#ficsofpagesoflauren

[pagesoflauren]

Calamitous Love Collection: Delicate Beginning Rush (1/4

ex veteran!Steve Rogers x reader

Premise: Steve Rogers blows into town in search of some estranged family. As he settles into civilian life, he realizes leaving work is hard and perhaps the world will never stop needing him.

Warnings: depictions of PTSD, mentions of abandonment by a romantic partner, complex familial dynamics, sexual content.

Thank you as always to @eightcevanscentral. And thank you to you all, for not forgetting me. I'm happy to write again.

Main Masterlist

Ari blinks mutely at the stranger-who’s-not-actually-a-stranger sitting in his armchair, where he made himself comfortable without permission. With the information that was just revealed to him, he’s a little more possessive of every molecule in the cabin. 

His mother had opened the door, then stole everyone’s attention with her shocked gasp and the shrill sound of glass hitting the floor. Ari had rushed in and his wife, asleep on the couch, woke up and surveyed the surroundings. 

Soon enough, everyone was baffled by the appearance of a man named Steve Rogers claiming to be Albert Levinson’s half-brother.

As Ari continues to stew over everything he just learned, his wife pipes up, “Give him a moment.” 

“I’m going to need several moments,” he adds quickly, his voice dripping with his confusion. “You’re going to waltz in here and tell me that my dad’s father,” Ari begins, using hand gestures to help him keep track of all the people he’s about to mention, “My grandpa Alexander–whose last name is actually Rogers–left my grandmother Andrea Levinson and ran off with some other woman and had you?”

“That’s correct,” Steve says bluntly.

“And that makes you,” Ari points an incredulous finger at him, “My dad’s half-brother, and my half-uncle.”

“Correct again. Except, ‘half-uncle’ is a little odd to say because I’m about twenty years younger than your father. I’m probably only a few years older than you.”

“No,” Ari denies immediately, getting up from his spot next to his wife. “Nope, this is a dream. This is some crazy, twisted reality that I’ve been trapped in–”

“Ari, dear,” Bunny sighs, “This isn’t a dream, I promise. And…that’s kind of how family trees work.”

“And he’s not wrong,” Marcella adds plainly.

All eyes shift to her.

“You knew?!” Ari shouts, earning a stern look from him mother, which he quickly counters with an apology. “But…mom, why didn’t you tell me?” he whines. 

The women in the room roll their eyes and Bunny turns to Steve as Marcella begins to explain the matter to her son. “I apologize for my husband’s behavior. As you can tell, this news is quite a shock to him.” 

“I can’t say I blame him,” Steve shrugs. 

She mirrors his gesture, then offers him something to drink. 

“If it wouldn’t trouble you to get some water, I’d appreciate it.” 

“Not a bother at all,” she waves him off before getting up, walking past the other two in the room and drawing Steve’s attention to them. 

“...Your father and I just didn’t think it was so important. They lived such separate lives, anyway. And think about it, what does this change, after all? You still have this house, you have your wife, you have me.” 

“I just can’t imagine leaving,” he sighs, eyes drifting to his wife in the kitchen, standing on her toes to grab a glass all the way in the back of the cupboard. 

He’s told her many times to stop that out of worry she’d overextend the delicate tendons of her ankles. Went as far as building a step stool she doesn’t even use; he huffs a laugh to himself as he watches her move to the fridge and take out the water pitcher. The liquid sloshes with the movement and swaying of the various fruits she had put to make it just a little bit more refreshing. 

Strawberries, mint, and watermelon in his water; her hands in his; holes in his shirts with constantly fresh stitches; the prospect of filling frames with pictures of a growing family; she was home to him. How could he ever think about abandoning it? 

The idea that his grandfather did something he can’t begin to understand, that’s what sits in his stomach and tangles up his insides. 

Steve didn’t do that. He was just the product of it. 

His eyes follow his wife as she walks back into the living area, handing him a glass of water.

“Thank you,” he says softly, taking a sip before his eyes meet Ari’s. 

“Do you have a place to stay?” Ari asks.

“I was going to shack up at the inn after this.” 

“No need,” Ari shakes his head. “We have plenty of room here.” 

“Are you sure?” Steve chuckles slightly, “I think I broke your brain when I walked in and told my story. Seems like staying over would rock the boat even more.” 

The air in the cabin suddenly lightens, tension fading away as everyone laughs.

“On the contrary, what better way to get to know your family than by staying with us?” 

Steve shrugs and smiles, “Well, I guess I better get my things then.” 

Ari offers his help and the two men begin to bring Steve’s bags into the cabin. There isn’t much, about three pieces of baggage to bring in.

When they shut the door and appear to get settled, Marcella pipes up, “Oh good, you’re done.”

“Mama, what are you doing?” he asks, watching as she settles the strap of her purse on her shoulder. 

“I’m ready to go to town to get my nails done.” 

“Ma, I told you this morning–”

“Right, you have some silly little project to work on and my lovely daughter-in-law is cooking for the week.”

“I don’t think fixing a leak in the sink is–”

“Yeah, that one,” she waves him off, “Anyway, as I was saying, I wasn’t asking you to bring me. Steve has a car.” 

“Ma, he’s a guest–”

She scoffs, “Oh, please, he’s family, and it would give him a chance to explore the town a bit. Doesn’t that sound great, Steve?”

Mute from being put on the spot, Steve takes a moment to process before agreeing to do it. 

“See? Everyone’s happy!” Marcella chastises Ari.

She makes her way out the front door and the men hear a snort from the kitchen. 

Bunny pauses and looks up from the vegetables she’s chopping, “Welcome to the family, Steve.”

- - - 

After dropping Marcella off at the salon, Steve found a spot under a tree to park in. 

Stepping out of the car, the main avenue of the town looked familiar and foreign at the same time. 

It was a typical American small town busy road: cars parked along the sidewalk, wide streets and walkways, stores directly next door to one another, hustle and bustle. Every American knows it, and it’s likely non-Americans know it too. 

But when was the last time Steve saw one for himself? 

It wasn’t that long ago, but it feels like it was. 

Before the jet rides to quickly get from place to place. Before the case files and research. Before commlinks and codes. Before sleepless nights planning missions and long days carrying them out. Days would turn into weeks, weeks into months, months into years. 

He’s given so much of his life and focus into it that he doesn’t remember life where he wasn’t doing it. He knows there was something before it because every adult has memories of growing up, being a child, and going to high school. 

In Steve’s brain, those recollections are locked away in a corner of his brain he locked away to be able to do his job. 

The things he was afraid of as a kid, the insecurities that held him back as a teenager, the innocence everyone has before becoming an adult; he lost touch with all of it, lost touch with himself.  

It had gone too far on the last mission. His friend sent him home with the promise the team would be okay without him. 

The voice of a conversing family draws him out of his dazed state, catching a glimpse of two kids skipping while their parents gently caution them. 

Sighing, Steve moves onto the sidewalk and begins to walk down the street. When a door swings open, he sees the brief image of his walk: stiff, arms swinging in tight control and calculated steps as if he’s back at boot camp. 

Slowing his pace, he thinks about how to appear more casual; he is, after all, a civilian now. 

Relax, Rogers, he can hear Natasha say. No, seriously. We’re supposed to be walking through the mall, not running to the drill sergeant’s back and call.

He lets his shoulders deflate, shoves his hands in his pockets, and tries to find a comfortable pattern of steps. 

While he can’t be certain, Steve has that nagging feeling that he looks like an idiot. 

Pursing his lips, he decides to distract himself by looking at the various window displays along the sidewalk. There’s a certain small town comfort that comes from the bright colors and fun arrangements that are meant to attract customers. Different phrases like “fun in the sun” emulate the summer air, while silly props like turtle-shaped inner tubes evoke a type of nostalgia that most people are lucky to have when thinking of their long breaks from school.

Steve knows in the dark annals of his mind, those memories are there. 

Before he can deep dive into retrieving them while staring at a flamingo pool floatie, he’s interrupted by a parent pulling his son out from a nearby store. 

“Why can’t I have him now?!”

“If you can do your chores consistently for a month, we’ll talk about it. Puppies aren’t toys. They’re a responsibility, like your chores. And you keep putting those off.”

The conversation fades as Steve draws closer to the door the pair just exited, peering into the window. 

A handful of dogs of all ages yip and bark, some playing by themselves while others tumble around and bite each other softly. Their kennels line one wall, while the other wall is filled with two housings; one for a molly cat and a litter of kittens and another empty one, the door slightly ajar. 

Intrigued, Steve pushes the door open. 

The dogs all perk up at his entrance, some standing and wagging their tails, ears high with attention, while others bark at him. 

A woman rushes in from the back, a slightly resigned look on her face. 

“C’mon you all,” you sigh, “You know that’s not the right way to greet somebody, especially if you wanna get adopted.” 

Standing in front of some of the kennels, you stick your hands through the bars to nudge some chewing toys towards the more excited canines before turning to the other wall to attend to the kittens. 

“Sorry, Mocha, let me put this down and your kitties can keep feeding.”

As you pull down a makeshift shade to block the front of the kennel, Steve realizes the missing feline from the other cubby is perched on your shoulder, tail swinging in satisfaction as it maintains perfect balance as you walk around.

“Hi, I’m so sorry,” you greet him, “Some of the puppies are still in training. And Major over there is a rescue; he’s been through it, so he’s still warming up.” 

He follows your gesture towards a large German Shepherd standing on his hind legs. 

Reaching up, you remove the cat from your shoulder and laugh when it hooks its claws into your shirt.

“Shadow, we have a guest,” you giggle, and Steve feels a lump in his throat. Negotiating the claws out of the fabric, you rest Shadow onto your arm. “This cat’s been here for a while. He’s followed me since he was a kitten, and he’s got this beautiful black coat, so I figured ‘Shadow’ was a great name. Isn’t he lovely?” 

“Yeah,” he nods, “I’m Steve, by the way.”

“Oops, leave it to me to introduce the cat before myself,” you joke, tapping your forehead to point out your forgetfulness. You offer your hand as you give him your name. “It’s nice to meet you. I don’t want to be presumptuous, but I don’t think I’ve seen you before?”

“Oh, you wouldn’t have,” he waves you off, “I just got here today.” 

“Well, welcome to Barber. What brings you to town?”

“Some long lost family.”

“Which one?” you ask, interest piqued. Then, your eyes widen bashfully, “Sorry, that was so invasive.”

“No, it’s alright,” Steve smiles, “I, um…do you know the Levinsons?”

“Oh Ari and Marcella! And Ari’s wife, of course. Yes, I love them. Marcella came in once and nearly snuck one of the kittens out in her jacket. Not that she was stealing from me, but she wanted to try to get it past her son. He wasn’t having it; though I think he would benefit from a kitten. He’s so gruff–oh my God, I talked way too much.”

The blond laughs and you think you might swoon. Setting Shadow down to wander around the shelter, you try to keep things professional. “So, what brings you in? Just here for some puppy therapy, looking around?”

“Well, if Ari doesn’t want a kitten in the cabin, I imagine he wouldn’t want a puppy,” Steve begins, looking at the dogs. “But I hear they’re good for…um…”

He pauses and you keep your posture, looking at him attentively as he tries to find his words.

“I’ve heard that adopting an animal could be good for a returning veteran.”

“Oh,” you comment, “Yes! I mean, that’s easy for me to say because I run the shelter; but really it’s easy to recommend a pet to anyone who is considering it. A father and son were just in here and the only thing that stopped me was the fact that the father was saying his son doesn’t tend to his chores. But I think with the right guidance, his son could be a good dog companion.

“In your case, though, I would say it could help you feel more adjusted. You’ll have something to do and a friend who will love you unconditionally. But, seeing that you just got to Barber…”

“It’s probably best to wait before I make a decision,” Steve finishes for you.

“Exactly,” you smile, “We’re on the same page.”

A few beats of silence pass over the two of you before you break it. “Would you like to still look around? You’re welcome to. I’m sure the dogs would be happy to interact with someone other than me.” 

Taking you up on your offer, Steve accepts the bowl of treats you hand him and listens attentively as you specify that each puppy only gets one treat. “And don’t fall for the puppy eyes. You laugh now and think I’m joking but these guys are good at what they do.” 

Approaching the first kennel, the chubby puppy with round ears perks up and yips, excited for an interaction. A rush of happiness fills Steve’s chest, helping him relax as he wedges two fingers between the bar to give the little guy a couple head scratches. Then, he reaches down into the bowl, holding the treat for the puppy to bite.

The puppy chews and Steve catches a glance at his description: suspected to be a mix of a Bernese Mountain Dog and a Boxer, the puppy is a boy with a lot of energy. He’s only a few months old and was found wandering in the grocery store and begging for scraps at the deli. 

“Well, your name makes sense, Salami,” Steve mutters, making eye contact and, sure enough, as you predicted, he’s begging for more treats. “Damn, she wasn’t kidding. I bet those guys at the deli gave you every scrap they could find before bringing you here.”

“Oh they did,” you respond from behind the counter. Looking up from your paperwork, your gaze switches between Steve and Salami. “You should’ve seen him. You think he has a soft tummy now, he was a complete pot belly when he was done over there.” 

The two of you share a laugh as Steve tries to conjure the image in his head. 

Every puppy has an anecdote to go with it, he finds out as he continues through the shelter. Some are happier than others, and it shows in your face as you tell the stories. Some even make your voice clog with emotion and you have to take a deep breath. 

“Sorry,” you sigh, “That’s what, the fifth time? Gosh, I have got to get it together.”

“No, no, don’t worry about it,” he reassures you, then quickly changes the conversation to focus on the last puppy. “What about Willow? Anything about her?”

“She’s the sweetest little thing. She’s got to be some golden retriever mix, I just can’t put my finger on the other breed. But, anyway, she found by Ari, your…?”

“Nephew.”

“Your nephew–” You start to go with it, until it registers that Ari and Steve appear to be the same age. Your voice catches as the gears turn in your head.

“Long story, I’ll tell you after this one.”

“Got it,” you agree. “Anyway, Ari brought her in. She was hiding under a pile of lumber that he was about to deliver. Apparently she led him on a wild chase around the lumber yard. When he brought her in, he was all sweaty and grumpy.”

“I think he’s always grumpy.”

“Seems like it. I don’t know how his wife and mother deal with it. But, yeah, that’s Willow’s story. I figured since she was found in the lumber yard, I should name her after a type of tree. I also thought about just naming her ‘Timber’ or something but I liked Willow.”

“I like it, too,” Steve says, looking back at the puppy. When his eyes meet hers, he realizes she never stopped looking at him while he was speaking to you. 

She gives him a dopey smile, tongue hanging out as she pants in excitement at the sight of him. 

“Looks like you two are having a moment,” you remark.

It all falls away at the sound of his phone ringing, causing a cacophony of barks and howls to arise.

You try to calm the dogs down as Steve clumsily finds a surface to put the snack bowl down while answering the phone.

“Hi Steve!” Marcella trills on the other line. “I’m all ready to go!”

“Oh, okay, Marcella, I’ll see you in a few minutes.”

“Okay see you soon!”

The call ends there and you’re still trying to get the dogs to settle. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t think my ringer was on.”

“That’s okay, it happens,” you brush him off. “I’m glad to have met you! Hope to see you around. Or hope you come back for Willow.”

“Yeah, it was great to meet you too.” He lingers for a moment, wanting to say more but no words seem to be right. “Actually, before I go, could I take a picture of Willow?”

“Sure, do you want to hold her?”

His face shows his nerves before he can express them, so you quickly retract your statement and turn to bring her out of her kennel.

Propping her up in your arms, you do your best to get her to look towards Steve’s phone.

“Oh, you can smile, too. You’re in it.”

“Oh, okay!”

Your smile is bright, radiating a warmth that Steve doesn’t think he’s ever felt before. 

When the picture is taken and it’s truly time for him to go, the memory of that grin makes it difficult to leave. 

As Steve walks down the avenue, he types a message to Bucky.

Life in Barber is off to an interesting start. Met the sister-in-law, the nephew, and the niece-in-law. But I think my favorite is Willow (picture coming)

After sending the picture of you and the puppy, he sees Bucky immediately start typing, his response brief but effective.

Who’s the girl? 👀

She runs the shelter.

Anyone of interest?

Steve takes a moment to come up with a reply, triggering Bucky’s impatience.

Or maybe not yet.

But she seems like your type, so I think it would be a person of interest. 

Rolling his eyes, Steve types a message simple enough to end the conversation there:

Maybe. 

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

Tags: @crazyunsexycool @blackwidownat2814 @brandycranby

#ficsofpagesoflauren #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers #steve rogers fanfic #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers reader insert

[themerchantsdaughter-fic]

The Merchant's Daughter by pagesoflauren - Chapter 2

Steve Rogers or Ransom Drysdale x partially named! Southast Asian/East Asian!Reader

Important Note: I gave the reader a last name in order to make her easy to identify when she’s addressed and referred to in later chapters. I don’t want to give her a first name, which is why I still consider it a reader-insert style story. You can name her whatever you’d like.

Summary: Just before the beginning of your first season out to society, you meet one man in the rain while your father hosts another as his esteemed guest. With your attention divided, both men stand a great loss in light of your possible rejection.

Warnings: swearing, reader is backed into a lover corner (no throuple), racism/racial prejudice, misogyny, eventual smut, angst. More warnings to come!

A/N: Everyone can read this and feedback/constructive criticism is more than welcome. If any Asian readers want to drop some suggestions, please leave them here, send me an ask, slide into my DMs!

HUGE THANK YOU goes to @eightcevanscentral for beta'ing this. And I must thank @myoxisbroken, the queen of all things historically accurate, for all her help and advice. ❤️

Tags are open!

Series Masterlist

Main Blog

The rapping at his door startles Ransom, making his neck strain as he pulls his head up from the cushiony surface of his pillow.

His temples sting and ache as he rolls over in his bed, the curtains still drawn to prevent as much sunlight from coming in as possible.

The mattress squeaks under his weight as he shifts to sit up and he groans as the blood rushes unpleasantly to his forehead, the resulting throbbing sensation making him groan in complaint.

“Hugh Drysdale, open this god-forsaken door immediately!”

Recognizing the stern voice with a slight tremble, Ransom’s head rolls back in irritation.

It’s far too early for this, he grouchily thinks to himself.

His grandfather knocks again, louder and faster this time. The younger man feels his teeth grit in irritation and he throws the covers off his legs and violently swipes up his robe that hangs from the frame at the foot of the bed. Pulling the silky material over his shoulders, he aggressively ties the string around his waist before pulling the door open.

His eyes sting from the sunlight pouring into the hallway of the boarding house he’s renting a suite in, the pain making him flinch away dramatically.

“Hell and the Devil confound it,” Ransom whines like a child.

“Oh, come off it, boy,” his grandfather gripes, nudging the door further open with the head of his cane. The motion forces Ransom to step backward to avoid getting his toes caught underneath the wood.

Harlan cries out in disgust as he enters the suite, waving his hand to clear the repulsing odor of alcohol and sex from his nose. The door clicks closed and he grabs the center edges of the curtains, pulling them apart and letting light in despite his grandson’s protesting.

“Heaven and Earth,” Harlan sighs in relief as he pushes the window open, breathing in the fresh air that floods into the space. “You’d think something in here died,” he wrinkles his nose as the smell slowly dissipates and looks around.

“On the contrary,” Ransom presses his fingers into his eyelids, “I feel as though I am dying with the bloody sunlight coming in.”

“As I said before, come off it,” the older man commands, folding his hands over the head of his cane and tapping the ground with it.

The sound is familiar from Ransom’s childhood, something that signaled he needed to give his grandfather his full attention.

However, Ransom is no longer a child, so he pays it no mind.

That doesn’t stop Harlan from trying again by clearing his throat.

Shaking his head and shrugging with his hand, Ransom wonders sarcastically if he should call for some tea.

“This is not the time for your sarcasm, boy--”

“Stop calling me that,” Ransom protests, annoyance clear in his voice.

“If you want me to stop calling you a boy, then I suggest you start acting like a man,” Harlan replies.

“Look around you, grandfather,” Ransom opens his arms and gestures to the room. “This is me being a man. I live on my own, do as I please, with no one to answer to--”

“I’m certain you know what I mean,” his grandfather interrupts, tapping his cane against the floor again. “A man doesn’t live in a suite in a boarding house. A man doesn’t gamble away his grandfather’s money. A man doesn’t visit the brothels--”

“Then enlighten me, dear grandfather,” Ransom requests in fake curiosity. “What does a man do by your standards?”

“A man gets married.”

Scoffing and rolling his eyes, Ransom sits in the lounging chair in the corner of the room, propping his feet onto the ottoman.

Harlan continues, “He is head of a household. He takes some damn responsibility!”

“Grandfather, it is so unlike you to use such vulgar language,” the younger man feigns offense, knowing fully well he has used worse language across his lifetime compared to him.

Pointing a warning finger at him, the gentleman cuts to the quick, “You will listen here, boy,” he puts more force into the way he addresses his 28-year-old grandson, “You’re eight and twenty, old enough to take a wide and set up your nursery. I will no longer provide for this wretched lifestyle you lead.”

That captures Ransom’s full attention, wiping all dismissal of his grandfather’s words off of his face. Harlan can see it--anyone with eyes could, frankly--he was scared.

“Grandfather, what are you implying?” he wonders, sitting up and placing his feet on the floor. He’s listening intently, now.

“If you are not married by the end of this year, you’ll not get a single penny from me, or your parents.”

He rises to his feet. “You cannot do that!”

“As God is my witness!” Harlan counters, tapping his cane on the floor as a judge pounds his gavel and matching Ransom’s volume. “Not a single pound or shilling!”

“Grandfather, please,” Ransom implores pathetically. “Marriage is so odious, there’s no woman in the world who has kept my interest for more than a week--”

“Then I suggest you start cleaning yourself up to help you find a suitable lady to court and take on as your wife,” the older man states with finality. “And I suggest you do it fast. My mind is made up.”

The two of them stand in silence, Harlan letting his words sink in and Ransom slowly absorbing them.

Clearing his throat and adjusting his coat, the gentleman excuses himself, “I’ll leave you to it, then.”

He makes his way to the door and opens it, the creaking sound seeming to jar his grandson.

“Grandfather,” he says, sounding like a child. “Why?”

Sighing and taking his hand off the doorknob, he folds them over the top of his cane again, “I have my reasons, and there are many.”

He pauses, sifting through them, trying to decide which one he should mention now. “When I agreed to finance your bachelor lifestyle, fund this suite, and provide you with an allowance...this way of life,” he looks around once more, wrinkling his nose. “This is not what I agreed to. I never expected you to continue down this road for this long. You’re nearly thirty years old, for God’s sake!”

Harlan points out the obvious with his explanation. “It’s time for you to take some responsibility and fully realize your adulthood.”

Ransom is silent for a moment, before speaking, “Is there no way--”

“None,” Harlan shakes his head firmly. “You marry by the end of the year or your generous inheritance goes elsewhere. By the way you’ve been living, it would just go to waste in your possession.”

With that, Harlan tips his hat and leaves the room.

Slumping back into the seat, Ransom kicks the ottoman in a burst of rage. He regrets it shortly after, however, because now his feet have nowhere to rest but the cold, hardwood floor.

He props his elbows on the arm of the chair, pressing his fingertips into his temple in frustration.

His grandfather created a losing game for him. If Ransom continued to do what he wanted, he would stand to have nothing next year.

If he married--the mere thought of it makes him shudder.

He’ll admit, he likes women. He likes them in his bed, moaning his name; on their knees, worshipping him; in his lap, fawning over him.

Conversing with them can be stimulating, but after a while, it grows so dull. To be fair, it’s the same with men, too.

In general, people are rather boring.

Find a suitable woman, his grandfather had said.

A woman who would please him in bed, keep to herself but be interesting enough when he was forced to talk to her. That would be an ideal woman. The perfect wife.

Where in Hell is he going to find her?

At breakfast, your father calls to you from his seat where he lounges for the afternoon, “My lotus blossom, you have a letter.”

Gasping eagerly, you place your novel on the table and get up from the sofa, walking as calmly as you can to him where he holds it out for you to take. Your mother places her teacup down and watches you intently, waiting to see what message is in store for you.

It’s a beautiful envelope with a red wax seal to keep the flap shut. It feels surreal in your hands--before being out to society, you would get invitations but your parents would withhold them from you, saying it was not the time for you yet.

You had heard the words “perhaps next year,” plenty of times. Little did you know that last year was finally an instance where that phrase was true.

Back in your seat, you break the seal, opening the envelope and pulling out the invitation.

“I’ve been invited to the Forsters’ ball!” you inform your parents excitedly.

Your mother lets out a sound of exclamation, her face lighting up and she reaches for the piece of paper.

“Well, I should hope so,” your father scoffs. “They are some of my best customers.”

You laugh as you hand the invitation to your mother, “Father, I believe everyone in London is your best customer. You’re the most prominent silk trader in town.”

“Well,” he dismisses, spooning another heap of jam onto his toast, “all the more reason for me to believe you should be extended more invitations for such affairs.”

You purse your lips, silently taking a bite of your own breakfast. The toasted bread is a little on the tough side, you couldn’t wait until the cook would prepare a fresh loaf. As you take a bite and chew, you consider how long it’s been since the season started.

You count the weeks, wondering how many balls and parties and dinners have passed that you were not invited to.

How many hosts did not want you there.

“Of course, there’s nothing to fret about, lotus,” your father quickly adds, “There’s still plenty of time in the season. And perhaps you’ll make acquaintances at the Forsters’ ball which will lead to more invitations!”

Despite his intention to encourage you, you can’t help but continue to worry. You’ve waited so long to be out in society, you’re quite late compared to your peers and have had so few interactions with people outside of the household. The only exceptions to that are the late Mrs. Thrombey and the men of the Rogers family.

The Commodore has been a pleasant guest for the most part, though you don’t get many opportunities to speak to him. Granted, part of it is your mother trying to prevent the house staff from gossiping. But, the majority of the reason is your father.

He’s always so eager to speak to him about anything in the world. You figure it’s him finally having someone who can resemble a son; you’re not offended, though.

In your spare time, when your mother is occupied with other things or when it is late at night and your father is in his study, you’d sit with him. He taught you nearly everything there is to know about silk distribution, maintaining a business, and communicating with buyers. With the demand for silk slowly growing, so was his business. He got busier and busier as the years went on, and you followed along, silently observing from the shadows.

Somewhere in the back of your mind, you had considered that you were the best option to take over the business when your father was ready to retire. There were some obstacles to overcome; you are a woman and there was still more you had to learn, but it could be done. Perhaps you would read more--

“My dear,” your mother speaks, jarring you from your thoughts. “Be sure to have your reply ready. We’ll send a footman to the Forsters’ as soon as you’ve written it.”

Now, there are more important things to focus your attention on; the thing that your mother is so hyper-fixated on that you are nearly not permitted to think of anything else: finding a husband.

And hopefully, the Forsters’ ball would be the start of it.

Nodding, you gather the letter and envelope, bunching your skirt in your hands as you excitedly run out of the dining room before your mother can scold you.

As you make your way up the stairs, you nearly run into another body at the top.

“Oh!” you exclaim, stepping back to give him space, but gravely overestimating how much room you have behind you. You gasp as you feel yourself falling backward, arms flailing as you try to find something to grab onto.

Commodore Rogers catches you instead, large hands coming around your waist and pulling you with him as he steps back into the hallway so that you have room to steady yourself. Your palms and the letter slap onto his chest as you clumsily try to find your balance.

You mean to look at him out of politeness when you thank him, but the words die in your throat as your eyes meet his.

“Are you alright?” he checks, voice soft so as not to startle you.

“Oh,” you say again, eyes wide and lost in his cerulean gaze. Blinking, you gather yourself and shake your head. “Yes, thank you, Commodore,” you answer his question and step back.

The two of you stare for a silent moment and it’s hard to think with your heart hammering in your chest.

Then, his stomach grumbles.

He laughs, looking down bashfully while you giggle in amusement.

“I believe you are overdue for breakfast, Commodore.”

“You’d be correct, Miss Lascar.”

Curtsying, you sidestep around him, “Well, I’ll leave you to it. There’s plenty of food to go around. And I’m sure my father will be pleased to see how well-rested you look.”

“Thank you, Miss. Good morning.”

He turns to descend the stairs and you stand tacked in your place, watching the golden head of his hair disappear below. Pursing your lips, you feel the rough texture of the paper in your hands and remember your task.

You continue down the hall, enter your room, and sit at your writing desk to confirm your attendance to the ball.

Two Weeks Later

The carriage ride home from the Forsters’ ball is rickety, but you’re grateful for it nonetheless. You sigh in relief at the sight of your home coming into view. It’s far too early in the morning--you’re not sure what time, exactly.

The sky is just beginning to turn a lighter shade of blue, but as you look up and see the clouds hanging above, you know it will be overcast later on in the day.

