#you ever go to work hungover and you’re like ‘I feel dead this can’t get worse’
Text
Let me save you pt. V
Juice Ortiz x female
Word count: 10.5k
Warnings: bad language, violence
When I opened my eyes I could feel his breath on my neck, his whole body pressed to my back and suprisingly I was still laying on his arm. I turned his way and felt relieved when I saw he’s not sleeping.
- Morning. You had a good sleep? It’s kinda late - the joy in his eyes made my day, no matter that I just woke up
- Jesus Christ aren’t you uncomfortable?
I tried to sit up but the sting of pain made me stay in place so I just moved my head off his arm.
- Actually, I haven’t slept this good in years - he was smiling wide when I felt like I had the biggest hangover ever
- Well, me too, even tho I don’t often sleep in stranger’s beds.
- I don’t really think I’m a stranger.
I looked at my phone and realized it’s 8am. I’m not sore or hungovered, I’m just tired.
- You literally just said it’s late.
- Isn’t it? I should probably be at work by now.
- You could just go. Jesus it’s 8am. I only wake up this early when I’m having some big event or someone is putting a gun to my head.
Last time I woke that early was when we were having dinner together.
- I didn’t want you to think I leave you - he smirked
- I’m not scared of you leaving me - I found the strength to sit up - you definitely wouldn’t do that.
- I’m scared you’re right. How are you feeling?
- My wrists are still sore, but the rest seems pretty fine.
That’s not true, but those bruises can’t be really harmful. He knows that as well, but refused to argue with me.
- Are you getting breakfast with me or want to go back to sleep?
- Maybe not breakfast yet, but a coffee sounds good.
I saw the look on his face, but he didn’t say anything again, comforting. It’s just too early for breakfast. He again helped me with my shirt and it started to get a bit embarrassing, but the pain let me just forget about it. When we entered the kitchen there was only one young, pretty girl making coffee.
- Hi - she looked at me with a really warming smile - I’m Sophia.
- I’m y/n - I mumbled not sure what was happening
- Just made a fresh coffee. You want some, Juice?
Her shiny eyes looking his way made me feel a little jealous. Oh stop, it’s not about being jealous. She smiled at me so nice and then offered him a coffee? Hello, I’m still here.
- We’re good, thanks.
- Sure - she replied pouring herself a cup and then left the kitchen
- You need to excuse them - he said as soon as we were alone - they need to proces the thought of a new old lady here. I mean, you’re not an old lady but you’re not a crow eater. Something in between. I mean-
- I don’t know what any of that means - I cut him off with a laugh when I heard he’s getting stressed - Who exactly is she?
- Well, she’s a crow eater - he said pouring me some coffee - they are here to, you know, help us. They help us, we help them.
- And they help you in every possible way, I guess?
- Yeah - he scratched the back of his head in embarrassment
- Well, I hope these sheets really were clean.
- You don’t have to worry about that - not sure why, but he was really convincing - should we go now?
- Sure - I let him lead me back to the big room
Instead of sitting on a couch we made our way to the bar, only one woman sitting there.
- Hi Gemma, aren’t you in the office? - she looked our way
- Just enjoying my coffee before work - she said not even looking at him - hello sweetheart.
- Hi, I’m y/n - I assumed she was talking to me as she wasn’t looking at Juice at all
- I know - her stare made me freeze for a moment but she quickly replaced it with a smile - come on, sit down.
I carefully sat next to her when Juice put his hand on my shoulder.
- I have to finish something in the garage, I’ll be back soon, just don’t get in trouble - he sent me a comforting smile and left the two of us alone
- So - she started slowly - how do you like it here?
I couldn’t tell if she was genuinely curious and nice or wanted to start one dead ass serious conversation.
- I mean, I just came here yesterday night.
- Right - she gently grabbed my chin to look at the bruise on my neck - and how are you feeling?
- I’m better now, Tara took care of me.
- Yeah, she’s a good person, you can rely on her.
I just nodded and smiled as nice as I could. Gemma was being nice but she still made me feel stressed, like she was looking straight into my soul and I don’t like when people do that.
- So, honey. I guess you left your job at Lodi before coming here. Are you planning on doing something or you just want to live off Juice using the fact how much he adores you?
She put me off guard with this question. Why would I be a house wife to a guy I barely know. Why would I use his money. Why would she assume he adores me, supposedly he wasn’t talking about me too much.
- Well, I got a job at St. Thomas a few days ago, I’m a nurse.
- Good for you, I don’t like chicks using the boys for money - her smile was warm but her stare freezing cold
- I’m not his chick and I’m trying to stay independent since I was 15 - I said confidently
Trying to get her to like me felt important. She really just seemed worried and careful about guys bringing in new girls, looking around at all the crow eaters I almost could understand why.
- I know you’re not just a chick. I can feel it. I think you’ll like it here. Juice definitely loves the fact you’re here with him. I know my boys sweetheart, I know how they feel - for the first time during our conversation I felt nice about what she said
- Hi Gemma, want a refill? - Sophie was standing behind us
- Yes, thank you darling.
- And you, y/n? - her smile hasn’t changed since I saw her in the kitchen
- Thank you, I’m good - I replied politely and stared back at my cup
- They will respect you, just don’t let them dominate you - Gemma said when we were alone again
- What do you mean?
- Honey - her smile was honest now - you’re not like them and they don’t like it, but you have to show them you know your position.
- And what exactly is my position here? - I felt dumb asking about such stuff but she seemed like a good person to talk about it
- They all wish they could be you.
The answer wasn’t satisfying. Do they think he fucks me? That we’re dating?
- So what do you want me to do to not get dominated? Fight them? - I jokingly said rising my eyebrows
- Nobody will blame you if you have to do that.
My smile disappeared right away. It really works like that? I have to fight for Juice? We’re not even dating, come on.
- I should go now, a lot of paperwork is waiting on my desk. You can come find me if you need anything, but now just relax, you look a little tensed.
I sat there sipping on my coffee and thinking about what Gemma just told me when I felt a hand landing on my back. I turned immediately just to see Tig smiling at me.
- Morning. Did I scare you?
- I’m a little paranoid, excuse me.
- Sorry - he laughed - didn’t mean to. Just wanted to ask how are you feeling.
- I’m good, really. I don’t want people to pity me.
- It’s not about that, we just care about you.
- I’m literally a stranger - I said with a straight face but he laughed again
- When Juice brings a girl here, it means something.
- Really? - I looked around at all the girls cleaning and talking with other members
- Hey, don’t worry about them. They’re mine.
- All of them?
- Yup, that’s my favourite one - he pointed at a redhead in a mini skirt - but for you I can make sure none of them lay their hands on Juice.
- I think he’s the one to watch who’s putting hands on him - I realised it sounded like I was jealous - but I don’t quite care, as I said, we’re not dating.
He just nodded and left the topic. After a while he asked if I wanted to take a look at the yard since he had nothing better to do. We went to see the garage and just sat on a bench to smoke, there wasn’t much sightseeing to do. I was surprised how well we got along. We talked about lots of stuff and our conversation might be much longer if Juice haven’t interrupted us.
- You hungry now?
- Only if I can get pancakes, I don’t really feel like anything else right now - I felt like what I said was fussy, but he replied with a smile
- Okay, let me change. I know a good place.
- Juicy can you get me some pancakes too? And a strawberry milkshake pleeease - Tig was mocking me
- Hey! - I laughed looking his way - and give me back my lighter you thief.
He took it out from his pocket and shook his head. When Juice got back I put my hand out and asked for car keys.
- You want to drive?
- I feel good now, you don’t think I’ll let you drive around Charming like it’s yours?
We went to a small dining right out of town. The orange juice wasn’t anything special but the pancakes were really good.
- You really drove with me 20 minutes just to get breakfast?
- You said you wanted pancakes - he smiled at his toast not looking at me - they’re good, huh?
- Actually I really like them, but was it worth to go here? Shouldn’t you be at work?
- I finished everything, I’m free for the rest of the day.
- Yeah, dream job - he laughed at my comment - could you drive back? You could drop me off at the hospital, I need to sign some papers.
He looked up at me with a serious face.
- You’re not going anywhere alone, I can come with you if you want.
- And what’s the problem? I guess my freaky ex won’t hurt me anymore.
- Probably not, but you’re new here, I’m not letting you walk around the town alone.
- And you think that me coming to my new job escorted by a biker is a good option?
- I’ll wait at the parking lot.
- Okay mom, sure.
When we parked outside of the hospital I asked Juice to get me an iced coffee and went inside to sign all the papers. On my way to the office I saw Tara.
- Hey y/n, everything’s alright? - she quickly looked around
- Oh yes, I forgot to tell you yesterday, I’m staring my new jobs as a nurse here - she seemed relieved
- Oh my god - she laughed - that’s great. You’re here alone?
- Juice is waiting for me. Should I be worried bout something?
- No, that’s good. You mind giving me a lift to the clubhouse? I need about 15 minutes and I’ll be finished.
- Sure, see you here in 15 minutes then.
I zipped my hoodie all the way up to make sure my bruises are not visible and went straight to the office. While signing the last one my sleeve slipped and revealed my bruised wrist.
- Are you okay? - she asked suspiciously
- Yeah, just a little accident.
I fixed my hair making sure the cut on my temple is not visible and tried to just laugh it off, but the lady behind the desk wasn’t convinced. Maybe she noticed my nose is not quite fine.
- I saw you talking with dr. Knowles earlier - she said calmly - I hope these two things are not connected.
- I’m not sure what you mean, I’m sorry.
I definitely know what she means.
- Well, if you say so. You can start next Monday, we’ll send you a schedule - she shook my hand
I stood up and started going towards the door when she said
- Y/n - I turned around intimidated by her directness - you can talk to me if you need help - her smile was now caring
- I assure you I’m okay, but thank you - I smiled back and left the room to look for Tara
She was already waiting for me at the door.
- And? How did it go?
- I thought it was all good, until she offered me help - I looked at my wrist - she saw me talking with you.
- Don’t worry, we really need good nurses now, that’s not going to be a problem - she smiled as we started walking towards the car
- But why would she think someone from the club hurt me?
- Y/n - we stopped for a moment - none of the guys would lay a finger on you. They have bad reputation at some places, but that’s it. You really don’t have to worry about it.
- Okay - was all I could say before going back to the clubhouse
After we arrived Juice asked me to stay in the car so he can go get my bag. I waited for him to come back when one of the guys came up to me and leaned on the open window.
- Morning - I haven’t seen him before but the „President” patch explained it - I’m Clay, nice to meet you.
- Nice to meet you too Clay, I’m y/n - something in his stare made me feel uncomfortable
- We’re having a party this weekend, hope to see you there.
And he left, that was all. Weird. Juice came back after a minute and we went straight to his house. I put my bag on the table and tried to brush my hair but my hands wouldn’t cooperate with me.
- I think I might need your help - I said while fighting with the hair tie on my braid
- What’s up?
- I really need to wash my hair.
- And what exactly do you want me to do? - he sipped on his beer looking at me struggling with my shaky fingers
- And what do you think I’m asking you to do? - I gave up on the tie - nevermind.
I rolled my eyes and started going through my bag to find shampoo and conditioner. He stood behind me and gently took the tie off my hair and brushed it.
- Of course I will help you, don’t want you to drown in the bath - I could hear him smiling wide
- Really funny - I said finding what I needed
- I’ll ran the water for you - he said grabbing the bottles from me and headed to the bathroom
When I entered the bathroom I saw he made sure there was a lot of foam, so he wouldn’t see too much. How cute I thought sarcastically and went in the hot water. Juice joined me a few minutes later, sitting on the edge of the bath, he gently started washing my hair.
- I’ve never done this before - he said massaging my scalp
- Believe me or not, but me too. I always make sure my hair is washed when I go for a haircut I hate people touching my hair.
- It’s worth it. I love your hair - he laughed - So, what do you think about the boys?
- They are all surprisingly nice, I’m not sure if it’s a good sign.
- Chibs and Tig really like you. Give the rest some time to get to know you and I’m sure they all will.
- I’m not sure what I think about Clay, he seems… Weird? Well, I don’t know - I shrugged my shoulders
- Yeah, he can be difficult sometimes, but don’t worry.
- He told me about some party this weekend.
- Yeah, we have another charter coming to town for a vote, they will stay for a while probably. We don’t have to go if you don’t want to - I turned around after he put conditioner in my hair
- Are you going?
- I mean, depends on you, I can come back after the meeting - he said carelessly
I thought about what Clay told me earlier, wondering if it was only about knowing me better or something else.
- I think we should go.
- Sure - I turned away again and let him rinse my hair for the last time
I dried myself with a towel and went back to the living room. Juce greeted me with a hairbrush and told me to sit in front of him.
