Yes sir?” That was one thing he hated about her.

The fucking voice.

It wasn’t her voice on it’s own, but it was the way she made her voice sound. She made sure to always talk softly, forcing herself up to a higher octave to sound sweet and submissive like a flute when she really sounded like somebody stepping on the tail of a cat.

But her boss wasn’t interested in her voice to begin with.

He pushed his chair out from under his desk by a fraction and unbuckled his belt.

“Knees.”

She was quick to find her way between his legs with a sultry smile.

“Did you miss me?”

Maxwell scoffed. “Hardly. Now do something useful with that mouth before I start looking at new hires to take your place.”

The smile disappeared and she looked down, uttering out a small “Yes Mr.Lord” before she took his cock into his mouth. Maxwell let out a breath he didn't realize he was holding in, head falling back with a relaxed hum. His eyes shut as his mind, always his enemy, began to paint a picture he had been longing for all day.

You sat on your knees between his legs, moaning while you ran your tongue along the underside of his cock.

You seemed like the type to tease, he didn’t doubt that. But he enjoyed teasing just fine, as long as he was the one doing it. Maybe in the form of a toy nestled between your legs while he held a remote, turning it on and off with no pattern just to see you whine and buck your hips like a bitch in heat.

His hand knotted itself in your hair and pushed you further down on his cock with a grunt.

“That’s it.” You whined as your head bobbed up and down, tongue hot against his veins while the coil in his stomach wound tighter and tighter every time you moved. “You take it so well, just like that.”

A nervous knock sounded against his door. Maxwell’s eyes snapped open before they narrowed into angry slits.

Christ, he just couldn’t catch a break today.

Delilah let out a muffled squeak and pushed herself off of Maxwell’s cock before his hand pressed down on the back of her head and bucked his hips against her open mouth.

“You make a noise or move an inch off of my dick-” His voice was even and ultimately unbothered as he spoke to her. “-and you're fucking fired.”

Delilah made a whimpered garble against him, he assumed it meant ‘Yes sir.’

“Come in.”

The door creaked open and in walked the same intern from the elevator, just this time with a Styrofoam cup in his trembling hand.

Son of a bitch, the kid actually did it.

“Well color me surprised Mikey, you came through.”

The boy set the coffee on his desk, completely unaware of the woman crouched under the desk, deepthroating the seemingly unbothered man sitting before him.

Maxwell took the coffee into his hand, taking a tentative sip before his face scrunched up. Just as he did, Delilah gagged loudly against him, causing Michael’s eyes to go wide as he looked around for the source of the sound.

God he hated black coffee.

“A touch too bitter for my taste, but gold star for effort kid.” Maxwell's hand snaked under the table to push Delilah's head down another inch or two. Her nose was now nestled against the hem of his dress shirt, and he could feel her struggling to maintain the position by the way her throat flexed around his cock.

Good. Maybe that would shut her up.

“Next time try a dash of nutmeg.”

“Nutmeg?”

“Yes, nutmeg. It’s a nice wake-up in the morning. But for now that will be all.” Maxwell motioned to the door, to which the boy nodded and bowed his head like some servant.

“Of course, have a good day sir.”

“You too kid. Make sure to shut the door behind you.”

The intern all but sprinted out, Maxwell felt his pride swell knowing even after he complimented the intern, he was still scared shitless of him. The moment his door clicked shut, he gripped his slobbering secretary’s hair by the root and wrenched her off his dick, leaving her to sputter and cough with tears in her eyes.

“I suggest you make yourself useful, Miss Harris.” Maxwell slid his jacket off his shoulders and onto the chair behind him. He pulled a condom out of his pocket with a frown that never seemed to leave when she was in his presence.

“That poor intern already knows where my office is and how I like my coffee, you might be out of a job soon enough.”

Delilah wiped the spit from her mouth and grinned. She stood on shaky legs in those horrendous kitten heels before pulling up her skirt and bending over his desk.

“You could never fire me sir.” She groaned, gripping the desk like a lifeline when Maxwell entered her and began to thrust without giving her time to adjust to his size. “You’d miss me too much.”

Maxwell, still buried inside her, scoffed. “And what exactly would I miss Delilah? The cold coffee? The missed memos? Or you coming in late and thinking I don’t notice?” With each question he thrust in and out, in and out, a harsh unforgiving tempo that his secretary should be used to by now.

She arched her back with a squeaking moan. “No, you’d miss this pussy. Nobody fucks you like I do Sir.” The final string keeping Maxwell together, the one that everybody seemed to tug and pluck all day finally snapped when Delilah her next words.

“Not even your bitch of a wife.”

Maxwell’s hips halted their assault against Delilah’s freckled skin, his eyes narrowed as he stared down at the back of her head, the pregnant pause filled the air that made Delilah realize right as the words passed her lips she had fucked up.

She gasped when his hand wrapped tight around her throat and pulled her up off the desk and against his chest.

“Talk about my wife again, go ahead.” Maxwell growled out, Delilah opened her mouth but no sound came out as his fingers squeezed tighter and tighter around her throat until her face went from pale white to bright red, the cold metal of his wedding band cut into the soft skin of her neck, the pain hopefully proving to be an effective teacher . “I fucking dare you, you even mention Valerie one more fucking time and you’ll wish you never pulled your lazy ass through that door to apply for this goddamn job. You understand me?”

When he loosened his grip she nodded rapidly, taking in a shuddering breath. She looked over her shoulder at him, legs trembling and a pout on her swollen lips.

“I’m sorry.” She croaked out, voice hoarse from his dick and only made worse by his temper. His hand slid up her back before pushing her down on the desk where her body slammed down on the hard wood.

“I don’t care.”

Maxwell slid out of her before ramming back into her dripping cunt with zero grace, continuing to do so as his hands gripped her hips hard enough that he would surely leave behind bruises come the next day.

He thought about the way the same bruises would look on your hips.

Your neck.

Fuck, your chest.

Hearing you moan his name like a plea, a chant to God but Maxwell was one being worshiped. All the bite you showed him at work would melt away when he slid inside you with a groan. His fingers digging into the plush give of your ass while pounding into your sweet pussy that gripped him like a fucking vice.