You do your best to step lightly despite your aching feet and keep your shoulders up despite your exhaustion. The night was long, filled with delicious foods and wines, standing for long hours and even a fair share of dances.

You step carefully as you pass the Commodore’s room, making your way down the corridor until you reach your bedroom.

“Sleep well, my dear,” your mother whispered, catching your attention in the middle of blissful thoughts of lying underneath your sheets.

Remembering yourself, you turn back to her, taking her hands and pressing your forehead to hers. “You too, mother.”

Facing your door again, you find your handmaid placing a cup of tea on your vanity.

“Chamomile and ginger, miss,” Rosie says with an enthusiastic smile, which is impressive given the time. She must be tired. “The master of the house said it should prevent you from getting sick.”

You manage to chuckle at your father being so overbearing, even when you aren’t home. “I doubt going to a ball will make me ill,” you say, sitting in front of the mirror and taking a sip.

“Is it to your liking, miss?”

“Rosie,” you sigh, “You know you’re the best at making tea for me.”

Her smile turns pleased and she gently places her hands on your shoulders to ensure you’re in an optimal position for her to get you ready for bed.

“Hold still, please, miss,” she requests quietly, reaching for your earrings. When she removes them, she meets your gaze in the mirror. “Will you tell me about your evening, miss?”

With the excitement in her eyes, you consider lying to her, conjuring up a fascinating story in the moment about how you made countless amounts of friends and danced with dozens of men.

Your sigh gives you away and her face shifts to one of concern.

“Miss?”

“I can’t say it was particularly stimulating,” you reveal, choosing to be honest. “Three men asked me to dance, which was lovely. Though, only in the way that nobody stepped on my toes or my dress.”

She takes off your necklace next, eyes still flicking to look at your face in the mirror to indicate she’s still listening.

“And it was easy to tell they did not want to dance with me.”

“Oh, miss,” she sighs and shakes her head, placing your necklace into your jewelry box before closing it, “You cannot make such an assumption.”

“But I can,” you insist as she begins to remove the pins in your hair. “There was some conversation, but they were not listening much. The number of times I had to repeat myself…” you trail off. “Not to mention how once the dance was over they all but disappeared.”

She looks thoughtful as she wrestles a particularly stubborn pin buried between some strands of hair, but when she finally pulls it out, she looks triumphant. Then, she meets your gaze again. “Surely, you made some new acquaintances, though, miss?”

“You are far too optimistic, Rosetta,” you laugh sadly, using her proper name so that she knows you do not mean to joke. “I was invisible the entire night.”

There were only three instances where you were acknowledged by others: when Mrs. Forster greeted you upon entry, when another young lady accidentally bumped into you, and when Mrs. Forster saw you off at the end of the ball. You recount these as the last of the pins are removed, your scalp tingling and relaxing after your hair was pulled every which way to look presentable.

“For a young lady participating in the social season,” you begin bitterly, your voice becoming watery as tears sting your eyes, “I’m hardly socializing. Not that I do not want to, but because it seems no one wants to engage with me.”

Rosie is silent, picking up your hairbrush and beginning to run it through the tangles.

“If I may be so bold to request to speak freely, miss,” she requests, continuing when you say nothing, “I believe you surpass all the ladies in beauty and they mean to act so coldly to you because of that.”

“What do you mean?” your face scrunches up in confusion. You look nothing like anyone else in London. Your skin is a different tone, your eyes a different shape. Even your hair stands out; where the epitome of beauty is blonde like sunshine with curls, your hair is dark as a night sky, slick and straight.

Rosie seems to know what you’re thinking, “Nobody else looks like you, miss. At least, no one who is out in society. Your features are unique and difficult to miss, but that does not mean you are not beautiful. In my opinion, it warrants a second glance. And your skin is radiant and smooth, such beauty that would make any lady in any ballroom envious. Your hair may not have curls like theirs, but it is so plentiful and healthy and shiny…”

You smile as she gushes about you, unable to prevent yourself.

“Not to mention, miss, I’ve been working in this household for years, and your mother’s face has not changed at all compared to the other ladies of her age. Neither has your father’s. I reckon in ten years’ time, you will be the same.”

You laugh at that, a sense of gratitude washing over you when she places a hand on your shoulder. Covering it with your own, you give it a squeeze.

“Perhaps last night was just others seeing you for the first time and not knowing how to react,” she posits as she resumes brushing your hair. “The longer the season goes and the more they see you, the more they will begin to see just how lovely you are, miss. And who knows?” she shrugs, “The other ladies may then want to imitate you because so many men will fall at your feet.”

With your hair finally detangled, Rosie picks up a ribbon and places it at the edge of the table within reach.

“Besides,” she smiles as she weaves your hair into a long braid at the back of your head, “It’s not like you won’t get any attention from any man at all. Not with the Commodore here.”

You mean to ask her more, but a yawn takes over your mouth, drawing your attention to how tired you are.

“Alright, miss,” Rosie says quietly as she ties the ribbon around the end of your braid. “Time to get you into your nightgown and into bed.”

Undressing is quick with her help, which you thank her for as you walk around the side of your bed and lie down. She helps you pull the covers up to your shoulders, patting the sheets down to make sure you’re cocooned comfortably.

“Sleep well, miss. I’ll be back in a few hours just to check on you in case you get hungry or need anything.”

“Thank you, Rosie,” you reply drowsily, words slightly incoherent as your face presses into the pillow. “You get some rest as well.”

You hear her footsteps recede before the door creaks open quietly and shuts softly.

As you drift to sleep, Rosie’s comment about the Commodore echoes in your mind.

Perhaps that was the only wish you had for the past evening: you wished he was there with you. With a friend at your side, you would not have been so alone. Perhaps then, you would not have been invisible.

Permatag: @caffiend-queen @fckdeusername @lou-la-lou @bangtan-serendipity @stargazingfangirl18 @lovemarvelousfics @rainbowkisses31 @richonne4life @damnndeanndamnn @meetmeatyourworst @tinyplanet-explorer @vivien-1211 @unknownmystery22 @nerdygirl8203 @xoxabs88xox @mariaenchanted @gotnofucks @denisemarieangelina @myoxisbroken @kelbabyblue @pspice639 @maynay43 @just-another-wretched-egg @jennmurawski13 @avantgardium-leviosa @random-butterfly @rachelderivia @kenzieam @bluemusickid @asiaaisa77 @angrybirdcr @inactivewhore @velvetcardiganbucky @madbaddic7ed @mysweetlittledesire @omg-mymelaninisbeautiful @buckymydarlingangel

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Ransom tag: @jeremyrennermakesmesmile

Steve tag: @twittytelly

Promises & Sacrifice: @speechlessxx @spntiel @finneve @chase-your-dreams-away @o0fortheloveofcupcakes0o @themaskismyface

#Steve Rogers #Steve Rogers fic #steve rogers x east asian!reader #ransom drysdale fanfic #ransom drysdale fanfiction #ransom drysdale x asian!reader #ransom drysdale x reader #ransom drysdale x southeast asian!reader #steve rogers fanfic #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers x asian!reader #steve rogers x reader #ficsofpagesoflauren #The Merchant's Daughter

[pagesoflauren]

Calamitous Love Collection

Premise: Nestled in Western Massachusettes, the town of Barber is often forgotten. However, to the people who live there, a world of romance, second chances, and new beginnings is exactly what they need.

Wooden Façade Masterlist

House of Stone Masterlist

Delicate Beginning Rush Masterlist

#ficsofpagesoflauren #ari levinson fanfiction #andy barber fanfiction #steve rogers fanfiction

[pagesoflauren]

It's me. Hi. I'm back with more writing, it's me.

So it's been a hot minute and the last things I posted onto this website were my lovely Wood & Stone series.

You can read the first installment, Wooden Facade (featuring Ari Levinson) here, and the second, House of Stone (featuring Andy Barber), here.

*infomercial voice* BUT WAIT, THERE'S MORE!

Much like Taylor Swift, I think autumn is a great time to drop some new content. I have decided to expand this even further, creating the Calamitous Love collection, featuring new members of the Barber-Levinson family...

Drum roll, please! 🥁🥁🥁

Faith Forgotten Land, featuring Cole Turner

Blaze in the Dark, featuring Johnny Storm

Delicate Beginning Rush, featuring Steve Rogers

Painting Dreamscapes, featuring Ransom Drysdale

More details on release dates and the order in which these stories will be posted soon :) and don't worry, Ari, Andy, Bunny, Teddy, and--everyone's favorite--Marcella, will be making appearances!

As always, thank you for reading my work. If taglists are still a thing for people to join, I'm happy to add you!

#ficsofpagesoflauren #ari levinson fanfiction #chris evans fanfiction #steve rogers fanfiction #ransom drysdale fanfiction #cole turner fanfiction #johnny storm fanfiction

[pagesoflauren]

House of Stone 5/5

professor!Andy Barber x student!single mom!reader

Premise: Spin-off/sequel to Wooden Façade; Settling into his new life as a bachelor, Andy is helping his brother Ari prepare for his wedding to their mother’s former nurse. Between wedding planning and teaching, you enter his life and your eccentric one-year-old daughter catches his attention.

Warnings: mentions of sudden death, divorce, familial conflicts, spousal conflicts, pregnancy, and Parkinson’s disease; Laurie Barber slander; teacher-student friendship; romantic/sexual tension; awkward and cringey moments; blindsiding siblings (Ari and Bunny are menaces to Andy); Andy wears glasses and is a hot professor

A/N: Important to note that the events of Defending Jacob do not occur before, during, or after this series. Andy and Laurie are divorced and Jacob lives with Laurie.

Thank you as always to @eightcevanscentral

Read Wooden Façade here

House of Stone Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Already adorned in cords and stoles, you stand at the side of the stage, waiting for Dean Desdimone to call your name as a fellow student takes their moment to shine and walk across the stage. 

This was it. June 10th. A long-awaited date. No more evenings spent away from Ivy. No more running around town trying to get from one place to another on time. 

Was pain still present? Of course. Years spent toiling to make ends meet, keeping yourself alive and able to care for your daughter, juggling studying and grief. It’s hard to forget any of the events that brought you to where you are today. It’s even harder to believe you made it. 

The graduate coordinator senses your emotions. “How are you feeling?” she asks, lowering her clipboard. She’s a year below you, part of the student coalition that helped organize this entire event. 

“Nervous,” you admit.

“Why?”

“I don’t know.”

“You’ve worked so hard for this moment,” she soothes. “So many people have walked across that stage before you, and now it’s your turn. You deserve this. After all that hard work you put in, all your effort, it can be hard to remember that it’s for you.”

Your lip trembles and your eyes water. 

All this time you had told yourself it was for Ivy. And it was; you’ll start a career, keep a roof over her head and finally stand on your own two feet. 

But you did this for yourself, too. You did it to survive, to live. 

Ivy doesn’t know it, but she’d be proud. Your aunt is proud, Winnie is proud. And you know, deep in your soul, wherever he is, Troy is proud too. 

“The past four years leading up to this one moment for you,” she continues, “Take it. It’s your turn.” 

You thank her as your name is called, stepping onto the stage. The audience claps politely, but you hear two hollers above everything else: Winnie and your aunt, both holding Ivy above their heads. You smile at them and wave before turning to the assembly line of your professors. 

You shake each of their hands before reaching the man at the end. His hand is warm in yours, electrifying your nerves and time stands still. 

“Congratulations,” Andy tells you. 

Despite knowing he’s said it to every student before you and will say it to every student after you, you can sense there’s something different when he says it to you. 

God, if only you could kiss him right now. 

You settle for thanking him before going down the steps of the stage and standing in front of a university backdrop for a photo. When you return to your seat, you watch him in his regalia, anticipating what tomorrow evening will bring. 

You may have waited a long time to graduate, but this day comes only second to June 11th. 

As the last of your classmates sit down after walking, the dean encourages everyone to give a round of applause as you move your tassel from the right to the left. 

“Before we end, I’d like to invite Professor Andrew Barber to stand.”

Your head tilts curiously. 

“Professor Barber has only spent a short time at the university but has made a lasting impact as a District Attorney. We are deeply saddened that he will be leaving our institution…”

Your classmates erupt in shocked whispers; nobody knew. Not even you. 

“...though we wish him the best of luck on all his future endeavors.” 

There’s another round of applause and Andy ducks his head before sitting back down. As the ceremony ends, you set your curiosity aside, finding your aunt, Winnie, and Ivy and heading out to celebrate. 

- - - - -

Your foot shakes as you wait on the living room floor while your daughter plays on her mat.  

Ivy’s bag is packed. She has plenty of toys. Your jacket is on the arm of the couch, ready to be picked up when Andy arrives. You brushed your teeth and put mints in your purse. 

Reaching up, you check if your earrings match. Then, you run your fingers along the chain of your necklace, adjusting it so that the charm is in front and the clasp is behind your neck. 

You look down at your nails to make sure they’re presentable. 

Acceptable, you think to yourself. You should’ve gotten a manicure. 

The last time you went on a date, you were pregnant. Troy took you to see the Christmas lights, the two of you bundled up as a flurry of snowflakes fell. It was the final evening before the city would take down the decorations. 

Two days later, he fell. 

Despite knowing he would want you to be happy, waiting for another man to pick you up to wine and dine you still feels strange. You can’t deny your attraction to Andy, but you can’t bury the emotional baggage from your lost love. 

The doorbell rings, jarring you from your thoughts. Your heart leaps, propelling you up from your seat to open the door. 

Andy stands in one of his staple suits; you remember him lecturing about public school policies in this exact outfit. 

In his left hand, he holds up a bouquet of flowers. 

“For my girls,” he smiles. 

The colors are bright, a wonderful array of roses, peonies, and daffodils, perfect for summertime. You don’t miss the pointed leaves complementing the blossoms, the very same crawling vines that you named your daughter after. The daffodils stand out too; they’re Troy’s birth flower.

Your heart skips a beat and you’re speechless. 

“Sorry, is it too much?” Andy wonders, lowering his hand. 

“No!” you say a little too loudly. “Sorry, no, they’re wonderful.”

Taking the bundle from him, you invite him inside as you find a vase to fill with water. As you unwrap the stems, you hear Andy behind you talking to Ivy. 

“Hey, baby bear.” 

“Hi, Deedee!” 

They play together, Andy reclining on his side to be eye-level with the toddler, propping himself up with his elbow. 

When the flowers are arranged and settled nicely in the vase, you turn around and rest your back against the counter just to watch them. 

You and Ivy have come so far. It was an exciting time to be freshly graduated and ready to search for a job.

It was exciting to have a new beginning with Andy. 

As if knowing you were thinking about him, he looks up and raises his eyebrows with a smile, “You ready?”

You nod, turning off the lights and beginning to gather your and Ivy’s things. As you put on your coat, you look at the bouquet of flowers.

“Do we have time to make a quick stop before we go to the restaurant?”

Andy picks up Ivy and props her on his hip. “Of course, where to?”

You pluck a daffodil from the vase. “I want to introduce you to someone.”

- - - - - 

Opening the car door, Andy waits as you unclip Ivy from her car seat. Once she’s free, he picks her up and shuts the door before walking around the back of the car to open your door. He offers his hand to help you climb out and you thank him, still holding the daffodil in your hand. 

He follows you down the path between the gravestones before you stop at one. When he stands next to you, he realizes who you wanted to introduce him to.

Troy Benjamin Abernathy

Beloved Son, Friend, Partner, and Father

It all seems to hit Andy so suddenly. Despite knowing that he was very much real (how else would Ivy be in the world?) Troy had been his invisible entity in his mind. Faceless, figureless, voiceless. 

He sees the birthdate and the date of his death–he’s not that much younger than Andy and he died so recently, just as Andy and Laurie finalized their divorce. If he thought hard enough, he could go back to that very day, feeling that sense of finality while, across the city, Troy was suffering from the invisible injury that claimed his life.

“Ivy,” you reach for her. 

He hands her off and steps back, listening at a respectful distance.

“Say ‘hi daddy,’” you whisper.

“Hi dada,” Ivy says, waving to the tombstone. 

“Hey, bubby,” you greet him too. “I’m sorry we haven’t visited in a long time, I know we missed Ivy’s birthday. Things have been so crazy, especially with finals and finishing up the semester at the end of May. But I did it, I graduated from law school. I started looking for jobs…it’s scary to apply. But I know you’d be telling me to go for it, so I’ve been sending out applications left and right. 

“Ivy’s doing good, aren’t you, baby?” you ask her. She giggles and you continue, “She’s beginning to climb up and down the couch and the jungle gym at daycare. I’m gonna sign her up for gymnastics like we talked about. And I promise for her belated birthday gift, I’ll get her a pair of sneakers like you wanted.” 

You sigh and sniffle, taking a moment to wipe your eyes. 

“We’re doing okay–more than okay. And we’re not alone.” 

Andy’s heart stops. You’re looking at him, then motioning for him to come closer. Standing next to you, his eyes are fixed on the grave as you speak again.

“This is Andy, he was my professor. He’s a lawyer…he saved our little family.” 

He doesn’t know the exact feeling that comes over him. His chest burns, feeling almost like it was cut open and his heart is on fire. At the same time, he could fly, move mountains, jump into space and ricochet off the moon right back to you. 

He’s transported back to his phone call with his brother when he criticized him for being an idiot. 

Ari’s words echo in his mind. 

When you know, you know.

“I wish you two could meet,” you continue, voice somber. “He’s a good man and…” you lock eyes with Andy, “He makes me happy. He takes care of Ivy, I–”

You stop yourself, laughing softly. 

“There’s not a day that goes by that I don’t miss you, Troy. But I just want you to know we’re okay. I hope you’re okay wherever you are. I love you, bubby.”

You crouch down, placing the daffodil on the granite. 

“We’ll be back another time, Troy,” you tell him. “Say ‘bye daddy.’”

“Bye-bye dada,” Ivy waves again. 

You look at Andy. “Are you ready?” you ask quietly. 

“Yeah,” he nods.

Propping Ivy up a little more, you begin down the path and Andy lingers for a moment, eyes still fixed on the stone. 

“I’m not trying to replace you, I hope you know that,” Andy addresses Troy. “But I…I love Y/N and Ivy.”

He swallows once as his heart squeezes. 

“I promise I’ll take care of them…of your girls. I’ll keep them safe and warm. And I’ll never let Ivy forget you,” he swears. 

His phone vibrates with an alert; the reservation time at the restaurant is coming close. 

“Rest easy, Troy.” 

With a nod, he retreats back to his car where you wait. 

He apologizes as he pressed the unlock button on the key fob. 

“No worries,” you smile and shake your head. “Everything okay?”

Looking at Ivy, he mumbles “yes,” but knows his voice gives away how occupied his mind is. He runs a finger over her little cheek and she smiles at him. He returns the smile and looks at you.

Your eyes are curious and concerned, but he reassures you with a caress on your cheek before kissing your temple. 

“Let’s go eat dinner.”

- - - 

The restaurant is busy at the height of the dinner rush, white noise of overlapping conversations and cutlery hitting plates filling your ears as you enter. It’s one of the most expensive Italian restaurants in the state of Massachusetts, typically booked out months in advance. You never dreamed of eating at this place, but here you are. 

Andy leads you to the maitre’d podium.

“Hi, I have a table for two and a toddler under ‘Andrew Barber.’”

The man looks at the list before looking back at Andy, “I’m sorry, sir, there’s no reservation under that name.”

“What?” 

Taking out his phone, Andy scrolls through before showing the man what’s on the screen.

“Sir, that reservation is for July 11th. Today is June 11th.” 

Dejected, Andy turns back to you. “I fucked up–oh, shit. Christ!”

He covers his mouth and shuts his eyes tightly, embarrassed over his mistake and swearing in front of Ivy. 

You step to the side by the window to move out of the way of other patrons trying to approach the maitre’d. 

“We can always come back; after all, we have a reservation,” you shrug.

“Yeah, but…this was supposed to be special.”

He pouts, looking adorable as he does so. Tucking your fingers under his chin, you brush your thumb over his bottom lip. 

Giving him a reassuring smile, you look outside the window and plan your next move, eyes settling on a pizza parlor across the street. 

“You know, pizza sounds really good right now.” 

He still looks disappointed and unsure, so you kiss his cheek. His muscles relax at your touch, a hand landing on the small of your back, seeking your comfort.

“Hey, it’s still Italian,” you tease.

Smiling, he agrees, ushering the two of you out of the restaurant and across the street. 

- - - - -

After being turned away from a restaurant due to a mistake and walking into a pizza parlor with no available tables, you and Andy decide to order a pizza to go and retreat back to his apartment. 

He went first, opening the door and bringing the pizzas in before returning to help you with Ivy and her things. 

“It’s been a while since my son needed a high chair,” he remarks, pointing out the lack of proper equipment for your daughter. 

“That’s okay, she can sit in my lap.” 

As you get her settled, you hear Andy puttering around the kitchen, grabbing plates and glasses and bringing them to the table. Then, he goes back and calls your name, waving a long-stemmed wine glass at you. 

“Did you…?”

You smile, “I’ll have a glass, yes.” 

“White or red?” 

Telling him your preference, you open the smaller box of garlic bread you ordered for Ivy. She gleefully claps her hands and tells you she’s hungry, smiling when you tear off a piece and cut it into bite-sized pieces for her. 

“Good job, baby,” you whisper encouragingly as she uses her hands to feed herself. 

“Momma,” she mumbles with her mouth full, offering you a piece. 

“Oh, thank you, sweet girl,” you coo, making an exaggerated eating sound. As you chew, you tease her by pretending to eat her hand, taking her little digits between pursed lips so as to not accidentally bite her. 

Laughter bubbles from her mouth as she pulls her hand away then looks up and smiles at Andy as he places a glass of wine in front of you. 

She reaches up towards him, but instead of biting, he kisses her hand with a loud smacking sound and she nearly falls out of your lap as she laughs. 

He sits, opening the larger box with the pizza and taking your plate to serve you. Then, he serves himself and sighs. 

“Well, it’s not black truffle gnocchi or squid ink pasta, but…” he begins.

“It’s perfect,” you smile. Picking up your glass, you raise it to him. “Thanks for tonight.”

He raises his glass too, “On the contrary, this dinner is for you and Ivy.” 

“It wouldn’t be happening without you.” 

“Well,” he looks away, somewhat defeated as he chuckles. “To us, then.” 

“I’ll drink to that.” You clink your glass with his and take a sip. 

Setting your glasses down, the three of you lapse into silence as you begin eating. 

“So…” you start, setting down a half-eaten slice of pizza. “You resigned?”

Andy opens his hand in a half-shrug. “Well, I just wanted to cover my bases.”

“What do you mean?”

“Despite Boston being a metropolitan city, it still has its small circles,” he explains. “If anyone were to see us together while I was still associated at the university…I don’t know.”

You cut up more pieces of bread for Ivy, along with a piece of your pizza with the toppings plucked off as your ears heat up. “Please don’t tell me you gave up a career at a prestigious university for me…”

“Oh no, don’t be silly,” he smiles. “You and Ivy were only eighty percent of the decision.” 

Smiling and huffing through your nose, you purse your lips and look at him. “And the other twenty percent?”

He clears his throat, takes a sip of wine, and sets his glass down before revealing what he calls a “rather secretive plan”: “I’ve been closing in on a deal to buy an office space just outside Springfield. It’s closer to where my ma and brother live. And your friend.” 

At the mention of your friend, your eyes narrow. It almost sounds like he’s pitching something to you, trying to persuade you towards something. 

But, if you were honest, he could ask you to run from one end of the country and back Forrest Gump style and you’d say yes (and keep Ivy in a wearable baby carrier strapped to your chest). 

On the other hand, your heart sinks. He’s moving away.

“I’d follow in my father and brother’s footsteps; have my own business.” His eyes pointedly drift down to your daughter as she continues to eat. 

She giggles once and you crane your neck to look at her. Her gaze is on him and she waves. 

He returns the wave, never taking his eyes off her. “The case with you and Troy’s parents just got me thinking…there’s probably a lot of families who need someone to go to bat for them.” 

Your chest swells, your heart with it. 

“There’s more, but we can talk about it later.” 

You nod, pursing your lips and turning your attention back to your meal. 

After losing Troy, you had hoped Andy would stay. Now, having heard his plans, you weren’t sure he would.

Your bites are slow and concentrated as you ponder your emotions and reprimand yourself for entertaining such a silly little fantasy of falling in love with your professor. 

– - - - -

“You sure it’s not a bother?”

“Teddy,” Andy laughs, “for the seventh time, it’s okay.” 

“Okay, sorry,” you say bashfully, looking down before taking a seat on his sofa. 

Ivy had fallen asleep shortly after dessert–some ice cream from Andy’s freezer–and Andy had offered his bed for her to sleep while the two of you continued the evening. 

Wine glass in his hand, he stands beside the couch and rifles through some records before settling on one and putting it in the record player. Jazz music fills the room until he softens it to a gentle white noise. 

“What are you thinking about?” he pries as he takes a seat next to you. 

“Nothing,” you dismiss.

“C’mon, Ted,” he urges, “You’ve had that look ever since dinner.”

Your hand comes up to press into your cheek as if you could check your face that way. 

“It’s really nothing,” you insist. “It’s silly.” 

Andy, never one to give up so easily, continues to prod despite your dismissal. He does it silently this time, leaning close to you and quirking an eyebrow up to silently tell you he’s not giving up.

“Okay,” you concede, sighing as he smiles victoriously, eager to hear the thoughts that are so loud in your head, but still beyond earshot. “I just…I wasn’t expecting you to leave.”

His spine straightens, taken aback. “What do you mean?”

You avoid his gaze as you elaborate. “Well, I wish you hadn’t insisted on taking me out tonight if you were going to leave in the near future.”

There’s a part of you that wants to be angry with him; you feel led on, the foolish bright-eyed student that fell for her professor because of his pretty eyes and kind face.

Andy timidly places his hand on your knee, “I wasn’t going to leave you.”

“You’re going to Springfield, I—”

“I should’ve talked about this with you sooner,” he shakes his head at himself.

“What do you mean?”

“Well,” he begins with a laugh, “Every lawyer needs a paralegal at their office.”

You echo your previous question; though you know what he’s insinuating, you’re aghast at the offer.

“I know it’s a lot to ask you and it’s a lot to consider—”

“Andy,” you interrupt. “I…I don’t know.”

You stand and begin to pace.

“I just, I can’t afford to move to Springfield just yet. Maybe if I kept working at the DA’s office for a little bit, then maybe—I don’t know, maybe in a year…?”

“Ted.”

He reaches out for your arm, a gentle hand wrapping around your elbow to grab your attention. His heart tugs at the flustered look on your face, smiling at your deep thought.

With one tug, he pulls you into his lap and chuckles at the expression of surprise on your face. “Hey,” he mumbles, touching his forehead to yours.

“Hi,” you reply, the volume of your voice matching his.

“I knew it would be a lot to ask,” he says again. “And I know what I’m about to ask you is even crazier, but I have to say it.

“I’m supposed to be the pragmatic one in my family. My dad, my brother, even my ma sometimes…they feel so many strong emotions and run with them. I used to be that way, too. After I left home to go to college, things changed. I became this…analytical machine that processed information and left little room for my feelings, especially my happiness. I loved my ex at one point, I’m sure, but the way I felt about her…” He trails off briefly, shaking his head as his eyes distantly look forward.

“It’s nothing--nowhere close to how I feel about you and Ivy.”

“What are you saying?”

“I love you,” he admits freely with a small laugh.

You knew it. Deep down, you knew. How could you not, with your own feelings mirroring his, some strange cosmic string tying you together, or maybe an invisible hand pushing the two of you together?

Blinking, you laugh too. “I love you, too.”

His hand gently runs over your cheek, then the other one comes to the other side of your face. He just looks, admiring you as you smile. 

Beyond your face, there’s something else about you. Something that makes him feel young again; like he was at seventeen, teaching Ari how to drive when their father wasn’t looking. Like when his worries only consisted of his mother embarrassing him at the next school function or whether his brother was getting bullied. 

Something that makes him feel bright and warm, the way he felt when he was twelve and his mom kept him home while he was sick. She propped him up in front of the fire, wrapped in layers of ancestral knitted blankets from Barbers and Levinsons before he was ever born. She made chicken noodle soup and read his textbooks to him, doting on him to make sure his body was well enough to recover. 

After everything he’s been through–leaving home, his father’s death, his mother’s illness, the near-death and miraculous restoration of his relationship with his brother, the divorce–he was certain his life had settled into a standard of suffering, one pain numbing to make room for the next until it consumed him with no hope of going back. 

The moment he saw you walk in on the first day of class, he found it hard to take his eyes off you. 

He’s a lawyer, he knows how to form a decent first impression on someone upon an initial, brief glance. 

So many faces run through the archives of his memories and he can sort each one of them into near-perfect categories. They all blur eventually, forgotten like the details of cereal boxes in the grocery store; eventually, you pick out one distinct feature and know which is which, who is who. 