- Do you know how to braid? - I asked when he was brushing my wet hair
- Huh? - he laughed
- I don’t know, a dutch braid? Anything?
- Honey, the best thing I can do is a ponytail. I guess, I never tried, but it seems easy. What do you want for dinner? We should go shopping.
- I don’t know - I looked at him, we were sitting awkwardly close now - you think of something and I can make it.
- Rice? - he asked
- Chicken?
- Sweet chilli?
I laughed. I love sweet chilli.
- We can get some groceries when your hair dries and I’ll help you with dinner.
- Wow, you really want me to stay, don’t you?
- By doing the bare minimum? Damn girl, you’re easy to satisfy - he laughed, but that’s when the smile left my face
Realising I grew up in toxic relationships wasn’t easy to accept. Things that for him were normal meant the world to me and the thought just crushed me. He pulled his hands out and I leaned in to hug him. The sudden thought of him leaving me or just changing was too much. It was like I just felt all the sorrow and pain from yesterday, tears dropping down my cheeks. I sat myself on his lap and hid my face in the crook of his neck when he stroke my hair waiting for my breath to settle. I couldn’t stop, just cried like a baby when his arms wrapped around me tighter. After a few minutes this embarrassing wave of sadness was basically gone and I realised how weak I am for doing that, but he wouldn’t loosen his grip.
- Just don’t leave me now, okay? Give me some time to settle down - I mumbled without lifting my head
- I won’t leave you unless you beg me to do that - he said and kissed my head - feeling better now?
- Yeah, I do that sometimes - I laughed looking at him - you’ll have to get used to it.
- I’ll make sure you don’t have any more reasons to cry about - he wiped my eyes with his sleeve - come on, I’ll dry your hair and we can go shopping
- You have a hair dryer? - I looked at his mowhawk
- You can use it for other things too.
- I don’t even want to ask.
When we came back I realised how hungry I am, so we started preparing the dinner right away.
- You know you don’t have to pay for me every time, right? I’m homeless, not poor - he laughed at my comparison - the way you slammed my hand away from the card reader was actually rude.
- I’m sorry I’m not letting you be as independent as you wish, princess.
- Rinse the rice before cooking it - he gave me a stare
- So you’re better at everything, huh?
- Probably yes, you can just ask for help if you can’t figure it out - I took the rice from his hands as he was standing still after my comment
- You’re unbelievable, seriously.
After we ate I laid down on the couch and felt asleep minutes later, waking up before 8 is not for me. When I woke up I realised Juice covered me with a blanket, but he wasn’t sitting on the couch with me. It was already dark so I took my phone to check the time and saw a message from him.
Sorry, I had to go. Call me when you wake up please.
So I did.
- You slept good? - he was smiling, I could hear that.
It’s a good sign.
- Yeah, where are you?
- Just some club shit. I’ll be back in a few hours, you want me to call a prospect and get you to the clubhouse?
- I’m good, just get home safe.
- Just please stay inside, okay? Don’t let anyone in.
- Sure - I rolled my eyes glad that he couldn’t see it
I put the phone down and made myself a cup of tea. I went to the bedroom and grabbed one of his books I found on a shelf. I sat on the bed but fell asleep before finishing the first chapter. I woke up when someone was getting the book out of my hands.
- Sorry for waking you up, but you should probably lie down, sitting is not a good position for sleep - Juice was standing above me just smiling
I looked him up and down. He’s definitely been in a fight. New bruises and scratches, blood stains on his white shirt.
- Are you okay? - I asked truly concerned, but he just smiled at me
- I’ll go take a shower and you should change and go to sleep. Promise I won’t wake you up before noon tomorrow - he left with a big smile
I just sat on the bed and looked at the cup of cold tea I left at the nightstand. When he came back I admired how good he was looking just standing there.
- Do you have a first aid kit? I’ll clean you up.
- I’ll see what I have.
I looked at the clock, it was 3am. Is this a routine? He came back with a little bag.
- Is it always like that? - he came closer and sat on the bed next to me
- We’re having a hard time recently. I’m sorry you got here now, you shouldn’t go through this shit. That’s not the better life you’ve been fighting for lately. I’m sorry - he really looked upset with himself
I wasn’t sure what to do so I just started cleaning the cuts on his face, they were deep, but the ones on his arms were probably made with a knife.
- Should I ask? - I know I shouldn’t, but still tried to make him talk
He just shook his head slowly and let me finish what I was doing.
- Well, okay. Just remember you can talk to me. When I’m already doing that, how’s the cut on your ribs? - he was smiling again
- Almost perfectly healed, you did a good job there.
- Uhm, okay. Can I see?
- Just say you want me to take my shirt off - he said with a grin
- Yeah, I want to admire your body so take that shirt off.
I was starting to get tired of him teasing me this way so I chose to play along and it put him off guard.
- Come on - I insisted
He carefully took his shirt off looking at me the whole time. I took the bandaid off and examined the wound.
- Yeah, it looks pretty good. Next time you should come to me immediately.
He was just sitting there speechless.
- What now? You can get dressed - I laughed and handed him the shirt
- Aren’t you tired? - he asked quietly
- Yeah, I think I’ll go to sleep for good now. Just don’t get in trouble again.
- I’m staying here for the rest of the night, promise.
- Here?
And my question was honest. I didn’t know if he meant the bed or the house. Yesterday I asked him to stay with me just because I wanted to feel safe, but what will he do today? Where are we at with all this?
- I can sleep on the couch if you don’t want me here - he was teasing me again
- Well, I never said I don’t want you to stay here, basically it’s your bed. But as you wish - I played along
- Okay, so pass me the pillow please.
I just looked at him and at the pillow, then at him again.
- You don’t want me to go, do you?
- What are we doing Juice? What is this? - no emotions in my voice, I just wanted to know what he thinks about it - We’re not dating, but there is something between us. I don’t know if I’m attracted to you romantically or is it just you playing with me. It’s just-
- You’re attracted to me? - he cut me off
- In some way, yes. We’ve been doing this for some time now and I have to know where we’re at.
He sat next to me and grabbed my hand.
- You’re the most magnificent woman I’ve ever met - I laughed at his distinguish word choice - I mean it. You’re smart, caring and I don’t know, but I really think that you’re someone special. I really want this to work out. I really want us to move forward, really. I don’t want to push on you, sorry I’ve been teasing you this whole time, I’ve never been in that kind of situation.
- Because every women you’ve met before just spreaded their legs for you? - he laughed
- I’ve been in a serious relationship, maybe two if we count the high school one. But it was easier, I’m scared I’ll loose you and I think I’m actually lost at this point. I’m sorry.
- Stop apologising, please.
- I just want you to know where we’re at - he laughed as he didn’t just make a love confession or something like that
- So you’re staying here?
He laid down and pulled me in by my waist.
- Yes I am.
His voice calm, one arm under my head, the other one hugging me closely, palm under my cheek. I could feel his heartbeat like he was stressed. A big biker boy scared of getting into a new relationship. But what he just said calmed me down. I was glad we were both taking it seriously, just no need to hurry. I closed my eyes and enjoyed the moment trying to fall asleep, but I wasn’t tired now. After a few minutes I turned his way. He wasn’t sleeping, eyes wide open.
- What? - I laughed when he put a hand on my hip
- I really want to kiss you now.
- I really want you to do that.
He cupped my face with one hand and pulled me in with another. It wasn’t a greedy, desperate kiss, but the slow and soft one. He moved his hand from my hip and put it in my hair as he was trying to pull me in even closer. When we broke the kiss I pulled away, looking at him as he was brushing his fingers through my hair.
- I really meant it when I said I love your hair.
I woke up before 10, still early, but I got much sleep the day before. I walked to the kitchen and saw Juice sitting on the couch in the living room, playing something. He took off his headphones.
- The coffee is fresh, help yourself. What do you want for breakfast?
- I can make it myself, thank you - I said sitting next to him
- So you’re again not going to eat? I can take you for pancakes if the homemade ones are not good enough for you - he wasn’t looking at me, focused on the game
- I’ll eat, but later.
- You want me to finish now?
- No problem, I’ll watch you play - I placed a kiss on his cheek and saw him getting distracted by that
He finished a few minutes later. Probably he wasn’t really finished, but I was distracting him too much. He picked me up and placed on his tighs.
- How’d you sleep? Better than yesterday?
- I think I won’t need two naps today - I said putting my hands behind his neck
- Good to hear that - he kissed me gently
I put my head on his shoulder and we just stayed like that for a moment.
- Are you going to the clubhouse today?
- I don’t have work, but Jax said we need to discuss something in the evening.
- Will you be back for dinner?
- I’ll try. What are we eating?
- I’ll figure something out. Can I go to the store? - I finally lifted my head when I heard him laugh
- Maybe we just order takeout?
- Are you kidding me?
- Okay, I can go shopping with you.
- Juice, I want to go myself, nothing will happen.
- Why? - I didn’t know if he was resentful or just sad and offended
- Are you trying to control me? - I raised my eyebrow
- Y/n… - he looked both shocked and upset now - it’s not about controlling you, you know that. I want you to be safe.
- I know, but you don’t have to do that, I’ll be alright, promise.
- Okay, I’m sorry, I’m just worried about you.
- I know, but there’s no need to do that.
It was starting to annoy me. I’m not a child. I’m not in danger. I just want to live as a normal person, which was already hard with Juice’s daily routine consisted of drinking, fighting and disappearing. He was paying a lot of attention to me, but still it was hard to take. It was my third day here, and everyday it was mostly the same. I knew he lives like that. I realised it back in Lodi, when he unexpectedly stopped answering my texts or couldn’t come when we were supposed to meet, but it was easier when I wasn’t with him. Now when I lived with him under one roof I felt how hard it was, not only for me. I knew something bad was happening and that’s why he refused to leave me alone when I wasn’t at home or at the clubhouse. I knew how hard it was for him, leaving me home alone at night. It was hard for us after three days. How are we going to do that later? How is it going to work?
- Is it ever going to change? - I asked after a few minutes of silence and he just sighed
- I wish, but I can’t assure you when.
- But will it?
Another sigh.
- Club meetings is something I can’t avoid - he brushed his fingers through my hair
- But you know I’m not talking about meetings.
He didn’t say anything and put my head back on his shoulder. Another few minutes went by and I felt too comfortable sitting like that.
- I’ll fall asleep in a minute - I said standing up - what did you eat for breakfast? - I asked looking for an inspiration for my own meal
- Toast.
- Damn you’re boring, you eat toast everyday?
- And what’s wrong with that? - he laughed - I wanted to get you some too, but wasn’t planning on waking you up as I promised, it’s still soo early…
- How cute - I said rolling my eyes
- But it’s not too late if you want some.
- You’ll make me breakfast? I’m not asleep anymore - I laughed nervously
- Does it matter if you’re asleep? I just want to do something nice. You should be treated as you deserve, let me show you how it is - he laughed at my facial impression
- Yeah okay, you want me to cry again? - now I was laughing with him, even tho it still kinda hurt, not sure why - I’d like some toast…
- I can make you something else if you don’t want to be as boring as me.
I only looked at him and left to sit on a bench outside to smoke. Trying to admire how peaceful Charming is comparing to LA my thoughts went back to thinking about us. If it’s actually going to work. But when I saw him coming through the door with a plate for me I realised it’s not a good time to worry about that. He won’t hurt me. Not on purpose.
- Enjoy - he said handing me the plate
- Thank you honey. If you still want to we can go get groceries together - I sent him a warm smile
It’s nothing bad that he cares about me and wants to make sure I’m safe. He’s not controlling me. I shouldn’t have said that.
- I know you just care about me, let me get used to that - I decided to speak up looking at him, not sure if he’s surprised or upset again
- I’m sorry you feel that way - he gave me a sad but warming look
- You shouldn’t apologise so much and you shouldn’t be sorry for how I feel, especially when it’s not your fault. Why are you blaming yourself so much, do you want to talk about it? - I didn’t know how to encourage him to speak about his feelings so I tried asking directly
- I’m just trying to help you, now eat, It’ll be cold in a minute.
I ate my breakfast in silence. We went shopping again, but this time decided to get more stuff, so we won’t have to get groceries everyday. He again refused to let me pay, but I stopped trying, as he wish, let him feel like a gentleman. When we were almost done with making lunch, Juice got a phone call and from his short answers I could tell right away what was going on.
- So we won’t eat together? - I tried to seem careless
- I’m so sorry baby - he kissed my forehead - but please eat this, see you in the evening.