“You love it.” He spoke through gritted teeth, hair unkempt and falling in front of his eyes. “You fucking love it don’t you?”

You nodded numbly, gripping onto the table and just barely managing a weak moan. Maxwell’s hand came down on your ass in a stinging slap that made you shout. He didn’t care who outside his office heard you, Christ himself could be standing outside and that wouldn’t be enough to pull him from you.

“You speak when-” Maxwell groaned, doubling over your body and rutting into you like an animal. “You speak when you're fucking spoken to.”

Your back arched as his voice growled out against your neck. “I love it.” You fingers dragged against his mahogany desk that shook with each thrust. “I love it so fucking much.”

“I fucking know you do.” His hips stuttered against yours, hot waves of pleasure threatening to crash over him with every thrust, every bounce of your curls and every sweet coo of your voice. “You were made for just my cock, just for me. Weren’t you?”

“Just for you.” You panted. Your knees knocked together as he pushed you into the desk more with each selfish thrust of his cock. “All yours max, only yours.”

Maxwell’s hand slammed down on the table next to Delilah’s head as he came with a low groan. Delilah, feeling her own high slowly retreating, whined.

“Max please.” She begged. “I’m so close please just-” she squeaked at the feeling of her boss pulling out of her in record time as he cleaned himself up.

“How many times to I have to fucking tell you, address me as Mr.Lord or Sir-” his eyes cut down at her trembling form. “-or don’t bother speaking at all.”

Delilah pushed herself off his desk with a weak nod.

“Yes Mr.Lord.”

“Send a reminder to that archaeologist for this Friday.” Maxwell had already fastened his belt and taken seat at his desk once more, plucking the now disarrayed papers off the cool surface and shuffling them into a neat pile in his hands. He read them while he walked over to the bookshelf raised on the wall

“She seems like a ditz and I want to make sure this meeting doesn’t fall through.”

Delilah frowned, tilting her head to the side. A gesture some men may find charming if they were ten years younger and didn't run a fucking company that this idiot woman worked for.

“Archaeologist?”

“The mousy one that works at the museum.” He reminded her. “If you don’t remember at this point, that’s your own fault for only paying attention to the things I say when you’re on my dick.” Without looking up from the papers in his hand, Maxwell waved a hand in the direction of his office door.

“That will be all.”

Delilah bowed her head, whether to hide the bright blush on her face or angry tears, he didn’t know. And quite frankly?

He didn’t care.

He was already focused on the papers he skimmed, deals and mergers that could break other companies while making him a richer man.

At least that’s what he told himself while your voice was playing in his head like a broken record.

Angry, brown eyes left the paper to stare at an unopened bottle of whiskey on the shelf that stared back at him.

A wedding gift.

The irony of it all wasn’t lost on him as he forwent a glass and drank straight from the bottle in hopes of drowning all thoughts of you.

The bottle was halfway empty when he gave up.

#maxwell lord #maxwell lord x reader #maxwell lord x valerie lord x reader #valerie lord #valerie lord x reader #ww 1984 #ww1984 #WW84 #wonder woman 1984 #ROOSASUT

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callboxkat · 4 years

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Second Chances part 8: The Visit (1 of 2)

Author’s note: Very excited to finally bring you guys this next installment of Second Chances! The second half should be out in a few days. Until then, enjoy this one :)

Summary: Between some difficulty getting along with his coworkers and his quickly approaching visit with his parents, Roman has a lot on his mind. He can only hope that things will turn out well.

Warnings (for part 1) : fear of being rejected, food mention, arguing, panic attack

Word count: 6134

Second Chances Masterpost!

Writing Masterpost!

...

Roman received his first paycheck on the Friday of his first week at the Sanders Café. He didn’t have an account set up yet for it to be directly deposited into—he and Logan were planning to take care of that over the weekend—so this first one was a literal paper check.

Roman was very excited, practically jogging back to the house. When he arrived, he immediately tried to give the check to Patton, in return for letting him stay at the house.

Patton turned him down, cheerfully saying that Roman didn’t owe them anything, and he wasn’t going to take his money. Roman probably should have expected that. He knew that Patton had benefited a lot from the kindness of strangers in his past—of course someone like him would try to pay that forward.

So, when Logan got home, Roman went to him instead and tried again to hand over his check, figuring that Logan was more likely to agree to the exchange. However, Logan just shook his head and pushed it back to him. “That’s yours, Roman. Maybe you can contribute something with future checks, but you should build up some savings for yourself, first.”

Roman had tried to insist, but Logan wasn’t budging, so he’d finally given up. He did have one more idea.

Maybe Patton and Logan had flatly turned him down, but surely there was one person who wouldn’t refuse some compensation for him being there. She hadn’t wanted him there to begin with, after all, and even though she had accepted him now, he still felt that she was the most likely to accept his offering.

This was how he found himself outside Val’s bedroom that evening, his paycheck clutched in one hand. He knocked with the other.

“It’s open,” she called.

Roman opened the door, staying in the hall. Val was sitting at her desk, painting her nails.

“Oh, hey, Roman,” she said, putting the brush back in the bottle and inspecting her handiwork. “What’s up?”

“Hey, Val,” he responded. He looked down at the check in his hand. “I wanted to ask… Pat and Logan wouldn’t take it, but….” He held out the check. “For uh, rent, I guess.”

“Is that your first paycheck?”

Roman nodded.

Val shook her head. “No, I’m not taking your money. Even if I wanted to, Patton would kill me. Or make my brother kill me.”

Roman sighed. He’d gotten this job in the first place so that he could help out and stop being a freeloader, and now not one of them was letting him do that!

“You know what you should spend some of that on?”

Roman looked up. “What?”

“You’re going to see your parents, right? You should use that for your ticket.”

“Mamá already paid for it,” Roman said. “She won’t let me pay her back, either.” She’d probably throw a fit if he tried.

“Okay, Plan B.” Val got up, stepped out into the hall, and closed the door behind her. “Let’s go get your parents a present. What do they like?”

“Weren’t you painting your nails?”

“Just finished. They’ll dry on the way. Now what do your parents like?”

Roman hesitated. “My mamá likes to garden.”