When you walked in, he could tell you were frazzled but hardworking. He’d had students like that before; those who were working so intensely to an impossible extent that sometimes when he learned details of their lives, he was astonished they could succeed in the face of adversity. 

Andy would know a lot about those kinds of students. He was one of them. On his own at eighteen, shortly before his brother’s sixteenth birthday. Reclused by grief, he kept to himself. He was quiet but always knew the answers. Though he had to prove himself to mentors and superiors, he never had to prove himself to his professors. 

He spends semesters and years silently rooting for those students. Each one of them was always discouraged. When they met Andy’s gaze, they looked at him with exhaustion and the unanswerable question of When will I be out of my misery?

You didn’t have that look. You looked at him with passion for the course work and uncertainty about your competence. You looked at him with understanding and analysis, something every good law student should have. 

But above all, you looked at him with the promise to yourself that one day, things would get better as long as you kept doing what you were doing. You didn’t wonder when you would be out of your misery; you were prepared to do anything to get out of it yourself. 

And Andy, a man who so long was complacent in his misery, could not stop looking at you.

You were sharp as a knife with your answers, both in class and on exams. You were compassionate and bright, one of the only few people who laughed at his occasional jokes (he’s sure you did it out of pity). You were sweet and almost too polite whenever you emailed him. 

He learned more and more about you with each class, even more so when you first brought Ivy. With each day, his glances turned into stirrings; they turned into feelings, which grew and grew until they evolved into their current state: something so powerful that it’s painful. 

He loves you so much that it hurts. He loves you because you’re bathed in hope and brightness and everything warm in the world. 

Maybe it was selfish, the way he began to love you. He needed something to get him out, something to wake him up. You were just that: sunshine peeking through the curtains, birds chirping outside a window to gently draw someone out of sleep. But he wanted to give you everything he had and he still does. He doesn’t know what he would do if you rejected him now. 

“You’re so beautiful,” he sighs.

You hum a laugh, holding his wrist to keep his hand on your face. “You’re not so bad yourself, Barber.” 

“Teddy…Y/N…I–”

“I want to go to Springfield with you, Andy.”

No. That’s too good to be true.

“What?”

“Ivy and I…we’ll go to Springfield with you.”

All at once, his world changes. He realizes he’s a better version of himself; a better son, a better brother, a better lawyer, a better father…because of you.

Maybe a little bit of Ari but that doesn’t need to be addressed right now. 

With the sudden shift, his heart swells, and tears come to his eyes. He laughs in surprise at your response and humor at his reaction.

Blinking, one droplet runs down his cheek as he continues to laugh, bringing your face closer and kissing your lips. 

“I’ve never been happier in my entire life,” he says to you, half-crying, half-laughing.

“Are you sure you’re happy?” you tease, wiping away the tears with your thumbs. 

“Yes,” he kisses you again. “I’m so sure.”

The two of you don’t stay up late, turning in shortly after your discussion. 

He looks at you at the other side of his bed, donned in one of his shirts, a pair of his shorts, a set of his socks warming your feet. Watching the way your back rises and falls as you breathe, in perfect synchronization with Ivy, he’s content. It felt so much like a dream that he couldn’t even sleep.

What fool stays up all night to watch his girl sleep? He wonders to himself. 

Your eyes open and meet his, then crinkle at the corners as you smile.

He smiles back. I’m that fool.

- - - - - 

Andy props Jacob’s head onto a pillow as he naps on the couch in his brother’s new cabin. Not everything is quite in place yet, but he’s made a lot of progress since the last time he visited, finishing the overall structure and adding in crucial pieces of furniture. 

It was a long drive for everyone; they left early and got to the cabin right as his mother and sister-in-law finished preparing lunch for their arrival. Everyone ate well and afternoon laziness came over them, his son, in particular, lapsing into a food coma. 

Stepping out onto the porch, Andy takes in the summer air. There’s nothing close to the feeling of it–the sensation is nostalgic and comforting, along with the anticipation of watching fireworks later that night. 

To his right, he can hear an ax go through wood and the giggles of two women. As he rounds the corner, Ivy sits between her mother and her friend. Her belly is slightly swollen; they all shouted in excitement when they saw her.  

His girlfriend–he gets so giddy when he thinks of you as his girlfriend–teases her friend about her husband as she unabashedly stares at him chopping wood in preparation for the barbecue tonight. 

Andy clears his throat.

“Sorry to interrupt,” he says when all heads turn towards him.

“Deedee!” Ivy cheers, reaching for him.

“Hey, baby bear.” He picks her up and props her on his hip. “I was wondering if I could steal my girls for a few minutes.” 

“Oh, of course, I don’t mind,” his sister-in-law smiles.

“I’m sure you don’t,” Teddy teases, “You have a lot of entertainment.”

“Oh stop it,” she giggles, a soft, swift kick with her bare foot hitting her friend’s knee.

You take Andy’s hand as you continue laughing with her. He leads you into the woods and you can hear her whooping at her husband. 

“Those two are perfect for each other,” you say, looking over your shoulder as Ari makes a show of flipping his hair as your friend claps and laughs. He leaps over the railing onto the porch and presses a kiss to her lips before sitting down next to her and placing his hand on her belly. 

“I’m glad you’re having a good time.” Andy squeezes your hand. 

“How could I not?” you sigh. “It’s so calm out here. Nice little escape from the city.” 

You pause, getting on your toes and kissing his cheek. 

“We both needed this.”

He nods. “I agree.” 

“So is this the part where you reveal you’re actually a psychopath and Jacob is waiting in the forest with a cast iron pan to hit me–”

“You have got to stop listening to all those true crime podcasts,” he shakes his head as the two of you laugh. “But no, I wanted to show you this.” 

He stops right in front of the family oak tree, smiling as he sees the initials of his ancestors, parents, brother, and sister-in-law. 

“Brings a whole new meaning to the word ‘family tree,’” you remark, separating from him and tracing a set of initials with your fingers. 

“Yeah, this tree has been around for generations,” he looks up, admiring the lofty branches and leaves. “I never got to add my initials yet, but I figure now would be a good time.”  

Reaching into his pocket, he pulls out a knife he borrowed from his brother.

“Can I put your initials next to mine?” he asks. “And Ivy’s?”

You smile and reach for Ivy. She doesn’t part from him easily, but she settles into your hold regardless. 

“Seems like you need both hands if you need to carve in that many initials,” you tell him as you nod. “Don’t forget to add Jacob’s too.” 

Andy can’t control the smile that comes over his face.

It takes a while, but when he’s done carving, he takes a step back. 

He admires the work he’s done as his eyes scan over the trunk once more. His parents’ initials are up a little higher, their placement slightly shifted as the tree continued to grow. 

Ari will add his baby’s initials soon enough, and Andy hopes that in time, he can add one more set of initials, too. 

But for now, with you and Ivy next to him and Jacob back in the cabin, he has everything he could ask for. 

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#Andy Barber #Andy Barber fic #Andy Barber fanfiction #Andy Barber x reader #Andy Barber fluff #Andy Barber fanfic #andy barber x y/n #chris evans characters #House of Stone #ficsofpagesoflauren

[pagesoflauren]

House of Stone (1/5)

feat. professor!Andy Barber x student!single mom!reader

Premise: Spin-off/sequel to Wooden Façade; Settling into his new life as a bachelor, Andy is helping his brother Ari prepare for his wedding to their mother's former nurse. Between wedding planning and teaching, you enter his life and your eccentric one-year-old daughter catches his attention.

Warnings: mentions of sudden deaths, divorce, familial conflicts, spousal conflicts, pregnancy, and Parkinson's disease; Laurie Barber slander; teacher-student friendship; romantic/sexual tension; awkward and cringey moments; blind dates/blindsiding siblings (Ari is a menace to Andy); Andy wears glasses and is a hot professor

A/N: Important to note that the events of Defending Jacob do not occur before, during, or after this series. Andy and Laurie are divorced and Jacob lives with Laurie.

Thank you as always to @eightcevanscentral

Read Wooden Façade here

Main Masterlist

“Ari, I hope you realize we’ve been talking about ties for the past forty-five minutes,” Andy deadpans, still holding his green-colored grading pen between his fingers. In his other hand, he holds up his phone so that he can clearly see the different options in front of his brother as he facetimes him from the store. 

“Can you blame me?” comes Ari’s reply, “I have no fuckin’ clue what I’m doing.”

“You’re looking for the one that speaks to you.”

“Ties don’t talk.”

“That’s not–” Andy clenches his jaw and takes a deep breath. “You’re such a dumbass.” 

“A dumbass that’s getting married,” Ari says, switching from the back camera to the front camera. 

“God help the bride.”

“Hey!” 

“You know what I meant,” Andy laughs. “Are you sure she didn’t give you specific options for which one to buy?”

Andy’s treated to an unflattering view of his brother as Ari moves his phone down to get a better look at the screen. The camera turns off and Andy can hear the sound of Ari’s finger tapping heavily against the screen. 

“She just said get one that’s ‘cabernet.’ Is that a type of brand?”

Andy facepalms. “No, that’s a shade of red. A dark red. Which, given that your wedding is in December, makes sense.” 

The camera turns on and Andy can see straight into Ari’s nose.

Andy makes a sound of disgust, “You need to start bringing handkerchiefs with you.”

Ari adjusts how he’s holding the phone and turns the camera to face the table with all his options. “Nobody asked you to look, Andy.”

“Nobody asked me, but I wasn’t given a choice.” 

Andy watches Ari pick up three ties that he thinks are the right shade.

“You think any of these would work?”

Tilting his head, Andy figures they’re a good fit. “Probably. Maybe you should just buy all three and see what the missus thinks.” 

His brother hums.

“Are you making that stupid face that you always do when you think of her?”

“Maybe.” 

Andy gags exaggeratedly.

“Shut up,” Ari hisses.

Rolling his eyes, Andy rebuttals, “You know I’m kidding.” Then, he changes the subject. “Anyway, those are good options. And you’ll know what she thinks when you get home.” 

“What do you mean?”

“Well, either she’ll tell you which one is the best or she’ll say the both of you will have to go back to the store together and she’ll tell you which tie you’ll wear.” 

“You’re right.” 

Andy changes the subject quickly. “Well, on that note, I should sign off. I have class in fifteen minutes so I should head over there.”

Ari flips the camera to show his face and say goodbye to his brother. When they hang up, Andy puts his phone down and presses the heels of his hands into his eyes. 

Taking a deep breath and exhaling, he sighs before opening one of the side drawers of his desk and pulling out his glasses. 

They were new, something he had to take on after his last trip to the ophthalmologist who had told him that the long hours of reading and sitting in front of a computer were doing a number on his vision. She had stated the glasses were a middle ground between compensatory and preventative.

However, Andy looked at them as a constant reminder of how much his life had changed in the past year. 

His wife and son are mostly absent, his brother is soon to be married, and his mother still progressing through her illness. 

Shaking his head and setting the frames on his nose, he gathers his materials for class, stuffing them into his work bag and slinging it over his shoulder, his laptop tucked into his elbow. He shuts off the light and locks his office behind him, making his way down to the large lecture hall that is far too vast for his evening class. 

- - - - -

Your cousin calls your name as you try to spoon another serving into your daughter’s mouth. 

“It’s 6:15,” she says.

“Oh, crap,” you sigh, flustered as you set the spoon on the saucer for it to rest. 

Ivy has a terrible habit of reaching for her utensils if you leave them within arm’s reach of her, leading to globs of food flying in any direction for you to clean up. 

“She just has this bowl and some milk–I think it’s still warm, you might have to heat it up again. Let me know how she goes down and–”

“Call if anything happens,” she finishes for you, handing you your water bottle, already filled up. “I got it.” 

“Thank you, Winnie.” You kiss her cheek, then turn to your daughter. “Mommy loves you so much, Ivy,” you say softly to her. You kiss her chubby face, heart squeezing at the little giggles that erupt from her. “Only a few more months and I won’t have to leave,” you promise. 

You know she can’t understand you, but at this point, you say it because it comforts you to tell her. 

Saying goodbye one last time before shutting the door behind you, you climb into your car and drive to the university campus. 

You never liked leaving in the evening. You never liked working during the day, either. You had imagined things going so differently, but life had other plans. 

Troy was planning to propose, a last-ditch effort to get the both of you back in the good graces of your extremely conservative family. Neither of you intended to start having children until after you had graduated and he had gotten a higher-paying position at the company he was working for. But when the tests came back positive and were confirmed by ultrasounds, the two of you found yourselves scrambling for ways to build a home for an unborn child.

He died before any of the real planning could have started. The holidays had just ended and it was his last weekend off before he had to return to work. When he hit his head really hard after slipping in the shower, you had suggested going to the hospital to be safe. A friend from the university in the nursing program had told you unchecked head injuries were silent killers. 

Insisting he was fine, he continued about his day, cooking dinner for both of you and watching a film to end the night. 

He was cold in the morning and you tried to wake him up, but his eyes never opened again. 

After the funeral, his mom gave you the engagement ring he had rush-ordered to her house. It was supposed to come before Christmas, but when it didn’t, he had said he would propose on Valentine’s Day. 

It didn’t help when your parents iced you out, and the majority of your extended family cut contact with you as well. 

Your aunt and your cousin kept in touch, supporting you throughout your pregnancy and bereavement. Your aunt put you up in a small, two-bedroom apartment she had previously been renting to students for the nearby university. She didn’t charge you anything, telling you to focus on saving your money to help support your baby. 

You had decided to defer your education until after giving birth, finding a job at the DA’s office as a receptionist to make some money so that you could afford some baby essentials and maternity clothes. 

When Ivy arrived, your world was turned upside even more (if that was possible). Still, your duo of relatives were at your side. When your maternity leave was up, your aunt took her during the day to watch her at the daycare she directed. Then, in the evenings when you had class, your cousin took over finishing up dinner, giving her a bath, and putting her down to sleep. 

Every day came with new challenges, but things also felt easier and you felt less alone. School was distracting, work was somewhat rewarding, and Ivy was happy. 

You had determined a long time ago that she would never experience anything remotely close to the loneliness and sadness you felt. 

Finding a parking spot in a decently-lit area, you gather your things and walk into the building with the designated lecture hall. 

It was far too big for your class; there were only ten other students in this section with you, yet for some reason, you all were placed in a massive lecture hall. Your professor didn’t even bother turning on the lights for the back half of the classroom, trying to prevent students from sitting all the way in the back and getting a nap in. 

“Hi, Professor Barber,” you greet him as he sets up his computer at the podium.

He nods at you, “Evening, Miss Y/L/N.”

You sit in your usual seat in the second row, the third one from the left aisle. It’s in the middle, but not too centered where you make uncomfortable eye contact with Professor Barber as you look up at his slides. 

You get settled, opening up your note-taking software on your computer and setting your phone to silent. As you place your water bottle next to your laptop for easy access, Professor Barber announces that he’s going to begin.

- - - - -

You open and close your fists, feeling the nervous tension in your arms as you watch Ivy play on her mat in the middle of the living room. 

Winnie is sick; a bad case of the flu, your aunt had told you. She would need to take care of her in the evening, leaving you with nobody to watch your daughter. 

Professor Barber had made it clear that last-minute absences wouldn’t be tolerated. One of your classmates hadn’t come to class for two weeks straight. When he returned, your professor immediately told him to leave and take the class next semester. 

“Maybe then you’ll understand that this profession has no room for bullshit.” 

You had gripped your pen tight that night, making a note in your planner to never be late and always let him know ahead of time if you were going to be absent. 

It’s a unique circumstance, you realize. If you explain the situation, maybe he would be lenient this time. 

Bringing your laptop to the living room to better monitor your daughter, you log in to your student account and write an email to Professor Barber. 

- - - 

Andy’s computer chimes as he receives an email. Finishing his note in the margin of a student’s paper, he sets down his pen and looks at his inbox. 

He recognizes the name. You’re normally on time, you ask insightful questions. You sit in the second row and always take notes. You have a good standing in his class and, according to his colleagues, you’re doing well in the program. 

You don’t reach out often, other than to ask an occasional clarifying question late at night, probably when you’re studying. 

He opens the email.

Hi Professor Barber,

My name is Y/N Y/L/N. I’m in your Wednesday night Children’s Rights class. 

I’m aware of your no-tolerance policy for late-notice absences, but I’m in a very difficult circumstance at the moment. I have a one-year-old daughter

You’re a mom? Andy would’ve never guessed. 

He continues reading.

I have a one-year-old daughter and my evening babysitter is sick, so I won’t be able to come to class today since I have to take care of her. 

Is it possible for me to attend another section during the day? I can try to request time off from work. Please let me know what my options are to succeed in your class after this setback.

Best,

Y/N

Andy bites the inside of his cheek. He understands the struggle of fulfilling commitments to work while also looking after a child all too well. 

Even with Laurie being a stay-at-home mom that would look after Jacob, he couldn’t shake the paternal instinct of wanting to be there to help his son, even if it was just a little cold. 

He doesn’t want you to have to deal with taking time off work–he can only imagine what kind of hoops you might have to jump through to get time off at the last minute to attend his Friday morning section of the class. 

In response, he offers a suggestion.

Hi Miss Y/L/N,

Thank you for reaching out and letting me know your situation. 

I wonder, would you feel comfortable bringing your daughter to class tonight? I will turn on the lights at the back of the classroom to allow both of you to sit there and have all the space you need. 

Let me know if this is possible. If not, we will discuss other options. 

Andrew Barber, LL.M., J.D.

Professor of Law

Boston University 

He sits back for a moment then returns to grading. After a few minutes, his computer chimes again. 

Hi Professor Barber,

Bringing my daughter to class is possible, yes. But I just worry about her getting fussy and interrupting. Are you sure you would be okay if she joined me tonight?

Thank you,

Y/N

He replies quickly.

Miss Y/L/N,

I would be more than happy to have your daughter as a guest tonight. And please feel free to bring whatever you need in order to keep her comfortable. If I can help in any way, let me know. 

See you tonight,

Andy deletes his standard email signature, opting to sign the email with his initials in an attempt to keep the conversation light. He doesn’t want to give the impression that he thinks himself above you. 

You’re a parent; he is, too. Who was he to deny you chances to properly take care of your child?

- - - - -

You’re weighed down by a lot of things. 

Your backpack rests heavily on your shoulders and Ivy’s stroller–stocked with plenty of supplies for you to give her to keep her occupied during your nearly three-hour-long lecture for the evening is difficult to push through campus. 

Your usual route to your lecture hall is changed; you have to use the elevators on the far side of the building instead of the stairs that will take you right to the door. All the while, you try to keep your nerves down, keeping calm so that maybe Ivy will be calm throughout the evening. 

As you enter the classroom, you garner a few strange looks from your classmates. Professor Barber greets you, inviting you to park the stroller by the door as he walks to the light switch panel, flipping up the last two switches to turn on the lights at the back of the classroom as he promised in his email. 

“Take your time to get settled,” he tells you, voice gentle and slow. “I shortened the lecture tonight to adjust for any extra time you might need.” 

“Thank you,” you sigh, catching your breath after your trip from your car to the classroom and trying to dampen your anxious emotions. 

You feel eyes on you as you grab Ivy’s bag of toys and food, slinging it over your shoulder and uncovering her seat so you can pick her up and carry her to the back row of the classroom. 

She’s quiet, looking around at the new environment. One of your classmates coos at her and waves, and she waves back. 

Instead of individual desks, the lecture hall has rows of long tables with all the chairs facing the front of the room. You decide it’s best for Ivy to sit on top of the table next to your workspace, placing a thick blanket so that she can sit or lay comfortably. You give her a shape toy to play with–one that doesn’t make any noise or light up. 

When she seems settled, you take out your supplies for class, then look up to meet Professor Barber’s expectant gaze at the bottom of the lecture hall.  

You give him a timid thumbs up and he announces he’s going to get started. 

The class goes well for the first twenty minutes, then Ivy seems to fuss and you switch out her shape toy for a stuffed animal. It keeps her occupied until she tries to start typing on your computer. 

“Ivy, no,” you whisper, placing her back on the blanket and giving her another stuffed animal. 

She tries again, little hand reaching for the keyboard but you stop her in time. 

“Ivy, please,” you try to tell her, but you know she doesn’t understand. She begins to whine, drawing everyone’s eyes up to you and you feel your face heat up. You can hear Professor Barber’s voice trail off mid-sentence.

You swear under your breath, heart racing as you try to find another toy but she insists on reaching for your keyboard. 

Her whining gets louder and her eyes begin to water and you know a meltdown is coming. There’s no way you can gather everything and leave before she goes nuclear. 

You hear footsteps coming up the steps to where you’re seated, looking up and catching a glimpse of your professor coming toward you. 

He’s going to kick you out. Fuck. 

“Is she okay?” he asks. 

“Yes, I’m sorry, professor. I’m just going to go–”

“May I?” he points to her, still crying and pushing against your hands as she pursues your computer. 

“Um…yes? What are you…?”

He turns her easily, picking her up under her arms and lifting her up above his head. 

Ivy stops crying when he brings her down, then up again. 

Then, she laughs. 

You watch incredulously as he repeats his actions, hearing her giggles grow louder and louder. He smiles too, eyes crinkling under the lenses of his glasses. 

He settles her on his side, supporting her bottom well with one arm. Then, he grabs the small towel you had placed on the blanket and slings it over his shoulder where her head might rest. 

You realize he’s done this before, then you wonder if he’s a father. 

Professor Barber looks at you, still smiling. “I can hold her, you keep taking notes.” Then, he turns to face the rest of the class, some people just staring blankly, others smiling, and others using the small interlude as an opportunity to go on their phones. “Now, as I was saying, when collaborating with a social worker, it’s important to…”

His voice trails off in your mind as you just focus on the image of him retreating down the stairs with your daughter on his arm, completely content as he continues his lecture. 

At the bottom of the lecture hall, he stands next to the podium, swaying and bouncing a little. Ivy seems to enjoy it, completely fixated on his face. 

She presses her hand into his beard, earning some laughs from him and your classmates. You’re horrified when she grabs his glasses, but everyone laughs again, and some people coo. He takes them from her and puts them back on, only for her to grab them again. 

Eventually, he relents, letting her play with them for the rest of the lecture. 

Towards the end, you notice Ivy’s body beginning to relax as she leans against his shoulder. Your professor grabs his glasses from her and places them on top of the podium, readjusting her so she’s better supported as she falls asleep. 

“That’s all I have for tonight; have a good Thanksgiving break, travel safely, and come back ready to finish the semester.” 

You rush to gather your things, practically running down the stairs. 

“I…” you begin, then stop because you don’t know where to begin. “Thank you.” 

“It’s no trouble,” he brushes you off, still rocking her even in her sleep. “Can I walk you to your car?” he asks. 

“Oh, you don’t have to–”

“I insist if it’ll help,” he shakes his head.

“I’m sure you’re eager to get home,” you argue weakly, really not wanting to bother him further. 

He practically babysat while lecturing. He clearly doesn’t mind, but you feel as if you’ve inconvenienced him regardless. 

“I don’t have any classes tomorrow,” he reassures you. “I don’t mind.” 

You huff a laugh, “I guess I shouldn’t argue with you…you were the ADA, after all.” 

He laughs too and your face heats up as you purse your lips to hide your smile. 

- - -

Andy carries your backpack as you push Ivy’s stroller, the November air chilly as the two of you walk to your car. 

“I can’t thank you enough, Professor Barber,” you sigh after buckling Ivy into her seat while he places your backpack in the trunk, then puts the baby bag in. 

He begins to collapse the stroller. 

“Oh, I can do that, you’ve done enough.” 

“Nonsense,” he dismisses you, folding it and placing it next to your other things. He shuts the door softly to not disturb your still sleeping daughter. “Happy to help.”

“I can’t express how grateful I am for all this,” you say, realizing you’re repeating yourself. “It’s a big help. And you didn’t have to do any of it–”

“Of course I did,” he shrugs. “I know the whole parenting deal. It’s a challenge.”

You smile, “How old is yours?” 

“He’s sixteen now.”

“Oh, that’s a fun age,” you remark. “Ivy’s only one and she’s already got a big personality. I can’t imagine what she’ll be like when she gets to that age. What’s it been like?”

Andy purses his lips and swallows. 

Truth is, he doesn’t know much about his son. Not since Laurie moved out and he went with her. 

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have pried.”

When he looks back at your face, he can see the guilt in your eyes and he shakes his head. “No, I…” he begins. The words never come to him; how can even begin to delve into the inner workings of his family falling apart? 

“It’s complicated.” 

A look of sympathy comes over your face. “I can empathize.” 

He feels his eyebrows furrow in confusion and curiosity. What does that mean?

“Um, I should probably head home,” you say, using your thumb to point at your car. “I’m not as lucky as you; I have an early start tomorrow.”

“Oh, yes, of course.” 

“Thank you again, professor. Happy Thanksgiving,” you smile, going around to the driver’s side of your car.

“My pleasure. Any time you need to bring her, just bring her. She was great to have in class.” 

“You may regret saying that,” you joke. “Goodnight, Professor.”

“Goodnight.”

He stands there like an idiot in the middle of the parking lot as the cold bites at his body, making him shiver as he watches you drive away. 

He had noticed you from the beginning, your quiet, respectful demeanor and great work ethic made you stand out against your other classmates. Now, having met your daughter, it unlocked a side of him he was forced to stow away when his family fell apart. 

He realizes maybe this is what his father felt when he left; there’s a void where Jacob once was, something that Ivy seemed to fill. 

Shaking his head, he reminds himself of the university policy: he’s faculty, you’re a student. It wouldn’t be appropriate. 

As he makes his way to the other side of campus to the faculty parking lot, he can’t shake the stirring in his stomach. He has to press it down and push it away, no matter how much he wants to convince himself that his rapidly growing fondness for you and your daughter is platonic. 

His fondness for you was never platonic to begin with. 

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#Andy Barber #Andy Barber x reader #professor!Andy Barber x student!single mom!reader #Andy Barber fanfiction #Andy Barber fanfic #Andy Barber fluff #chris evans character #Defending Jacob fanfiction #House of Stone #ficsofpagesoflauren

[pagesoflauren]

House of Stone Masterlist

feat. professor!Andy Barber x student!single mom!reader

Premise: Spin-off/sequel to Wooden Façade; Settling into his new life as a bachelor, Andy is helping his brother Ari prepare for his wedding to their mother’s former nurse. Between wedding planning and teaching, you enter his life and your eccentric one-year-old daughter catches his attention.

Warnings: mentions of sudden deaths, divorce, familial conflicts, spousal conflicts, pregnancy, and Parkinson’s disease; Laurie Barber slander; teacher-student friendship; romantic/sexual tension; awkward and cringey moments; blind dates/blindsiding siblings (Ari is a menace to Andy); Andy wears glasses and is a hot professor

A/N: Important to note that the events of Defending Jacob do not occur before, during, or after this series. Andy and Laurie are divorced and Jacob lives with Laurie.

Read Wooden Façade here

Main Masterlist

Part 1 - 4/29/22

Part 2 - 6/29/22

Part 3 - 7/9/22

Part 4 - 7/22/22

Part 5 - 9/3/22

Your Ivy Grows - 9/4/22

#Andy Barber #Andy Barber fanfiction #Andy Barber fanfic #andy barber x reader #andy barber x you #chris evans characters #andy barber x female reader #ficsofpagesoflauren #House of Stone

[pagesoflauren]

House of Stone (4/5)

feat. professor!Andy Barber x student!single mom!reader

Premise: Spin-off/sequel to Wooden Façade; Settling into his new life as a bachelor, Andy is helping his brother Ari prepare for his wedding to their mother’s former nurse. Between wedding planning and teaching, you enter his life and your eccentric one-year-old daughter catches his attention.

Warnings: mentions of sudden death, divorce, familial conflicts, spousal conflicts, a custody battle, pregnancy, and Parkinson’s disease; Laurie Barber slander; teacher-student friendship; romantic/sexual tension; awkward and cringey moments; blindsiding siblings (Ari and Bunny are menaces to Andy); Andy wears glasses and is a hot professor

A/N: This portion of House of Stone covers a FICTIONAL custody battle. While I have tried my best to do research and depict everything as accurately as possible, I do not claim to have any professional knowledge of custody battle proceedings. This is fanfiction. Please take it as such. Advice is always welcome, but hurtful and rude comments will be removed and the commenter will be blocked.

Important to note that the events of Defending Jacob do not occur before, during, or after this series. Andy and Laurie are divorced and Jacob lives with Laurie.

Thank you as always to @eightcevanscentral

Read Wooden Façade here

House of Stone Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Andy places his glasses on his nose, blinking a few times to relieve the strain in his eyes as they try to focus on the evidence in front of him. 

Initially, there was an arrangement between the two of you to split the cost of a Family & Custody lawyer. Andy tried his best to use all the resources available to him to find the best one, but Troy’s parents’ lawyer had other plans. 

Every lawyer he had called and presented your case to had declined on the basis that they had already met with Troy’s parents. 