We kissed goodbye and I was alone again, turning on some music I finished making lunch and ate it alone. I decided to use my free time on walking around the house and seeing if I can find something interesting there. The whole place was so neat I refused to believe a single man lives here. Single? I got a few books that seemed interesting and put them on the couch to look which one I want to read and went back to see the rest of the house. I wasn’t sure if I was looking for something special, or just looking around. Maybe I was paranoid, but what can he hide here? I went to the garage and saw a bike, but not the one he rode. I came closer and realised some of the parts are unscrewed, he’s fixing it, guess he won’t be mad if I take a look. Happy that I found myself something to do I started working on the bike. Spent almost three hours there and realised it’s dark outside. I started making dinner and waited for a call to hear him saying he’s coming back, but he didn’t. When I finished I sat at the table and looked through the books. Finding the most interesting one I started reading, but after about a hundred pages the hunger got over. I came to the oven and decided to heat up the meal. After eating I tried to focus back on the book, but I started getting worried and tired, so the best option was going to sleep. I’ll get some rest and won’t be able to think about what’s going on. I took a shower and saw his T-shirt on the bed. I had my own, but still decided to wear his. I went under covers and scrolled through Twitter trying to settle my thoughts. I was tired, but couldn’t sleep ‘till 2am. When my eyelids got heavy and I felt relief realising I can now just put my phone down and go to sleep. One last look, no messages, no calls.
I woke up and immediately felt safer when I saw his arm wrapped around me.
- I’m so so sorry- he whispered when I opened my eyes
- Are you okay? - I asked half-asleep and turned to snuggle into his chest
- That lasagna was really good, I’m sorry you had to eat it alone.
- Jesus, Juice - I said not lifting my head - stop apologising. You could’ve said that you’re not going to make it, but I’m not mad or upset with you. I’ll just have to get used to that.
I pulled back to look him in the eyes and assure him it’s okay when I realised he’s not wearing a shirt. I paused getting my time to look at his tattooed chest and muscled arms. He laughed quietly.
- You stole my shirt.
- I just borrowed it - I shrugged my shoulders
- Another one? I’ll have to go buy a whole new wardrobe if you keep doing that.
- Okay, I was stressed and it made me feel safer, you satisfied now? I’ll wash it and you can have it back.
I tried to roll back over but he grabbed my hip refusing to let me do that.
- You can take everything you want and everything that makes you feel safe.
His smile makes me feel safe.
- What are you wearing today?
Shit, I forgot about the party.
- Is it like… official or can I just wear jeans? - I asked hoping I won’t have to dress up, especially that I didn’t brought any official clothes yet
- Jeans are totally fine, you should be comfortable, that’s it.
- So let me guess what you’re wearing. Hmmmm, let’s think… cargo pants, white T-shirt and your cutte? - I asked like he had any other clothes in the wardrobe
- I was thinking black today - he laughed and hugged me gently
It wasn’t so necessary now, my ribs weren’t so sore and even my wrists felt better, but maybe that’s just an illusion after what I came through lately. Doesn’t matter, it’s okay. I sat up on the bed looking around and thinking what I want to eat.
- Do you want me to braid your hair? - he rested his head on his hand
- You said you don’t know how to do that - I started looking through the clothes I took - I think I need to go to Lodi and get all my stuff now
- We can go tomorrow if you want, I can help you. So what about the braids? - he asked again and I gave him a confused look - I couldn’t sleep yesterday so I watched some tutorials on how to do that.
- Are you kidding me? - we both laughed
- Well, probably it won’t be perfect but I can try if you let me practise on you.
My braids really weren’t perfect, but I still decided to keep them because of how much effort he put in making them. The fact that he spent so much time learning, only because he didn’t come to eat dinner with me like he promised, melted my heart. Such a simple but precious act of engagement, caring about our relation. I spent the rest of the day on doing makeup and deciding what to wear. I knew the party wasn’t anything big, but I still wanted to look good, and more important, I wanted to be liked. Just make a good impression, it’ll be alright. Juice had to leave earlier for a meeting so he offered me to go with him.
- You could help Gemma with some arrangements. Or you can just sit and chill until we’re finished - he said when we were cleaning after lunch
- Yeah, no problem, I’ll find myself something to do - I rested my back on the kitchen counter
- Hey - he stood in front of me, trapping me with his body, hands flat besides my hips - don’t stress so much, people really like you there.
- But there will be a lot of new people, drugs, alcohol and sluts. I just have bad memories about such places - we both laughed
- I promise you there’s nothing to worry about, after the meeting we can leave anytime you want, just tell me if you fell uncomfortable - he put a hand on my cheek and rubbed it gently with his thumb
- Thank you - I rested my forehead on his chest
- Ready to go?
- Yup, let me just grab my purse.
When we arrived at the clubhouse it was surprisingly quiet, especially when guys disappeared behind the chapel doors for their first meeting. I was wandering around looking for Gemma and found her in the kitchen.
- Hi Gem - I said standing at the door
- Hello sweetheart - she turned my way and looked at the man standing next to her - Chucky, that’s y/n.
- Hello young lady - he came closer and I shook his wooden hand
- Don’t ask, I got them from eBay - said Gemma peacefully like that should clarify my concerns
I must’ve still looked shocked, because he said
- The Chinese chopped my fingers off and Gemma didn’t like that - he was dead ass serious and I couldn’t help, just smiled acting like I know what’s going on
- Do you two need help with anything? I’m not sure what to do with myself - I asked to end the silence
- You should get some rest - Chucky said cheerfully and jumped to the other side of the counter to cut some veggies
- Watch your fingers with that knife - I smiled and he looked at me, tapping his wooden hands on the cutting board, apparently to show me how hard they are
- Come on, let’s get a drink - Gemma wrapped her arm around my shoulder and leaded me to the bar
When we sat down I took a moment to look around. All the girls were so quiet, polishing glasses and cleaning tables, only me and Gemma were sitting and not doing anything. I felt bad about that, some eyes looking my way like I did something wrong made it worse.
- Don’t they need help? I can help them - I said seriously but Gemma just smiled
- Love, can you get us some beers? - she looked at the girl on the other side of the bar and she immediately left what she was doing to serve us - don’t worry, it’s their job.
I still felt uncomfortable, but when we started talking I forgot about everything that’s happening around us. I wasn’t sure if Gemma trusts me, or even likes me, but I tried to show her that I don’t have bad intentions, Juice just were in the wrong place at the wrong time, which leaded to him meeting me, but I meant no harm. She told me more about the charter that was going to come here. I was stunned by her directness, not sure if it’s a good thing, maybe she’s trying to check if I can be trusted.
- Guys are trying to move away from the drugs. Our charter don’t really do that, but some of the other ones live off it. Jax wants to move the whole club for more legitimate business, they opened a porn studio, and that money is clean. He wants to help other charters, they’re coming here today to vote on leaving drugs for good. They’re coming from north, that’s why they’ll stay here. There are also going to be some CaraCara girls here, you need to know that some of them are greedy whores and try to mess with people.
- I don’t think I’ll care as long as they don’t hurt me - I cut her off not wanting to hear about drugs, whores and pornstars anymore
- Just keep your eyes open.
After Gemma finished her sentence the door slammed open and it was loud again. I saw Tig coming my way.
- I haven’t seen you for soooooo long - he hugged me picking me up from the stool and placed me on the floor
- Literally two days - I said taking a step back to look at him and Opie
- Sooooo long - he repeated himself laughing
- Jesus, give the girl some peace - Opie laughed looking at me - have you seen Lyla? Is she here already?
- I’m sorry Ope, I don’t really know who she is so she’s probably not here yet.
- Oh sure - he laughed again - she’s my old lady.
- She’s a girl from CaraCara - Tig “whispered”
- Don’t worry, she’s the cool one - said Opie
- Yeah, she’s actually pretty nice - Tig patted my shoulder and came towards the bar
- I’ll tell her to find you when she arrives, I think you two cloud get along pretty well - he said before walking away
I looked around to find Juice but the whole place got crowded in a second. Standing there trying to focus I felt a hand on my waist and then saw Clay.
- Good to see you here, I thought you won’t come - he said with the same mysterious grin
- Why wouldn’t I? - he laughed looking around and left
This man scared the shit out of me. And I finally saw Juice, he was already coming my way so I headed to the bar and waited for him to join me.
- You good? - he laughed sitting next to me
- I met Chucky - I said like that was something to be proud of and he laughed again
God his laugh is so precious.
- He might seem creepy at first but-
- Hey - I cut him of louder than needed - he’s adorable!
He smiled like I just said something really smart and took the bottle some girl just put in front of him.
- You want another beer or something else?
- I’ll take the beer for now - I took the bottle and looked over the girl behind the bar
She definitely wasn’t pleased about what he did, but she took another one from the fridge and handed it to him with a wide smile. It’s definitely a fake smile, but it’s pretty, the guys like it. She looked at me once again, but I didn’t care, looked at Juice again. With his arms resting on the bar, head slightly tilted he was looking at me with his beautiful dark eyes.
- Why are you looking at me like that? - he couldn’t keep a straight face anymore and started laughing
- Cause you look good - I said confidently
We kept the eye contact so long that I felt like it was a staring contest.
- Hello lads - Chibs bursted in between us forcing us to look at him - needing a moment of privacy?
- What’s up? - I asked looking at his funny wide smile
- Lyla was looking for you, I guess she’s not a fan of spending parties with her slutty coworkers - I laughed out loud - she’s on the couch. Come on Juicy, we need to get some chairs for the boys, they’ll be here any minute.
I smiled at them and made my way to the couch. Not sure how I found her, there were a lot of couches, but only one person looked like she could be the sweet girl they all were talking about. She smiled at me when I was getting closer, probably with my bruises, lighter but still visible now, I was easier to recognise. I sat next to her and handed her a beer as I didn’t have enough courage to ask the girls for a different drink.
- Hey! You must be y/n! - she was so cheerful - I’m Lyla, nice to meet you. I’m not a fan of these parties and Opie told me you don’t look like you’d enjoy them either.
- What? - I laughed - I like parties, why would he say that. You know, I’m a little bit uncomfortable here, knowing only a few of them, getting so many stares from all these girls.
She’s that girl too.
- I mean, you know, some of them are not quite fond of me - I tried to get out of the situation the safest way posible, but she just gave me a warm smile
- I understand what you’re talking about. Some of them don’t know any boundaries, and sadly some of the boys like it. Don’t worry I’m not interested in anybody besides Ope - she laughed
She laughed. That’s good, I was scared I offended her. She actually seems like a nice person. I was impressed by how good our conversation went. Mostly when someone says “hey that’s my girlfriend, you’ll like her” and leaves us alone it’s weird and uncomfortable, but Lyla was such a warm person. It felt like we were sitting there for 15 minutes but when I looked at all the bottles we emptied and realised the place actually got really crowded now I realised it was way longer. Juice and Opie approached us moments after.
- Hey, how was it? - Juice asked when Opie and Layla left for a smoke
- She’s actually one of the sweetest people I’ve ever met - I said being totally honest
- I’m glad you found someone to keep you company when we had the meeting.
- Oh wait, so it’s over?
- Yeah - he laughed - looks like you really had a good talk.
- Actually we’re having a coffee date on Monday after my work - I smirked
- Good you chose coffee this time - he looked at the table with all the empty bottles on it and laughed - you want another one?
- Actually I’m done with beers for today, but all the drinks she makes just look dull - I looked at the girl behind the bar who was more interested in they guys near her than actual bartending - I’d like a margarita or maybe just a mojito, but she puts whiskey in literally everything.
- If you want you can just go and make yourself anything you like. I’d help you but I have no clue about that - he smiled and took the half-empty beer out of my hand - and you can get me another one on your way back.
- You want me to go behind the bar and serve myself? That sounds weird - I was thinking about doing it but still resisted
- No one will look weird at you. Most of them drink whiskey so she’s probably used to add it to everything, but trust me, they’d drink a mimosa if you gave them one.
- Oh sure, stop it.
- Come on, don’t be shy babe.
- Oh well, I’ll go, but come and get your own beer - I winked at him and headed to the bar
The girl standing there didn’t saw me at first but she looked at me when I started going through the bottles.
- Oh hi! I’m sorry, I’ll just make myself one and disappear, I don’t want to interrupt you.
Stop being such a people pleaser, these bitches hate you.
- No problem girl, ask if you can’t find something - she smiled and went back to her conversation
Maybe they don’t hate me? I started pouring myself a drink and I looked over at Juice just to see some blonde handing him a beer and sitting right next to him on the couch. Come on. She looked like she was having the time of her life but Juice was rather tensed. Then just tell her to get out. But he didn’t, they were talking and I continued my drink being as slow as I can, I wanted to see what he does. But all he did was give me an apologising stare and continue the chat.
- Hey gorgeous - Chibs pulled me out of my thoughts - can you make me something too?