“Okay. Let’s go get her a plant. I bet she’d love something with flowers. What about your dad?”

“He… I don’t know. He’s really into birdwatching, I guess? But I don’t know what you’d get someone for that.”

“What else does he like?”

Roman dithered uncertainly. “Well, he used to collect a bunch of really old coins… but I don’t know where we’d find something like that.”

Val looked thoughtful. “I came across a site a while back where you can buy old Roman coins for like ten bucks each. Does that sound like something he’d like? If we ordered it today I’m sure it’d be here by the time you leave next week.”

“I—yeah, I think so,” Roman said, having the sudden urge to hug Val. “Thank you.”

She smiled. “No problem. Let’s go downstairs; we can pick one out, and you’ll pay me back once you deposit that check of yours.”

…

They ended up choosing a coin that was about $15, with positive reviews, guaranteed to arrive well before he left. Val placed the order, and then she took Roman to a garden store.

“Sure, you could wait and go with Patton and my brother, but my brother has no taste in plants, and Patton’ll probably buy whatever plant looks the saddest because he feels bad for it. Or end up accidentally getting a plastic one. You think I’m joking, but he literally did that once.”

So, Val and Roman went to the garden store alone. They picked out a little plant with small blue flowers, in a cute ceramic pot that had been glazed a darker blue.

Patton and Logan were sitting at the kitchen table when they walked in.

“What’s that?” Patton asked when he saw the plant in Roman’s arms.

“Present for my mamá,” Roman explained. “Val took me to get it.”

“Oh, she’s going to love that, kiddo!”

Roman smiled. “You think so?”

“Of course! It’s so pretty. What kind is it?”

“It’s…” Roman checked the label. “It’s a… myositis. Forget-me-nots.”

“Oh, cool!” Patton said.

“That can’t be right,” Logan said, frowning. “Myositis is a term for muscle inflammation.”

Roman blinked, then checked the tag again. “Sorry, it’s myosotis.”

“That does make more sense,” Logan said. “Interesting. Were you aware that that name translates to “mouse’s ear” in Ancient Greek?”

“Why do you know that?” Roman asked, staring at him. “Who just knows things like that off the top of their head?”

Val started snickering. Logan shrugged, looking embarrassed.

…

Roman was starting to think that being homeless and unemployed hadn’t been so bad. At least then he hadn’t had to deal with this hell spawn.

“I can’t do it!” Roman wailed as he flung open the door (while still making sure it didn’t smack the wall). “I can’t do it! He is the worst!”

Patton, who had been standing at the kitchen counter, cutting up vegetables, set down his knife, looking concerned.

“What’s wrong? Did something happen?”

Roman sighed, walking over to him. He put his elbows on the counter and hid his face in his hands. “It’s this guy I work with.”

“Your manager? Thomas?” Patton guessed.

“No, not him—he’s great. The other one.”

“What’s wrong with him?”

“He hates me, and I don’t know why!”

“Come on, kiddo, I’m sure that’s not true.” Patton picked up the knife and started slicing carrots again, still watching him between cuts to show he was paying attention.

“It is! He acts like every time I mess up, I’m doing it just to spite him, and then he gets on my back about it, which only makes me mess up more, and then he gets even more annoyed at me….”

“Could it just be growing pains? It’s only your second week. Maybe he just needs some time to get used to you.”

“I thought so too, but…” Roman sighed heavily. “It is not working.”

Patton paused. “If it’s really so bad, maybe you could look into possibly working somewhere else? Tons of places would be lucky to have you.”

Roman looked up sharply. “No… no, I’m not doing that.” He shook his head. “I do that, he wins.”

Patton bit his lip uncertainly.

“At least tomorrow is his day off,” Roman sighed. “So I get a break.”

“Well, that’s good,” Patton said. He pushed the carrots into a bowl with the potatoes he’d already cubed, and he picked up an onion. As he started to peel the skin off of that, he said, “Maybe it’ll be nice for both of you to get a break from each other. It could be you’ve just spent too much time together lately.”

“Yeah. Could be. I just don’t know what his problem is.”

Patton glanced up, humming thoughtfully. “Do you think any of this has anything to do with your visit coming up?”

Roman hesitated. “Maybe,” he admitted.

A major source of stress for him at the moment—maybe the main source of stress—was the fact that he was set to visit his parents at the end of the week, for the first time in a long time. If you considered five years to be a long time.

It certainly didn’t help that at the start of those five years, Roman had lied to them about heading to college and basically vanished off the face of the earth, leaving them with no idea where he had gone or if he was even still alive. That is, until Patton and Logan had convinced him to call his mamá the week before.

Ever since then, he had been calling her every evening before dinner, to talk. Mostly, they talked about unimportant things. How their days had been (Roman always sugar-coated things if they hadn’t gone well), what they were up to (you know, besides the homelessness), and how much they were looking forward to seeing each other when Roman was able to get enough time off for a visit.

Getting the time off he needed had turned out to be easier than expected. Roman’s schedule already gave him weekends free, so he had only requested one additional day—a Monday.

He hadn’t been sure whether to be relieved or sad that he had had to wait an additional week to go, since they’d been understandably reluctant to give him a day off in his second week on the job.

Of course, both Thomas and V, all that Roman knew his other coworker by, knew that Roman was taking the day off. Thomas hadn’t seemed to mind coming in on that Monday—since he usually took that day off—but V hadn’t seemed all that enthused. The fact that Roman was taking a long weekend after only working at the Sanders Café for two weeks hadn’t helped the barista’s opinion of him.

As one might imagine, Roman’s stress about the upcoming visit did not go well with the attitude V took with him, and it had already lead to several clashes.

As exemplified by today.

“Want to help me cut up some veggies?” Patton asked. “We’re going to roast them for dinner later tonight. Maybe it’ll help to take out some of that stress on an onion.” He picked up the newly peeled onion and offered it to Roman.

Roman sighed. “Sure.” He went to the sink, washed his hands, and took the onion and knife from Patton. “How do you want this cut?”

“However you like, within reason!” Patton said. “How about I heat up some leftovers for you, for lunch, while you do that? We’ve still got some spaghetti.”