Andy grew irate, throwing in the towel and realizing if he wants something done, he’d have to do it himself. 

Still, you offered to pay. 

“I don’t want your money, Teddy.” 

“But, Andy, I couldn’t possibly–that’s so much work on top of what you already do as a professor, please–”

“Absolutely not,” he shook his head, placing his hand on top of yours. “Nobody would be a better lawyer for this than me. Let me take care of it.” 

So, here he was on a Saturday night, running on three hours of sleep and organizing documents showing your clock hours at work, payments to your aunt’s daycare, and your transcripts at the university instead of grading papers. 

Andy had called your aunt and cousin to testify on your behalf. With them, there was a solid case for you to keep Ivy. Still, you worried nonetheless. If he was honest, he was nervous too. He knew any level of custody granted to Troy’s parents would be a break in the dam; the water would surely engulf you and sweep Ivy away.

Still, he would do his damn best to make sure you wouldn’t lose her.

- - - - - 

“Calling the case of Abernathy vs. Y/L/N for the custody of Ivy Paige Abernathy to order.”

The judge taps her gavel twice and a hush falls over the courtroom. 

You exhale shakily, fingers folded on top of the table while your hands tremble. Another hand covers yours, squeezing tightly. Looking to your left, Andy gives you a reassuring smile.

Deep breaths, he mouths. 

You nod, drawing in air through your nose and breathing out through your mouth. Craning your neck, you spy Ivy sitting quietly with your aunt and Winnie.

Seeing her now, she’s so big, grown so much since she was born. You remember looking into her face during endless nights, sobbing as she slept. Resigning yourself to being a single mother wasn’t easy and some days it’s still hard to get out of bed. Everything you do is for her; you recall so many moments when you were happy to be in her company. 

“It’s you and me, Ivy,” you’d say to her. “I will never leave you.” 

Your lip trembles at the thought that any of the coming nights could be the last one you spend with her. 

“Mr. Siegel,” the judge addresses their lawyer, “You may stand and make the opening statement for the plaintiff.”

Slowing down your breaths, you try to keep yourself composed as the lawyer representing Troy’s parents stands.

“Your honor, Benjamin and Constance Abernathy tragically lost their only child, Troy, nearly two years ago. While they have many dear memories of him, they have been wrongly barred from seeing their only grandchild; the child that Troy fathered. Today, they’re here, fighting for rights they shouldn’t need to fight for because the defendant continues to act selfishly to keep her daughter to herself.”

Your hands unfold, closing into tight fights as your muscles begin to tighten. Next to you, Andy tenses as well, inhaling sharply.

Looking around, you see the judge nodding intently. Her eyes flicker toward you every once in a while and you don’t like the impression you’re passively making on her built on lies being eloquently spewed out by a lawyer. 

The stenographer types quickly, putting every accusation on the record. Your heart sinks; you don’t feel confident in your chances. 

“This trial shouldn’t even need to happen. As grandparents–Ivy’s last connection to her father– they are entitled to at least partial custody for Ivy.” 

He sits down, and Troy’s parents appear to cry. 

There’s a bitter taste in your mouth as you look at them. You considered them an extension of your family once; they welcomed you with open arms, fed you, kept you safe, and gave generously. 

Now, they were trying to take away your entire world. Perhaps it was some strange form of retribution. You suspect they believe that if Troy hadn’t been with you the night he died, maybe he would still be here today. 

The judge turns to you and Andy. “Mr. Barber, please stand and make the opening statement for the defendant.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Andy nods, standing. He smooths down his jacket and looks at you once more before facing the judge. 

“Ma’am, Miss Y/L/N is a single mother pursuing a law degree to give her daughter a better life. Her world revolves around Ivy. When she and Mr. Troy Abernathy first discovered she was pregnant, they were immediately cut off from support systems with the exception of one relative, who continues to care for Ivy to this day. That relative is looking after Ivy presently. 

“If Mr. and Mrs. Abernathy wanted to care for Ivy, they would have been providing care for her without the need for a lawsuit based on no foundations. Their attorney claims they have been ‘wrongfully barred,’ from seeing their granddaughter. However, he failed to mention that they attempted to forcibly take Ivy away a week after she was born when my client was in an extremely vulnerable position. She was still recovering from giving birth and mourning the man she loved.” 

Andy swallows, pressing down the hurt that rises in his chest at the idea that you loved someone before you met him, and if he hadn’t died, you most likely would’ve still been with him. 

Clearing his throat, he continues, “The plaintiff calls my client selfish. I can assure you that the evidence we have and testimonies of witnesses can prove that she is not. She is a single mother doing everything she can to make sure her daughter does not know a day of pain.”

He sits back down and looks at you. Your eyes are watery and you throw him a half-hearted smile, something to show your gratitude. He can see past the smile, sensing your nerves fraying as you listen to the judge tell the Abernathys they can move forward with testimonies. 

Constance goes to the stand first. You remember her being so warm and gentle; nothing like the stoic face she wears as she approaches the stand, placing her hand on the Bible and swearing to tell the truth. 

She sits and Siegel stands to question her. 

“Mrs. Abernathy, would you please explain your relationship to Miss Y/L/N?”

She sighs shortly. “She was like my daughter. We adored her; it was easy to. She made my son happy and she got along with me and my husband very well.”

“How did your relationship change?”

Another sigh, a longer one this time. “When it was found out she was pregnant, she made him cut all contact with us.”

Your fists clench in your lap. So much for the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, you think to yourself. 

You recall Andy advising you to control your emotions as much as possible. The ability to keep a neutral face diminishes with every word Constance says. 

She sniffles as she finishes, manufactured tears slipping down her cheeks as her lawyer tells her she can step down. 

Benjamin goes next, spewing more lies to bury you deep in a trench you may never hope to get out of. Your heart nearly stops when your name is called to come to the stand. 

Legs shaking, you rise from your chair and nearly forget how to walk. Every step is a conscious effort as you do your best to move forward and ignore the looks being thrown your way. 

The bailiff holds up a Bible and instructs you to raise your right hand. 

“Do you solemnly swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth so help you, God?” 

Your mouth opens, but words struggle to come out. Paralyzed by your nerves, you know hesitation does not help your case at all. 

“I-I do,” you manage, then clear your throat. “I do solemnly swear.”

“You may take a seat.” 

The walled-in seat of the stand looks claustrophobic. Your movements are clumsy as you step in and lower yourself into the chair. On this side of the courtroom, next to the judge and so far away from Andy, you feel vulnerable; a sitting duck to be struck down at any moment. Locking eyes with Andy, he motions for you to breathe. Drawing air into your chest, you blink away tears.

“How are you today, Miss Y/L/N?”

“Objection,” Andy speaks. “Relevance?”

“Believe it or not, Mr. Barber, you are not the only one who cares about your client’s well-being.”

“I’ll allow it,” the judge speaks. “It’s a simple question, dear. Nothing to be afraid of.”

You nod. “I’m good–”

“Please speak up, miss, the stenographer needs to hear you.”

“I’m good,” you repeat, voice cracking. 

“Good,” Mr. Siegel smiles, though you can see the venom in his eyes. “Tell me, what does a typical day look like for both you and Ivy.”

Easy question, you can answer it, you tell yourself. 

“Well, I wake up at 6:30 to get ready for work, then Ivy wakes up around 7:00. I give her breakfast, usually yogurt or oatmeal. I drop her off at Rising Sun Day Care at around 8:15, 8:30 and go to work afterward. Work ends around 5, I pick up Ivy from daycare; if I have a class that evening, I pick up Winnie too because she volunteers there after school and I make dinner for all three of us. Class starts at 7:15 so I leave around 6:30 to drive to BU and come back around 10:00. Winnie then calls her mom and she comes and picks her up.” 

“I see. And what kind of experience does a sixteen-year-old like Winnie have to watch a one-year-old?”

“Objection, speculation,” Andy grunts.

“Sustained.”

“Let me rephrase the question,” Mr. Siegel appeases, “What made you trust a sixteen-year-old to have the common sense to watch a one-year-old for three hours in an evening?”

“I’ve known Winnie her whole life,” you begin. “She’s always been responsible and…nurturing.” You look around to try and find the right words to defend your decision. “Her mother is a certified child caregiver and preschool director, so Winnie’s been taught how to care for young children her whole life.” 

“And when did you make the decision to abandon your child in the evening to pursue a career?”

Your heart drops; what kind of question is that?

“Objection, leading.” Andy sounds angry.

“Sustained.”

“I’ll rephrase. Why pursue your career now? Why not wait until Ivy is a little bit older to pursue your degree?”

You breathe in. “We’re not…I’m not…I wasn’t in a position where I could really stand on my own and take care of her. Troy was working nonstop when I was pregnant with her and we had some savings but I had to use them for supplies and essentials. I knew I had to work to make sure I could provide for her. And I knew that being a receptionist wasn’t sustainable as a career and I just thought it would be easier to do this now so that later I wouldn’t have to leave her.”

“Plaintiff’s exhibit A,” Mr. Siegel says, grabbing a piece of paper and showing it to the judge. “Could you read this please, Miss Y/L/N?”

Taking the sheet from him, you recite a passage from a scientific study on child psychology. You know what this is; it states that children who do not receive the proper amount of affection and comfort from parents are more likely to develop a plethora of developmental and emotional disorders.

You also understand what it implies about your parenting.

“Did you consider that when you were making arrangements for Winnie to babysit for Ivy as you leave her in the evenings?”

“Objection, your honor. My client can’t see into the future.”

“But she can synthesize information from a watershed scientific study and make decisions based on the study.”

“I’ll allow it.” 

You purse your lips, understanding you have to answer the question. “I don’t like leaving her in the evenings. I made that decision to establish a career for myself so that I can provide for her later in life and not have to miss out on spending time with her when she gets older.” 

“And what is Ivy’s disposition when it comes to new people?”

“She loves people,” you say, “She’s very social.”

“Could it be that she’s seeking out the attention that she’s lacking from you?”

Andy shouts this time, “Objection!”

“Withdrawn.” 

Your lip quivers and your vision blurs, tears streaming down your face. 

“Miss, you may exit the stand.” 

You tremble the entire way back to your seat, eyes cast down as the judge announces the court is adjourned for the day. 

Andy ushers you out of the room and your aunt sweeps you into her arms as you all gather in the corridor of the courthouse.

“Oh, my dear,” she coos, “I’m so sorry it started out this way.” 

You can’t muster the words to express your despair and anxiety, only sobbing into the shoulder of her blazer.

“Let’s get some food,” Winnie suggests quietly, passing a hand over your hair and propping Ivy up on her hip. 

“Momma,” Ivy whines, reaching for you. 

Your stomach grumbles loudly as you take her and your aunt teases you while reminding you it’s important to take care of yourself during this time. 

Nodding, you wipe your tears and take a deep breath, pressing a kiss to Ivy’s cheek to help ground you.

“Andy,” your aunt calls to him. He looks up from his phone. “Would you like to join us?”

“I’d love to but,” he sighs, “I can’t. It’s my son, I have to pick him up.” 

“Okay, well, we’ll see you next time.” 

“Yeah,” he nods. His eyes lock with you and he pulls you and Ivy in for a hug. “It’ll be okay.” 

You don’t react beyond an exhale; no nod, no headshake, nothing to indicate your hope. His heart sinks, but he releases you, wishing he could be in two places at once. 

Before he can fully part from you, he feels a tug on his neck. Looking down, his tie is fisted in Ivy’s little hand. When his eyes meet hers, he sees the worry on her face. 

“Deedee,” she mumbles sadly. 

She pulls again, urging him closer, and presses her face into his cheek, a small comforting kiss. 

“Aww, thank you, baby bear,” he coos quietly. Then, he looks at you. “I’ll see you guys soon, okay?”

He can see you steeling your face, trying to mask your emotions behind a look of false bravery. Sighing, he says a final goodbye and wishes he could be in two places at once. 

- - -

“Jacob,” Andy calls as he rolls down the window of his car, “the hell are you doing out here?”

“I just wanted to spend time with you,” he shrugs. 

Sighing, Andy reaches over and opens the passenger door. “Get in, I’ll park in the garage and we’ll go in together.” 

They’re silent on their way to the apartment, but once inside, Andy interrogates him again. “You called me a bunch of times and I saw your texts, but why didn’t you just wait? I would’ve picked you up from your mom’s.”

Jacob looks guilty as his eyes drift to the floor. “I just…couldn’t wait.”

Sensing there’s something more that his son doesn’t want to talk about yet, Andy decides to drop the subject. “Well, next time, just try to wait until I can pick you up. I don’t know what I would’ve done if you had gotten hurt.” 

Nodding, Jacob looks at his father before rushing him, wrapping his arms around his waist and leaning on his shoulder. 

Andy is taken aback, not accustomed to the show of affection from his son. He hasn’t seen him often in the past two years and it almost feels new. With an exhale, he hugs him too, patting his head. 

“What do you want for dinner?”

- - - - -

Since the first day in court, Jacob had been coming every weekend, sometimes more than a weekend. It led to more interactions between Andy and Laurie, figuring out driving arrangements so that not all of the transportation was her responsibility. 

“Morning, Dad,” Jacob smiles, coming into the kitchen.

“Morning, kid,” he replies, pointing to the plate set up for him on the dining table. 

“Did you make pancakes?”

“And bacon and eggs; and you’re gonna finish your plate. You need a…”

“Balanced breakfast,” Jacob finishes for his father. “I know.” 

They sit at one end of the table and Jacob dishes on his experiences at school. 

“...and finals suck.”

“If it’s any consolation,” Andy smirks, piercing a piece of pancake on his fork, “Your teachers hate finals too.”

“What do you mean?”

“You think we like grading?”

Jacob shrugs, a silent answer of, You have a point. As he chews on a slice of bacon, he looks toward the documents littering the other side of the table. “Are those all the papers you have to grade?”

“Oh, no,” Andy shakes his head. “That’s…uh. Well, I took a case.”

“What?” his son asks incredulously. “Are you serious? I thought you were done with that.”

“Thought I was too, but it was a special circumstance.”

“What do you mean?”

Andy pauses, trying to figure out how much he can share without being indiscreet. “One of my students is a single mom of a one-year-old. Her boyfriend died before their daughter was born, and now his parents are trying to claim custody of the girl.”

“Like…like full custody?” Jacob prods. “They wanna take her away?”

“Mhmm.”

“Why?” 

“That’s what I’m trying to figure out,” Andy shakes his head. “But sometimes people don’t have good reasons for their actions, you know?”

He sees his son deflate a little. “That’s awful. She must be really upset.”

Swallowing, Andy feels his heart squeeze at the memory of your devastated face as you cried and told him what was happening. 

“She is. That’s why I’m helping her.”

Jacob nods and bites off another serving of bacon, looking thoughtful as he chews. “Can I help?”

“What have I told you about talking with your mouth–”

He swallows quickly and washes his food down with a drink of juice before repeating the question, “Can I help? You know, help you look through the documents and stuff? I promise I won’t tell anyone.” 

Andy’s surprised. He’s not sure where this eagerness to help comes from. He’s more familiar with the practice of side-by-side working with his son; he recalls nights when he would stay up reviewing evidence while his son constructed projects on the floor. 

Working with his son was new. But not a bad kind of new. 

He smiles. “I think that’d be great.” 

- - -

The day flies by as the Barber boys fry their brains looking at page after page and writing notes based on the information they’ve gathered. They’ve moved from the dining table to the floor, papers spread out everywhere in some sort of organized chaos. Fueled by greasy pizza and garlic bread, they realize while Ivy’s grandparents don’t have much of a leg to stand on for claiming full custody, there’s not much that can stop the judge from granting them partial custody. 

They have no criminal history, no financial troubles, and live in a good neighborhood. 

“Hey dad,” Jacob says with his mouth full again. 

Andy ignores it, swallowing a bite of pizza and burping a little. “What is it?”

“You’re getting a call. ‘Daria Ahmandi.’”

Furrowing his brows, he takes the phone and answers the call, “Daria.”

“Hi, Andy, sorry to call you on a weekend but earlier this week, I finally got your message about the custody battle for…Abernathy. Ivy Abernathy?”

“Oh,” Andy sighs, “Right. I’m sorry to have bothered you, I ended up taking the case–”

“That’s perfect, then,” she says.

“What do you mean?”

“The name of the girl caught my attention, and then in your message, you mentioned Troy Abernathy, and I remembered I wrote his will.”

The world stands still for a moment as Andy processes what she’s saying. He reaches for Jacob, hearing an audible smack.

“Ow! Dad, what the–”

Looking at his son as he holds his nose, Andy realizes he accidentally hit him in the face.

“Sorry, kiddo, but write this down. Quickly!”

He watches his son scramble to grab his pencil and a notepad before nodding. Removing the phone from his ear, he puts the call on speaker so that Jacob can take notes. 

“Daria, you wrote his will?”

“Yes.” 

“Jacob, was there a will in any of these documents?”

“Um…” Jacob begins to look around. 

“Andy, you won’t find the will there because it was never fulfilled.”

“What do you mean?”

“I reached out to his parents after his death to discuss the execution of his will because they were named caretakers of his assets but they never replied.” 

“Who was supposed to receive his assets?” It’s a bit of a dumb question; Andy can probably guess.

“Ivy Paige Abernathy and Y/N Y/L/N, his girlfriend at the time–I think he was planning to propose to her. And she’s Ivy’s mother, I understand.”

“Yes, yes, she is,” Andy says, locking eyes with his son and smiling.

Checkmate. 

- - - - -

“Defense calls Benjamin Abernathy to the stand.” 

Your head whips toward Andy to look at him. 

What the hell is he doing?

Shrugging, Benjamin approaches the stand and sits down, crossing his legs and foldings his hands as he waits for Andy to question him.

“Mr. Abernathy, do you know the name of Ivy’s pediatrician?”

“Objection, your honor. Relevance.” 

For a moment, you almost agree with Mr. Siegel. You don’t know where Andy is going with this line of questioning.

“Your honor, this kind of question speaks to whether the Abernathys are capable of caring for Ivy. Mr. Abernathy should have no problem answering basic questions about his granddaughter.”

“Objection overruled. Answer the question, Mr. Abernathy.”

His eyes drift to the side for a moment before shaking his head. “Um, not off the top of my head, no.”

“Her name is Dr. Barra. Do you know if she has any allergies?”

“Troy never had any allergies, so I assume not.” 

You huff quietly to yourself, knowing that doesn’t make any sense.

“She’s allergic to penicillin and peaches. Do you know what her favorite stuffed animal is?” 

“Surely it’s the little elephant Constance and I gave her the week after she was born.”

“If you had been paying attention and looked at her the entire time you were on the stand, you would see that it’s the stuffed monkey her father gifted her before his passing.” 

You look back at the seating area, finding Ivy in your aunt’s lap playing with the toy in question. 

“It is clear, Mr. Abernathy, that you know nothing about this child. So why are you so adamant you know what’s best for her?”

“Well, we would know these things if Y/N had let us take on more of a role with Ivy.”

He looks right at you as he makes the jab. You swallow, doing your best to keep your trust in Andy about this. 

“Why wait until now? If this was about being there for Ivy, why not support Miss Y/L/N during her pregnancy?”

Benjamin makes a show of looking down as if he was taking a moment to mourn his son. Andy bites the inside of his cheek. If he could, he would’ve told him to drop the act. 

“Objection, your honor. We’ve made it clear that Miss Y/L/N cut contact between herself and Mr. and Mrs. Abernathy.”

The judge thinks for a moment. “Overruled. Answer the question, Mr. Abernathy.”

Benjamin sighs. “We were in mourning, we needed time to process everything.” 

“I understand,” Andy nods. He hears a scoff from behind him, probably Constance. “No, I do,” he turns back. “But you and your wife mourn your son by leaving his fiancée alone with no resources?”

“We weren’t in any shape to take care of anyone, let alone a pregnant woman.” 

Andy’s stoic face drops for a moment, satisfaction settling over him knowing he got him right where he wants him. 

“You say you were in no condition to take care of another person, much less the mother of your grandchild,” Andy begins, walking back to the Defendant's table and swiping up two folders.

“Yes, that’s correct.”

Andy hands one folder to the judge and the other to Benjamin. 

“Defense’s exhibits F, G, H, I, and J; the last will of Mr. Troy Benjamin Abernathy; a letter from his lawyer, Mrs. Daria Amandhi, to Mr. Benjamin Abernathy and Mrs. Constance Abernathy in pursuit of executing said will; mortgage payments for the estate of Mr. and Mrs. Abernathy; a receipt of first-class airline tickets to the French Riviera; and the receipt and licensure for a new boat currently docked at Cape Cod.”

At the words “last will,” you sit up on alert. Troy had a will? He never told you. 

“You say you were ‘in mourning,’ yet you and Mrs. Abernathy were able to handle your son’s estate, including draining his bank accounts and liquifying his assets.”

“Those things needed to be done, they weren’t easy.”

“No, but it was easy to leave a pregnant woman nearly destitute?”

“She had no claim to our son’s assets.” 

“Oh, she didn’t? Please, read aloud from the paper labeled Exhibit F on the top left corner.” 

Putting on his glasses, Benjamin flicks through the papers before finding the one he needs. 

“‘I, Troy Benjamin Abernathy, being of full age and of sound mind and memory, do make, publish, and declare this to be my last Will and Testament. All the rest of my assets, both liquid and otherwise, I leave to my unborn child in the care of Y/N Y/L/N.’”

You cover your mouth to try and hide your shock. Tears prick the back of your eyes. Your heart wants to leap because Troy thought to do this, but this betrayal is just another added to the pile, weighing you down as you sink into anger. 

“Let the record state that the unborn child mentioned is Ivy Paige Abernathy,” Andy addresses the stenographer before turning back to Benjamin. “Did you know this document existed?”

“This is clearly falsified.”

“I can assure you, Mr. Abernathy, that it is not. In fact, he sought out a lawyer two weeks after the doctor’s appointment confirming the pregnancy. You can see the date written at the top of the document, showing that it was filed four months before he passed away.”

Benjamin looks over the document, color draining from his face.

“It quite clearly lists my client as the recipient of your son’s life insurance, bank account, and assets. Additionally, it states a trust should be set up for his unborn child. Has this trust been established, Mr. Abernathy?”

“We-we used the money to pay for his funeral…”

“Really?” Andy feigns shock. “Did the funeral also include paying off the mortgage on your house, a brand new boat, and a trip to France–those expenses equaling the total value of your son’s estate?”

Benjamin flounders as he formulates his response, “We-we didn’t know about the existence of this document.”

“Even if that were true, sir, which I know is not as you can clearly see in Defense’s Exhibit G, your son’s attorney attempted to contact you in the days after his death. If you really truly cared about your grandchild, why would you not take her father’s money and establish a bank account in her name to set her up for the future?”

You want to scream at both him and Constance. How could they do this to you?!

Benjamin’s face begins to flush, stammering out his response, “I don’t see why I’m being attacked for this. Y/N’s parents didn’t help her either!”

Seeing red, you nearly explode but Andy comes to your defense.

“Her parents chose not to be involved and have been consistent in that choice. Unlike you and your wife. And by denying my client access to the assets that were legally hers, you forced her to work days and attend school at night to make a better life for Ivy. You were trying to exacerbate the situation in your favor, weren’t you?”

“No!” he bursts, “Going back to school was her choice.”

“Correct. But let me reiterate: it was a choice she had to make because you denied her access to assets that were hers. By being forced to work during the day, you took her away from Ivy without even being in the room. So the conditions that you have presented that you claim make her an unfit mother are conditions you created based on your decisions to withhold money that was hers. 

“Instead of doing what your son trusted you to do, you didn’t. Therefore, it can be assumed that you don’t care about Ivy. You and your wife have burned through the last of your son’s money and are now trying to take the last thing he left behind: his daughter.”

“That’s a lie!”

“I don’t blame you, sir. You want to hold on to what’s left of your boy. But you have no rights here. In fact, you’re looking at a lot more legal trouble in your future.” 

“Ob-Objection, your honor–!”

“Withdrawn. I’m done,” Andy interrupts, quickly glancing at the lawyer before looking at the judge. “Your honor, I move to have the case dismissed based on a lack of foundation of evidence that my client is an unfit mother for Ivy.”

“Your honor, I–”

“I think I’ve heard and seen enough, Mr. Siegel,” the judge interjects firmly. “Mr. and Mrs. Abernathy, I cannot begin to express how much time you have wasted on my part, on your counselor’s part, on Miss Y/L/N’s part, on Mr. Barber’s part–I could go on and on. This was clearly a claim filed with malicious intent to further rob a woman of a child that is rightfully hers. Furthermore, your case was not only built on false claims but also based on circumstances that you two have created for her. And I would argue that you did this knowingly.

“Miss Y/L/N,” the judge turns as she addresses you, “I would like to formally apologize to you. Nothing can compensate you for your time and the emotional distress you have faced while this case has been open. However, this is by far one of the easiest decisions I have ever made. It is this court’s decision to award full custody to Miss Y/L/N. Additionally, this court demands the plaintiffs to pay the full amount of what Miss Y/L/N is entitled to per Mr. Troy Benjamin Abernathy’s last will and testament and any additional costs, including fees Miss Y/L/N has incurred as a result of this trial. Case dismissed.” 

- - - - - 

You’re embarrassed as you stumble a little on the way from Andy’s car into your apartment. Feeling your face heat up as you steady yourself against the wall, you glance over your shoulder. 

Everyone encouraged you to indulge at dinner after leaving the courthouse. You think it was the biggest meal you ever had; three courses including a cake all to yourself and a very generous glass of wine. The drink hit you harder than you anticipated, but Ivy is none the wiser to your inebriated state, fast asleep in Andy’s arms as he reaches for you with his free hand. 

“You okay?” he chuckles.

“Mhmm,” you hum. “I haven’t had much alcohol since I found out I was pregnant with her,” you sigh. “I used to be able to hold it better.”

“Well, who can fault you for that?” he smiles, making your knees go weak. “You’re a good mother, Teddy.”

He steadies you as you walk the rest of the way to the door. Stopping to dig in your bag for your keys, your eyes rest on your daughter. 

“I try,” you say as you reach out to stroke her hair. 

“That’s all you can do.”

Smiling at his reassurance, you turn back to open the door and flip the light switch. Andy goes straight to Ivy’s room to set her on her bed and you retreat to your bedroom to change into more comfortable clothes. 

Your business casual outfit scratches uncomfortably against your skin, leaving you relieved when you pull on Troy’s old college shirt and some sleep shorts. Coming back to the living room, you find Andy unpacking Ivy’s bag.

“Oh, you don’t have to do that,” you breathe. “You’ve…you’ve done more than enough for her.” 

“I’m happy to do it,” he smiles, setting the last of her toys back in the storage bin.

“I can’t thank you for everything you’ve done,” you tell him shyly as he stands. You look down, fiddling with your fingers. “For her and for me.” 

Hooking a finger under your chin, Andy tilts your head up to look at him. “You don’t have to thank me.” 

You dare to place your hand on the center of his chest, hearing the fabric crinkle under your palm. Your gaze flickers from his eyes to his mouth and every fiber of your body screams for one thing. 

Leaning up, you capture his lips with yours, sighing happily when he returns it, wrapping his arms around you. You dart your tongue out and he pulls away, stepping back. 

“I’m sorry,” you’re quick to apologize.

“No, Ted, no,” he cups your face and kisses your forehead. “That’s not it,” he mumbles against your skin, voice rumbling soothingly.

“Then what is it?”

“You’re drunk,” he states plainly, licking his lips and tasting traces of wine from your kiss. “And you’re still my student.” 

You huff.

His thumb taps on your lower lip, making you retract your pout. “June 11th.”

“What?”

“June 11th,” he repeats. “The day after you graduate. That’s when I’m taking you and Ivy out to dinner. I’ll be coming into some extra cash pretty soon, so I’d like to spoil my girls.” 

Your knees finally buckle and you both giggle as he catches you. 

My girls.

You and Ivy are his girls. It’s a dreamy thought and you look at the calendar to remind yourself of today’s date. “It’s April 28th,” you sigh, leaning your head on his chest. “June is so far away.” 

“I know, Teddy, but I don’t wanna jeopardize your degree.”

“And your job.”

“Oh, fuck my job,” he laughs. “If I could, I’d…”

He never finishes his sentence, leaving so many unsaid desires hanging in the air. The two of you stand there in dissatisfaction, stuck in an unfortunate situation. It's only a matter of time, but he's here now and you're impatient.

“June 11th,” you agree reluctantly, looking up at him and smoothing down a stray strand of hair on the side of his head. “We’ll be free.”

Smiling, he dares to steal one more kiss. “It’s a date.”