- Old fashion or whisky sour? - I laughed knowing his Scottish ass only drink beer and whiskey
- I’d drink anything from you darlin’ - his warm smile made me feel better
But I knew he came here to make sure if I’m okay. Why wouldn’t I be? He’s just talking with her, no big deal. No big deal. I can’t keep him away from women just because we’re maybe going to be a couple, that’s nothing serious for now. Right at this moment she put a hand on his tigh. Quite high, huh? But he just flicked it off. I smiled to myself and continued making the drink. I looked over once again and saw the girl getting up from the couch. She was laughing like she just heard the best joke ever, but she was definitely hurt by being rejected. Well, shouldn’t have tried bitch. I gave Chibs his glass and he smiled lightly.
- Are you okay?
- Sure I am, why not? - I was pretty pissed, but that’s just a moment and it’ll be fine
- If he ever hurts you just find me and I’ll teach him how to treat a woman - he raised his glass and took a sip - oh, that’s really good.
His eyes went to the bartender and he shook his head, probably to show me that I made him a better drink.
- I appreciate that Chibs, thanks.
- Which one? About respecting women or your good whisky sour? - he winked and walked away
Since I had my drink done I also wanted to go back to Juice, but when I was putting the bottles away I heard someone behind my back.
- Make me a mojito - she said like a demand
I smiled and turned her way just to see it’s the same girl who was just hitting up on Juice. She put her empty glass on the counter and looked me in the eyes. I’ve never seen such a fake smile ever before.
- I mean, I’m not bartending here, but if you ask I can get you one. Or just ask the girl over there, she can make you something - I tried to say it nicely, maybe she didn’t know Juice is not quite single anymore
Is he single? Yeah, fuck that, I’ll worry about it later.
- What’s the big deal?
- Excuse me? - and I was for real, what kind of attitude was that
- I just want you to make me a drink, I don’t think you understood me correctly.
- I understood perfectly, but I’m not a maid, what are you even talking about? - I looked around to find some help but no one close was interested in our conversation - I can make you one, that’s not a problem, just know it’s not my job.
I went to grab a bottle and discretely look under the counter for some rat poison. Jesus Christ y/n. I put some limes in the glass when she grabbed her dirty one and looking me dead in the eyes “by accident” dropped it on the floor. I looked around in shock but not many eyes were on us, people here were probably used to glass shattering sound.
- You’re going to clean it or not? - she said since I was dead silent
Yeah, I’m done now. I rested my elbows on the counter and came closer to her.
- I just wanted to be nice. Which part of “I’m not a maid” didn’t you understand?
- And I just wanted you to make me a drink, that’s what you’re here for, but it seems to hard for you. You think it’s so easy to get a dick here? Work for it.
I was absolutely stunned, I dealed with many types of customers, but she was fucking insane and I wasn’t even working. I was looking for a safe way to end this conversation, but her thinking she had any right to treat me like that made me wild. I took the glass with limes and slowly moved it over the edge. Playing her game I just dropped it without hesitation. I saw Juice smiling at the sound of the glass breaking. She was rather impressed, probably waiting for me to apologise and clean up after her than giving back the same energy. We looked at each other for a second. I saw a prospect coming our way, probably wanted to clean the mess, but Clay held him back. He was watching me closely the whole time. I took a broom and made my way to the other side of the bar, standing right next to the blonde bitch I saw her smile slowly coming back. But I put the broom down near her stool instead of cleaning the glass like she thought I’ll do.
- If I were you I would clean that up before I have to ask the guys for help - I winked at her
The urge to just grab her hair and bring her to the floor was strong, but a few seconds were enough for me to tell that she was rather shocked by my reaction. I took my drink and went to sit next to Juice.
- I don’t like that slut - I said calmly looking at her cleaning the floor
- I don’t like her either - he replied trying to also sound calm - I’m sorry.
- Well, looked like you two were having a good time, but I can’t forbid you doing that - I smiled, honest or not, it was still a cute smile and I knew that - let’s not talk about it, I don’t care.
Rest of the party was quite calm. Well, a lot of gross, funny and scary things happened, that was a crazy night, but stripped girls sleeping on the tables or puke on the floor didn’t bother me. I spent a lot of time with Layla talking about everything and nothing. I spent a lot of time with the guys, they were more relaxed than ever and it was even easier to bond with them. And I spent a lot of time with Juice. Nice time. I wasn’t sure if the stares I got from some girls were the kind of stares I was thinking about, but I didn’t quite care. It’s his choice, but if he let me I’m not letting anyone near him. After a long time I really had a good time during a party, no matter how crazy it was, I felt relaxed and I realised there are people who care about me, even a little. Basically it was just a stupid party, but it made a difference for me.
- You wanna go home? - Juice asked when I rested my head on his shoulder
- I mean, I’m sleepy, but I’d prefer to stay here for the night, you’re drunk - I laughed - and so am I.
- Well, you’ve got some point there.
He stood up and grabbed my hand gently. When we were walking down the hall I could see the blonde bitch staring at me almost the whole time and remembered when Gemma said “They all wish they could be you”. You wish slut. We entered the room and I immediately laid down on the covers.
- Hey - Juice laughed closing the door - come on, change and go to sleep.
- Yeah, give me a minute - I moved to lay on my side facing the other way
He sat on the floor and rested his head on his arms right next to my face.
- Baby - he started quietly - I’m sorry I did that, I know I should tell her to fuck off right away. I just didn’t want to be rude and then she started acting weird, but I told her to go.
- Juice, stop. I can’t make you ignore every woman now. I can’t make you do anything, nothing bad happened.
- But I saw how you were looking at her. And what she did after was fucking ridiculous. I won’t let anybody treat you like that, but you handled it really well, I’m proud of you.
I sit up and pulled him in as I could feel my eyes watering. Hearing that someone was proud of me was a big thing. I changed and went under the covers waiting for him to undress and do the same. After he did I snuggled into his chest immediately.
- You know I want you and only you and that’s why you can make me ignore every woman ever? - he asked brushing his fingers through my hair
- I doesn’t work like that - I whispered
He didn’t reply, just held my chin and kissed me so passionately I wanted to completely melt under his touch. When he broke the kiss he moved back a little to see my face.
- I love you y/n.
Okay, what? That’s early. That’s hard. That’s new. That’s impressive. That’s unexpected.
- Juice, it’s really okay, you don’t have to ensure me about such things, I told you I don’t care about what happened - that’s probably a good response, but I don’t know what to say
- No, I mean it - he laughed loudly
#juan carlos#juan carlos imagine#juan carlos ortiz#juice#juice imagine#juice ortiz#juice ortiz x reader#juice x reader#soa#soa imagine#sons of anarchy imagine#sons of anarchy
21 notes
·
View notes
Note
For the ask meme I'm like...
But I'm going to go with Dexteros bc they've been on my mind this particular week! 😅
Obviously for the fic questions it could be hypothetical and/or DexBoss in general 😊
Send me one of three prompts
made a whole meme and everything omg
When I started shipping it if I did:
honestly i’d say like. pretty much right away when i went through sr1? i thought they just made a perfect pair. dex complemented anteros so well imo, and eventually it snowballed into becoming a cornerstone of my canon. their dynamic is crucial to the foundation of my sr canon. kinda interesting how it started out w “i really love dex and i think he works well w my boss character and how he develops into srtt” to “my canon as we know it would literally not exist without the relationship between dex and anteros”
My thoughts:
where do i even start. what can i say that i haven’t said about them before. two halves. the sun and the moon. would find each other in any universe. trapped in an endless cycle. i love you i hate you no one can kill you but me no one will ever understand me but you. devoted until the end.
What makes me happy about them:
i love thinking about them in sr1. it’s so important to me that they goof off together; anteros showing dex all his fave clubs and going out drinking and anteros trying to get dex to dance w him but dex getting too self-conscious but they’re still laughing anyway and then coming to the church the next morning hungover but trying to not make it obvious. both showing more vulnerable sides of themselves to each other. just that whirlwind romance of sr1. then 10 years later having them start over and having this become a slowburning desire for each other. a yearning to return to what once was and eventually trying to create some semblance of a normal relationship. those little moments. the knowledge that despite it all they never stopped loving each other.
What makes me sad about them:
honestly what makes me happy abt them also makes me sad. the death of anteros at the end of sr1. dex feeling as if he’s lost everything at that point, w julius leaving and anteros dead. his anger at troy for lying, for not putting anteros out of his misery. and just the entirety of sr2 and srtt. similarly once they DO “start over” post-sriv, it’s overlayed w a sense of tragedy bc what does it mean to have a “normal” relationship when you’re them? does it mean hiding it all over again? when will it be their turn. for better or for worse things will never be like they once were. we can’t go back to stilwater 2006.
Things done in fanfic that annoys me:
never really ventured into dex/boss fic i’ll be real. ig in general i just don’t like when dex gets characterized as this irredeemable villain bc that’s just not him at all. i see so many old things that just give him no nuance or just forget he exists…..heartbreaking
Things I look for in fanfic:
again never really looked at dex/boss fic so not super applicable. the things i would look for are. um. do they kiss.
Who I’d be comfortable them ending up with, if not each other:
anteros has either of his other partners which i’m happy with. i suppose kinzteros in a more canon sense and troyteros for more AU stuff. or at least that’s how it seems to usually end up. dex i think would be fine alone. unlike anteros who will explode if he doesn’t have a partner, dex is fine being single and on his own. he’s an independent person. tho if voli somehow came out tomorrow and said dex ended up w a nice husband i’d be happy w that too.
My happily ever after for them:
wouldn’t that be nice……ig just them making it work as best they can. unless anteros retires—which is something that wouldn’t happen for a very long time—i can’t imagine a real like. marriage and house and kids and all that. just not really in the cards for them. honestly that is one of the things i wanna explore post-sriv: what does the future of this relationship look like? both are committed to it, both still madly in love, but is this how it’s always gonna be? anteros missed the point for a normal life a long time ago.
Who is the big spoon/little spoon:
anteros is the big spoon. it’s like a inch height difference and anteros is using that. traps him w his arms and legs. clingy.
What is their favorite non-sexual activity:
talking and getting into arguments, and i mean that sincerely and not in a bad way. as in, getting into discussions about topics bc they’re both insanely academic. especially as they get older, talking about more mundane things like, as you and i have talked about before, arguing over shit like what colors to paint their bedroom walls and getting ultra specific about it. they love it. anteros’ favorite thing in the world is to disagree w dex. dex would be lying if he said he hated having their discussions too. sometimes anteros just plays an overexaggerated devil’s advocate just to get a smirk outta him. it’s fun. they genuinely love it.
also music! listening and singing along. both share a lot of favorite artists and even tho anteros’ taste can get a lil. eccentric. when it comes down to it, there’s nothing better than driving through stilwater at night together, blasting the radio and singing along. also i think dex just has a really nice singing voice so anteros is more than happy to let him take the lead. one of thew few things in this world that’ll make anteros happily be quiet.
4 notes
·
View notes
Text
AU - Business Trip Pt 4
You meet the new sales exec at a company offsite…
Boba x fem!reader, lite smut
***
“Oh, hi,” he said casually. You smiled, getting hot but trying your best to Be Normal. Everything is fine, you told yourself, feeling as if you were on fire. You were so flustered.
He smiled at you and turned back to the conversation he was having with a new salesperson. It seemed to be about a potential lead. You were about to walk off, but Boba asked, “What do you think?”
“Huh?” You had’t heard the initial question. Trying to play it off, you commented, “Oh, I don’t know anything about sales. Just ask me about spreadsheets.”
They both laughed congenially. You grinned and joined the conversation. You felt like Boba was inching towards you, but couldn’t totally tell.
“Well, let’s head to breakfast, the buffet is finally open.”
You laughed, “It was only five minutes late.”
”Yeah, but I’m starving,” Boba winked at you and took off for the line. His new employee followed behind, trying to get a few more minutes of his time. You trailed behind casually, not wanting to seem overeager. But you wanted to talk to Boba so badly. Especially about what had happened last night. You had woken alone to a text from him.
-good morning ☀️i had some work to do so i left. can’t wait 2 c u later today
You were insanely giddy, and had text your friend instantly.
-bitch wake up. i have news. we need to TALK in PRIVATE
-wtf happend. Omg SO HUNGOVER. Im dying, i think. Girl help.
You had ended up going to her room to help her get ready. She was in a bad way, casually puking into a trash can as you two girl talked.
“So anyway, then he actually came to my room.”
”What?? Let me get this straight: you sent him a naked photo and he showed up at your door? What happened?” She got too excited and started puking again. You waited until she had wiped her mouth, then continued.
“Well, I blurred it but yeah it was a spicy pic. Anyway, so he showed up.” You paused for dramatic effect. Your friend’s eyes widened in anticipation. “So I answered the door naked.”