“Sounds good. Thank you, Patton.”

…

Patton sat curled up on the sofa with Logan, only half-watching the news that his boyfriend had put on. After a while, he stretched and sat up.

“I’m going to go check on Roman. He seemed pretty upset when he came home from work today.”

Logan frowned, turning to look at him. “Did he say what was going on?”

“Some kind of disagreement with someone he works with. But I think he’s really just stressed about this weekend.”

Logan nodded. “That seems reasonable.”

“Anyway, I’ll be right back.”

“Okay.” Logan reached out, held his hand for a fraction of a second, and then let Patton go. Patton got up, walked past Val, who was reading, and went upstairs.

He stopped outside Roman’s room, whose door was slightly ajar, and knocked softly. “Roman?” he asked.

He waited, but he didn’t get an answer, so he tried again. When that still went without a reply, Patton gently pushed open the door, wondering if maybe Roman had fallen asleep.

The room was empty.

“Hm.” Patton leaned forwards to look around inside the room, but unsurprisingly, Roman wasn’t hiding in any corners.

He backed up, returned the door to how it had been before, and looked around.

Finally, he realized that he could hear something, faint, but not so faint that he thought it was coming from downstairs. Patton followed the sound.

Was that singing?

He stopped outside the bathroom, which was dark other than the light let in through the tiny, curtained window, but whose door wasn’t quite closed.

Roman stood in front of the sink, singing a song that Patton didn’t recognize. He was singing very quietly, but it was like he was serenading himself, complete with acting.

He also looked like he’d been crying.

Patton, who had been about to knock before he caught a glimpse of Roman in the mirror, stepped back before Roman could spot him. He did want to stay and try to help, but he really felt like he was intruding. Whatever Roman was doing, it seemed to be some kind of self-soothing method. Maybe it was a little unusual to serenade oneself in the mirror, but if it helped cheer Roman up, then Patton wasn’t going to judge him.

Patton quietly padded back down the hall and went back downstairs.

He settled himself back against Logan, who took his hand again. Patton read a headline on the TV screen about that week’s tragedy and sighed, turning his head so his face was against Logan.

“How’s Roman?” Logan asked, subtly changing the channel to one showing reruns of an old sitcom. “Did you talk to him?”

“He didn’t seem like he wanted to be bothered,” Patton replied, looking up again.

Logan nodded in understanding, although he was frowning.

“Is he okay?” Val asked as she turned a page in her book.

“I’m not sure,” he admitted. “He’s really nervous about this weekend.”

Logan fiddled with the remote without actually changing any settings. “I’d assume he’s afraid that his parents will reject him,” he said.

Val gave him a look. “Please don’t say that when he’s down here.”

“I don’t think it’s likely,” Logan quickly clarified. “They’ve seemed eager to talk to him thus far.”

“They’d better not turn him away,” Patton said. “I’ll fight them.”

“I thought we agreed you wouldn’t be fighting anyone. Besides, if they were going to turn him away, I’m sure it would have happened by now.”

Val closed her book, resting her head on one hand. “Whether it’s realistic or not, he’s obviously upset. And it’s probably not helping him, locking himself away upstairs with his thoughts. We should ask him to come downstairs in a few minutes. He likes to help with dinner, right?”

Patton glanced at the time. “That’s true. We should probably start cooking soon.”

“You cut up the vegetables like I asked?” Logan checked.

“Yep! Roman and I did.”

“Thanks. It shouldn’t take too long, then.”

Val set her book to the side. “Should I go grab him then, or…?”

“I’ll give him a few more minutes and then I’ll do it,” Patton said.

“Okay.”

A few minutes later, Patton walked back up the stairs. He was relieved to see that the light was on in Roman’s room now.

He knocked on the door, and waited for an answer.

A moment later, the door opened, to reveal Roman. He smiled, and if Patton hadn’t seen him before, he might not have known Roman had been so upset. “Hey, Patton. What’s going on?”

Patton smiled back, deciding not to bring it up. “We were planning to start dinner soon. Want to help?”

…

Roman had been making a point of getting to work early ever since his mistake the week before. So, it was no surprise that he was the first employee to arrive at the café that morning. It was a surprise, though, when neither V nor Thomas showed up. Instead, two younger employees, probably 18 years old or so, took their places: Talyn and Joan. Roman had worked with each of them before when they occasionally joined his shift, but never at the same time.

“Is Thomas not coming?” Roman asked, watching as the pair approached. He’d known it was V’s day off, and that Thomas didn’t come in every day, but usually their manager worked whenever V didn’t.

“He’s sick,” Talyn said, pulling on their apron. Joan went into the back to put their things away.

“Oh. Is he okay?”

Talyn shrugged. “He calls in sometimes. He asked me to take his place today.”

“Okay.”

“Joan and I can finish getting everything set up back here. Want to take the chairs down?”

“Sure.” Roman walked out from behind the counter to do just that.

“So how are you liking this place so far?” they asked as Joan returned from the back.

“It’s alright,” Roman shrugged. When V wasn’t getting on his last nerve, at least.

“Just alright?” Joan asked.

Roman flushed slightly. He didn’t want to complain about his job, not at his job, to his coworkers. That didn’t seem like a good plan at all.

Joan laughed. “Relax, I’m just teasing. It can be tough, at the start. Customers are something else. Plus I know Virgil can be prickly.”

Roman blinked. “What?”

“Virgil?” Joan looked confused. “The barista you work with?”

“Oh, right, sorry. I didn’t quite hear you,” Roman lied. He had a feeling he’d get teased if he admitted he’d gone nearly two weeks only knowing Virgil as V, or as the numerous aliases of the other worker’s name tag collection. “Glad to hear it’s not just me.”

“Has Virgil been treating you okay?” Talyn asked.

“Yeah. He can be kinda pushy, but he’s okay… most of the time. I do like his name tag collection.” Roman had tried to compliment Virgil on one of the name tags, pointing out that it was funny that the barista chose to wear one that said “Mary Lee”, and had only gotten even more hostility in response. Maybe Virgil didn’t want Roman to acknowledge that the name tags didn’t have the barista’s actual name on them? Maybe Virgil misunderstood, and thought Roman was making fun of whoever the actual Mary Lee was?