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#Andy Barber #Andy Barber fanfiction #Andy Barber fanfic #Andy Barber x reader #Andy Barber x single mom!reader #Andy Barber fluff #Andy Barber angst #Chris Evans fanfiction #Chris Evans character #House of Stone #ficsofpagesoflauren

[pagesoflauren]

House of Stone (3/5)

professor!Andy Barber x student!single mom!reader

Premise: Spin-off/sequel to Wooden Façade; Settling into his new life as a bachelor, Andy is helping his brother Ari prepare for his wedding to their mother’s former nurse. Between wedding planning and teaching, you enter his life and your eccentric one-year-old daughter catches his attention.

Warnings: mentions of sudden death, divorce, familial conflicts, spousal conflicts, pregnancy, and Parkinson’s disease; Laurie Barber slander; teacher-student friendship; romantic/sexual tension; awkward and cringey moments; blindsiding siblings (Ari and Bunny are menaces to Andy); Andy wears glasses and is a hot professor

A/N: Important to note that the events of Defending Jacob do not occur before, during, or after this series. Andy and Laurie are divorced and Jacob lives with Laurie.

Thank you as always to @eightcevanscentral

Read Wooden Façade here

House of Stone Masterlist

Main Masterlist

By March, the spring semester is halfway through. With each passing day, you find yourself closer to the finish line, closer to graduation day. Closer to nights with Ivy, and closer to…

Your laptop chimes, startling you from the drowsiness making your eyelids heavy as you try to catch up on readings. 

It’s an email from Andy, clearing up your confusion about a policy he lectured on last week. 

You smiled, sending him a quick thank-you email.

He replies once more:

No worries. It’s late, you should get to bed. Goodnight, mama bear. Hope baby bear’s well. - AB

It was strange how being on a first-name/nickname basis with your professor changed the dynamic between the two of you so much. There wasn’t a need to be so proper when you emailed or spoke privately. You didn’t feel the need to stand on ceremony or control your reactions. When he cracked the occasional joke during class, you laughed freely, and he always looked right at you. 

He checked in on you and Ivy more often, making himself available to meet with you to help with assignments at your convenience. It made things easier, alleviating the stress of needing to bend over backward to make meetings with professors on their schedules. Instead, you were able to find more of a balance between being a parent and being a student. 

There was a part of you that couldn’t deny the giddiness that came with the new evolution of your interactions with Andy. You hoped it wasn’t just him being accommodating or kind; you hoped there was something more, something he recognized and felt too. 

You knew it was silly to think that way. There was a clear line and neither of you have really crossed it. The closest instance of that was at your friend’s wedding in December when you danced with him. He got a little close, but nothing you felt was violating or uncomfortable. It felt…nice. Good, even, to be so near to him. 

You liked the way he held your body in his hands. In the chaotic haze of your double life, you found yourself stabilized and almost carefree until Ivy cried. Even then, when you heard her, you weren’t so frazzled and worried as you had been in previous instances where you felt like you had to rush to her.

Sighing, you knew you could go on until 6 AM with these thoughts, your mind running towards a nonexistent finish line. You may never get answers to your ruminations. Or, if you do get answers, they may be the ones you don’t want. 

It could all mean nothing to him. He could be doing this with no afterthought about you; something platonic to help you until you can fully stand on your feet as a paralegal. 

Deciding to fully put your thoughts to rest, you shake your head and close your laptop, turn off the lights, and head to bed. 

- - - – -

“Have a seat, Barber.” 

Making himself comfortable on the chair in front of the dean’s desk, smoothing out his tie. 

“What’s this about, Desdimone?”

“I’ll get straight to the point since you have a class in an hour; the university’s IT security team randomly audits professor’s emails to make sure everyone’s adhering to policies. HIPAA, appropriate behavior, you know the drill.”

Andy furrows his brows. “I don’t think I was aware of this.”

“It was in the contract you signed when we hired you and mentioned in your IT training during orientation when we onboarded you.” 

Biting the inside of his cheek, he realizes he has no leg to stand on to argue and decides to get to the root of the issue. Though he can probably guess which emails have called him into question, he feigns ignorance. “So, I assume there’s a problem with my emails?”

Dean Desdimone pulls out a folder and places two pieces of paper on the desk. “They were audited this past week. These are the emails we found between you and one of your students.” 

When Andy leans forward to read them, he spots your school email address at the top of the pages.

“You call her ‘mama bear’ and mention a ‘baby bear,’” Desdimone states in a matter-of-fact tone. “Care to explain?”

Andy sighs and relaxes in his chair; it’ll be easy to get out of this one. 

“Miss Y/L/N is a single mom. I call her ‘mama bear’ and her daughter ‘baby bear.’ It’s just me acknowledging that.”

“Do you think it’s appropriate?”

“There’s nothing more to it than that. As you can see, everything we talk about is strictly school-related. Any discussion about her daughter is only as it pertains to her being able to attend classes or counseling meetings with me.”

Desdimone leans back himself, pondering his responses for a moment. He taps his fingers twice, not looking convinced. 

“Come on, Desdimone, you know me. I’d never do anything like what you’re suggesting.” 

The dean shakes his head. “I know you’re a good lawyer, Barber, and this university is lucky to have you because of that, but that’s about it. I’ll let you off with a warning this time, but if this continues, then I’ll have to take action and remove her from your class.” 

Pursuing his lips, Andy agrees. 

With that, he’s dismissed from the meeting, face flushing when he thinks about how just two weeks ago, he let another nickname for you slip. 

He couldn’t help it. You’re soft, so sweet and he just wants to hold you all the time, like a teddy bear. 

He remembers the anxiety that settled in his chest as he sent the email calling you that for the first time. 

It’s no problem, Teddy. Goodnight. - AB

He was mortified, but you didn’t seem to be bothered. 

It was dumb luck that he was audited this week and not last week; he needed to be more careful. 

- - - - -

As students filed in for his evening class, Andy did his usual routine: busying himself at the podium with organizing his notes, making sure his bottle of water is filled, cleaning his glasses, and checking for last-minute absences in his inbox. He responded to students that greeted him on their way in but noticed something was missing. 

Or rather, someone. 

As his alarm beeped to signal the beginning of class, you hadn’t greeted him yet. 

Pressing his glasses up his nose, he looks up to the third row of the center section, the second seat from the left. 

It’s empty. You’re not there. 

He looks at his inbox one more time, hitting the refresh button. There’s no email from you saying you’ll be late or missing class. 

“Um…um,” he stammers, trying to find the words. “Let’s-let’s wait another five minutes before we start, just in case anyone else needs to trickle in.”

He feels like a fool saying that; despite giving you most of his attention, he knows what a full class for this evening time slot looks like: it looks exactly like the clustered arrangement of students in front of him. 

But you not being there was enough to make it all look so empty. 

He watches the door. He waits for his laptop to chime. He waits for his phone to ring; you never call, but maybe you will this time.

Five minutes pass, and he has no choice. Clearing his throat, he clicks to the first slide. “Let’s get started.”

- - -

As the last of his students exit the lecture hall, Andy’s worry escalates. 

You never miss class. You never miss an opportunity to communicate what’s going on with you and Ivy. Whatever’s going on, it must be an emergency. 

He begins to type on his laptop before halting suddenly and looking up at the end of the lecture hall. There, perched in the center of the ceiling behind the projection screen, is a camera. There are two others in the corners. 

He can’t do this here. As he packs his things, he realizes he can’t do it anywhere in the school building. He’s been audited already, and with the meeting with the dean earlier, he suspects there’s already a red flag on his shoulder. 

Deciding to not take any chances, he walks to his car and gets in. Opening his laptop again, Andy disconnects from the school wifi and uses the hot spot on his phone to get onto the internet, using a private window. It feels odd to have access to the information he’s looking for as he clicks through the university database, finding your name and phone number. 

Looking around in the empty parking lot, he dials and brings his phone to his ear, listening to it ring and waiting for you to pick up.

“Andy?” you ask on the other side.

He clears his throat, “Hi, yeah. How’d you know it was me?” 

“I…the phones do that now. With the Caller ID.” 

“Oh, oh, right…” he trails off, feeling like an idiot. He changes the subject quickly, “I just wanted to check on you. You…you weren’t in class.” 

“Yeah, um,” you begin. He hears a sharp inhale and your voice comes shakily as you continue, “I’m fine. Um, there’s just been a situation…with Ivy.” 

His heart nearly stops. “Is everything okay?” 

“Mhmm,” you hum, “She’s good. Safe.” 

“Teddy…” Andy’s voice comes out like a warning, sensing there’s more that you’re not telling him. “What happened?”

You begin to sob, harsh breaths sounding like static in his ear. “I-I can’t talk about it, it’s hard.” 

Closing his eyes, his heart squeezes and he knows he’d be risking a lot by offering, but he offers anyway. It’s almost instinctive; whatever’s hurting you, he needs to help somehow. “Do you want me to come over? Maybe I can help?”

You huff a little. “I think it’s a bit above your pay grade as a professor. It’s not much of a university matter.” 

“If there’s anything I can do, I’m happy to do it. You know that. Anything.” 

You’re quiet for a few moments. He pulls the phone back to see if the call is still going. Placing the phone back on his ear, he says your name. 

You give him the address before hanging up. Starting his car, he drives over without a second thought. 

Knocking on the door of your apartment, he’s barely begun to retract his hand before you open the door. 

“Hey, come in,” you say, stepping aside and allowing him to enter. He can see how you’re still trying to put up a front, smiling while your eyes are red and swollen. 

Shutting the door behind you, you offer him something to eat or drink.

“No, thank you,” he shakes his head, looking around at the small space you and Ivy call home. The kitchen lights are on, but there aren’t any dishes in the sink. “Have you eaten?” 

He turns as he asks the question, facing you. You look guilty as you shake your head. 

Andy walks into the kitchen, opening the different cupboards and cabinets before finding an appropriate pot. He goes through the drawers next, putting up a slotted cooking spoon and setting it on the counter. He fills the pot with water and puts it on the stove before turning on the fire. 

“What are you doing?”

He opens the pantry door and scans the shelves. He pulls out a box of mac and cheese, salt, pepper, and a jar of pesto sauce. 

“I’m making you dinner,” he answers, opening the fridge and taking out butter and milk. 

He also grabs the neck of a bottle of wine, setting it on the counter and rifling through the cupboards again to find a pair of wine glasses. 

Unstopping the bottle, he pours one for himself and one for you, far more generous than his own. He turns and offers you the glass. 

You give him a sad smile, walking over and taking it by the stem. Clinking it against his, you both take a sip as the water heats up. 

“Thank you,” you sigh after you swallow, leaning against the tiny island in the middle of the kitchen. 

“Not a problem,” he smiles, placing his glass on the counter. Gripping the edges of the worktop, he leans back and looks at you. “So, what’s wrong?” 

Pursing your lips, you take another sip before you answer. “It’s Troy–Ivy’s dad. It’s his parents; her grandparents.” 

You move around the island and stand at the dining table, looking through a stack of papers. Up until now, Andy had thought they were just school documents. Now, giving them a good look and seeing the manila envelope with your name and address, he knows something more nefarious is at play. When you find the paper you’re looking for, you read it, then hand it to him with watery eyes. 

Andy reads the top of the document and his heart drops. 

“They’re making a play for custody of Ivy,” you tell him, your voice trembling as you wipe your tears. “They…they did this last year when she was born.”

“What do you mean?”

“They didn’t want anything to do with us when I was pregnant, especially after Troy died. But then, when they found out she was born, they were coming over every day.” 

You laugh bitterly, looking up to the ceiling and shaking your head as if chastising yourself for being so foolish. “I thought…I thought I wasn’t alone anymore. I had Ivy, I had my aunt and my cousin, I had them.”

Andy dreads the “but…” that’s coming. 

“They hung around for a week, and at the end, they said they were going back home. I thought they were coming around to say goodbye, but they brought boxes and tried to pack Ivy’s things. When I asked what they were doing, they asked me to give her to them. And I know grief can make people do crazy things, but asking a mother who just gave birth to give her baby to you? That really takes the cake. Because fuck me, right? Just forget the fact that I’m the woman who carried her for nine months and pushed her out of my vagina–” 

You stop suddenly, seeming to catch yourself. 

“Sorry, I just…” you begin to sob, “I’m so angry and I have no chance against them. They’re trying to claim custody and I would give it to them partially, but they were awful.” 

You pause, pressing your hands to your face; Andy suspects the memories are replaying in your head. 

“I lost Troy, too. And I think they’re only doing this because his birthday passed two weeks ago. They don’t know her. They don’t care about her. If they did, they would’ve been around, they would’ve been helping me this whole time. They wouldn’t have left me alone. They only care about salvaging whatever pieces of their son they can get and–” 

You break down, hunching over and bursting into tears. Pushing off the counter, Andy wraps his arms around you, bringing you into his chest. You tremble in his hold but he keeps you secure against him, murmuring “It’s okay,” over and over again. Maybe it doesn’t feel that way, maybe it’s a bad choice of words, but he wants to do everything he can to make it okay. 

There’s a pause in your sobbing and you pull back slightly to wipe your cheeks before leaning your head against his chest. 

“I can’t lose her, Andy,” you mumble. “I don’t trust them, who knows what they’ve claimed to their lawyer? I have nothing, and if they take Ivy, I’ll have no one–”

He shushes you, pressing a kiss onto your forehead and stroking your hair. “Don’t worry,” he tells you, “You have me.” 

- - -

Andy smiled bashfully as you complimented his genius in adding pesto to boxed mac and cheese. He made a point to clear the dining table of any pieces of paper to help you forget the court case for the time being. 

“Thank you for this,” you tell him. “You didn’t have to. I warned you it was above your pay grade but I really appreciate it.”

He chuckles, scooping another serving before he shakes his head. “You don’t have to worry about it. I’m happy to do it.” 

Smiling, you take another bite and sigh. You enjoy the silence with him, professor-student standing be damned. This was nice. 

You hear whimpering from down the hall, more motherly instincts kicking in, making you get up from your chair and disappear down the hall to the bedrooms. 

When you come back, Ivy is in your arms, bleary-eyed and wrapped in a blanket with her hair in all different directions. You smooth the strands down and bring her to the table. 

“I think she knows that I’ve been stressed,” you say, sitting down. When she reaches for your bowl, you stop her to prevent food from flying everywhere. “Oh, no, no, hold on.”

“Here,” Andy says, reaching for her. He pulls her out of your lap and into his. Picking up his spoon, he shakes off excess noodles and brings the edge of it to her mouth, letting her feed easily. 

She does her exaggerated hum of satisfaction, happily slapping his hand for more. “Mmm! Deedee!” she giggles. 

“You want more?” 

“Mo’!” she replies. 

He laughs as he feeds her again, and you decide to just enjoy the moment. You and Ivy will have a hard few weeks ahead of you, but Andy reassured you that he would be there every step of the way. 

You nearly burst into tears after she eats a few more bites and rubs her eyes. Yawning, she squeaks before pressing her face into Andy’s chest as her eyes close. He adjusts her in his lap to make her more comfortable before he continues to finish his bowl.

You can’t deny how he made it all better. With this looming over you and the prospect of losing your daughter, he holds all your pain in his hand, taking it from you and letting you see this. 

If the judge could see the three of you now, they’d realize Ivy has everything she needs. 

And so do you. 

- - - - - 

“Alright, baby bear,” Andy mutters as he places Ivy on her bed. He arranges the blankets around her, making sure she’s tucked in and comfortable. “Sleep well.” 

He steps out, shutting the bedroom door behind him, and meets you in the living area. 

“Thank you. I know I’ve been saying that a lot this evening, but I–”

“You know I don’t mind,” he smiles.

“Of course I do.” 

Putting on his jacket, Andy picks up his work bag and slings it over his shoulder. “I’ll be in touch tomorrow about the case.” 

You purse your lips, seeming to remember everything. It had all gotten away from you in the hour that you spent watching Andy cook and eating with him. “Yeah…I’ll…wait for the call.” 

“It’ll all be okay,” he says, bringing you back into his chest, caging you between his arms to hide you from the sting of reality. “I promise, I’m gonna do everything I can to make this go our way.” 

Pulling away, you look at him with a curious expression. “‘Our way?’”

“I…” he buffers for a moment, failing to find the right words to explain himself. The truth is, there is no explanation. “Your way. I meant…”

Your body surges as you throw your arms around his neck, bringing him closer as you press your lips to his. 

He’s stunned for a moment, frozen as his face reacts with raised eyebrows and flushing cheeks but his body doesn’t move a muscle. His heart races and he shuts his eyes, kissing you back the way he wanted to when he had you on the dance floor at his brother’s wedding. 

The two of you pull away and you step back, covering the lower half of your face with your hands. “I…I’m sorry, that was uncalled for and wildly inappropriate. I don’t know what came over me–”

Smiling like an idiot, Andy doesn’t have the patience to listen to a bullshit excuse from you. 

You kissed him. That was all the blessing he needed. 

Sweeping you into his arms again, he kisses you once, twice, and a third time, loving the feeling of your hands in his hair as they creep up his neck, engulfing him in you. 

You step back again, laughing shyly. “That was…”

“It was…”

“Nice.” “Good.”

“I agree,” he nods. 

“Good. Um…”

“But we probably shouldn’t do that again.”

You nod as well, “Right, yes, I agree.”

“At least not until after you graduate.”

“Oh, yes, good point. After I graduate.”

“Because then you won’t be my student anymore.” 

“Mhmm, yup.” 

Silence falls over the two of you and you begin to walk towards the door. “Um, I’ll wait for your call tomorrow.”

Getting the cue, Andy nods and heads toward the door, stepping out into the atrium of the apartment building. “Yes, I’ll keep you posted. And I’ll see you next week. Don’t worry about the paper, by the way. If you need more time, I’m happy to give it to you.”

“Oh, that won’t be necessary. But thanks, anyway.” 

“Okay.” 

He stands there and you look at him. Neither of you wants to say goodbye.

You blink, smiling at him and leaning your head against the door. “Goodnight, Professor Barber.” 

“Goodnight,” he breathes. “Goodnight, Teddy.” 

Lingering your gaze on him the entire time you close the door, you can’t help but lean against it as it shuts. You cover your face with your hands and smile, skin heating up in giddiness. 

If it wasn’t for Ivy, Andy never would have made it to your apartment tonight. Things would have looked so differently for the two of you. 

He gives you hope; a second vine crawling over your heart, protecting you from anything that could hurt you. 

An ivy. 

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#Andy Barber #Andy Barber fanfiction #Andy Barber fanfic #Chris Evans fanfiction #Chris Evans character #Andy Barber x reader #Andy Barber x single mom!reader #professor!Andy Barber #House of Stone #ficsofpagesoflauren #pagesoflauren

[pagesoflauren]

House of Stone - Your Ivy Grows

feat. professor!Andy Barber x single mom!student!reader

Summary: House of Stone has a revolving door of characters: Andy, the reader, Ivy, Ari, bunny, Marcella, and Troy.

Warnings: MAJOR ANGST/SADNESS (I cried while writing this); mentions of death and grief; supernatural moments

A/N: A lot of people were saying they were sad the Wood & Stone Series is ending, but it's not ending yet if I have anything to say about it 😁

Anything in italics is what Troy is thinking/saying.

As always, thanks @eightcevanscentral

House of Stone Masterlist

Main Masterlist

He hears you whimpering under the sheets, accompanied by the rustle of fabric as you toss and turn. Pained, he knows how hard it’s been for you to sleep lately, especially after a long drive back from your friend’s wedding. 

Three hours in the car and you were exhausted, he was sure. 

Reaching out for your shoulder, he can feel his palm pressing against your skin, but the warmth never reaches his hand. 

He’s gotten used to the cold by now. 

With a gentle shove, he rouses you, hearing you shout his name. 

“Troy!”

I’m here.

Your chest heaves, burdened breaths coming and going as you blindly reach for the side table lamp. 

Faint yellow light pours into the room and he can see your face now, swollen and stained with tears. 

It’s okay, he tells you, cupping your jaw and trying to swipe away the tears. 

He fails and feels his chest sink when you wipe your tears yourself. 

“Fuck,” you sigh, pressing your hands into your face.

What’s wrong, birdie? 

“I like him.”

I know. Anyone would know just by looking at the two of you. Do you know he likes you, too?

“God, why?”

What do you mean?

You sob some more, he scoots closer.

Talk to me, birdie.

“I promised…I promised I would never look at anyone.” 

People seldom keep promises like that.

“And Ivy…she deserves to know you as her father, not some other man.”

You sniffle and use the sheet to wipe the fresh wave of tears.

“I’m betraying you.”

No, you’re not. You never could; he’s who was meant for you. 

“It was supposed to be you and me.”

I know, but life has more planned for you.

You curl up into yourself, hiding your face against your knees. He can feel it, the shame permeating from your body as you reprimand yourself. You’re not saying it, but he knows you in death as well as he knew you in life. 

My sweet little bird, he says, hand on your head as he presses his face close to yours. You’re not doing anything wrong. He makes you happy and Ivy loves him too. I couldn’t ask for anything more. 

You look forward, straight into his face with your chin propped on your knees. Of course, you don’t see him. 

There’s my girl, he leans forward and kisses your forehead. 

Your legs straighten suddenly and your hand flies to where he kissed you, fingertips grazing over your skin. 

You don’t have to be sorry for anything, he tells you. 

A sharp cry sounds down the hall and both your heads turn towards it. 

Ivy.

You get up and he follows you, right in your shadow as you turn on the light and pick up Ivy from her bed.

“Hey, sweet girl,” you whisper to her. “You have a bad dream, too?”

She wails and you shush her, rocking and bouncing her. He stands behind you, brushing his thumb over her forehead. 

Rough night for both my girls, he mumbles to himself. 

She looks just like you, growing more and more each day. It’s strange; he’s been here this whole time, though it’s like being in a museum: looking, no touching. He reaches for her, she crawls to him, she babbles at him the same way subjects of paintings look at their viewers, almost inviting them into a conversation. But like an observer who will never know what the Mona Lisa has to say, Troy will never truly know the tenderness of his daughter’s touch and the sweetness of her kisses. 

Her eyes drop closed and you sigh. “Thank God,” you mutter.

I’m not God, but I’ll take it, he quips. 

You place her back on the mattress and leave slowly, going down the hall back to your room. He wants to follow you, and he will. But for now, he sits next to his daughter, reaching for her and rubbing her forehead. 

Take it easy on your momma, he sighs. She’s going through a lot. 

- - - - - 

He gets up from where he was sitting on the front steps when he sees Andy’s car pull into the parking space in front of the apartment. He had been waiting for you all to return from the courthouse. 

Appalled by his parents, he followed closely; shorting out electricity in his parents’ house to show them his dismay, whispering in his lawyer’s ear when she nearly forgot to call Andy back about his will, observing Andy and his son as they worked on the case together. 

Promising you that everything would be okay. 

Andy carries Ivy and you step out on wobbly legs and Troy laughs to himself. 

After one drink? C’mon birdie, you’re better than that. 

Standing on the pathway to the house, he sees an opportunity. He knows how you and Andy feel about each other. He knows what holds the two of you back, but there’s no better time than the present. 

He walks over and presses his hand into your shoulder, swaying you towards Andy. You go the other direction, bracing yourself against the side of the house. 

He sighs. You’re still so stubborn. 

He loves you anyway. 

Andy checks on you and you reply bashfully before reaching for Ivy. After a short discussion, the two of you make your way into the apartment, but Troy doesn’t follow. 

Some things are meant to be private. 

- - - - - 

“Say ‘Hi daddy.”

“Hi, dada.”

Hi, baby girl.

“Hi, bubby.”

Hey, birdie. I’ve been waiting for the two of you.

“I’m sorry we haven’t visited in a long time, I know we missed Ivy’s birthday. Things have been so crazy, especially with finals and finishing up the semester at the end of May. But I did it, I graduated from law school.”

His heart soars. I’m so proud of you.

“I started looking for jobs…it’s scary to apply.”

I know, but you gotta do it, birdie. You’re so brilliant, you could have any job you want.

“But I know you’d be telling me to go for it, so I’ve been sending out applications left and right.”

He smiles. Good. 

“Ivy’s doing good, aren’t you, baby?”

My sweet girl, he sighs as she giggles. You’re so big now.

“She’s beginning to climb up and down the couch and the jungle gym at daycare. I’m gonna sign her up for gymnastics like we talked about.”

U.S. Olympic gymnast, Ivy Paige Abernathy. I can see it now. 

“And I promise for her belated birthday gift, I’ll get her a pair of sneakers like you wanted.”

Get a pair for yourself too, birdie. It won’t work unless she’s matching with her momma. 

He watches you sigh and sniffle, his heart squeezing. 

“We’re doing okay–more than okay. And we’re not alone.” 

I know, he says as you call for Andy to come closer.

“This is Andy, he was my professor. He’s a lawyer…he saved our little family.” 

I’m so grateful for it. 

You describe Andy to him and he listens as if he hadn’t been watching this whole time. 

“He makes me happy. He takes care of Ivy, I–”

I know, he nods. I know you love him.

“There’s not a day that goes by that I don’t miss you, Troy. But I just want you to know we’re okay. I hope you’re okay wherever you are.”

I’m okay, he promises.

“I love you, bubby.”

I love you, too, birdie.

He thanks you for the daffodil and says goodbye before you carry Ivy away. 

Andy stays, looking at the gravestone. 

Hi Andy, he greets him. You look concerned. 

“I’m not trying to replace you, I hope you know that.”

I do.

“But I…I love Y/N and Ivy.”

How could you not? Troy laughs. They love you, too.

“I promise I’ll take care of them…of your girls. I’ll keep them safe and warm.”

I know you will. 

“And I’ll never let Ivy forget you.”

He closes his eyes. Thank you. 

“Rest easy, Troy.”

I am; I couldn’t have asked for a better man to take care of my girls.

- - - - - 

Stepping through the grass, he finds an empty seat in the front row at the very end. 

He sits down and crosses his legs. To his right, a little head whips toward him. He looks and finds his daughter staring right at him. 

She waves, “Hi, dada.”

Hey, baby girl.

She giggles and says again, “Hi, dada.”

Shh, you gotta be quiet, he presses a finger to his lips. It’s a big day for your momma and Andy. 

Ivy listens, looking forward at the bride and groom. 

You look beautiful, dressed in white complete with a jeweled barrette in your hair. Andy glows with happiness that Troy only knows because he felt it when he was with you. 

“Andrew, repeat after me.”

Andy looks at you with sincerity as he recites his vows; promising to love you no matter what lies ahead. 

Unable to help himself, Troy says them, too.

I, Troy Benjamin Abernathy…take you, Y/N Y/L/N, to be my wedded wife, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish–

“...’til death do us part.” 

As Andy slides the ring onto your finger, Troy gets up and walks to his daughter, kneeling down.

She looks at him with pure joy and giggles when he kisses her cheeks before whispering, I’ll see you later, baby girl.

Turning towards you, he listens to you recite your vows to Andy.

I’m sorry I didn’t listen to you that night, he whispers as he steps closer until he’s standing next to you. I’m sorry I left when I did. But look at you now, in love and happy. I couldn’t ask for anything better. 

He kisses your cheek and your words falter for a moment. You brush your fingers across your face and look at him–right through him. 

I love you, birdie. Go, live your life. 

He steps back and you apologize for your momentary lapse and begin reciting your vows again. 

Troy walks around the sets of chairs, into the wooded area, and back into the light. 

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#Andy Barber #Andy Barber fic #Andy Barber fanfiction #House of Stone #ficsofpagesoflauren

[pagesoflauren]

House of Stone (2/5)

professor!Andy Barber x student!single mom!reader

Premise: Spin-off/sequel to Wooden Façade; Settling into his new life as a bachelor, Andy is helping his brother Ari prepare for his wedding to their mother’s former nurse. Between wedding planning and teaching, you enter his life and your eccentric one-year-old daughter catches his attention.

Warnings: mentions of sudden death, divorce, familial conflicts, spousal conflicts, pregnancy, and Parkinson’s disease; Laurie Barber slander; teacher-student friendship; romantic/sexual tension; awkward and cringey moments; blindsiding siblings (Ari and Bunny are menaces to Andy); Andy wears glasses and is a hot professor

A/N: Important to note that the events of Defending Jacob do not occur before, during, or after this series. Andy and Laurie are divorced and Jacob lives with Laurie.

Thank you as always to @eightcevanscentral

Read Wooden Façade here

House of Stone Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Ivy settles in your lap, feeling the textured pages of the book you gave her about animals. She’s in a good mood today: gently turning the pages, sometimes babbling at you as she shows you the images, and leading your hand to touch the pages.

The venue is gorgeous; with a more intimate number of guests–you suspect there are maybe about fifty people here–and the temperature at a cozy level, you could enjoy the view of snow-capped trees as dusk began to fall. 

The officiant called everyone’s attention and invited them to silence any noise-making devices. Music began to play and you heard everyone murmuring and felt the air shift as their bodies turned to look at the head of the aisle. 

Your daughter steals your attention, showing you another page. 

“Yes, Ivy, that’s an elephant,” you whisper to her. “It has a long nose.” 