“You did not!” She started puking again.
Smiling smugly, you confirmed, “I totally did. So he ended up coming in, and, uh… staying for awhile.”
She was still puking, but managed, “You guys totally fucked.”
You nodded smugly.
“Girl you fuckin’ hoe! I love you.” She stopped puking. “Okay, I need a shower and to brush my teeth like ten times. Can you put together a respectable outfit in the meantime?”
You agreed and started to rummage through her luggage as she sluggishly got to her feet. You had called to her before heading down to try to find Boba, “You can do it! I left everything on the bed for you. See you down there.”
”Hey, there you are, babe.” You turned to see your friend in the outfit you’d put together.
“Nice taste in clothing,” You joked.
She grinned, “Thanks, that means a lot.” Leaning in closer, she whispered, “I think I’m gonna drop dead before we hit the buffet.”
You returned quietly, “We’re two people away from it.”
”Yeah, two too many. I regret everything I ever did in my life to get to this point. I dunno how I’m going to live through the break out sessions we’re gonna have today.”
You laughed, “Get a ton of coffee and some greasy food in you. You took some Ibuprofen, right?” You grabbed a plate. You were at the front of the line. Handing it to your sick friend, you casually grabbed a second one for yourself. Grabbing some food, you commented, “See, here we are, getting food and you’re alive. So dramatic,” You teased.
”Ugh, bitch.” She said lowly, throwing food on her plate. You laughed good naturedly and went to the next station.
***
Lunch. Finally. You tried to find both your friend and Boba. Instead you found the rest of your team. “Oh, let’s eat together,” one of them politely suggested.
“I. Uh, have prior plans,” you started.
He laughed, “Well, Ms. Popular, sorry to stand in the way of your socializing.” He winked, “Just kidding, I’ll see you at that break out session later. I think I saw your name on the roster.”
“Sounds great,” you smiled; he was a nice guy. Then you took off to look for Boba. …and your friend.
You found Boba engaged in a one-on-one conversation with Miss BP. You respectfully hung back and searched the crowd for your buddy. They were probably talking about the break out session. Or some kind of work thing. Probably. You glanced over. She was laughing and putting her hand lightly on his forearm. You turned away. Omigosh, you thought. Hoe. Then you remembered you had fucked him last night and gently laughed to yourself.
“There you are. Please help me write my obituary during lunch. I’m dying. I think I smell like vodka. I need another shower. And, some mouth wash.”
You wrapped an arm around her and turned towards lunch. “Let’s get you some food, then hopefully we’ll have time to go to your room to recuperate for a bit.”
You walked past Boba and Miss Beaty Pageant. They didn’t seem to notice you. You decided not to take it personally; this was a work event after all. “What a whore, chatting him up like that,” Your friend muttered to you when you got to the buffet line. You giggled, “What am I then?”
”A respectable woman who sends tasteful, blurred nudes. But still gets the man.” She laughed too loudly. Someone turned around to see what was So Funny. She shushed herself and apologized. Then she continued, “Anyway, GOD I hope we have enough time to go to my room.” The line moved a bit. “This bitch of a line better move. My goodness. Or I’ll die in front of everyone,” she threatened mildly.
Laughing to each other, you chatted until you found an empty table. Setting your food down, you were immediately joined by some other people who had no idea where to sit. You politely engaged them in conversation, not wanting them to feel unwelcome. Lunch passed. Your friend excused the both of you to her room. “We’ve got some work we gotta get to before the next break-out,” she lied. You nodded, “Mhm. Well, very nice to meet all of you. See you around!” You both beelined for the elevator.
***
”Hi, there, looks like we’re both in this session,” Boba pulled his chair up to yours. You grinned, “Wow. What a coincidence.”
”We haven’t talked in forever,” he commented, looking around.
”Did you get your work done in the morning?”
”Yeah. I got an email at 3AM I had to do some research for and respond to right away. Probably will amount to nothing, but we’ll see.” He shrugged.
“Well, I got some really good sleep,” you smiled.
“Hm, that’s good to hear. I need a nap or something, I uh, didn’t get much sleep myself…”
Before you could respond with some subtle mention of last night, you heard a familiar voice, “Well, hey there! Funny seeing you here, stranger,” Miss BP addressed Boba.
“Oh! What a weird coincidence,” he said warmly. He introduced the two of you. You both sized each other up as you exchanged hellos. Boba either didn’t notice or decided not to comment. He continued, “Cross functional meeting we’re having here. Cool.”
You smiled, smitten with him. She seemed to be having the same reaction. What a Bitch, you grimly thought. The session started and the three of you sat back.
***
-what you up to?
You were in your friend’s bed watching TV while she took a third shower.
-i’m 📺
-cool. Can i come watch w you?
Your heart leapt.
-i’m in my friend’s room. Lemme see if we can have a party
-okay.
You ran to the bathroom. Opening the unlocked bathroom door, you shouted in, “Bitch! I need to ask you something RIGHT NOW.”
***
The knock on the door came sooner than the two of you thought. Your friend was still in a towel. “Fuck my life!” She exclaimed as the two of you struggled to throw together an outfit for her. She pulled on some pants and fought with a button down shirt. You helped her, calling out, “I’m coming!”
”Just like you did last night, you nasty skank,” she laughed. You giggled as you ran to the door. Opening it, you launched into your explanation, “Sorry, wardrobe malfunction.”
You were presented with Boba, who was offering you two bottles: one of vodka and one of cranberry juice. “It’s what I could find on short notice,” he commented as you stood to the side to let him in.
Your friend called out, “Oh, you’re here to kill me!” Upon seeing the booze. He laughed, “Cranberry only for you, miss. You sorta uh, smell like vodka.”
“I knew it.” She sighed, sitting on the bed. You hurriedly grabbed three glasses as your friend channel surfed. Boba sat on the little sofa and poured generous drinks for the two of you. For your friend, he poured a tall glass of cranberry only. You passed the cranberry to her. Clinking glasses with Boba, you sipped your libation politely as you sat down on the sofa next to him. It was very small. Perfect.
She stopped on a porno channel that was blocked by the hotel. “Don’t even make a joke!” You called out, nearly spilling your beverage. Your friend and Boba laughed in unison. “You know me so well,” she continued channel surfing.
Boba turned to you, “Uh, how do I get in contact with HR?” You laughed, “I think you’d report me over her…”
He grinned, “I’m only gonna report unwelcome advances…”
“Omigosh you hoes,” she commented, sipping her cranberry.
Boba laughed, then inched towards you on the sofa so that your legs touched gently. “She knows, huh.”
”Girl talk, my dude,” she explained for you.
He grinned. “Welllll I guess I’m alright then, cause you invited me over.”
”Technically, you invited yourself,” you countered teasingly.
“I guess that’s true. But you accepted my offerings and let me in though,” he rebutted.
You giggled with your friend, “We did. You’re ‘alright’ then I guess.”
“That’s good to hear,” he sipped his drink.
You felt a ripple of tension in the air, just for a moment. You looked over at him. He was eyeing you intensely. Feeling hot and bothered, you sipped your drink to try to calm down. But the alcohol went to your brain and you said, “In fact, I rate you higher than ‘alright.’”
Your friend giggled darkly, “I gotta uh, pee.” She jumped up and ran into the bathroom. Boba was still looking at you. He set his drink down and leaned over. Grabbing your knee, he quickly slid his hand up your thigh. Kissing you, he pushed you back into the sofa pillow.
“I’d fuck you right here if she wasn’t in the bathroom,” he purred into your ear. You started to mumble about a quickie, but his phone rang. “Shit, that’s work… do I have to answer it?” He ground his thick cock into your pussy. Remembering how it felt last night, you wrapped your legs around him. He started to rut into you, groaning your name softly. His phone stopped ringing. Relieved, you whispered, “Fuck me, I need to feel your cock in me.” Grunting, his hand went for his pants. His phone rang again. “Shit.” He paused, uncertain.
It continued ringing. “Shit.” He sat up. Sighing, he composed himself, then answered, “Hi, what’s up?”
You laid there, ready to be ravished and trying to not overhear the conversation.
“Oh, nothing… just hanging out with some of our colleagues, you know.” He paused while the caller apparently spoke.
“Oh, I dunno, we’re in someone’s room. I don’t think I can invite people.” You sat up, worried. Boba continued to evade, “Well what time is it? We only have 20 minutes until closing session today anyway. How about I see you there?” You composed yourself and took a sip of your drink.
“Okay, bye. Okay. Can’t wait. Bye.” He hung up.
“Hm. We should check on your friend… she’s been in there for a minute.”
”She’s probably puking,” you laughed.
He smiled, “Poor thing. She’s really hanging in there, though. Tough.”
You smiled back. He rubbed your knee. “See you both at dinner? I, uh… wanna go to the bar with you ladies afterwards, again. If you want.”
“Totally,” you got hot and shy. He laughed, “Well don’t volunteer her just yet, she’s still reeling from last night.”
His phone rang again. It was a different ringtone. “That’s the CEO ring tone, I really gotta take this one,” he stood, grabbing the remote to mute the TV. You got up and went to the bathroom while he answered with a chipper greeting.
You knocked on the door. Your friend opened it up. “Omigosh, what happened,” she whispered. You pushed yourself inside and closed the door. “He’s on the phone with our CEO now. Before someone else called him, he’s gonna sit with them during the closing session. But then he wants to have dinner and drinks with us,” you ended, pleased.
“Oh shit, I don’t think I can handle drinks again,” she muttered.
”Okay, we’ll just give you juice like this time,” you returned, “Please come.”
”Alright, but I’m not 3. No juice; I’ll take a soda or something adult. Just… nonalcoholic.”
You nodded, but before you could speak there was a knock at the door. You opened it a crack, “What’s the password?”
“Girl power?”
You all laughed before he apologized, “I gotta run, I gotta meet with the CEO for a couple minutes before closing session. See you for dinner?”
“You betcha,” Your friend blurted out.
“Cool. Okay see you then.” He was out the door in a flash, in a hurry.
“Okay. So, did you or did you not make out?”
You turned to her, “Well.”
She laughed triumphantly, “I knew it… he was all of a sudden really hot for you. It was totally noticeable.”
You got hot again. “Really?”
“Yup. Anyway, let’s head down. I want to grab a seat in the back row so we can be first to grab a nice table. I want one by the fountain; it’ll be So Romantic you know?”
”Especially with you there,” you laughed.
“Shut up, B—, I’m getting you laid again.”
“Love you,” you smiled. “Let’s head out.”
***
Boba ended up having a dinner meeting with the CEO and COO. He had text his apologies.
-still drinks later though? 🥺
You smiled before showing it to your friend. You discussed what to say before you typed back.
-totally. come and find our twosome and make it a threesome
“Was that too much?” You looked at her.
She smiled mischievously over her plate. “Too late now. Look, you sent him a nude photo already. It’s more than fine.”
-i like your math. C u later 🥂
You both smiled at his response. “He’s so cute,” she commented before going off to grab you both desserts. It was donuts and you both loved glazed more than anything.
***
You were on your second drink. Your friend coached you, “Okay. See Miss BP over there? You gotta text him and tell him where we are. That way he comes right over here, rather than looking around and potentially seeing her. She’ll totally rope him into sitting at that table.”
You nodded. “Okay, what do I say?” You slurred.
-we’re in the back of the bar, next to the neon sign. We got you a drink. It’s a surprise.
“Now seal the deal, send him another nude.” She ordered a fancy drink with a straw and pineapple slice for him.
Slightly tipsy, you took her utterly seriously. You scrolled your camera roll for a full minute before selecting one of you in lingerie. You only had taken them because you had been pleasantly surprised by the online purchase. The bra and panties set fit like they were tailored for you.
You edited it to give it a nice, subtle vignette. You sent it.
“Did you really send one?” She sounded astonished. “Damn, you are really surprising me here.”
You shrugged and stared at your phone, waiting for a response.
The surprise drink came. You took a photo of it and sent it to him as well. You added another invitation.
-cum 4 me
You sipped your drink while your friend demanded to see what you’d just sent him.
“I saw you hit send, now show me what filth you’ve sent.”
Suddenly your phone buzzed.
“Ah, is it him, shit, omigosh okay stay calm,” she babbled.
“Sip your juice,” you commented as you checked the message.
-stop it ur making me hard af 🥵
Smiling smugly, you finished your drink. Your friend ordered you a water. Gratefully, you drank it while you both reread the conversation. “You whore,” she commented lovingly, “I’m so fuckin’ proud of you.”
A new message arrived.
-i had to excuse myself 2 bathroom… u r so bad i love it
-im cumming… lol. C u very soon. 🏃♂️
“Omigosh.” Your friend started talking up a storm, speaking in low, excited tones. You listened as you hydrated yourself. You wanted to be ready for one more drink before Boba arrived.