Whatever the case, trying to be that creepy cookie’s friend was proving rather difficult. Thomas’s “Storm Cloud” nickname made a lot of sense.

Talyn bit their lip, glancing at Joan, then looked back at Roman. Roman blinked, unsure what that was about. “Virgil can take a while to warm up to people, sometimes,” they said. “It’s probably nothing to worry about.”

Not long after, it was time to open up the café, and the attention of the three baristas was diverted to the grumpy swarm of early morning coffee-seekers.

It was a busy morning, with a lot of disgruntled people who thought they were entitled to their caffeine before anyone else and didn’t even tip well (if at all), but at least Talyn and Joan didn’t get mad at Roman for spilling a few coffee grounds, or for nearly forgetting the whipped cream on one of the orders. That was a welcome change.

Still, that afternoon, Roman spent most of his time holed up in the former guest room, trying not to stress too much about the next day, which was, of course, his last day of work before he got to go see his parents for the first time in years and hope they wouldn’t turn him away.

…

The following day, Virgil was back at work. And as tired of Roman was of his coworker hounding him like every little mistake he made would bring on the apocalypse, he did have some new information at his disposal, and he was going to take advantage of it.

Roman looked up as the barista came in, reluctantly lowering the headphones that had doubtlessly been blasting some sort of emo music moments before.

“Hey, Virgil,” he said pointedly, grinning.

Virgil hardly bothered to glance up, grabbing one of the aprons that still hung on the wall. “Hey, Princey.”

Roman was almost offended by that lackluster response. “How’s it going, Virgil?” he tried again, louder and with more emphasis.

“Fine?” Virgil said, giving him a strange look. “How’s it going, Roman?”

Roman sighed. “Disappointing.”

“What?”

Whoops. Virgil wasn’t supposed to actually hear that. He scrambled for an excuse. “…I said disappearing. The sun is gonna be disappearing sooner. The days are getting shorter again. You know.”

Virgil glanced outside, at where the sun was just beginning to rise, bemused. “I guess?”

“Aaaanyway. How was your day off?” Roman asked, tying his own apron in place.

“It was great. I actually got to miss the sunrise, for once.” Virgil started taking down chairs from the tables, putting them in place on the floor. “It was over pretty fast, though. Sure would be nice to take three days off in a row.”

Roman frowned.

“What are you doing this weekend, anyway? Video games? Binging Lord of the Rings or something?”

Roman let out a long sigh. “I’m visiting my parents,” he reluctantly admitted. “I haven’t seen them in a while.” Ever since Virgil had found out about Roman’s days off so soon after starting the job, Roman had skirted around answering the question of why he was taking that break. And while it still wasn’t really any of Virgil’s business, Roman was getting tired of this, and really didn’t want to deal with passive aggression when he was already worried enough. Today was Friday, and Roman was getting on the bus to go see his family that very afternoon.

Virgil’s mouth thinned. “Oh.”

The other barista turned away without another word, and didn’t bring up Roman’s days off again that shift. Roman felt that this was worth the admission. It would have probably been nearly unbearable otherwise, since Thomas was apparently still not feeling well, so it was just the two of them for the entire shift. As it was, other than Thomas being gone, Roman might have said that things were going… at least sort of well. Virgil wasn’t getting on his back too much, he wasn’t messing up as much as he’d expected, given how much he was thinking about that weekend (although he still messed up quite a bit more than usual). But of course, his luck couldn’t last.

He took a break during a lull in customers, and he came back, opening his mouth to tell Virgil to go ahead and take a break in the back, now.

But no words came out of his mouth. Instead, he froze.

Standing in the middle of the café, reading the menu, was a familiar figure. His dark hair was swept to partially cover his face, and he wore a black faux leather jacket over a band t-shirt.

Jay.

Roman felt dizzy.

“Roman?”

Roman shook his head, took a step back, and then sat down hard on the tile floor.

“Roman! F*ck, okay, hold on—Sorry, sir, get out, please! The store’s closed! Bye!”

“What the hell are you talking ab—”

“Store’s closed!”

Virgil herded the guy out, and as he disappeared out the door, Roman got a better look at his face. It wasn’t Jay at all. Just some guy who looked ridiculously like Jay.

“Dammit,” he whispered, wishing this realization would stop his heart from pounding, would erase the way he’d just embarrassed himself, was continuing to embarrass himself.

Virgil knelt down in front of him, hovering uncertainly. “Hey. Hey, Princey, what’s going on? Are you okay?”

Roman shook his head, his attempts to breathe only strangled gasps. It was all just too much. The stress of this new job, and the visit this weekend, and thinking he’d seen Jay, who’d been a catalyst in all of this— It was too much.

“I think you might be having a panic attack.” Virgil shifted uncertainly, hovering around him. “Does that sound right?”

Roman shakily nodded.

“Okay. Okay, good. No ambulance, then. That’s great. I mean, not great that you’re panicking, that—never mind. Can I help?”

“Yeah,” he gasped. Please make this stop.

“Cool. Cool, cool. Try breathing with me. It’s an exercise I use when I get anxiety attacks.” Virgil started with a long inhale, counting off a pattern.

“In, 2, 3, 4… hold, 2 3, 4, 5, 6, 7… out, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8.”

Roman did his best to follow the pattern, with difficulty at first; but soon enough, rather than freaking out, he was a more reasonable amount of mortified, and this time more about the fact that he’d freaked out in the middle of the café, in front of Virgil, than about anything else.

Virgil seemed relieved when it was clear that Roman was no longer panicking. The barista looked him over for a moment, then offered him a hand up.

“I think maybe you should go in the back for a little longer,” Virgil suggested as Roman was pulled to his feet. “I can take my break later.”

“…Yeah, maybe,” Roman admitted, not meeting Virgil’s eyes. “Might be a good idea.”

Virgil led him to the back room, shoved a plastic cup of tea in his hands, and promised to return in a bit.

Roman sat there, sipping his tea, wishing he could sink into the floor.

Several minutes later, Virgil returned.