Tracing your finger down the length of the trunk, you smile when she mimics you. 

You hear people coo, turning your head as you see the groom walking down the aisle with his mother on his arm.

After sighing at the adorable visual, you squint your eyes a little. He looks like Professor Barber. 

You shake your head, rattling those thoughts away. Just because the semester was over didn’t mean you got a free pass to search for him in every face you saw–no matter how much you wanted to. 

As the past semester came to a close, it was harder and harder to concentrate in his class. There were a plethora of reasons why and you often didn’t like to count them because it sent you into a spiral. Plus, you operated on the idea that it was best to stick with the same professors as much as possible because it was better to stay on track with a consistent class structure and teaching style. 

And it’s not bad when the professor’s hot–

You huff to yourself; your thoughts were annoyingly intrusive. 

“If those who are able could please stand for the entrance of the bride.” 

You rearrange Ivy in your arms to support her as you rise to your feet, catching a glimpse of your friend as she practically floats down the aisle, her arm hooked with her father’s. 

Something clatters against your feet and you look down, sighing sharply at the view of Ivy’s book on the floor. She squirms in your arms and you tighten your grip to prevent her from falling and getting hurt. 

The officiant states that everyone can be seated and you’re relieved, practically dropping into your seat and setting your daughter on your lap facing you. You lean down to grab her book and hand it to her, only for her to push it away, babbling as the ceremony begins. 

You throw the book into your purse and notice she’s fussing a lot, so you turn her to face forward and suddenly she stops. 

Blinking dumbly, you crane your head to look at her face. Her eyes are locked on something, so you follow her visual line to find out what it is.

Turns out it’s not what, but rather whom. 

Professor Barber smiles and gives a short, small wave from where he stands at the altar next to the groom. Ivy giggles and waves back. 

Suddenly, it clicks. 

The groom looks like Professor Barber because that’s his brother, and your friend is marrying the brother.

You could feel stupid for not realizing it sooner–and you do–but you swear you saw the groom had a different last name when you looked at the invitation. 

Ivy giggles again and Professor Barber puts his pointer finger to his lips, signaling for her to be quiet. 

She presses her hands to her face, looks at you, then reaches for her book, the spine poking out of your purse. 

Retrieving it quickly, you hand it to her and she plays with it on her own. You sigh, feeling the nerves slowly dissipate and you look back at him. 

Your face heats up when you see he’s still looking at you. 

Thank you, you mouth. 

He winks at you and you avert your eyes to your daughter, looking down so that maybe he won’t see the giddy smile spreading across your face.

- - - - -

“I’m so glad you were able to come!” your friend greets you with her husband in tow. 

“Oh, hell yeah, I wouldn’t miss this for the world!” 

“And this is Ivy?!” she asks in disbelief. “I can’t believe it.” 

“This is her. Ivy, say hi!”

Your friend waves to her and coos when she waves back. Then, she introduces you to the groom. 

Ari shakes your hand. “So how do you two know each other again?” 

“I was in the law program and she was in the nursing program at Boston U, and I came into the library to study and there weren’t any open tables. I circled around, I don’t know, maybe three times before she just pulled out the chair next to her and offered it to me.”

“She was really good at keeping me on task,” your friend adds.

“No, but you know what the best part was?”

“Oh my god, don’t tell him–”

“Don’t tell me what?”

“While we were studying, just in the thick of it, she just reaches into her bag and takes out this Halloween-sized bag of Twix and starts eating it!”

Your friend facepalms and Ari shakes his head. “So I see that’s a long-standing habit of yours, then.” 

“What do you mean?”

“I catch her eating Twix at least three times a day but I never know where her stash is. And I built the house we live in.” He smiles at her fondly as he continues to feign disapproval, “She’s just too sneaky.” 

He leans her forehead against hers, then your friend looks back at you. 

“I remember being so worried the first day you didn’t come to the library. Then it had occurred to me that we didn’t have each other’s numbers. But, Ari, get this–I go into my clinical rotation one day at the hospital in Labor & Delivery and I get called into a room and she’s in there about to give birth to this one!” 

Ari smiles, bewildered at the coincidence. 

You laugh, recalling that day so vividly. 

You were alone, a swarm of medical professionals running around, coming in and out of the room. Not a familiar face in sight and no one to share this moment with you. Then, suddenly, someone called your name from the door and you opened your eyes. 

Donned in scrubs, a hairnet, and a face mask, you didn’t recognize the person at first. Then, she pulled down her mask and revealed your study buddy. 

“I never thought I’d see you again!” she said. “There are policies in place to protect patient privacy and it’s a very delicate time for you. This is my assignment but since we know each other, if you’re not okay with me seeing you like this, then I can leave and get someone else. Do you want me to do that?” 

You shook your head and reached for her. She took your hand. 

“Please stay with me,” you begged as another contraction rolled through your body. 

She squeezed your hand and moved some hair out of your face. 

“There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.” 

“I caught Ivy when she popped out,” she says, placing her hand over her heart. “I can’t believe how big she is.” 

“Do you want to hold her?” you offer.

“Oh yes, please–”

Another woman approaches, telling the couple it’s time to start dinner. 

You can see both of them deflate a little, but your friend touches your arm.

“I’ll come find you afterward, I can’t wait to hold her!”

- - -

You and Ivy are placed at a table with another young couple who adore her. They take turns entertaining her so you can have moments to eat and sometimes she even allows them to feed her. 

As the meal comes to a close, you hear the light sound of metal against glass, drawing your and everyone else’s attention to the front of the room where the bride, groom, and their families are sitting with the exception of Professor Barber.

He lowers his glass and taps the microphone, hearing the feedback from the speakers before leaning forward to speak.

“Hi everyone,” he begins. “Uh, for those of you who don’t know me, I’m Andy, Ari’s older brother, and best man–”

“And my son!” 

“And Marcella’s son,” he tacks on. Then, he clears his throat. “Uh, anyway, the bride and groom have asked me to say a few words, so here I am.” 

You tilt your head. This is a strange side of him. He exudes confidence in a lecture hall–he has to, he’s the authority in the room. He stands tall and speaks with certainty in front of dozens of students. You’re certain his most crowded class has the same number of students as guests in this reception room. 

But here, he looks bashful. One hand in his pocket and another holding a folded piece of paper, which you assume is his speech. He stumbles over words and steals glances at his family, then his eyes scan over everyone until they land on you. 

He holds your gaze for a moment, broken when Ivy begins to whine and slap her hands against the table. You turn to her, wondering if she’s hungry but knowing she finished eating minutes ago. You try to give her her sippy cup but she pushes it away. 

A hand lands on your shoulder and you look up, the angle of your professor looking down at you as he assesses the situation feeling familiar. Just a month ago, this happened during his lecture. 

“Is she okay?” 

“Yeah,” you nod, “I just don’t know–”

Ivy reaches for him and he unbuckles the straps in the high chair, picking her up and settling her on his arm. 

You’re mortified. He doesn’t look like he minds, but during a lecture is one thing. During your friend’s wedding reception while he’s meant to give a speech is another. 

“Wait–”

“It’s okay, I can hold her.” 

You look at your friend, but she and the groom are whispering to each other.

Andy returns to his position behind the microphone. “Sorry folks. Now, where was I?”

“You said you were about to stop ad-libbing and start your actual speech,” Ari jabs, to which your friend responds with a light smack on his shoulder. “What? We don’t have all night.” 

The room erupts in laughter and Ivy joins in, her giggle echoing into the microphone. People coo and you press your hand to your chest. 

“Right, do you mind unfolding this?” 

Professor Barber–Andy? Can you call him that?--hands your friend the paper and she opens it up for him before giving it back. 

“Growing up with Ari gave me a lot of time to get to know him as a person. He was always more serious and apprehensive about things. He’s shy and stubborn, but loyal as hell. He feels things so deeply and intensely that I can’t help but feel protective over him because I don’t want him to be upset. 

“When I was seventeen, I had to leave home. I could tell as we got older that he started taking on so many responsibilities–more than I would’ve liked him to do. So, I hired a nurse. Ari was extremely happy about that.” 

Your friend laughs and Ari facepalms.

Andy uses the interlude to adjust Ivy, hiking her up slightly so that he can stand more comfortably with her.

“And I think Mama fell in with her faster than Ari did.”

The room erupts in laughter and your friend looks fondly at her mother-in-law, reaching for her over her husband. She squeezes her hand once before turning her attention back to Andy. 

“I’ve learned so much about life and love from the two of you, which feels wrong–I’m the older brother you should be learning from me.” 

Ari mumbles something to your friend and you can make out a faint, “Oh–Ari!” before she smacks him on his shoulder again.

Andy looks at them expectantly with raised eyebrows, Ivy following his line of vision as he clears his throat. “May I continue?” 

The younger brother gestures toward him with an open hand, giving him the floor. 

“As I was saying…in all seriousness you both taught me when it’s real deep love, that time–it could be years or just months–doesn’t really matter. When you know you know and I know you,” he looks directly at your friend, “are too good for my brother.

“I couldn’t be happier for my brother and can’t imagine him with anyone else. I know you two will be so happy together. So, if everyone would please join me in raising a glass.” 

He puts down the paper and picks up his glass. 

“To the bride and groom. Cheers!”

Everyone echoes before taking a sip and applauding. 

Your friend and Ari talk to Andy for a few moments, occasionally waving and speaking to Ivy as well before he excuses himself, gesturing in your direction. You stand as he approaches you, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear. “I’m so sorry, I–”

“It’s okay,” he says with a smile, beginning to sway. “Old habits die hard.” 

No words come to you, so you just watch the two of them. She babbles at him, and he replies in earnest. They talk back and forth until she mumbles something that sounds like a real question. 

“Your name,” you translate her babbling. Andy looks at you, his gaze stealing your breath. “She…She wants to know your name.” 

“Oh, do you?” he asks her, keeping his voice light. “It’s Andy.” 

“Dah-dee.” 

Your stomach drops to the floor. It sounds too much like “daddy” and you want the ground to swallow you up. 

He doesn’t seem to pay attention to her error. “Oh, good try, Ivy,” he reassures her, then says his name again, enunciating the sounds clearly. “Andy.”

“Deedee.”

He laughs, bouncing her. “Good job.” 

They giggle together, making your heart squeeze. You love that they seem to enjoy each other’s company; Ivy knows how to be comfortable with him and he knows how to keep her entertained. 

When Andy looks at you, he begins to apologize.

“No, no, you don’t have to apologize,” you rush, putting your hands up in a gesture to show that there’s absolutely nothing wrong at the moment. “Don’t let me interrupt you two.” 

“Well as much as I love having her,” he starts, pausing to press his forehead against her as she giggles. “I should probably hand her off. I think they’re gonna cut the cake in a minute.” 

You reach for her and you can sense reluctance on Ivy’s part to come back to you. 

Andy lingers for a moment before excusing himself to stand with his mom at the cake table where the bride and groom stand. They hold the knife together, pressing down as a camera flashes to capture the moment. 

Your friend takes over, continuing to cut a piece and plate it. Everyone coos as Ari uses a fork to feed his wife, while your friend uses her hand to scoop a piece and press it into his face. 

The room erupts in laughter, an uproar that only grows louder when he retaliates by grabbing her face and kissing her. 

The camera flashes wildly and in the flash, you see Troy’s face in place of Ari. You feel your body weaken again for the life you could have had but never got the chance to live. 

Finding your seat, you try to keep it together, relieved as people seem to move in the direction of the other side of the room to retrieve a piece of cake for themselves. The room quiets down and the sting behind your eyes begins to dissipate, the drone of overlapping conversations turning to white noise and you calm down. 

You place Ivy back into the high chair, strapping her in. There’s a certain look in her eyes that reminds you of Troy. Craning your head low, you search for it, trying to catch a glimpse of him again, just once before you continue with the evening. 

She lights up and you see it, then a familiar voice comes from above.

“Cake?” 

A plate is set down in front of you and you look up to find Andy once again. 

“You alright?”

“Yes, of course,” you sigh, sniffing once and composing yourself. “Thank you for the cake.”

He sits down in a seat across from you, next to Ivy. “You’re welcome. But I don’t think you were telling me the truth when you said you’re alright.” 

You smile inwardly. “Guess you didn’t get the position of being DA for nothing.”

He humors you, the corner of his mouth twitching up just slightly.

“I just…I had a moment. Um, about Ivy’s dad.” You purse your lips and shake your head quickly. “But it’s nothing that needs to be talked about. At least not here. It’s a happy occasion.” 

Ivy coos and reaches for the cake, making you both look at her. You quickly cut a small piece and bring it to her, smiling as she chews contently. She looks at you, then at the cake for more. 

As you feed her and sneak some bites in yourself, Andy speaks again. “For what it’s worth, I had a moment, too.” 

You look at him, trying to dissect his words and then you remember what he told you last semester about the situation with his son. 

It’s complicated.

Divorce, maybe? A messy one? 

Knowing better than to ask for more information, you decide to divert the subject a little. “Well, you’re welcome to stay here with us. You know what they say, ‘misery loves company.’”

Ivy gives an exaggerated “mmmm” and claps her hands. “Muh, muh, muh,” she babbles. 

“More?” you ask with a smile, then feed her another bite. “Okay, mommy will give you more.” 

“Hard to be miserable with this one around,” Andy grins, beginning to dig into his own cake. 

“Oh give it a second when she gets cranky,” you laugh. “She’ll make everyone miserable.” 

He laughs and you spare a glance at him. 

Your impression of this man was so one-sided. A man in the middle of a lecture hall, spewing information about practicing law and children’s rights. He always looked so prim and proper, shirts perfectly pressed and jackets nicely tailored. No buttons out of place and ties tightly knotted around his collar. He stands straight and proud, his voice projected with authority. 

Sitting across from you, his tie is discarded somewhere and the first two buttons of his collar are undone. There are a few wrinkles on his shirt now and he hunches over the table, chowing down on his dessert. 

As nice as he looks while teaching, you think you like this side of him more. 

“Muh,” Ivy calls to you.

“Oh, more,” you say, remembering where you are. You feed her another piece of cake and she looks at Andy before saying, “Mmm!”

He echoes it back to her and she swallows before giggling, her eyes lighting up and she looks back at you.

Your heart stops. 

The glint, the shine of joy that brightens her entire face.

That’s Troy. 

Your thoughts come down on you like a waterfall. Friends had often teased you for looking too deeply into things, finding connections in places where there were no connections other than the fabricated ones in your head. You tied ideas of people to animals, objects, and, sometimes, celebrities and other people. 

You attached your aunt to monarch butterflies and your cousin to gingerbread cookies. You found Ivy in crawling plants, the vines that wrap around buildings, shrouding them in a protective layer. 

In so many ways, Ivy saved you from debilitating grief that you would have never recovered from. 

And, of course, you found Troy in Ivy. In the very same smile she’s giving you now. 

In your crazy, strange way of thinking, you can’t help but wonder if Troy is trying to say something to you. And if he was, what was he telling you?

You decide not to dwell on it. You enjoy sharing this moment with Ivy.

…and Andy.

- - - - -

The party is in full swing, music loud and colored lights shining around the room. After the first dance, you and Ivy retreated back to the dining area where the music wasn’t as loud. 

“There you are!” your friend calls to you. 

You sigh again at the sight of her in your dress; she looks beautiful.

You tell her so, and she gushes about you and Ivy again. 

“Can I have a turn, please?” she asks, opening her arms. 

“Of course!” 

Ivy goes to her easily and you linger a moment to make sure she’s okay.

“Do you want to go dance?”

“Oh, no, I’m good here.”

“I think you should!” she insists. “Please, she’ll be fine. I’ll come get you if anything goes wrong.”

Your eyes drift over to the dance area, figuring it’s a good crowd to dance with.

“One song. And then I’ll come right back.”

“One song is more than enough,” your friend grins. “I just want you to take a small break!” 

It feels strange to walk away from Ivy, and you steal a glance right before passing the doorframe. She’s not even looking after you, just at your glowing friend and the details on the bodice of her dress.  

The music engulfs you, bass making the floor beneath your shoes vibrate as lyrics blast in your ear. 

The lights are flashing quickly as you look for a place to stand and enjoy this moment before you return to Ivy. 

One song ends and a new one begins, a slow one with an ethereal echo and guitar melody. The lights slow down, changing colors at a slower pace than before. 

Couples begin to pair up, reaching for each other and clinging closely. 

You lean back into the wall, smiling as you watch. 

As your eyes glide over everyone, they land on Andy, who begins to walk towards you. 

“May I?” he asks, offering a hand. 

You look around. You have a lot of reasons to say “no”, the main one being he’s your professor. 

But you have one reason to say “yes.” 

Taking his hand, you let him lead you to the edge of the dance floor. He holds your one hand tightly, wrapping his other arm around your body, hand resting on the center of your back. 

You place your other hand on his shoulder, trying not to put too much pressure on it but also trying to not look tense. Your throat feels clogged up, your ability to breathe slowly disappearing as your nerves ignite. 

“You’re thinking too much.”

“Huh?”

Andy gives you a smug look, eyebrows raised and the corner of his lip quirked up. “You have that same look when you’re about to raise your hand to ask a question in class. What are you thinking about?”

“Nothing,” you answer a little too quickly. Then you add, “Nothing important, at least.” 

“You sure?” 

You panic. There is absolutely no way you can tell him what you’re actually thinking about, especially with the way your mind is running after he revealed that he knows what you look like when you’re thinking. 

How has he retained that information? That can’t be appropriate–knowing the facial expressions of your students? Maybe that just makes him a good teacher–good God, say something! You’re being quiet for too long!

“I was just wondering how I did last semester,” you blurt. “A good GPA looks good on resumes, you know.” 

His face scrunches up. “Maybe…let’s not talk about the university right now?”

Your eyes dart around, trying to think of a question that can salvage this conversation. The colored lights swirl and grab your attention.

“What’s your favorite color?” 

The question seems to catch him off-guard, but he answers nonetheless. “Blue.”

“Oh,” you laugh nervously. “That makes sense, you wear a lot of blue often. Jackets, ties, shirts…” you begin to ramble. “I wouldn’t be surprised if your socks or underwear were blue, too.” 

Oh my god, why did I say that?

“I–”

“What about you?” he deflects.

You stammer, forgetting the most basic answer to the most basic question in the world. You’re certain Ivy could answer it but right now, you can’t.

When you finally blurt it out, he doesn’t seem to pay much attention to the length of time it took you to answer. 

He pivots the conversation, “What made you go into law?” 

Your eyes look distant, thoughtful. Not searching, like you’re trying to think of an explanation on the spot, but rather organizing your ideas into something coherent. 

“I think I just want people to stop thinking in black and white,” you start. “I’ve been…so screwed over by these ideas that things are absolute and when you’re right, you’re right, or when you’re wrong, you’re wrong. That’s just not always true. I just think if people were given chances or had advocates then maybe things would be better.” 

You sigh. “I wonder if things would be better for me and Ivy.” 

His heart aches at the look in your eyes. He can see sadness and some longing, and though he doesn’t want to pry, he can’t help the desire to hear you talk more. 

“Was Ivy part of your decision?”

“No,” you shake your head. “I decided I wanted to be a lawyer when I was in high school. Mostly because I began to question the institutions I was raised in. When I told my mother I wanted to be a family lawyer and she asked if I would be working with divorcees, she wasn’t very supportive of that; she doesn’t believe in divorce.”

You purse your lips guiltily. “I guess I shouldn’t be talking about divorce at a wedding.”

Andy smiles; he forgot where he was while listening to you speak. “I won’t tell anyone,” he whispers, leaning in slightly. 

You return his smile, eyes drifting down for a split second before looking back into his. 

Swallowing visibly, your heart races at how close he is. A few more inches…if you stood on your toes…

A sharp wail from outside catches your attention, motherly instincts kicking in and forcing your head to turn so quickly you nearly get whiplash. 

“Oh,” you gasp, stepping back and beginning to walk towards the sound. You turn and look at Andy again. “I’m sorry, I think it’s–”

“Don’t worry, do what you have to do,” he waves you off. 

You don’t look back as you rush out, finding your friend admonishing her husband whose cheeks are redder than the cherries garnishing drinks. 

“What happened?”

“Ari tried to make silly faces at her. He terrified her instead,” she explains, her tone sharp, wounding her husband as she throws him under the bus.

“I’m sorry, she was laughing with me earlier,” he says quickly. “I was spinning her, and she–”

You close your eyes, relieved it was just a man making funny faces and not anyone getting hurt. 

“It’s alright,” you sigh, taking your daughter as she dives into your arms, too eager to be away from your friend and the man who made her cry. “At least everyone’s okay.” 

You begin to bounce her, swaying and wiping her tears to soothe her. She leans her head against your shoulder, body growing heavier as sleep settles over her eyes. 

“I think it’s time for us to go,” you sigh, looking at the couple. 

Your friend pouts. “I’m sorry, we cut your night short,” she elbows her husband.

“She does fine with Andy! We have the same face, I thought she’d like it!”

“Ari,” you laugh, “it’s okay, really. It was probably just the time of the night as well. She gets grumpy when she’s sleepy–we all do.” 

“Everything okay?” Andy asks, stepping towards the group of you with his hands in his pockets.

You nod. “I was just heading out, though. Looks like this one is all partied out.” 

You adjust her on your hip, making sure your hold on her is secure before you turn to your friend. “Thank you for inviting us.”

She embraces you tightly, seeming to have a hard time letting go. “Don’t be a stranger. If I ever find myself in Boston, I’m calling you and we’re getting dinner. Or you’re welcome to visit us, too.” 

Your heart squeezes at her hospitality. “I can’t thank you enough for everything you’ve done–”

She holds you at arm’s length. “You don’t have to; you’re my friend. And I’ll hold your legs open for the next one.”

The two of you laugh as the brothers exchange a curious look. 

“Ari,” you turn to hug him, “Be well. Which will be easy, you chose a good wife.” 

“Mama reminds me every day,” he agrees, looking at her. His eyes drift down to you again. “I hope to see you both soon.” 

You squeeze his arm and thank him. 

“Professor Barb–Andy,” you shake your head. “It was good seeing you.”

“Good seeing you, too,” he echoes. “Do you need any help on the way out?”

“Oh, no, we’ll be just fine,” you reassure him. 

“Are you sure? I don’t mind–”

“Really, Andy, I think you should stay here,” you smile. “I couldn’t take you away from a beautiful reception like this one.”

“It wouldn’t be a problem,” he insists.

You sigh, and his chest feels light with hope that you’ll accept his help. “Thank you, but it’s not necessary.” 

You gather your things, and they all watch as you shuffle around, moving Ivy from one arm to another with expertise as you put on your coat without ever needing to put her down. 

Waving goodbye, you open the door and disappear into the winter. 

“You need to practice your flirting,” Ari mutters.

Andy throws him a look.

“I’m just saying, you reeked of desperation at the end there.” 

Rolling his eyes, the older man knocks his brother on the arm. 

“Alright, enough the both of you,” his sister-in-law says sternly. “It’s my goddamn wedding, behave yourselves.” Her face softens, then she looks at him, eyes hopeful. “How was your dance with her? I was trying to get the timing right between that really upbeat song and the slow song.”

“I knew you were up to something,” Andy laughs, wagging a finger at her. 

“Wait, what?” Ari asks, “You requested that song on purpose?”

She smirks, waggling her eyebrows at Ari before looking back at Andy, waiting for his answer.

He nods, “The dance was good.”

Looking at the door again, he wonders if he concentrates hard enough, maybe Ivy will wake up and you’ll come back, smiling and bouncing her on your hip, ready to finish the night. 

“It was just too short.” 

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[pagesoflauren]

Money's Worth - Birth(s)day

soft dad!Ransom x reader

Summary: Your new baby couldn't have picked a better time (or day) to make their grand entrance.

Warnings: mentions of familial conflict, angst, descriptions of c-section delivery

A/N: lol remember this? I kinda missed THB!Ransom and his little growing family, so here they are, slowly expanding. I have a lot outlined for them, so let me know if y'all still wanna hear from them. Thanks @eightcevanscentral for your help.

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Nobody could have really accounted for this party going sideways. 

Well, now that you think about it, Ransom did try to warn you. 

Staying away from the fray, you try to keep yourself calm as a contraction rolls through your body. They’re getting closer together now. 

Linda shouts at Walt–you mentally curse him again for showing up uninvited and stirring up trouble under the guise of wanting to talk to Harlan. In the back of your mind, you consider getting a restraining order. 

Harlan stands with Ransom, holding him back from getting involved. You want to get up and completely remove him from the situation; this isn’t how he should be spending his birthday. 

Your muscles tighten once more and now you know it’s time to go to the hospital. 

Rising from your seat, you approach Marta on the green as she keeps Junior occupied with a game of ring toss. You place a hand on her shoulder and tell her you need to leave. 

“What?” she asks incredulously, looking down at your belly. 

“It’s time,” you manage between breaths. “I should’ve said something to Ransom earlier but there’s no time. I feel like if I say something it’ll just cause the world to implode.” 

“Let me and Junior come with you, I’ll drive,” she offers. 

You shake your head. “No, no, just let them know where I am when the time is right.” 

She doesn’t have time to respond as you squat down as much as possible when your son arrives. “I’ll see you soon, sweetie.” 

You kiss his forehead. “Where you going, mommy?”

“Your baby sibling is on their way,” you tell him. “I have to go to the hospital so that the doctors and nurses can help me and keep him healthy.” 

“Why? Stay home,” he argues, “I help mommy.”

Pushing down the pain and controlling your face, you fight another contraction. “My sweet boy,” you sigh. “You’ll be a good big brother.”

Worry cloaks his face and you kiss his cheek, slowly losing chubbiness and you miss the soft cushion of it despite the joy of watching him grow. “Mommy will be okay, I promise.” 

He nods, letting go of your hand as you sneak out the side gate and hop into the car.

- - - - -

Fed up, Ransom shouts, ordering Walt to get out of his house with a threat to call the police. This is the last thing his family needs, wishing Junior wasn’t exposed to this, and his wife needing to be in stress-free situations as much as possible. 

Craning his neck to look back at you, he finds the outdoor table empty. He turns to look at the green by the pool, only finding Marta entertaining Junior. 

Ransom thinks out loud, asking where you are. All heads begin to turn, eyes scanning the yard. You couldn’t have gone into the house without his knowledge; he was facing the screen door the entire time. 

Linda disappears into the guest house to search for you as he goes into the pool house in case you had gone to use the bathroom there. 

Coming up empty, he approaches Marta. 

“Where’s my wife?” he demands. 

“I…” Her eyes are wide, caught like a deer in headlights. 

“Marta…” his voice lowers, slightly threatening. He knows it’s not necessary, but his protective instincts override any form of rational thinking. “Where is she?”

Two taps land on his knee and he looks down at his son. 

“Daddy,” he reaches up.

Ransom picks him up, settling him on his hip. “What is it, sunbeam?”

“Mommy go have baby!” he whispers excitedly. 

Feeling his heart drop, Ransom’s eyes go as wide as Marta’s. He looks at her and shouts, “What?!”

“I…she…she said–!”

“You knew?!” 

“Ransom, what’s the problem?” Harlan hobbles over, trying again to diffuse an emotionally charged situation. 

“Y/N,” Ransom says, “Junior said she left to go to the hospital!” 

“Well you have to go!” the older man says, reaching for the young boy. “Come here, Junior, your dad has to go see your mom.”

“I want to go with Daddy!” 

“Junior, listen to grandad,” Ransom tells him, trying to hand him off, but the little boy won’t budge, fisting his father’s shirt in his hands. He cries and Ransom’s brain melts under the stress, unsure what to do.

“We’ll take you to McDonald’s,” Harlan bargains. The tears immediately stop and Junior reaches for his great-grandad. Once in his arms, Ransom makes his escape.

Running through the house, he sweeps up the bag he had packed for this very moment, though he had imagined it going down very differently. 

He drives with his heartbeat in his ears, wildly pulling up to the valet station and shouting at the poor man to ask which way Labor & Delivery is. He should know where it is; he’d been there when Junior was born and he had toured the newly remodeled wing when his wife created the birth plan for right now.

“Uh…”

“Labor. And. Delivery!” he shouts, “Where is it?!”

“I just park cars, sir!” the valet cowers, “You have to ask reception!” 

Slapping the keys into the poor guy’s hand, Ransom runs in and finds the reception desk to ask the same question. Once pointed in the right direction, he runs down the hall, ignoring the staff shouting that he needs to walk. 

Crashing into a second desk, he shouts your name at the receptionist. “Which room is she in?!” 

“Can I have your name first?”

“Drysdale, Ransom Drysdale, I’m her husband, where is she?” 

“Oh,” the nurse says, looking at the computer.

“What? What is it?!” 

“She needed an emergency c-section.”

Ransom’s heart drops. “What-what, what do you mean?”

“Come with me, there’s still time for you to scrub up.”

“Scrub up–wait just tell me what’s wrong!” he shouts as he follows her to the elevator.