You both casually turned towards the bar entrance when you had softly exclaimed, “Oh!” Upon seeing him enter. He looked straight at you. Your friend waved. He made his way over hurriedly. You eyed Miss BP out of the corner of your eye. She was trying to get his attention. He either didn’t notice or was feigning ignorance. You grinned to yourself and ordered a third drink.
Boba laughed when presented with his drink. “Alright, this looks good. I’ll try it.” He pulled up a barstool and sat between the two of you.
“Everything okay? Those meetings seemed pretty serious.”
Boba sipped his drink. “Yeah, just a new client that was unexpected. So we had to discuss positioning. And now I’m giving a 30 minute Powerpoint tomorrow at 1PM.”
”Oooh, fuck. Brutal,” Your friend commented.
“I know. I’m… not very excited about it, but it’s really my first chance to show what I can do so I gotta be good. Only this one lovely drink, then I’m heading up to prepare for this damn thing.”
You both commiserated with him for a few minutes before he changed the topic. You debated pros and cons of remote work. Eventually his drink was gone. He excused himself, “Goodnight, ladies. I have a couple hours of work ahead of me tonight. I need it ready by 10AM for everyone to review. Wish me luck!”
You swooned after him as your friend wished him luck. With that he was off. You sat back and ordered another water. While you waited, your friend tugged on your arm. “Miss BP! She’s gone! Did she leave with him??”
Your eyes grew wide. No.
#boba x reader#boba fett x reader#boba fett x female reader#boba fett x fem!reader#boba fett fluff#boba fett fic#boba fett fanfiction#modern au#au fic#long fic#long reads
3 notes
·
View notes
Text
artistotle pt i: then something broke in me
prompt: “to appreciate the beauty of a snowflake, it is necessary to stand out in the cold” - aristotle
pairing: yelena & natasha (dead), yelena & kate (very minor)
words: 744
rating: g for get the tissues (i’m very sorry)
notes: unbeta’d. canon compliant. this will be a two parter, but this actually hit too close to home and i need a break. also blame florence welch!
"to appreciate the beauty of a snowflake, it is necessary to stand out in the cold."
yelena blinks expectantly at kate, her mind processing whatever the hell kate's just said. they're laying down on the floor of her apartment, drunk off of the most expensive vodka yelena has ever had the pleasure of drinking. it's dangerous really because she's used to the kind that tastes like rubbing alcohol and makes your eyes water. kate has essentially given her water making it easy to keep drinking. however, they're celebrating the simple fact that kate is about to start her very last semester of college and yelena has no commitments tomorrow (not that it would matter, she can do her job hungover, thank you very much). yelena clutches the bottle to her chest and when she repeats in her head kate's exact words, she smiles, and then she laughs because only kate bishop could say something so profoundly stupid and wondrously beautiful at the same time.
and then it hits her like a semi barreling down a highway and slipping on ice. hypothetical breaks don't stand a chance.
it's been a little over a year and her sister's death still stings in her chest. it makes her throat twist in a way that makes it difficult to breathe, like she can't take a deep breath without doubling over in a coughing fit. she tries not to think about it at all, really. it's easier to pretend it doesn't hurt, easy to never dwell on the memories of her sister because then those memories can't cause her any more pain. avoidance is easy when you're always working or spending time with people who never knew your sister as more than an avenger. she realizes then that she hardly even talks about natasha now and the guilt wraps her up so tightly she feels panicked. she tries to think about natasha, think about the memories of their time together and how they feel so distant now. she feels impossibly weak as the sadness overcomes her in waves and she desperately tries to swim out of it.
she can't think straight and it's beginning to consume her with a sadness and anger she thought she left behind on that ice rink with clint barton. she's supposed to be happy now, right? why doesn't she get to feel okay or when does she get to feel okay again? after all of that suffering, here kate bishop is telling her that she's supposed to see something good or happy or beautiful. something. and yet, she's left with nothing but this overwhelming sadness when she's supposed to be happy for her friend.
but she's never been a happy drunk; not even around kate bishop who is, arguably, the goofiest drunk person there is. the pain of her life lingers in her chest and maybe it always will, she thinks. maybe that's an inevitable thing she'll always have to wrestle with. she had thought maybe her sister would've helped her navigate through it; they could take on new york and all of the trauma from their childhood and fix themselves as easily as stitching their physical wounds had been. and, okay, maybe it was naive to think that, emotional scars are never as easy to deal with, but at least she would have had someone who had also been ripped from that home in ohio and brutally trained into some killer against their own will. other widows were not her sisters, just girls who had been traumatized the same way as her. there is a certain — not special — kind of bond with them, but it's still not the same. it hurts to think that none of them should have had to go through all that pain and suffering to try and see the world in a more beautiful light.
she certainly doesn't see the world in a better light for it.
she can't.
won't.
she sits up to drink straight from the bottle just as they have been all night. in her peripheral vision, she can see kate sitting up as well.
"sorry." kate says quietly and yelena wishes she hadn't said anything at all. acknowledging the fact that she's not okay right now feels like a winter soldier punch to the gut and it pisses her off.
yelena thinks pain and suffering are inevitable and she's not sure that's ever going to change no matter assuringly kate tries to smile at her.
5 notes
·
View notes
Text
Chapter Six: The Eden Club
Summary: Living in Detroit, the capital of androids, constantly reminds Natalie Tyler of the accident that changed her life for the worst. Her world is overturned after deciding to adventure out of her apartment and back into the cruel world. When androids start to peacefully protest for their rights, she is asked to work with a RK800 prototype android that goes by the name Connor.
Word Count: 5359
Blog Masterlist | Series Masterlist | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter
---
DATE
NOV 6TH, 2038
TIME
PM 08:17:04
NATALIE GRUNTED SLIGHTLY AS THE CAR CAME to an abrupt stop. She nearly fell off the backseat and onto the floor at the sudden movement but was able to save herself before she face planted. She sat up quickly to find that they had finally arrived at the android gentlemen’s club. The neon signs and police lights illuminated the dark surroundings as raindrops fell from the cloudy sky.
“Aw… Feels like somebody’s playing with a drill inside my skull…” Hank moaned as he rested his hands on his temples to hopefully deter the headache that he was going to have to suffer from. “You sure this is the place?” He asked his two partners as he glanced at the neon pink illuminated building.
Connor nodded his head, “it’s the address in the report.”
“Right…” Hank sighed as he tried to collect himself, “okay… Let’s get going.” He started to exit the car but accidentally hit his head on the roof as he tried to get out. “Jesus…” he weakly called out as Natalie snorted in amusement which earned her a glare from the hungover man.
The detective, android and engineer all hopped out of the car. Natalie was certain that if she were completely human, she would have felt the cold rain drops pelting her skin and chilling her to the bone. Then she would have clung to her sweatshirt more in order to stay warm. However, there wasn’t much flesh and blood left apart of her body to cause her to become cold. Natalie closed the door to the car as she came to stand in front of the Eden Club and eyed the building in distaste. She never once thought in her life that she would ever end up in a place like this. Sure, she knew what it is and its purpose and even had a few friends try to force her to places like this, but she honestly didn’t like them.
The trio walked through the entrance of the club, “Sexiest androids in town…” Hank commented as he read the screens that lined the entrance hall. “Now I know why you insisted on coming here!” He jested towards the only android apart of the group.
“Yes, because the dead body had nothing to do with why were here!” Natalie sarcastically commented as she followed after the older man. She felt completely uncomfortable as soon as a few androids were in sight. She grew even more uncomfortable, if it was possible, once she set eyes on the few androids who were dancing on poles. Yes, she knew that they were androids and that they were programmed to act this way. However, they looked far too much like a human for her to not think that it was inappropriate for her to look at them. Plus, now she was technically part android as well… if anything they were more her people than a human was.
She thought it was so weird to see all of these androids held in tubes ready to be bought… and used. Especially now that they knew some of them were starting to gain consciousness and their own thoughts. She most certainly wouldn’t want to be an android that gained deviency while being stuck in a place like this. Not at all. She couldn’t even imagine what it would be like for one to go through that.
“You're not gonna take my license, are you?” The owner of the club moaned as he spoke with Ben. Hank walked over to them to hear with the man had to say while Connor observed their surroundings and Natalie stood rigidly and obviously uncomfortably besides him. “I mean, ha, I had nothing to do with this!”
The older detective sighed, “The investigation's ongoing, sir, I can't tell you anything for the moment.” He finally turned to the newcomers. He nodded his head at Natalie politely, “Ms. Tyler,” she returned the gesture. “Hey, Hank!”
“Hey, Ben.” Hank greeted, “how's it goin'?”
Ben pointed to one of the private rooms, “it's that room there.” He then sighed and grimaced slightly, “oh, uh, by the way... Gavin's in there too.”
“Oh, great!” Hank huffed, “a dead body and an asshole, just what I needed…”
Natalie rolled her eyes. She most certainly remembered Detective Reed and was just as upset about having to see him again like Hank. It was obviously expected. Last time she ever spoke to the douchebag, and the first time, he tried to punch Connor and ultimately insulted her for being a ‘android sympathiser’. It’s quite understandable why Natalie was irritated about having to see the man again.
Hank shook his head as he moved to stand near the door. Natalie walked over with him and looked over her shoulder at the only android in their trio. “Connor,” She called over to him which halted his observing of an android. If she didn’t know any better, it almost looked like he had become flustered at being caught. Though she brushed it off. “Come on.”
The door to the private room slide open and the trio walked through. They finally got a glimpse at the crime scene. A man laid on the bed in the middle of the room covered by a blanket while a female android laid on a heap in the corner. Two other people stood in the room as well. One was an african-american officer while the other… was Detective Gavin Reed. Oh joy, Natalie thought sarcastically.
Once the doors opened, said douchebag turned to see who entered. A large smirk was plastered on his face once he saw who it was. “Lieutenant Anderson, his plastic pet and the pet’s girlfriend…” Natalie glowered at him but kept her mouth shut. “The fuck are you three doin’ here?”
Connor started to explain their appearance, “we’ve been assigned all cases involving androids.”
“Oh, yeah?” Gavin asked sarcastically. “Well, you’re wasting your time. Just some pervert who, uh, got more action than he could handle.” He started to laugh at what he thought was a funny joke. Yet no one else joined him in laughing. Natalie just stared at him lamely with her arms still crossed over her chest.
“If that was the case, I’m pretty sure we wouldn’t be here.” Natalie stated lamely while staring at Gavin with an expression void of any emotion. Gavin glared at her with narrowed eyes that were so obviously filled with malice.
“We’ll have a look anyway, if you don’t mind.” Hank dismissed.
Gavin just scoffed, “come on, let’s go…” he said to his partner as he started to make his way out of the room. “Its, uh, starting to stink of booze in here…” He said while walking past Hank.
Natalie shook her head at his words. “Just get out, Detective.”
Gavin once again glared at her and scoffed, “you heard the lady.” His words were obviously mocking as he walked past her as well with an undertone of bitterness in his voice. As he turned he bumped shoulders with Connor.
Natalie rolled her eyes, “he’s really mature, isn’t he.”
The other officer stood in front of Hank, “night Lieutenant, Miss.” He bid the two farewell before exiting the room as well.
They then started their investigating. Hank moved over to the body in order to take a look at it, Connor went straight over to the android and Natalie walked over to the shelves that were decorated in alcohol. As Natalie looked at the deceased's belongings and Hank looked at the body, Connor examined the android. He first started with a diagnosis on the female android and found that the SELECTOR #5402 and BIOCOMPONENT #6970 were both critically damaged. Once he found that out he moved to analyze the blue blood that had trickled out of the androids nose.
“Whoa! Hey! Hey! Hey!” Hank called as he noticed Connor place his finger that was covered in the blood into his mouth. “Argh, Connor, you’re so disgusting… Think I’m gonna puke again…” He looked over at Natalie who now rested against one of the walls with her arms crossed, almost in an insecure manner. “You gotta teach him not to do that.”
Natalie’s eyebrows furrowed, “what? No I don’t. It’s his job to analyze anything and everything he deems necessary, yeah it seems weird for him to… taste the blood but technically he doesn’t have taste buds like us so…” She trailed off with a shrug of her shoulders in hopes that Hank got what she was trying to say.
The lieutenant just shook his head, “it’s still disgusting.”