“Sorry,” Roman said as soon as he saw that distinctive purple hair, gripping his cooling cup of tea tightly. “I didn’t….”

Virgil sat down on the arm of the sofa. “What was that about?”

Roman shook his head.

Virgil sighed, glancing back towards the main area of the store. “Fine, don’t tell me. But are you, like… good? You’re not going to freak out on me again?”

“No, I’m… I’m fine.”

Virgil looked at him doubtfully. Roman set his jaw, and then Virgil nodded. “Alright. Maybe clean yourself up a bit, though.”

Roman felt his cheeks burn. He nodded.

As Virgil turned to leave, Roman cleared his throat.

“…Thanks, Virgo.”

Virgil paused, turned, and said, “I’m a Sagittarius,” before leaving the room.

Under different circumstances, Roman might have laughed. As it was, he simply took a deep breath, set the remains of his tea to the side, got to his feet, and went to the employee bathroom. Looking in the mirror, he had to admit he looked rather… disheveled. He’d definitely seen worse days, that was for sure; but his hair was a mess, and his eyes were red and watery like he’d been crying.

(Had he been crying? He suddenly wasn’t sure.)

Roman reached over for a paper towel, folded it over, and ran the water over it for a second. He stood there at the sink for a while, the cool, damp paper towel held against his eyes. Once the redness had died down, he combed his hair with his fingers until it was back to its normal groomed appearance. Finally, he took a deep, steadying breath, washed his hands, and returned to the front of the store. Virgil looked up when he appeared, in the middle of making a cappuccino, and nodded.

Roman resumed his post without a word, and they both pretended like nothing had happened.

When Roman went back to the house that afternoon, he didn’t complain about Virgil, for once. Of course, he did have other things to think about. Like the little detail that he was leaving in only a couple of hours.

…

“Are you sure you have everything?” Logan asked as the trio walked to the bus station. They’d parked a couple of blocks away, since the parking spots at the station itself were metered, and rather expensive. Logan had offered to park there anyway, but Roman had insisted that he was fine with parking farther away. It was a nice day, anyhow; and he would be spending quite a while on a bus. “There’s still a little time, if we have to stop somewhere.”

“I think so,” Roman said, adjusting his grip on the handle of the small, baby blue suitcase Patton had lent him. It rolled behind them, occasionally bumping over an uneven patch of sidewalk. “I don’t have a lot of stuff.”

“And you’re sure you’ll be okay by yourself?” Patton checked. He held the small potted plant that Roman and Val had picked up as a present for Roman’s mamá. He almost seemed more nervous than Roman. Almost.

Roman swallowed, then nodded. “Yeah. I’m sure. It’s just a bus ride. My parents are going to pick me up at the station.”

Patton reached over to squeeze his hand. “They know what time you’re getting in?”

Roman nodded. “And I can always call, if I need to…. Thanks again for the phone, by the way.” They’d picked him up a cheap, prepaid one for emergencies, since Roman hadn’t had a phone of his own in a very long time.

“It’s no problem,” Patton said. “Just be safe, okay?”

Roman gave him a shaky smile.

“There’s the station,” Logan said, gesturing across the street. “Which bus are we looking for?”

“17,” Roman provided. He didn’t even need to check his ticket. He’d spent long enough staring at it the night before.

Logan glanced to make sure no cars were coming, then started across the street. He and Patton were already scanning the busses collected at the station, looking for the correct one.

“I don’t think it’s here yet,” Logan said. “That’s not surprising. We are early, after all.”

“Let’s find a bench to sit on,” Patton suggested.

Logan didn’t exactly look enthused, but he went along with Patton’s suggestion. They found an empty bench, and Roman and Patton sat down. There was still room on the bench, but Logan stayed standing.

“Perhaps I could pick us up some coffee from inside,” he suggested.

Patton giggled. “Only if Roman’s not sick of coffee yet.”

Roman cracked a smile. “Maybe just water for me. Lemonade if they have it. But water’s okay.”

Patton requested whatever coffee drink was the sweetest, iced.

Logan nodded and walked off towards the station’s building.

“He just doesn’t want to sit down,” Patton said, leaning over conspiratorially. “Logan hates public benches.”

“Logan hates public everything.”

“You’re not wrong!” he laughed. He set the plant at his side. “So, do you and your parents know what you’re going to do this weekend?”

Roman thought for a moment, then shrugged. “I hadn’t really thought about it.” He’d been too busy worrying.

“You don’t always need a plan. Maybe it’ll be nice to just get to hang out with them, catch up.”

“Or awkward as hell.”

“Ehh.” Patton shrugged. “Maybe at first, I won’t lie to you.”

“Yeah.”

“But they’re going to be really happy to see you. I’m sure they’ve missed you a lot.”

“…Yeah.” Roman knew they had. But he couldn’t help the terror bubbling up inside him, just under the surface, at what they would think when they saw him. At how angry they would be.

Apparently Roman’s silent dread had not been as hidden as he’d hoped.

“Don’t make me hug you,” Patton threatened, pointing at him.

Roman let out a startled laugh.

“I’ll do it! You know I will!”

“I do,” Roman agreed. He watched as another bus pulled up. Number 33. Still not his.

“They did have lemonade,” a voice said. Roman glanced up to see Logan, holding out a bottled lemonade. He took it. It was cool and already slightly damp with condensation.

“Thanks.”

Logan offered Patton another drink from the carrier in his arms. His was a very pale brown, mixed with ice and with whipped cream and drizzles of caramel and chocolate on top.

“Ooh, thank you!” Patton said. He hopped up, kissed Logan on the cheek, and then sat down, sipping loudly from his straw.

Logan coughed, his face slightly red. “You’re welcome. Has his bus arrived?”

“Not ye—oh! There it is!” Patton pointed. A new bus had just pulled in, the number 17 in its window.

“Excellent.”

Roman leaned over to look at a clock on the station wall. He still had ten minutes before he had to be on the bus. Reassured, he sat back and opened his lemonade, taking a sip. Then he recapped it and put the lemonade in his lap, tapping on its sides with his fingers. “You guys don’t have to stay if you don’t want to. I’ll be fine.”

“No, no,” Patton insisted. “We’re going to make sure you get on your bus alright.”