The nurse explains on the ride up, before telling him he’ll need to change before entering the operating room. 

“Operating room,” he breathes. “Is she going to be okay?”

“Of course, she will,” she reassures him with a hand on his shoulder. “This procedure is pretty typical.”

“What about the baby?” 

“They’ll be okay too.”

The elevator dings and Ransom continues to follow her as she taps her key card to open a door. Leading him into a locker room, she tells him to store the bag while she turns to another cabinet and pulls out a set of clothes and a hairnet. 

“You can go into one of the stalls and change. Make sure the hair net is below your hairline at the back of your neck, too.” 

In his new set of clothes, Ransom steps out and puts on the shoe covers and follows the nurse again to the operating room. 

Another nurse approaches and they speak for a moment before Ransom is told to follow the second one. 

“Remember to speak quietly since the procedure is underway. There will be a curtain covering the lower half of your wife’s body, so stay on that side of the curtain and don’t look over it until the team tells you to.”

Nodding, Ransom watches the nurse open the door and walk straight to you, whispering in your ear. 

Your neck cranes to look at him. “Ransom,” you smile before your face wrinkles, “Hey.” 

“What the fuck, sunshine?” he sighs exasperatedly as he sits down on the stool the nurse provides for him.

“You seemed pretty tied up at the party.” 

“Tied up enough that you had to sneak off to this hospital on your own?” He takes your hand and moves some hair out of your face. 

You shrug. “You think you can get mad at me later? I’m kind of in the middle of something.” 

He manages a laugh, kissing your forehead, “Sure.” 

As time passes, the minutes are slow as you and Ransom keep yourselves occupied, talking quietly about menial things like what you want to eat afterward. 

Hearing some chatter on the other side of the curtain, Ransom begins to stand, wondering if he’s heard the signal.

“Sir, wait, you need to sit down–”

All the muscles in his face go lax, eyes unable to turn away from the horrific sight of his wife under the knife and–

“Sir,” the nurse calls again, motioning for him to sit down. 

He realizes they didn’t want him to see because nothing would be worse than a man passing out while an operating team cuts open a woman to retrieve a baby from inside her. With that, he plops back into his seat, still dazed.

“Ransom, are you okay?”

“Are you okay?” he wonders, looking down at you. “I feel like you should be in a world of pain right now.”

“I can’t feel anything. Or any pain, I should say. I can feel some movement, though.” You reach up and touch his face, “You sure you’re okay? You're a little pale.”

He swallows, “Yes, of course,” he nods. “I just…saw a little bit more of you than I would’ve liked.”

You hum a laugh. “I hope that doesn’t ruin my sex appeal for you.”

Flustered at your flirting, Ransom snaps out of it, laughing and trying to focus on you. “Never, though…I can’t say it won’t haunt me for a little bit.”

“That’s understandable,” you nod with a sigh. 

You’re interrupted by the sound of crying, your heart leaping knowing your baby is here. 

A nurse brings the infant to you and offers her congratulations. “It’s a boy,” she says. 

“Oh,” you sigh happily, gathering him close and laying him on your shoulder. “Hey, little guy.”

He coos and wails, tiny sounds bringing you to tears yourself. You look up at Ransom, adoring the awe-stricken look on his face. 

“Your second son,” you tell him. “Your birthday buddy.” 

Placing a gentle hand on the baby’s back, Ransom sighs. “What is up with our kids stealing people’s birthdays?” 

You laugh and Ransom couldn’t be happier.

- - – - -

After standing at the top of the world, Ransom should’ve known coming back down would have hurt. 

It was important to remember his son was perfectly healthy. All ten fingers and all ten toes, bright eyes that looked around curiously, strong lungs and heart. 

Then, he failed the hearing screening. And the second one after that. And the third one. 

He stared at him in the nursery, feeling trapped in the hospital as he stayed with you while you recovered after surgery. Even when going back to the house to check on Junior and Linda, his mind was still with you and Spencer. 

He loved the name; it made his heart sink to consider that he may not ever hear it. 

“Is there…something you want to talk about?” Linda offers as she sits on the opposite side of the couch, the two of them watching Junior lounge on the floor as he watches a TV show.

There’s a part of Ransom that wants to keep it in, that barrier between himself and his mother still constructed and difficult to look past. This time, he’s unable to hold everything back.

“Spencer…the baby. He can’t hear,” he shakes his head. “Y/N said sometimes it’s genetic, but neither of us has a history of hearing loss in our families. It’s just the cards he was dealt.”

“Ransom,” his mother sighs, “There’s something you should know.” 

“What?”

“Your father has a history of hearing loss in his family. One of his siblings can’t hear.” 

Ransom presses his hands into his face. 

He has to tell you.

- - - - - 

Ransom sits next to you, watching as you hold Spencer to your breast to have him feed. It’s a wonderful image, something he wants to stow away in a corner of his mind to remember on difficult days. 

You’ve given him everything; made him change for the better and turned him into a family man. 

He’s done his best to provide for you in ways he knows how. He loves you with every fiber of his being, tries to be a good father. 

What kind of father gives his child a hearing loss?

“I have to tell you something.”

“What is it?” you reply, slowly looking away from Spencer and toward your husband.

His eyes sting with tears, “I know why he can’t hear.”

You smile and shake your head, “Ransom, there doesn’t need to be a reason, things like this happen. And who knows, it might not even be anything. We just have to wait until we see the audiologist–”

“But, sunshine…hearing loss runs in my dad’s family,” his eyes drift downward. “My mom told me. One of my dad’s siblings is deaf.” 

You’re quiet and the guilt consumes him, tears falling. “It’s my fault.” 

“Hey,” you call to him. “Look at me.”

He wipes his eyes, meeting your gaze.

“You did nothing wrong. Nobody blames you for anything. Look at him.”

Both of you spare a glance at your son before you speak again. “He’s perfect just the way he is. We knew he wouldn’t be exactly like Junior; we knew he’d come with his own needs and conditions. This is one of them.”

“How can I be a father to him? I can’t even talk to him.” 

“I know sign language,” you tell him. “I use it all the time to talk to the nonverbal kids.”

“But…we both look after Junior, I can’t just not parent Spencer too–”

“I’ll teach you and Junior. You’ll both learn. And there are other options, too. We just have to talk to the audiologist when we can. Ransom,” you reach for him, wincing at the pain in your stomach. “We can do this. I know you can do this.” 

Squeezing your hand, Ransom cups the back of his son’s head. Pursing his lips, he nods, believing he could do anything with you. 

Permatag: @caffiend-queen @fckdeusername @lou-la-lou @bangtan-serendipity @lovemarvelousfics @rainbowkisses31 @richonne4life @damnndeanndamnn @meetmeatyourworst @tinyplanet-explorer @vivien-1211 @unknownmystery22 @nerdygirl8203 @xoxabs88xox @mariaenchanted @gotnofucks @denisemarieangelina @myoxisbroken @kelbabyblue @pspice639 @maynay43 @just-another-wretched-egg @jennmurawski13 @avantgardium-leviosa @random-butterfly @rachelderivia @kenzieam @bluemusickid @asiaaisa77 @angrybirdcr @inactivewhore @velvetcardiganbucky  @madbaddic7ed @mysweetlittledesire @omg-mymelaninisbeautiful @buckymydarlingangel @mayasreadingnook 

Chris tag: @onetwo3000 @patzammit @astheworlddturns @inlovewiththefictionalcharacters @maeleeme @tvckerlance @thiskindahotkindamusic @fizzahocleirigh @marantha @justile

Ransom tag: @jeremyrennermakesmesmile

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#Ransom Drysdale #soft!ransom drysdale #Ransom Drysdale fanfiction #Ransom Drysdale fanfic #Ransom Drysdale angst #ficsofpagesoflauren #The Highest Bidder #Money's Worth

[pagesoflauren]

Seeing Blind Ch. 5

Colin Shea x pregnant!reader

Summary: After a one-night stand, you find yourself pregnant. While navigating your pregnancy, the father of your baby seems to have another task at hand.

Warnings: angst, swearing, jealousy, eventual smut, slowish burn, in-depth descriptions/discussions of pregnancy, descriptions of mafia dynamics, Colin is a little shit

A/N: It’s been a minute since I've written; been going through a lot of mental health issues. I'm still working through them. I hope the next few installments of fics I post can make up for the delays. Thanks @eightcevanscentral.

Main Masterlist

Series Masterlist

The park is crowded, teeming with people having picnics, walking their dogs, and letting their children run loose along the grass and walkways. 

Everyone here seems to be more intimately involved. They hold hands or have their arms slung around their partners in one way or another. If they’re not attached physically, they walk in close proximity to each other. 

It makes Colin and Aly stick out. They look like an awkward pair, staying about half an arm’s length from one another as they search for the picnic area where Aly’s next ex is meant to be entertaining a seven-year-old’s party. 

“There it is,” Colin points out.

It’s the classic picnic-in-the-park birthday party with bright foil balloons, food everywhere, and kids running amuck with water guns and silly string. Parents are day drinking out in the open, not paying attention to whatever havoc their little monsters were creating. 

Colin gulps when he realizes this is in his future. Over-the-top birthday parties for kids who probably won’t remember a single second of it, stupid presents, and mingling with actual adults who know what they’re doing. 

He’s way out of his depth. He should’ve known he was punching out of his weight taking you back to his apartment; you were the only woman smart enough to leave before he woke up. His usual targets are the girls who have only a fraction more desperation than he has. It’s why they stay in the morning hoping for something more and what’s led him to running around Boston tracking down his neighbor’s exes.

“Well, there he is,” Aly’s voice comes, jarring him from his thoughts.

He spots a little wooden theater where two homemade farm animal puppets appear to be arguing. The kids burst into laughter while Colin and Aly exchange a look. 

As the show comes to a close, it doesn’t get any stranger, but it gives Aly an opportunity to say hello while the kids get cake and watch the birthday celebrant open presents.

To avoid looking like a strange man lingering around a child’s birthday party, Colin makes his way to a tree and sits among the roots. He contemplates his impending fatherhood while people watching from his vantage point. 

It’s not just stupidly expensive birthday parties coming. He watches a dad catch his kid mid-fall–it’s that too. He sees another lugging a diaper bag in one hand while his baby flails in his grip, but his hold never falters.

Colin looks at his hands. Can I do that?

At the birthday party, a man mediates a situation between two boys. One boy says something, he looks at the other one. On and on, until the man speaks once more and the boys hug before playing together again. 

Will anyone teach him how to do this? 

He thinks about his own father; Chief of Police in Salem, a well-respected man who produced two sons who have made a name for themselves in their own rights. 

And a third who had no part of his life together, trying to usher a baby into the world with a woman he had a one night stand with. 

“Well, that was a disaster,” Aly’s voice jars him from his thoughts, the ideas rattling in his brain before dissipating like smoke. 

“Huh?”

“Didn’t get much out of that encounter other than the fact that I remember why we broke up.” 

“And…?”

“His puppets creeped me out. Anyway,” Aly pauses as she opens her purse and digs through it. “Here is…twenty, forty, sixty, seventy.” 

She hands him the cash and it crumples in his hands. 

“You wanna grab a taxi back to the building? I need some wine.” 

Colin shakes his head. “No, I’m just gonna head a few blocks that way before I head back.”

“What’s over at ‘a few blocks that way’?”

“Just gotta pick up some stuff,” he says as he shoves the bills in his pocket. “I’ll see ya around.” 

She nods and walks on her way to the western entrance of the park. 

Putting his hands in his pockets, Colin stands up and begins to walk down the path when a male voice catches his attention.

“Hey, Free Licks.” 

Looking up, he finds Mateo, donned in all black with shades perched on his nose. Colin can’t help but note the difference between the two of them again; he was wearing stained jeans and a faded t-shirt.

Colin greets him with a nod. “Detective.”

“What brings you to the park today?” 

“Oh, you know, the sunshine, the fresh air.” Colin inhales through his nose obnoxiously.

Mateo raises an eyebrow. “I see. Well, I was here on business from Y/N, but…when I see suspicious activity, I have to follow up on it, you know?” 

Colin shakes his head, a little incredulous. “What? She’s got you spying on me?”

“Not you, but a point person. BPD business. There was a drop that was meant to happen. You know anything about that?” 

Pursing his lips and raising his brows, Colin gestures “no” again. “Nothing that I’ve seen.”

Mateo reaches into his pocket and hands him his card. “Well, if you see anything, you’ll let me know, right?”

Taking it between his thumb and forefinger, the card nearly falls in his weak grip. Colin doesn’t know what to do with it or why Mateo is giving it to him. “Sure…?”

“Good. See you around, Free Licks.” 

- - - - - 

“I wasn’t expecting you to actually show up,” you scoff with a smile. “But, while you’re here, you can push the cart.” 

You let go and the cart still moves, wheels squeaking as it glides down the aisle and Colin scrambles to get a grip on the handle. When he eventually gets it, he cranes his neck to find you studying the different boxes lining the shelves. 

“What are we looking at?” 

“Changing tables.”

“Like the ones in ladies’ bathrooms?”

“Not quite, but same idea. Just a space where you can store everything for changing a diaper and keep the baby safe while you’re grabbing stuff.” 

“You make it sound like it’s a whole process,” Colin snorts.

You look at him. “You’ve never changed a diaper before in your life, have you?” 

He scoffs, lying through his teeth. “Psh, what are you talking about? Of course, I have.” 

“It’s okay if you haven’t, you know that right?” 

How are you able to see right through him?

It seems his face shows his bewilderment, and you respond to it, “Colin, like I said, I didn’t expect you to do any of this. I still don’t expect a lot from you–not that I don’t welcome this, but because I can do this on my own if I need to.” 

He doesn’t reply. Looking at his face, his cheeks look particularly round like a child’s, casting a sort of innocence on him that doesn’t reflect the person you know him as. He’s goofy and charming, things that attracted you to him in the first place that fateful night when all of this started. Along with that, he’s experienced, but you can see there’s a thought rattling in his mind that his mouth won’t say. 

“Look, whatever your decisions are for doing this—if you’re trying to prove yourself to someone or if you’re putting expectations on yourself–you can’t let that bother you. I don’t know the extent of what I’m getting myself into. This kid could be like me, or they could be like you. But however they turn out, I’m gonna do my best to make sure they live happily. And that’s all you can do: your best.” 

He nods, but you don’t think it’s really getting to him. 

“Maybe I can sign us up for a parent coaching class. I’m sure we’d hardly be the first unusual pair of parents a teacher has seen.” 

His cheeks turn red first, then his ears. He smiles and nods again. “Yeah…yeah, I think that’s a great idea.” 

“It’s a deal.” 

You grab his hand and hook your pinky with his. 

“Now, while we’re here, can you do me a favor and put that box in the cart?” you ask, pointing to the one you want. 

“Yes, ma’am.” 

As he does what you request, you bite your lip and blink slowly. 

You can feel your non-expectations–the ones you still hold on Colin where he’s welcome to do as he pleases–slowly metamorphosize. There’s a flash of him bathed in the morning sunlight, smiling up at a giggling baby he’s lifting over his head. 

“Anything else from this aisle?” 

The image is gone in a puff of smoke, trailing in the air before disappearing completely. 

You shake your head. “No, but I need to go to the next aisle and look at rocking chairs.” 

- - - 

Hauling everything to the cashier for check out, your items are ringed up and bagged while you reach for your wallet. 

“Oh, here…I have this.”

Colin shoves his hand in his pocket, pulling out some crumpled up bills and awkwardly setting them on the counter. Just by looking at it and the grand total of the items on the counter, you know it’s not enough. 

“Colin…it’s okay,” you say, pulling out your card and handing it to the cashier. 

As he gathers up the money, you ask where he got it.

“I did a favor for a friend.”

“And they paid you that much money for a favor?”

Grabbing the last bill, he puts it back into his pocket. “Well, she owes me.” 

You don’t have time to wonder too much about why he’s being so vague, not with the cashier asking for your signature for the payment and asking if you want to join the store’s rewards program. 

With all the items bagged, you and Colin hail a taxi to go back to your apartment. Every once in a while, you consider pressing further, your suspicion a by-product of the analytical mind that got you the position you work in. 

Deciding against it, you send Colin on his way and prepare for work tomorrow. 

- - - - -

You yawn as you exit your apartment, pivoting back to lock the door behind you. 

A flash of blue stuck on your door as it closes behind you catches your eye. When you look at it, you realize it’s a note, probably from one of your neighbors. 

The words become clearer as you reach for the note, peeling it off the surface and reading it.

If you know what’s good for you, you’ll stop.

You huff. Rolling your eyes, you stuff it into your canvas bag–your newly-designated lunch bag ever since your appetite grew so that you could “eat for two.” 

And prevent yourself from rage-quitting your job out of hunger-fueled anger.

Figuring it’s just the young kid on the second floor playing a prank, you head out to work. 

- - - 

“Bebitaaaa,” Mateo sings as he enters your cave of computer monitors. 

He places a hand on your shoulder to straighten your spine. 

“You need to work on your posture,” he remarks.

You scoff. “And you need to pack your own snacks and stop taking from a pregnant lady,” you speak, but are certain he couldn’t hear you over the sound of wrappers crinkling. 

“Speaking of you being pregnant, I ran into Colin at the park yesterday..." he trails off. "What’s this?” 

“Hmm?”

Your chair swivels as you look at him, finding the note from your door in his hand. “Bebita…where’d you find this?”

“Oh,” you exhale dismissively, “that’s nothing. I found it on my door this morning.” 

“And you didn’t think to tell me?”

“Tell you about what? It’s a note. Probably from the little boy upstairs.”

Mateo’s eyes narrow. “How old is that kid?”

“I dunno,” you shrug. “Fourteen?” 

“I don’t think fourteen-year-olds play tricks like this.”

“Just because you didn’t because you were a damn genius who went to college at sixteen doesn’t mean other fourteen-year-olds don’t.” 

“Bebita, I don’t think you understand this. ‘If you know what’s good for you’? That’s a threat.”

“Mateo, come on, after that it says ‘you’ll stop.’ Stop what? If this is a threat, it’s a pretty empty one.”

“We’re in a dangerous line of work, did you even consider that maybe this is a guy from the mob? Or maybe one of them put the kid up to writing the note to try and hide their scent?”

You roll your eyes, “Knock it off, Mateo. There’s no way they know who I am, much less where I live–”

“You don’t know that, you don’t know what they’re capable of–”

“I know what I’m capable of, and I’m pretty sure my work is completely untraceable.”

He’s quiet for a moment, then grabs your phone from the desk. Unlocking it, he swipes through and taps before showing you the screen. It’s Colin’s contact information. His thumb hovers over the call button.

“Don’t make me do this.” 

“Oh my god,” you roll your eyes again, your head lolling back in annoyance as your arms cross. “You’ve got to be kidding me.” 

He taps the button and he brings the phone to his ear as the call begins.

You hear Colin on the other line. “Hello?”

“Hey, Free Licks.”

“Oh, it’s you.”

You snort and Mateo’s eyes drift up in exasperation. “Yeah, it’s me. I’m calling though because Y/N found a threatening note on her door but doesn’t think it’s a big deal.” 

“Wait, what?!”

“Yeah, it said, ‘if you know what’s good for you, you’ll stop.’ I think the mob knows where she lives.” 

“You really think they would?” Colin’s concern comes clearly through the speaker. 

“I think anything’s possible,” Mateo says pointedly, throwing you a look. “But like I said, she’s pretty confident in her ability to be untraceable.”

“But if the note was on her door…”

Mateo nods slowly, smugly. “You get it.” 

“Is she there?”

“Right in front of me.”

“Can I talk to her?”

You take the phone, sticking your tongue out before you speak, “Hey Colin.”

“Why didn’t you tell me about the note when we were texting earlier?”

“Same thing I told Mateo,” you sigh, getting really irritated that you keep having to repeat yourself. “It’s not a big deal, it’s probably nothing.” 

“But it was on your door.”

“I’m sure a lot of people find notes on their doors.”

“Not threatening ones!” Colin says into the receiver as Mateo nearly shouts the same thing in front of you.

“God, how do I turn off the surround sound in here?”

“Bebita, you might take this lightly, but I’m not.”

“Yeah…yeah, and neither am I!” Colin tacks on.

“A woman’s life is most endangered when she’s pregnant because that’s the time she’s most likely to get killed.” 

You’re shocked Mateo would bring that up to you now, placing a hand on your lower stomach. 

“I’m not taking any chances with you, especially with Riona Maher’s arrest at Logan happening earlier this week.”

You swallow, pushing your pride down as you look away from Mateo. You feel like a teenager getting lectured by her father. 

“Promise me if you see anything else like this, you’ll tell me right away.” 

You don’t reply immediately.

“Promise him,” Colin pleads from the phone. 

“Fine, I promise. But only because I’m still pretty sure this is nothing.” 

“I’ll take it,” Mateo sighs. “And Colin’s a witness.” 

“Thanks for including me.” 

Mateo says, “You’re welcome,” as you say goodbye and end the call. 

“I’m gonna take this down to forensics and see if they can pull up anything.”

“You’d be wasting time,” you taunt as you turn back to your computer.

“And I’m driving you home tonight and picking you up in the morning.”

“Mateo–”

“Nothing you can do about it, my mind’s made up.” 

He shuts the door behind him, leaving you typing away as you shake your head. 

I’m the pregnant one, your mind gripes, I should be the one who overreacts to things, not them. 

Permatag: @caffiend-queen @fckdeusername @lou-la-lou @bangtan-serendipity @lovemarvelousfics @rainbowkisses31 @richonne4life @damnndeanndamnn @meetmeatyourworst @tinyplanet-explorer @vivien-1211 @unknownmystery22 @nerdygirl8203 @xoxabs88xox @mariaenchanted @gotnofucks @denisemarieangelina @myoxisbroken @kelbabyblue @pspice639 @maynay43 @just-another-wretched-egg @jennmurawski13 @avantgardium-leviosa @random-butterfly @rachelderivia @kenzieam @bluemusickid @asiaaisa77 @angrybirdcr @inactivewhore @velvetcardiganbucky  @madbaddic7ed @mysweetlittledesire @omg-mymelaninisbeautiful @buckymydarlingangel @mayasreadingnook 

Chris tag: @onetwo3000 @patzammit @astheworlddturns @inlovewiththefictionalcharacters @maeleeme @tvckerlance @thiskindahotkindamusic @fizzahocleirigh @marantha @justile

Seeing Blind Taglist: @dbnightingale24 @twittytelly @chase-your-dreams-away  @phoenixhalliwell @starlightcrystalline @chalametet @evanswife1918

#Colin Shea #Colin Shea fanfic #colin shea fanfiction #colin shea x reader #colin shea x you #What's Your Number fic #chris evans fanfic #pregnant!reader #Colin Shea x pregnant!reader #Chris Evans x pregnant!reader #pol!Seeing Blind #ficsofpagesoflauren

[pagesoflauren]

Meet Cute: The Copy Machine

feat. history teacher!Ari Levinson x teacher!reader

Summary: Ari is mad at the copy machine. Luckily, you're an expert.

Warnings: fluff; mentions of serious injury to the hand

A/N: Here's the first installment of Meet Cute :) I had fun with this one.

What is this series?

Suggest a character/scenario

Masterlist

The temptation to kick the copy machine is strong, but Ari knows that if he breaks it, the cost to repair it–or worse, replace it–will come out of his paycheck. 

Being a history teacher already paid less than being an agent. He wasn’t even a full-time instructor; he taught an elective class for upperclassmen on Jewish History & Social Issues. 

Most of them were punks, but they still worked hard. He had heard from student wellness counselors that he was well-liked because of his laid-back demeanor. 

Currently, he was anything but laid-back as the copy machine gave him an error sign and beeped in protest at anything he did. 

He suspects he’s been grappling with this monstrosity of a copy machine for nearly ten minutes and his patience is wearing thin. He sets his hands on the sides of the machine, hangs his head, and lets out a growl of frustration. 

“You shouldn’t do that,” a voice comes from behind him. 

Looking over his shoulder, he spots you in the doorway. 

He hasn’t had much of an opportunity to talk to you other than a formal introduction and a nod of acknowledgment as you pass him in the hallway. 

You had been standing out to him, though. He liked your smile and your reputation precedes you; sometimes the students who needed extra food to tide them over during the day could find it in the top drawer of your desk. 

“The copy machine can smell anger. Also, I don’t think it responds well to anyone trying to assert their dominance over it.” 

Ari gives a laugh, though it’s diluted by his anger so it comes out half-amused. 

“Well,” he turns and steps aside. “Any ideas on how to get it to please print out the quizzes I have for my next class?”

You set down your mug and walk over, studying the screen and pulling the paper drawers open. Then, wedging your thumbnail into the edge of a button, you push it to the side slightly and press it down with another finger. 

Suddenly, the copier hums to life and begins to churn out Ari’s needed papers.

“How did–?”

“This button’s finicky,” you tell him. “It needs to be in the right position to work.” 

“That’s all I needed to do?” he asks incredulously.

“Yeah. I’ve been trying to get the administration to get a new copy machine for the past year and a half but nothing’s changed.” 

“Damn bastards.”

You laugh, beginning to exit the room and sweeping up your mug on the way. “Your words, not mine, Mr. Levinson.”

“Ari,” he offers. “Call me Ari.” 

Nodding, you smile at him. “Okay, Ari.”

He likes the sound of you saying his name. 

“How does being a teacher compare to your previous employment?” 

His time as a Mossad agent was the talk of the faculty when he first arrived and he wasn’t eager to share anything about his experience. If he told a story once, he would have to tell it again at least a dozen times. 

With you, though, the words come spilling out. “It’s a change of pace, for sure. But still thinking on my feet. Every class is different, you never know what’ll get thrown your way.” 

“Yeah, these kids are quite the curveballs. Do you miss it, though?”

He looks down.

“I’m sorry,” you begin, “I shouldn’t have asked–”

“No, it’s okay. Guess I gotta talk about it sometimes,” he cuts off your apology, eyes tacked on his left hand as he holds it up and opens and closes his fist. 

The ghost of pain is still there and he remembers how it looked right after the incident, though he blinks away the image. 

After surgery and PT, he wasn’t the same agent anymore; he didn’t have the same abilities as he did before. 

“I miss it. It was really hard to accept it.” 

“I can imagine,” you say gently. “It’s frustrating whenever something doesn’t end on our terms.” 

Before this conversation, Ari wasn’t able to generate the proper words to describe his anger towards the situation. He tried to make analogies, tried to find a famous example of it, and failed every single time. 

And there you stood, watching the copier spit out pieces of paper for his class. 

He feels warmth crawl up his neck, over his cheeks, and settle in his head. His heart flutters and he can feel the sting of a proverbial arrow in the dead center of his back. 

Oh, shit.

The bell rings faintly outside the teacher’s lounge and you look towards the sound, the movement making Ari snap out of his daze as he stared at you. 

You sweep up your coffee mug. “Oh, gotta go. I’ll see you around, Ari.” 

His feet carry him to the threshold of the copy room, watching you as you cross the teacher’s lounge to the door and disappear into the busy hallway. 

The feeling in his chest gives way to an ache and Ari purses his lips before laughing to himself. He’s teaching at a high school and having a high school crush on his coworker. 

You’d see him around. He’d make sure of it. 

Permatag: @caffiend-queen @fckdeusername @lou-la-lou @bangtan-serendipity @stargazingfangirl18 @lovemarvelousfics @rainbowkisses31 @richonne4life @damnndeanndamnn @meetmeatyourworst @tinyplanet-explorer @vivien-1211 @unknownmystery22 @nerdygirl8203 @xoxabs88xox @mariaenchanted @gotnofucks @denisemarieangelina @myoxisbroken @kelbabyblue @pspice639 @maynay43 @just-another-wretched-egg @jennmurawski13 @avantgardium-leviosa @random-butterfly @rachelderivia @kenzieam @bluemusickid @asiaaisa77 @angrybirdcr @inactivewhore @velvetcardiganbucky  @madbaddic7ed @mysweetlittledesire @omg-mymelaninisbeautiful @buckymydarlingangel @mayasreadingnook 

Chris tag: @onetwo3000 @patzammit @astheworlddturns @inlovewiththefictionalcharacters @maeleeme @tvckerlance @thiskindahotkindamusic @fizzahocleirigh @marantha @justile

#fanfiction #Ari Levinson fanfiction #Ari Levinson fluff #Ari Levinson fic #Ari Levinson fanfic #Ari Levinson #Chris Evans fanfiction #Chris Evans fanfic #pol!Meet Cute #Meet Cute Ari #ficsofpagesoflauren

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Meet Cute: It's a Beautiful Night...

feat. Hayden "Harvard Hottie"

Summary: You and your friend from college made a simple pact. Now it's time to fulfill it.

Warnings: swearing and mentions of alcohol

A/N: I thought up this scenario randomly this week and couldn't stop thinking about it and here we are. Thanks @eightcevanscentral for beta'ing

“I know what you’re doing and you need to stop,” a familiar voice cuts through the drunken fog settling over your mind. 