Natalie shook her head while picking up a few of the man’s belongings and looked through them, “Driver's license says: Michael Graham…” She started while pulling out a few cards. “A credit card, cash in the wallet... Picture of his wife and two daughters... I wouldn't want to make that call…”
As Natalie and Hank conversed, Connor was able to find that the blue blood belonged to a MODEL WR400 with the serial number #429 671 942. The android stood up and moved over to the corpse in order to examine it just like he did the damaged android. First, he identified the man:
‘DECEASED
GRAHAM, MICHAEL
Height: 6’ 2” - Weight: 192.4 lbs
Estimated time of death: 06:24 pm’
He then examined the man’s heart:
‘CARDIAC ARREST
No sign of cardiac event
Heart attack not cause of death’
Lastly, Connor moved to analyze the man’s neck:
‘SEVERE BRUISING
Signs of strangulation
Cause of death: asphyxiation’
With the information that Connor got from the body, he was able to construct a simulation to depict what actually happened to the man. It appeared that the man was most certainly strangled by the android. He turned to his partners, “he didn’t die of a heart attack, he was strangled.”
Hank nodded his head, “Yeah, I saw the bruising on the neck. Doesn't prove anything though. Could've been rough play…”
Natalie shook her head, “rough enough to kill him.”
“We're missing something here…” Connor said.
Hank paused for a moment before a thought struck him. “Think you can read the android's memory? Maybe you can see what happened…”
“Good idea, Hank.” Natalie smiled
Connor kneeled down beside the deactivated android and picked up her hand while his artificial skin retracted to reveal his exoskeleton. The connection didn’t work, however. It seemed that the android was too badly damaged. “The only way to access its memory is to reactivate it.”
“Think you can do it?” Hank asked as he stood behind Connor and next to Natalie.
Said woman squared her shoulders and smiled widely, “I certainly can!” She jumped at the opportunity to finally do something than stand around and observe. She knelt down besides Connor and leaned over the android. “She’s badly damaged…” She placed her hand over the android’s stomach which exposed the androids white exoskeleton. Natalie continued her explanation, “when I reactivate her, it’ll only be for a minute, maybe less…” She set to work with opening up the exoskeleton and started to fiddle with some wires. “Let’s hope it’s long enough to learn something.” Finally, Natalie pulled out a large blue wire and glanced at Connor and nodded her head in a sign that said ‘get ready’. Connor returned the gesture before Natalie reconnected the wire.
As soon as she did, the android gasped awake and frantically started to scramble away from the two who hovered over her. Her breath was heavy and laboured as it was obvious she was terrified. “Hey, hey. It’s okay, it’s alright.” Natalie started out softly as she approached the android slowly. She was afraid that if she made any sudden movements to startle her, the android would try to run off which wouldn’t help them at all. They only had at least a minute before she died… for good. They need to get answers. The android stared at Natalie for a moment and noticed the softness in her words and the reassurance that shined in her eyes. She still kept herself quite far away though, obviously still scared out of her mind. “Can you tell us what happened to you?”
The Traci android looked around the room quickly before her eyes landed on the corpse on the bed. “Is he… is he dead?..”
“Tell us what happened.” Natalie said again though this time her words were a tad bit more rushed.
The Traci looked over to her and gulped, “he started… hitting me… again… and again.” Her words were slightly broken as the emotion seeped into her voice. If they weren’t on such a time crunch, Natalie would have tried to soothe the android further. However, because they only had seconds, so she couldn’t so that.
“Did you kill him?” Connor imputed from behind Natalie.
The Traci shook her head, “no… no, it wasn't me…”
“Was there anyone else in the room? Maybe another android?” Natalie asked as she started to create her own hypothesis.
The android nodded her head ‘yes’, “He wanted to play with two girls... That's what he said, there were two of us…”
“What model was the other android? Did it look like you?” Natalie didn’t get an answer for her question for the android had shutdown once again. The blank stare of the Traci android bore into Natalie’s own wide, hazel eyes. She closed her eyes and sighed heavily through her nose, “she’s gone.”
She and Connor stood up and turned to Hank, “So, there was another android... This happened over an hour ago, it's probably long gone…”
Connor shook his head, “no... It couldn't go outside dressed like that unnoticed…” He pointed to the android who was dressed in just a bra and underwear. There was obviously no way someone would just over look anyone, android or human, dressed like that. “It might still be here.”
“Think you could find a deviant among all the other androids in this place?”
“Deviants aren't easily detected.”
“Ah, shit... There's gotta be some other way…”
Natalie perked up as a thought popped into her head, “eyewitness? If she walked out of the room someone must have seen her.”
Hank nodded his head appreciatively towards her, “I'm gonna go ask the manager a few questions about what he saw. You let me know if you two think of anything.”
The trio exited the private room and went to perform their own tasks. Hank moved over to the manager and started to question him while Connor and Natalie looked around for anything useful.
“Did you know the victim?” Hank asked the manager.
“No,” the man shook his head with a shaky voice, “I mean he came in maybe two or three times… I mean these guys they don't really talk very much, you know… They come in, do their business and then go on their way…”
“You ever had any trouble with androids before?”
“No way!” He paused as Hank raised an eyebrow. “Well... Once... We lost a model 2-3 months back, bah... same model... Just vanished, we never found out what happened.”
“You probably don't have any CCTV in here, huh?”
“No way... I mean... This is what people appreciate about Eden Club...discretion. They can come and go without a trace.”
“Sure, sure…” Hank nodded his head in understanding yet slight distaste, “eh, business is booming, right?”
The manager smirked and chuckled slightly, “yeah, can't complain... Good thing about androids is they're up for whatever you want, you won't get any diseases and, uh...they won't tell anyone... So, why not go wild?”
“Huh, yeah…” Hank said, “yeah, the more I learn about people, more I love my dog.”
As Hank spoke with the manager, Connor approached one of the androids who stood in a tube across the hall from the crime scene. He stared at her for a moment before coming to a conclusion that most likely would help their investigation. He moved over to the side to the panel and placed his hand on it in order to purchase it. However, he was unable to do it considering he didn’t have any fingerprints. “No fingerprint detected. Please try again.” The automated voice said.
Natalie walked over to Connor with a smirk, “gotten bored, Connor?” She started to tease, “you decided to enjoy your time here with the ‘sexiest androids in town’.”
Connor shook his head, “I have an idea, Natalie. Do you mind renting out this android.”
The woman’s eyes were blown wide as she had to stop herself from coughing out in surprise. “Whoa, Connor! I know I’m supposed to be looking after you, but I don’t think that includes-”
Connor cut her off quickly as his circuits started to heat up. “No, no. That’s not what I meant. I can probe the androids memory and see if it saw anything. Like the android leaving the room after it killed our victim.”
“Oh,” Natalie said nervously, “yeah, that makes more sense.” She then shook her head once she was able to get over her shock. “I would like to help, but I don’t have fingerprints anymore, remember.” She took a quick glance around their surroundings to make sure that no one was watching them before raising her hands as the artificial skin retracted to show two white hands that matched Connor’s when he did the same. “If you want to rent an android, we’re gonna need Hank do to it.”
Connor nodded his head as he marched over to the lieutenant. “Excuse me, Lieutenant. Can you come here a second?”
Hank turned away from the manager, “found something?”
“Maybe,” Connor lead Hank back over to the android where Natalie stood with her hands on her hips. “Can you rent this Traci?”
The Lieutenant blanched, shocked, “For fuck's sake, Connor, we got better things to do…” he made a move to walk away before Connor continued on.
“Please, Lieutenant! Just trust me.”
Hank grunted and walked over to the panel and started to rent the android. “Hello. A 30 minute session costs $29.99. Please confirm your purchase.” The automated voice said as Hank looked over to Connor and Natalie. He glared slightly at Natalie who raised her hands in surrender. Though it looked like she really wanted to laugh out loud.
“This is not gonna look good on my expense account…”
He continued on with his purchase anyway, “purchase confirmed. Eden Club wishes you a pleasant experience.”
“Yeah, you're welcome,” Hank muttered as the Traci android stepped out of her confinements.
“Delighted to meet you.” Her seductive, silky voice said as she started to walk towards a private room to lead her client to. “Follow me, I'll take you to your room.”
Hank only glanced at her blankly before turning back to his partners, “okay, now what?” He and Natalie watched as Connor stood in front of the android and grabbed her arm with his now exposed exoskeleton. “Holy shit, Connor... What the hell are you doin'?”
He didn’t get an answer when Connor started before only a second later he let go of the android. “It saw something.”
Hank’s eyebrows furrowed as he had no idea what Connor was really doing. “What are you talkin' about? Saw, what?”
Natalie piped up, “the deviant leave the room…”
Connor nodded his head, “a blue-haired Traci.” Then a thought dawned on him, “club policy is to wipe the androids' memory every two hours. We only have a few minutes if we wanna find another witness!”
As Connor walked away to start looking for another witness, Hank pointed at the Traci who still looked at him lustfully waiting for him. “Hey, what am I supposed to do with this one?”
“Tell it you changed your mind!” Natalie suggested as she swiftly followed Connor.
Hank considered the idea and turned to that android. “Uhh... Sorry, honey, changed my mind! Nothing personal, you're... a lovely girl... I just, uh... You know... I'm with them and... I mean, not with them like that... I'm not that... That's not what I... You, um... Wow... I just…” Hank sighed in defeat before following after his two partners.
That pushed them all into searching mode. Connor asked Hank to rent multiple androids in order for him to probe their memories. He followed a trail of the Traci android walking towards the entrance before turning back around into the club. The Traci then entered The Red Room then into the blue room before hiding in a room. They bolted into what they thought would be the deviant’s hiding spot only to find that it wasn’t there. They exited it and were slowly losing hope in finding it.
As Connor and Hank walked over to a few other androids to probe their memory, Natalie took notice of a janitorial android cleaning a few feet away. She glanced around herself to find that Connor and Hank were already preoccupied with another Traci android. She took a deep breath and approached the android quickly. The skin on her hand once again melted away as she grabbed the androids shoulder.
For her, it felt quite weird to be watching an event from someone else's perspective. This was obviously something that she never thought she would experience in her life. Though it proved to be quite useful for what she was looking for. She watched from the androids perspective as the blue-haired Traci sauntered past the janitorial android and into a room labeled with red text: ‘PRIVATE STAFF ONLY’.
Natalie gasped once she allowed herself to be dragged back out of the android's memory and into reality. It took her a moment to try and collect herself as Connor and Hank approached her. “We couldn’t find anything useful.” Hank commented as he didn’t notice her flustered appearance at first.
“The trail seems to end here,” Connor explained, puzzled.
Natalie shook her head, “no, no. It doesn't end here.” The other two finally noticed her shocked and nervous behavior. They watched they way she played with her fingers and shifted from one foot to the other.
“You alright, girly?” Hank asked her with skeptical eyes.
She nodded her head and gulped slightly, “yeah, I’m fine. But I think I know where the Traci went.” The two of them had their eyebrows furrowed as Natalie led them to the staff door.
“Fucking-A. This is crazy…” Hank sighed out as the door opened and Connor and Natalie started to walk down the white hallway. He followed after them and eyed the back of the brunette’s head. He wasn’t sure how she knew it, and he felt like he should. If they were to work together on an investigation concerning deviants, they shouldn't hide things from each other. There is always the possibility of their secrets hurting each other if they didn’t disclose it with anyone else.
He brushed it off though when they made it to another door, “wait! I'll take it from here.” The two others nodded their heads and allowed him to step in front of them with his gun raised. He pushed the door open roughly and surveyed the warehouse to find nothing. “Shit…” He breathed out in defeat, “we're too late…”
“She could still be here, Lieutenant.” Natalie commented as she started to walk around the room in search of any clues. They looked around the room that had multiple androids either waiting for repairs, to be trashed or to be put back to work.
“Christ, look at them… They get used till they break, then they get tossed out…”
Natalie nodded her head as she approached the back brick wall of the building. On the wall, written crudely and quickly was the familiar letters, ‘RA9’. Why were there so many references to RA9 in places where deviants are found? Also, why was there some sort of tingling feeling in the back of her mind every time she saw the words.? What the hell was really going on!
“People are fucking insane…” Hank started to complain as he lazily paced the room, “they don't want relationships anymore, everybody just gets an android… They cook what you want, they screw when you want, you don't have to worry about how they feel…” He sighed before finally resting against one of the beams with his arms crossed. “Next thing you know, we're gonna be extinct, because everybody would rather buy a piece of plastic than love another human being… Beats me…”
As Hank ranted loudly, Connor examined a bit of blue blood that was on the ground. He followed the small trail to the back of the warehouse where a group of androids stood silent and still. He examined them closely and noticed… that one of the androids LED had changed from a pale blue to yellow. It was the blue-haired Traci, there was no doubt about it. Before Connor could truly do anything to get to the deviant, another android jumped out of the line and attacked him.