“It would be rather unfortunate if we left early, and something happened,” Logan agreed.

Roman exhaled through his nose. “Okay. If you’re sure.”

“Yep! Besides, I can’t finish this in the car.” Patton took another loud sip of his drink. “So we’ve gotta stay!”

“True.” Logan was generally pretty insistent about there being no open drinks in his car. Or at least, that was the idea Roman had gotten so far.

Logan took a drink of his own iced black coffee and shrugged. “Coffee would be difficult to get out of the upholstery,” he justified. “Like any darkly colored beverage. One time, one of Val’s friends spilled fruit punch in her car. It was a figurative nightmare to get that out. I refuse to go through that again with my own vehicle.”

Roman glanced at Patton, who looked amused. “That’s fair.”

A few more minutes passed, with the three of the just enjoying their drinks, before Patton glanced at the time on his phone. “We should probably get you on that bus, don’t you think, Ro? You don’t want to get a bad seat.”

Roman shifted. “…I guess.”

Patton looked at him sympathetically. “Don’t worry. You’ll be okay.” He stood up, grabbing the plant; and Roman reluctantly followed, pulling the suitcase along behind himself.

In no time at all, they stood in front of the bus door, and Patton was handing the plant off to Logan and pulling Roman into a tight hug.

“Don’t be afraid to call us if you need anything at all, okay? I’m serious.”

“Okay.”

“Okay. Now go see your parents.”

“Have a pleasant trip,” Logan said as Patton released him. He offered a hand, and Roman accepted. Logan shook it.

“Thanks. I’ll… see you guys.”

“Good luck.”

Roman took a deep breath, picked up the suitcase and took the plant back from Logan, and stepped up onto the bus before he could change his mind.

“Hello, sweetheart,” the driver said, smiling kindly at him. She was probably in her fifties, and had clearly noticed how apprehensive he was. She held out a hand. “Have you got your ticket?”

“Yeah—um,” Roman pulled it out of his pocket, quickly did his best to smooth it out, and handed it over. “Here.”

The woman looked at it for a second, smiled, and handed it back. “Welcome aboard. Usually, we have everyone put their luggage in the storage area under the bus, but I think yours is small enough that you can keep it up here, if you’d like. We don’t have a full bus today. Do you have a preference?”

“Could I keep it?” Roman asked. It was Patton’s suitcase, and he was afraid that it might get damaged—or worse, disappear—if he let it out of his sight.

“Of course. You can go ahead and pick whatever seat you’d like.”

“Thank you,” Roman said. He turned to the rest of the bus, which was about a quarter of the way full with other passengers. He picked a seat about a third of the way from the front, beside the window, and put Patton’s suitcase and his mamá’s gift at his side.

He looked out the window, and saw Patton and Logan there, on the sidewalk. Patton noticed him and perked up, waving and batting at his boyfriend to get his attention. Logan waved as well, with significantly less energy, looking amused.

Roman hesitantly waved back.

He spent the remaining time until the bus departed just trying to keep calm, reminding himself that he did in fact want to do this, that it was a little late to back out even if he wanted to, and that even if his visit went about as horribly as it could go, Logan and Patton had promised that they wanted him to come back.

Finally, the bus driver stood up. She reminded everyone of which bus this was and the route they were taking, just in case someone was on the wrong bus, and how long the trip would take. Then, she sat back down, and they left the station.

Patton and Logan waved until they turned a corner, and then Roman was alone.

He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, then turned to the suitcase. He unzipped it and pulled out a book, which Logan had lent him for the trip. He settled in, doing his best to focus on the story rather than on his fear over what was to come.

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elfandomdelpandicornioyeldorito · 3 years

Text

Chapter 4. Epiphany (Willow Series)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Valentina Rivera (OC)

Word count: 1478

Trigger Warning: angst. Language, emotional distress and problems, mentions of anxiety, insecurities and love advises.

Disclaimer: I don’t own any Marvel character, only the Original Characters are mine. English is not my mother tongue.

General Masterlist - Willow Series Masterlist- Abuelita Rivera Spanish Lesson- The Val Playlist

Gifts and pictures aren’t mine

Around three months, that was the amount of time that Valentina had spent outside her magical hut, her grace time was over, her vacations finally ended, she needed to get back on track with school, research and family calls.

Fortunately, Mr. Mkanthama stayed in Wakanda with them, being their research tutor and professor, but was also able to find a way to put them in one of the Wakandan Universities as the first exchange students, so they can keep studying.

Her research mates were mad when she came back to the apartment in the city, they claim that she was a bad friend for leaving in the name of her mental health, it turn out that they weren’t the good friends that she believed, all of them left as soon as they could, renting other places with their money as far away from her, and applying the ice law, Valentina was completely alone this time, but it wasn’t the first time someone did that to her.

"Sure you are fine? You stay the whole day since the start of the semester in this auditorium listening to me" Mr.Mkanthama walks up until reaching Val, in the last row, eating an instant soup and working on some assignment in her laptop.

"The rest of the people I came with are acting like children because I left like four months for the sake of health, and I don’t want to stay at the apartment with my thoughts, that shit is dangerous"

"Language"

"Sorry"

"What are you working on?" the man sits in the space next to her

"Happy you ask. Well, the last class we discussed about sentient weapons and your assignment is about when and how there exists a line between a sentient weapon and an intelligent weapon, right?" the man nods" Well, intelligent weapons needs from algorithms that at the same time learn the social abilities from the internet, what they mimic is not natural and doesn’t look natural but, we have sentient weapons like The Vision, and along all this time since its creation we all can see how much socially has involved and is capable to also be emphatic, and that’s the key, the ability to understand and respond to people's emotions, sentient weapons are capable of learn without being connected to the internet, they learn like a child, and that makes them almost humans. So, the discussion now is if we need laws or legal responsibilities for the sentient weapons. Why? Well, if they can learn and develop the same sense of ethics and values as a human, that means that they have hundred percent of right over their bodies and can choose if they want to be turned into weapons or not"

"So, you are trying to develop the same rights and responsibilities that people have in sentient weapons even if they are weapons?"