“Hmm?” Your voice sounds echoey, resonating in your skull as you hum in response. 

“You’re eating with your eyes,” your best friend laughs. “I know you have drunchies but we can always order more food. Just start with one meal and we’ll go from there.” 

You smile, grateful that she’s taking care of you; it was your dirty 30, your birthday weekend in Vegas. You’ve been planning for months and were both elated and sad that it was here–because it was ending soon. Everyone was supposed to get absolutely shitfaced but your best friend was generous enough to self-designate as the person who would wrangle everyone and make sure your group was safe. 

To be fair, she wasn’t alone. Your other friends drank considerably less than you did. They were all aware of their surroundings while you were ogling at the menu of a McDonald’s, thinking you could totally eat forty chicken nuggets, large fries, a soda, and a McFlurry. Probably an apple pie too. 

“I’m getting you the ten-piece nugget meal and a Sprite,” one of your other friends says. 

You give her a dopey nod and she ushers you between two other friends that guide you to an empty table. 

Tapping your fingers on the surface, you try to match the rhythm of the song playing on the speakers above you when another voice speaks next to you. A man’s voice. 

Sirens go off as your friends tell him to leave you alone, but you know that voice. 

Looking up, you squeal and jump into the man’s arms.

“Hayden!”

“Hey, you little firecracker.” 

“Oh my god, it’s been so long!”

You turn to your friends excitedly, explaining how the two of you were good friends in college. Stuck in the same dorm with a crowd of idiots, you did more than tolerate each other’s existence. 

Hayden delves into a story about a biology class you were both in and you remember a conversation between the two of you one late night while studying for midterms. 

“You dating anyone?” he had asked.

“Pfft, no,” you scoffed. “Boys are dumb.”

“But I’m smart, right?” He threw you a wink. 

Your mind buffers for a moment, heart fluttering at the flirtatious gesture but you quickly snub him. “Your intelligence is tolerable.”

“Hey,” he laughs, throwing an eraser at your head.

“Ow!” You responded before tackling him. In a flurry of giggles and struggles, you straddled him and pinned his wrists down. “I win,” you said, satisfaction coating your face.

He huffed. “Fine.” 

You crawled off of him, resuming your position seated on your mattress and leaning against your dorm wall.

“Don’t you think it’s like…weird?”

“What?” you chuckled.

“That we’re just a flesh suit filled with hormones and that’s how we figure out who we’re going to end up with for the rest of our lives.”

“Well, when you put it that way, yeah, it’s weird,” you began. “But you know there’s more to it.” 

There was more to that conversation than you can remember at the moment, but you vividly recall how it ended.

“I think I’ll be single for the rest of my life,” you resigned.

“Well, maybe not.” Hayden poked your leg to get your attention and you cocked an eyebrow at him. “What if…if we’re still single and thirty, we’ll get married?”

“Hayden, I just told you there’s more than hormones–”

“Yeah, yeah but you know,” he shrugged. “I tolerate you.”

You didn’t miss the teasing lilt in his voice. “And I tolerate you.” 

“Then it’s settled!” He offered his hand for you to shake. “Single and thirty, we get married, and you and I will tolerate each other for the rest of our lives.”

Your friend calls your name and you snap out of your reverie, looking at her.

“Huh?”

“You never told us about Hayden,” she wiggles her eyebrows at you. 

“Oh, well, after graduation we just fell out of the loop with each other. What are you doing here?”

“Bachelor party,” Hayden points with his thumb over his shoulder to three men gathering food at the counter.

They come over, settling on the table next to the one your friends picked. Hayden introduces you and you try your best to remember everyone’s names. 

Settling back into your seat, you wait for your food to arrive and Hayden offers you some french fries. You adjust the sash around your shoulder, wanting to save it for the next birthday celebration in your friend group.

“‘Dirty 30,’” Hayden points out.

You hum and nod, taking a sip of his drink as he offers it to you.

“You still single?” he asks quietly, but it catches everyone’s attention. 

Your face heats up and you smile bashfully, nodding. “You?”

“Yeah,” he shrugs and returns your smile. 

You could’ve guessed what he'd say next, but you’re surprised nonetheless. 

“Let’s get married, then.” 

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#Harvard Hottie #Harvard Hottie fanfic #hayden harvard hottie #chris evans fanfiction #pol!Meet Cute #ficsofpagesoflauren #chris evans fluff

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The Riveter Ch. 13

Steve Rogers x mechanic!reader

Summary: After escaping Hydra, you assist Dr. Erskine in helping Steve Rogers become Captain America. When Erskine is assassinated, you think your WWII career is over. Unfortunately, the SSR and Hydra are not done with you yet.

Warnings: swearing, angst, mentions of death, canon-typical violence (use of guns as a means of killing, blood loss, serious injury, physical altercations), mentions of trauma, slow burn, dialogue-heavy chapters, comic book science, torture, forced experimentation

A/N: Hope whoever reads this enjoys it. The dividers aren’t mine, they were created by@firefly-graphics and the Marvel blog formerly known as @writeyourmindaway. And a HUGE thank you to @eightcevanscentral for beta-ing

Masterlist

Series Masterlist

You never thought you’d enjoy the smell of smoke. 

The memories you recall of it tell your brain that it should be unappealing and acrid, something that should make you want to get away from it as quickly as possible. 

But here, with Steve, in the spring air of rural New York, it smells good. 

He stands near the grill as he minds the steaks that he’s cooking for the two of you, covered with premade seasoning from a bottle that Steve grabbed on a second trip to a grocery store.

You slept for twenty-four hours, he had told you when you woke up. Before that, your last memory was eating a peanut butter and jelly sandwich–with Steve’s perfected peanut butter-to-jelly ratio–and going to bed. 

On the second day at the cabin, you woke up to the smell of something sweet and the sound of sizzling from the kitchen. Steve kissed you breathless, relieved to see you. 

“Bruce had told me you’d wake up eventually, but…” he shrugged, “I got worried. He said your body was probably just recovering from everything that happened in the past week.”

“Bruce?” you inquired. You knew somewhere in your mind you should know that name, but it didn’t ring any bells in the haze of sleep that still lingered. 

“Dr. Banner,” he elaborated, pouring coffee into a mug, “You met him in Tony’s lab.”

His face came to mind then; graying hair and small stature, a white lab coat, and wireframe glasses. 

“Oh, right,” you nodded in recognition. “I wish my body had found a different way to recover,” you muttered, taking the mug of coffee he hands you. “I think I’ve done enough sleeping.” 

You took a sip and he smiled at you, a strange fond look in his eye. 

You loved it when he looked at you that way, but you also find it so damn sappy.

“What?” you asked, half annoyed and half endeared. 

“Nothing, I just…” Steve shrugged again, “I said something similar when someone asked me about sleep.” 

He turned back to the stove and you sat at the table, smiling secretly to yourself as you continued to drink your coffee. 

In the days that you’ve been at the cabin, Steve has used it as an opportunity to show you some of the new things this era had to offer. Shortly after waking up, Steve had you sit on the couch while he closed the curtains. 

“What are you doing?” you laughed as he scrambled around, setting down different snacks and placing a large bowl of popcorn in your lap. 

“I’m giving you the whole movie theater experience,” he explained.

He had told you about movie theaters before; large, dark rooms with screens as big as walls showing a film as the sound surrounds you. 

“This is better, though. We can pause and talk as much as we want.” 

With the volume turned all the way up, you watched as blue text showed across the screen, then a loud crescendo of music startled you. The bowl shook in your lap, sending some pieces of popcorn onto the floor by your feet. 

You read the opening crawl, understanding the underlying theme of war and a battle between good and evil occurring. Then, you saw a large vessel glide across the screen, shooting lasers while a smaller ship tried to escape. 

Enthralled in the film, you mindlessly started grabbing pieces of popcorn to eat as you watched the story unfold. There was the occasional need to pause to get more food, go to the bathroom, or stretch, but whenever Steve asked if you wanted to stop, you refused. 

“I have to know what happens!”

He smiled at you and scooted closer, draping an arm over your shoulder. 

During the second film, he took the bowl off your lap, much to your protest.

“Shh, just watch,” he told you. 

You huffed, annoyed that he would tempt you with food then take it away. 

Not even a minute later, you understood as you jumped up and gasped, your hands covering your face as you tried to hide your shock. 

“Pause it!” 

Steve complied.

“Are you kidding me?”

He laughed and shook his head. “It’s true, sweetheart.”

“This whole time?! This whole time Darth Vader–oh my god, I’m such an idiot! Vater, that’s literally father in German!” 

Steve laughed and laughed, a hand on his chest as his eyes shut from how much he was enjoying your reaction. 

As you were still reeling from the reveal, shifting your weight from one foot to another, he reached for you, pulling you into his lap. 

“I love you,” he said gently, pressing his face close to yours and kissing your cheek. 

Your skin went aflame and you turned your head to peck his lips once. When he tried to lean in for more, you turned your attention back to the screen.

“Play the movie.” 

He showed the world of sports the following day, having you tune in to your first baseball game. You witnessed the sports fan side of Steve come out as he whined about bad calls and cheered loudly when his team–the Yankees–won in the 10th inning. 

“I used to be a Dodger fan,” he explained to you, “But I woke up and they told me the Dodgers moved to Los Angeles. I was pissed.”

“Why are they called the Dodgers?” you wondered, “Shouldn’t they, you know, not dodge the ball?”

Steve laughed and kissed you, a smug look on his face.

You huffed. “Don’t look at me like that.”

He looked taken aback at your accusing tone, the idiot. “Like what?”

“Like I said something funny. I wasn’t joking, I’m actually serious, why are they Dodgers if you’re supposed to catch the ball?”

He laughed even harder, clearing his throat when he saw your unamused look. 

“I know you’re not joking, sweetheart,” he soothed, taking your hands in his. “It was just a cute question,” he explained, then answered your question properly, “They used to be called the Trolley Dodgers, then it was shortened to Dodgers.” 

You hummed. “Okay. So why did they leave Brooklyn?”

“I don’t know,” he rolled his eyes. “Some bullshit move by the guy who runs the team. And I hate the Yankees.” 

You snickered. 

His head whips around to look at you, eyebrows furrowed. “What?” 

“It’s just baseball,” you shrugged. “But…it’s cute. You know, seeing you like this.” 

Ever patient, Steve answered all the questions you had about baseball. You understood why it was engaging; it was a slow-moving game that required precision and tactic. That game in particular ended at around two in the morning, though it was easy to stay awake. 

Having super-soldier metabolism meant you got hungry more often and needed food beyond the typical three meals a day. During the war, it was easy to forget your hunger–especially when you were always working and food was strictly rationed. 

Now, with so much food at your disposal, you and Steve needed to have a constant rotation of snacks between bigger meals. Every day, the two of you have woken up in the middle of the night to quell your grumbling stomachs. Sometimes you opted for eating out of an ice cream tub, other times you ate instant foods like ramen and macaroni and cheese. 

One night, at 4 AM, when your eyes were beginning to drop shut after finishing some leftover pizza, Steve rattled your brain awake. 

“This is nice.”

A simple sentence, but somewhat strange. 

“What do you mean?” you asked, rubbing your eyes to try and keep yourself alert to hear what he had to say. 

“It’s nice that you’re here,” he clarified. “I’ve been doing this alone for the past two years.” 

You imagined him at his apartment in D.C., conjuring up a scene in your mind since you never actually got to see what it looked like: Steve alone with only the light above the kitchen table on as he ate a meal surrounded by empty chairs, in a silent room. 

Did he play music while he ate to make himself feel less alone? Or maybe he turned on the TV? 

“Hey,” he said, cupping your cheek and wiping away a tear there with his thumb. 

You didn’t even realize you were crying. 

“Better late than never, right?” he offered in a cheerful tone, but his eyes gave away his own sadness. 

For the most part, it was nice to catch up with him. You grew accustomed to his habits and preferences as a New Yorker while teaching him about your home. The two of you learned about your upbringings and who he was before you encountered his file during Project Rebirth. 

In a way, he became more tangible to you. The images of his childhood changed from medical records and a candidate report to moving images conjured up in your mind.

Being in the cabin also allowed you some space to catch up with the modern age at your own pace. Tony had plenty of books on different topics of science and state-of-the-art technology all over the property, which you loved tinkering with. You got up in the guts of the car he gave you and Steve for the week and reveled in the way things have evolved in the automobile industry.

You found yourself looking forward to going back to Stark Tower to talk more tech with Tony, but you weren’t eager to leave quite yet.

“Sweetheart, can you get me a plate?” Steve asks, pressing his tongs into the steaks. “I think these are about ready.” 

Snapping out of your dreamy, reflective state, you stand and go into the kitchen to rummage through the cupboard with the flatware. 

After you step out to hand him the plate, you begin to take out some of the leftovers from lunch: mashed potatoes and a spring salad made from the vegetables you picked from the farmer’s market. Steve comes in and sets the steaks on the dining table and washes his hands before helping you set up, grabbing the pitcher of water and some bottles of beer. 

There’s a comfortable silence as the two of you eat, the simple pleasure of each other’s company not requiring either of you to talk. 

To Steve, this is paradise. 

It’s what he’s wanted for as long as he could remember–though in his 1940s imagination, things weren’t nearly as high-tech, and this would’ve all happened in an apartment in Brooklyn. 

And Bucky would have been there, too. 

He remembers while in the hospital after Sam told him about your detainment, he asked about Bucky’s whereabouts. 

“He disappeared, there’s no trace of him.”

Closing his eyes, Steve sighs. 

“What are you thinking about?”

“They’re the two most important people in my life,” he answers right away. 

Sam is quiet, then he speaks, “You know…you don’t always come home with the whole squad. You lose a man, you lose two, there’s always a part of you that feels empty or incomplete. But sometimes that makes your bond with your other squad members all the more meaningful.” 

Steve opens his eyes and looks at his friend, understanding. 

You were here. That matters just as much as losing Bucky. 

He wouldn’t lose you. Not again.

He cherishes every single moment with you and dotes on you to no end. He has a hand on you at every possible moment or remains as close as your comfort will allow. 

You were a lifeline to him, the source of his peace and baseline for sanity. He was in mourning from the moment he woke up to the moment he saw you again. 

If something were to take you away from him now, he would go berserk. 

Nights prior to you were spent restlessly, staring at his ceilings as car lights passed by his window and the projection of moonlight slowly moved before the sun rose. He supposes he would get three hours of sleep at most. 

In bed, he holds you tightly, akin to a child clinging to a teddy bear. It’s the only way he can feel secure now, the only way to keep the nightmares at bay. 

They haven’t occurred since the two of you arrived at the cabin. He had to do a double-take when he checked the time—he had slept for twelve hours. When his shock subsided, he looked down at you and smiled, pressing a kiss into your temple and squeezing you once before making breakfast. 

You’re wrapped up in his arms again now, trailing your fingers over his hand and up and down his arm as he kisses your shoulder, eyes dropping closed and body settling against the mattress. Comfortable. 

Secure. 

Happy. 

Then…cold. 

He blindly searches for you, rousing when he reaches as far as he can and his fingers wrap around the edge of the mattress instead of your body. His heart jumps and he blinks urgently to try and get his bearings. 

Where are you?

His whole body electrifies as he sits up, looking at the bedroom door and finding it closed. 

The wind blows and the hinge of the balcony door squeaks as it’s nudged open. Steve feels a chill then looks toward the noise and source of the cold. 

Throwing the blankets off his legs, he gets up and pads his way to the door, opening it further and finding you sitting on the little bench there, looking over the lake and at the clear, starry sky. 

Stepping around the side of the bench, he sits next to you, lip quirking up at one corner to smile when you look at him. 

“Are you okay?” he checks. 

“Mhmm,” you nod. 

He doesn’t want to pry, but he wants you to know he’s here to listen. If there’s anyone who could understand exactly what you’re going through, it’s him.

Reaching over to take your hand, he squeezes it. “You’re not alone.” 

You look down and squeeze back. “Not anymore.” 

When your eyes meet his again, they water suddenly, and tears spill over your eyelids. He’s quick to cup your face, wiping away every tear as fast as he can.

He doesn’t want you to cry. 

“That woman,” you say in between sobs. “The Black Widow.” 

“Nat?” he wonders. “What about her?”

“I know her.” 

“What do you mean?”

“I know her,” you say again, breathing in slowly to try and even out your voice. “Not well, but…I know her. I worked with her in the past, in the Red Room, where she was trained.” 

Steve doesn’t know much about Natasha’s past, only what is in her SHIELD file. “Red Room” rings a bell; an extremely intensive, regimented facility where she and hundreds of other women train to become the world’s most deadly assassins, just like their namesake. 

You were there?

“I saw her face, I couldn’t quite place it. Then she gave me the suit and I knew. And the Widows, they’re so intelligent, only the best of them all. She had to have known me.”

He had a feeling once he saw that you were connected to Bucky; Natasha had known of the Winter Soldier the minute she heard Steve’s description of him. There must have been some connection between the three of you, but he never would have thought that you trained her. 

“I’m sure I terrified her as a little girl,” you continue, sobbing again. “And she helped me…she’s helping me now, Tony gave me her clothes.”

Steve realizes you’re speaking out of guilt. It becomes more apparent when you add on to what you had just said.

“And Bucky…I’m sorry.” You place your hands on his wrists before sliding them up and grasping his palms. “I’m so sorry, I know I’m responsible for what happened to him. I just don’t know what I did.” 

You’re pleading with him; begging for forgiveness that you don’t need to ask for. 

“I should’ve known, I should’ve stopped it and helped him, I–”

Heart breaking, Steve shushes you and pulls you into his chest. 

“Stop,” he says, voice catching as he begins to cry himself. “It’s not your fault. I know you wouldn’t have if you had known–”

“It’s my fault, I know it is.”

“No, shh,” he tries to soothe you with a hand cupping the back of your head. “Sweetheart, it’s…”

It’s not okay. But he can’t put the blame on you. 

He settles on telling you that he understands. “I know you would’ve stopped it if you had known.” 

Pressing a kiss to the crown of your head, he closes his eyes, silent tears falling as his chest constricts. He supposes it was foolish of him to think things would automatically go back to how they were before, only the trauma of the war plaguing the two of you as you try to piece your lives together. 

As he holds you now, it dawns on him that there are demons living in your mind that disappear in your consciousness; they sneak up on you and attack, they break you and hurt you and leave you crying, riddled with guilt and fright. 

He wants to get rid of them. Of course, he does. What kind of person is okay with the love of their life struggling on their own with the pain of the past? 

How could he even begin to help when neither of you have all the pieces of the puzzle? 

Could Tony do something? Could he call in a favor? 

Maybe. 

The next question chills Steve to the bone: Could he handle the truth of it all? If someone could unlock those corners of your memory and they all came flooding out, could he reconcile his love for you with the reality of what you may have done against your will?

Yes.

- - - - -

“Do you want to go for a swim?” Steve asks. 

Peering over the top of your book, you see he’s looking straight ahead from where you sit on the porch bench. Your legs were draped across his lap, facing toward him as you read as the morning air warmed into the afternoon. 

You turn your head, blinded by the sunlight as it reflects against the surface of the lake. It’s a beautiful day, warm but not uncomfortable or sticky. 

“I can see if Tony packed a swimsuit in that luggage he gave me.”

Steve gives you a crooked smile and moves your legs so your feet land flat on the wooden deck. He stands, stripping off his shirt and providing you with a generous view of his physique. 

It occurs to you then that beyond kissing and holding, the two of you hadn’t reconnected in other ways. 

“I’ll meet you in the water,” he tells you, throwing a wink your way. 

You can’t help but roll your eyes, only to bite your lip as you watch him walk across the lawn to the end of the small dock and dive into the water. 

Ignoring the heat in your face, you get up and scurry upstairs to rifle through your luggage. When you stumble upon an article of clothing with a unique texture, you think you’ve found it–or…what appears to be left of it.

Growing up, you never saw a swimsuit; nobody in your town had one. But you had seen more modest ones in a British magazine that Peggy showed you during the war. It was something she had kept tucked away most of the time, but she took it out when she wanted to reminisce on simpler times. 

You still remember the image: three beautiful girls with their hair perfectly curled and styled; one with a ponytail, one with pigtails, and the third with her hair kept back with a headband. The photo was taken as they were laughing, mouths open and hands pressed to chests or raised delicately in joy. They lounged on towels with an umbrella propped behind them to give shade. The suits flattered their figures and covered nearly everything, only exposing their arms and legs.

While those suits were pretty skimpy for the 1940s, this one makes your eyes go wide. It’s practically a pair of undergarments–and those too have gotten skimpier in their own regard.

Undressing yourself, you struggle with the top and heave a sigh of relief when you finally get it tied properly. You shimmy into the bottoms, which you scowl at in the mirror. They barely cover your bottom, though there is a high waistline. 

As you look at your reflection, you trace your fingers over the dark, jagged scars that litter your body. You’re self-conscious for a moment; you don’t remember how you got most of them. There are a few exceptions: ones on your arm from repairs that went poorly and distinct circular ones from when the serum was injected into you. 

You take a deep breath, shaking whatever apprehension you feel out of your head and going down the stairs to the back door and onto the porch. 

From here, you can see Steve floating on his back, looking up at the sky. Eager to join him, you jog over the grass, feeling the blades tickle the soles of your feet. The wooden planks of the deck squeak gently underneath the weight of your steps and you sit at the edge when you reach the end. 

“Enjoying yourself?” 

Your question jars him and you giggle as he flails for a moment before beginning to tread the water as he turns to look at you. 

He smiles for a moment, then his eyes glide down over your body. His face falls as he stares, no doubt at the blemishes littering your skin. 

Your chest squeezes, heat rising underneath your skin that makes your muscles tighten as you curl into yourself to hide. You feel your lungs inflate with a strange combination of embarrassment and pride–you feel humiliated that he’s staring but refuse to sit there and subject yourself to it. 

Getting up with a huff, you march back up the dock, ignoring Steve calling after you. As you walk over the lake, you hear him splashing and becoming a little more breathless as he keeps urging you not to leave. 

The screen door slams behind you and your feet slap against the stairs as you retreat into the bedroom. The hot air of your emotions escapes through your nostrils with every breath, especially when you struggle to untie the top of the bikini. In your rage, you throw it across the room and the bottoms follow after. 

You find yourself walking to the shower, your brain directing your feet before you can really think about your movements. Shutting the glass door, you turn on the hot water and stand under the spray as it strikes your skin. 

The heat makes your scalp tingle, giving you something to think about to banish the thoughts of the way Steve looked at you. Your head feels heavy, bowing as your eyes close. A breath echoes against the tiles–your breath, you realize–coming in short gasps and sobs while your hands wrap around yourself to make your body as small as possible. 

A short time later, your eyes open when you hear the door click and then shut again. You wait for Steve to say something, but his voice never comes. Cold air invades the shower cubicle as he opens the glass door and then shuts it. 

“I’m sorry,” he says quietly. “I…I didn’t mean to…” 

He lapses into silence and you close your eyes. You can feel his body, close to you but not crammed in the rather spacious area. 

“Can I touch you?”

Your spine straightens a little. You don’t refuse him, but you don’t nod either. 

You feel his skin on yours; a fingertip, tracing a line down your shoulder. Your muscles stiffen for a moment, then relax. 

His touch trails down until both hands hold your waist on either side. When his lips press into your shoulder, your legs nearly buckle, your body melting into his hold. 

He doesn’t stop, holding you up as he traces down your back, mouth ghosting over the scars he sees there. Steve takes his time, not only savoring the taste of your skin and the smell of your body but also reacquainting himself with you. Making up for lost time. 

There’s a swelling in his chest, a fierce fire that blazes and spreads throughout his body; he knows it well. He first felt it in 1944 in the backseat of a Jeep, in a garage in London. You, illuminated by dim lights coming in through the windows while the canopy of the Jeep kept the two of you concealed. 

Your coveralls and his dress greens on the floor, taken off in a flurry of desperation and desire. 

He wanted you then; he’d be damned if he made you believe he didn’t want you now. 

He commits the image of your back to memory, a new map of who you are, even if neither of you may ever find out how you got them. On his knees, as water runs down your skin, he doesn’t care about the lack of knowledge. He doesn’t think he ever will. 

His hands move to your hips. “Turn.” 

It’s almost a command, but his voice moves up as he says it, making it sound like a question. 

You tremble as you move, facing him. His heart sinks when he sees your face, eyes red and slightly swollen.

“What is it?” He rises to his feet, cupping your face but not before tracing up your figure as much as he can. His thumbs swipe your cheeks, attempting to remove tears he can’t see because of the water falling over both of you. 

You gasp, a broken sob coming from your throat as you reach for him, hands framing his face as you look at him almost in disbelief. 

“I missed you.” Your words are choppy as you cry. “Steve, I–”

He cuts you off, covering your mouth with his as he presses you into the tiled wall. He feels warm and dizzy and knotted in the stomach, butterflies erupting in every cell of his body. Your arms wrap around his shoulders, bringing him impossibly closer. 

Your lips part, giving his tongue space to dart into your mouth and brush against yours. His hand cups your thigh and brings it up to wrap around his hip, opening you up for him. 

Reaching between your bodies, his fingers blindly graze over the wet, needy flesh between your legs. Your hips roll forward and you bite his lower lip, making him groan against you. 

Rubbing your pussy with more pressure, Steve enjoys the sounds that spill from you, the impulsive touches and scratches you lay on his skin as he builds an orgasm for you and keeps himself at bay. He adjusts his hand, seeking out your clit. 

Unable to prevent it, he chuckles to himself. 

“Why the hell are you laughing?” He doesn’t need to see your face, he knows how you’re looking at him from the tone of your voice. 

Opening his eyes, he smiles, giddy like a schoolboy. “Remember the first time you showed me how to do this?” He laughs again, “You said I was looking at your pussy like it was a novelty.” 

Your eyes are distant for a moment and then they light up. You smile too, seeming unable to stop it as you look at him. “And you said it was.” 

“And then you laughed at me.” 

“Shut up, Rogers, I told you back then that I was laughing because it was cute.” 

Rolling his eyes, he kisses you once, soft like the breeze lifting a flower petal. “You were my first.”

You run your fingers through his hair, pushing back the pieces that fall forward. His fingers begin to move against your nub, making your eyes close and your head roll back in bliss. “I like being your first.”

He presses his forehead to yours, “I’m glad I found you.” 

He stops his movements, hand pulling back to wrap around his length and giving himself a few tugs. When he’s ready, everything goes still in anticipation of the feeling of being connected to you again; loving you, pleasing you, being yours. 

You sigh and say his name as he pushes in, pulling back and looking into his face while he slowly fills you up. He knows it’s familiar, that he’s been here with you before plenty of times, but there’s something new about this now. Something that makes him relish this moment with you, fills him with hope for everything that lies ahead for both of you. 

He loves you, and he tells you and shows you as he fills you up and mingles his breath with yours and kisses you in desperation. There are no words to express what he feels; he’s on Cloud 9 and he never wants to come down. 

He wants to stay with you, anywhere you go, and never part from you. He wants the promise that he will never lose you again, no matter how irrational and unattainable it is. 

Your moans come more frequently, your nails clawing at his skin, wounds stinging under the hot water. He curses, thrusting into you faster and harder to bring you over the edge. 

His name echoes in your voice against the tiles, reaching his ears and bringing on his own orgasm. Knees nearly buckling, he summons all his strength to keep both of you upright through the paralyzing pleasure.

Fuck, he loves you.

He doesn’t know how long he remains within you, nosing at your neck while you graze your fingertips over his shoulder and through his hair. 

“Steve,” you mumble against his shoulder. 

He hums.

“I want to lie down with you.” 

- - - - -

Bundled in blankets and one of his long sleeves, you cuddle into Steve as you watch an animated film on TV, lying on your side with his body right behind you. 

It takes place in China and follows the story of a girl who joins the army in place of her father. She’s determined to succeed, crafty in her execution to establish her place among male soldiers. 

“I like this one,” you tell him, watching a training montage as the captain of the unit sings a song about his expectations for his soldiers. 

“It’s a good one,” Steve agrees, hand trailing up your side before wrapping his arm around your middle. 

You entwine your fingers with his, bringing his hand up to your lips and pressing a kiss to his knuckles. 

As the song ends and the scene changes, Steve squeezes you closer to him. Pressing a kiss into your temple, he smiles when you giggle, then kisses you again and again. 

“When we get back to New York, I’m gonna marry you,” he swears, echoing his sentiments from his private quarters in the London SSR headquarters when he first asked you to come back with him. 

You hum a laugh. “Sounds like a plan, Rogers.” 

Your neck cranes to look at him and receive a kiss on your lips. When you turn back, he buries his face in your hair. 

For a moment, he lets it sink in that you’re here, you’re real, he has you back. The two of you can finally be together. 

Now, he just has to find Bucky. 

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