"Yes and no, if they are able to think by their own with no web trends or biased ideology they can chose the moment in which they want to stop being weapons"

"You are open a philosophical debate here"

"You know it's me when this kind of subject appears" they both laugh.

At the end, as always, Val felt confident about what she was writing, but once again alone with her inside voice, she wasn’t feeling that confident of her life decisions.

It was 2pm when Val arrived at her silent apartment, tired and with her head thinking in thousands of things and nothing at the same time. She climbs to her bed, with the cellphone in her hands and headphones on, when the call finally comes, she answers.

"Hola abuela" she greeted over the phone

"Suenas como mierda" Valentina chuckles" Espero que sea por algo bueno"

Valentina sighs.

"Kind of. I have a question for you"

"Tell me"

"How do I know that I fell in love?"

"Well, I have a checklist."She takes a pause" you feel comfortable with that person? Do you like to spend time with him? Do you like to share what you like with him? Do you think about him when you are not close to him?"

"All of them are yes"

"Then yes, you are in love, mija"

"What happens when I kiss that person in a stupid impulse?"

"¿Qué hiciste qué? ¿Como que besaste en un impulso? ¿qué piensas? ¿Cómo pasa eso?" the voice of her aunt Gloria suddenly appears, that moment she knew she was screwed.

" I was leaving town, the town i met him, but i never told him why i was leaving… and i felt so nervous of being that close to him that i kissed him with no warning… and then left…"

On the other side of the phone, Val was able to hear her aunts, her grandma, and even her brother Miguel, all of them arguing about how stupid she was in not telling him that she liked him, that she would love something with him.

If she had only told him the truth, she wouldn't feel so broken and devastated to leave him, and possibly not see him anymore …

She didn't know who took the phone and walked away from the crowd until that person spoke.

"Hey, I heard, how are you actually feeling? " Val heard the voice of Miguel.

"Honestly? Very high in anxiety, i shouldn't had to kiss him that way"

"How do you feel when you two are close?"

"Is nice, he listens… like for real, he notices the details of the stories. I feel peace close to him, but also I feel nervous because I don't want to screw it. I think of him 24/7…"

"That, that is love, so do yourself a favour, the next time you see him, you tell him what you feel for him"

Valentina suddenly feels guilt, Bucky was healing, what if she just made the process or the wound worse? What happens if he just was polite? What if he felt uncomfortable around her with the kiss?

"Migue… i don't know…"

"No, you know. Think of mom, she always said that tienes que agarrar el toro por los cuernos, yes? Then do that, tell him the moment you got the chance, and if he doesn't feels the same, the ones that lose is him"

Tears began to fall from her eyes, and suddenly she felt overwhelmed, anxious. She wanted to get back home, to travel back in time and speak with her mom about Bucky and what she felt, to put an end to all her questions.

Question. All in Buckys head since he was defreeze and since the departure of Valentina are questions.

His head was in a stormy cloud asking himself if he was the reason why Val left with no explanation or goodbye, if she somehow found his past and now left because was scared, or because she hated him for who he was and the things he did. Bucky still wasn’t able to understand one thing, and that was the kiss. She kissed him, they both kissed like flustered catholic teenagers one night before she left, did he surpass some line and didn’t know?

It was another day doing farm work, under the strong sun and the impossible heat, the man looked in the direction of the hut, which was now empty. He felt something in his heart when she didn't arrive at 4pm like before, he also felt disappointed when he turned around believing that he listened to her voice but she was nowhere to be found. That was his routine now. Wanting her company and finding nothing at the end, and that hurts deep in his chest. He felt something similar before Wakanda, when he was a HYDRA fugitive, wanting and craving for company, a silent cry for help but finding nothing more than his intrusive thoughts at the end of the day.

Time just pass, day or night, it felt the same for him, a tasteless routine: go to sleep, wake up in the middle of the night surrounded by his thoughts and nightmares, staying in bed watching his surroundings, stepping out of the bed early, farm work, eat, going to bed again. He even forgot how much time has passed since he was all alone by himself with no happiness or light in it.

He felt like a coward, unable to let his feelings show to the women that never accused him for his past, saying that he loved her was too early, but he indeed felt something, something that he didn’t feel since a lot of years ago and that was love.

The only different thing that day was the arrival of T’Challa and Okoye, the king placed a safety box on the bales of hay, in it, his new arm, he knew what that meant.

"Where 's the fight?" he finally asks.

Tag: @pinkpondofasgard @invisibleanonymousmonsters @dance-dreamer @americasmarauders @autumn-and-rain

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes x original female character #bucky barnes x oc #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x latina

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bluepink-y · 3 years

Text

Sway - part 1 (maybe?)

Javier Pena x female!OC

Word count: 2.690

Summary: One of Javier’s former informants came back to Bogotá. On his way to get to find out why, he encounters some unexpected trouble.

Warnings: guns, strippers, mentions of sex, language

English is not my first language and I have no one to beta for me. That is just a very long way to say: sorry, my English sucks.

“Look, my name is Javier Pena--”

“And you are looking for Izzy. I heard you. Where is your badge?”

Oh, so she knew who he was. He just hoped that was a good thing.

“Jeans. Back pocket.”

“What the fuck am I supposed to find out from this?” She closed her eyes forcefully, scrunching her nose in frustration.

“I am a DEA agent,” he answered a bit confused. No one ever questioned his badge before.

“So fucking what? Is there only one DEA agent? Anyone can fucking have this. Where’s some kind of picture, name… something. Jesus. Where’s your ID?”

“I’m not leaving you alone with him. What if he does something to you?”

“Now, where’s your ID?” Layla turned her attention back to him.

“Jacket.”

“Give him back his gun, Val,” she nodded at her. Valentina almost threw it at him before Layla even finished her sentence. He caught it and put it back into the back of his jeans.

“Unbelievable,” he let out, the bizarre nature of the situation finally hitting him.“Can’t say I’ve ever been held at gunpoint by a stripper.”

“Safe. Her grandma got sick, so she came to visit her. She leaves tomorrow afternoon.”

“I would like to see her and make sure she’s alright,” he pressed. He didn’t come all the way down here and got his head almost blown off for words of reassurance.

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