She pushed him up against one of the metal beams and held him there. Hank ran over, “DON'T MOVE!” He pulled out his gun and raised it to the deviant only to have the blue-hair Traci jump on top of him and begin wrestling with him like the other was with Connor.
Natalie rushed over to Hank to help him out. Connor is an android. He should be able to hold his own against the other android though there was no guarantee that Hank could do the same. So she thought it was more important to help the human.
As Connor tussled with the other female android and stopped her from stabbing him with a screwdriver, Natalie pulled the Blue-haired Traci off of Hank. Traci then rounded on her and threw kicks and punches at Natalie who was easily able to block them and retaliate with her own.
The Traci did however get the better of her slightly when she pushed Natalie onto the table in the middle of the room. Natalie pushed the Traci away and tried to get back up only to find a screwdriver lodged in her shoulder. The blue-haired Traci starred in slight shock and fear after she stabbed the woman but decided to forget about it and get back to the other Traci.
Hank ran over to Natalie who grunted slightly, “jesus christ…” He trailed off when he was able to see that she was wounded.
She brushed him off, “go after them!” Her injury wasn’t severe and didn’t not hit any major biocomponents or any of the remaining human parts that she had. She’d most likely only have to repair her exoskeleton when she got back home at the most, maybe even get some blue blood to replace the amount that she was going to lose.
Hank watched in astonishment as Natalie jumped back up to her feet and pulled the screwdriver out of her shoulder without even flinching. He was going to protest about her getting up and to put pressure on her wound when he saw the blue tint on the screwdriver and her clothes. There should be red there, not blue…
Hank put the revelation to the side for just a moment and rushed out of the warehouse. Hank ran out and tried to stop the androids by grabbing one of their hands as soon as he was close enough. Though the two androids merely pushed him quite hard into the wall where he lost his grip on his gun. “QUICK! THEY'RE GETTING AWAY!”
Connor sprinted after them as they tried to climb over the chain-linked fence. He successfully pulled the blue-haired Traci down and pushed her to the ground. The other Traci pulled him away which allowed the other to get free. They fought a tad bit more which included the red-haired Traci grabbing a metal pole and trying to use it as a bat. Though Connor was able to hold his own against the two of them quite well.
Natalie eventually came out and threw the blue-haired Traci off of Connor as she pinned him to the wall. She punched and pushed her a few times which caused the Traci to stare at her surprised. She thought for certain that the woman was a human! Though now that she noticed the blue blood seeping through her shirt and on her hands after Natalie pulled the screwdriver from her shoulder, Traci felt somewhat remorseful for hurting her. She pushed that aside when she then remembered that she and the male android were trying to stop her and the other Traci from getting away.
The red-haired Traci pushed Connor away and caused him to topple into Natalie and the blue-haired Traci onto the ground. The red-haired Traci returned to them all with a trashcan and hit them with it which allowed the blue-haired Traci to get away from them.
Connor scrabbled to try and get up when he noticed Hank’s gun laying on the ground. He grabbed it and raised it to shoot at the red-haired Traci… but something stopped him. He didn’t know what did… there was obviously a strong pull in his software telling him to pull the trigger… but… something even stronger didn’t let that programming get through.
Just as Connor came to the conclusion that he would spare the android, she kicked him in the chest and sent him to the ground. Natalie ran over to his side and pulled him back up. She placed a hand on his forearm as the blue-haired Traci came to stand in front of them.
“When that man broke the other Traci… I knew I was next…” She started. “I was so scared… I begged him to stop, but he wouldn't… And so I put my hands around his throat, and I squeezed… until he stopped moving… I didn't mean to kill him… I just wanted to stay alive...get back to the one I love.” The red-haired Traci then came up behind her and laced their hands together. Natalie’s heart ached at the display. “I wanted her to hold me in her arms again... make me forget about the humans…” Just as she said that, Hank walked over to them and listened to her speak. “Their smell of sweat and their dirty words…”
“Come on,” her lover said, “let's go.”
The trio then watched as the lovers climbed over the fence and ran off into the night. Connor glanced over at Hank who stared back at him in slight confusion yet appreciation. “It's probably better this way…” Hank commented while looking at Connor before glancing at Natalie quickly and turning around to go back into the warehouse.
Natalie sighed deeply through her nose and shook her head. She had a feeling that Hank noticed her injury and most likely felt uneasy about the situation. She kept the fact that she was a cyborg, part android, from a man who obviously held a strong dislike for androids. There was no doubt in her mind that Hank most likely hated her with a passion now.
“You’re hurt, Natalie.” Connor commented as he gently turned her to face him so he could get a closer look at her shoulder.
She chuckled dryly, “I seem to do that a lot, huh? Get hurt.”
Connor’s hand became stark white as he reached for her shoulder. She didn’t flinch at his touch because she obviously couldn’t feel her body like she could before. “I don’t think that any biocomponents would have been damaged…”
Natalie shook her head, “no, no biocomponents are damaged. I-I am losin’ a little bit of blue blood, but that’s an easy fix.”
Concern manifested in Connor’s mind as he nodded his head slowly, “okay.” Concern… an emotion that androids aren’t meant to feel… The two of them made their way back into the building to search for Hank so they could leave. Natalie wasn’t looking forward to the awkward and stiff car ride. If she tried, she could probably get Ethan to pick her up or even walk back home on her own. Though she had a feeling that she should face Hank instead of running away.
#dbh#dbh fanfic#fanfiction#fanfic#detroid become human#detroit become human#detroit become human fanfiction#detroit become human fanfic#connor#connor x oc#OC#ocs#multiple ocs#female!oc#female oc#male!oc#male oc#the rebellion report
2 notes
·
View notes
Text
A manic-depressive guide to going on a run
Step one: wait until you’re manic.
I’m totally kidding. You’ve got to save that shit for your capitalist gig. It takes a certain kind of energy to send an email with an appropriate amount of exclamation points. (None makes you read overly-serious, more than two makes you look like an idiot. I don’t make the rules.)
Where was I? Oh yeah, running while depressed, the dynamic duo of never-gunna-happen. Oil and water, a dentist appointment after a music festival, anal sex and Indian food.
They should just exist separately.
After all, running of any kind is about effort. Even the relaxed gentle kind of run, the kind you can breathe during. It’s about warming up your body and pushing forward. Mentally and physically.
Depression is about staying put. Stuck flat on your back in a desolate emotional tundra and not caring if birds of prey peck your eyes out. One of my favorite tweets ever described it thus: “I want a Paranormal Activity movie with all depressed people. That way when furniture moves in the middle of the night, they just roll over and go “whatever”.”
I love that attitude, I’ve had that attitude. You can take my soul, satan, if you can even get anything from someone so dead inside. Just leave me the bed and the pillow I use to separate my knees.
Some say you need a good reason to run. Maybe that’s why you googled “running and depression” to begin with. But reasons only work when you’re already inspired. The have a markedly less persuasive effect when grief sits on your chest or anxiety sends sharp little pangs to your lower stomach.
Here’s how some decent rationale have gone over with bed-ridden me in the past.
You’ll feel better.
No I won’t. I’ll feel this way forever. Moods don’t exist and cycles don’t apply to me. I know I’ve said that before, but this time I’m sure.
You know you’ll feel better
I don’t want to feel better. I deserve this.
(Yup, a real response, I even used to withhold my medication from myself when I was hungover as ‘punishment’”)
Do it for Mom
Ugh, now I just feel lazy and guilty
Do it for Dad
The man who gave me these short shins? He’s done enough.
Do it to look good naked
For the sex drive I don’t have?
Run because…feminism?
Go fuck yourself.
Run because it’s good for you
I’m tired. Couldn’t I just go in to a coma, instead?
Run because you can
I can’t.
You can.
Fine. Then I won’t.
It goes on and on. Reason doesn’t work when you’re in a state that supersedes logic. Here’s the thing, the voice in your head isn’t the enemy. It’s trying to protect you in its own way. Shutting you down until you can turn on again, like a buffering web page or an iPhone you left in the sun too long.
It’s not about the benefits of running. You already know on some level you can do it. You already know it will improve your life and that you actually will feel better once you start.
It’s just so fucking impossible to start.
The end!
Kidding again. See how much fun we’re having?
So here’s my brutally honest experience with running when you’re burnt out and down. To keeping it up even when you almost shit yourself. (If you’re a runner this has never happened to, I do not believe you. Even if you’re telling the truth, I need to believe it’s universal, okay?).
So before I get in to everything else, inspiring or just morbidly funny, here’s the most horrible truth of all: it’s totally worth it and you’re absolutely capable. No-shut up. Seriously- shut up. Running is depression’s kryptonite, its natural predator. It isn’t about speed or distance or your shoes or the app or the size of your ass or the instagram of the 5 K. It isn’t about your ex or your future ex or your insurance premium. I know how easy it is not to care about that shit. Why that kind of thing has never been enough to get in the habit of running in the past.
For me, running is about getting out of bed. It’s about changing clothes and listening to music and going outside. It’s about keeping a simple promise to myself, “today, if you do nothing else, you will run for a little bit”. Then you can go back to happily rotting, I promise. It’s not about anything else other than getting a little sunlight and telling yourself that at least you fucking tried. That it’s a literal positive step.
The best source of energy is purpose. Purpose is what keeps you going when fatigue trumps reason. But that’s something I learned later.
For right now, it’s all just baby steps. Getting up, changing your clothing, and going outside. You don’t even have to wash your hair. All joggers are filthy anyways (another lesson for another day).
You already feel like shit. Doesn’t matter how you’re currently coping. Might as well feel like shit and get a little cardio. But that’s all I’m ever coaching because the rest is just my experiences. The things I’ve learned. Running doesn’t cure anything, but it's helping me become the person who can heal myself a little easier.
It’s a tool that’s there for you, if you want it.
0 notes
Text
AFC Richmond as boyfriends
Here’s a lil headcanon collection of our favorite himbos as boyfriends.
I did it again for the staff (: AFC Richmond Staff as partners
A/N: Definitely didn’t put everyone but these were my top ones and it’s 2 AM so imma leave it here.
Sam Obisanya
The absolute sweetest man you have ever met
Such a softie, very concerned about making sure you’re happy and comfortable with whatever choices you make together.
He always picks the most random times to surprise you with things; showing up at your work randomly for lunch or with coffee/tea, random little souvenirs from his away games.
He’s always putting himself second and sometimes you have to remind him “hey, babe, you can do things for yourself, you deserve nice things too.”
Just, compliments galore with him. He’ll always find a way to compliment you on something.
The most cuddly person ever, he loves public affection (hand holding, piggy backing, hugging, kissing if it’s not raunchy, etc), he really just likes showing you off because he feels like the luckiest man in the world to have you.
He takes his time with your relationship, letting it bloom and grow at it’s own pace.
There aren’t many fights between you, hardly ever, the last “fight” you had was because you couldn’t unanimously decide which dog to rescue. The solution? You adopted both, now you share a one-eyed Jack Russell Terrier named Starro and a three legged German Shepherd puppy named Harry (Pawter. He was so proud at his pun when he showed you the then 3-month old puppy.)
Again, just the sweetest, more romantic man you’ve ever met and ever will meet.
thesexisgoodtoo. hesaverygentleandgivinglover
Isaac McAdoo
Man’s stubborn.
I mean it, he is as stubborn as a mule.
I’M DEAD SERIOUS, he once pouted for 5 days when you accidentally ate the last Rolo in the flat.
But he’s also romantic in a sort of rugged way?
He won’t go shopping with you but he knows what colors look best on you, he knows what styles look good on you, and he has your sizes and shades memorized.
Bear.
Mr. sometimes-crank-teddy-bear over here.
He’ll say he doesn’t want something but he will eat half of your food if given the chance. If you step away from your food to get a drink or something, there will be a good part mission when you get back.
Its a tradition to go on a date the morning of a game, and snuggle up with a movie after the game.
You have had more than a few drunk texts from him, all of them equally funny and full of sexual innuendos.
You don’t address his Rolo addiction. It could be something much worse anyway.
Richard Montlaur
So many visits to the goat farm he was raised on!
He really has to drag you back to London after visiting his parents because you don’t want to leave all the precious goats (and you and his parents get along famously).
You spend alternating holidays with each others families (except for Bastille day, you always spend that either together or with his family.)
There are always roses in your shared flat.
It’s a constant battle over his facial hair.
He has a grudge against the way the English make French pastries.
He has a habit of falling asleep on the couch or in uncomfortable positions and then wondering why his back or neck hurts.
Little spoon.
He’s teaching you French.
This man is a smooth operator, master at flirtation and romance. He’s good at planning romantic dates and outtings.
Dani Rojas
You 100% believe his mom when she says he was born caffeinated.
One of your first dates was a Mumford and Sons concert which was an interesting experience.
Soft boi hours with him. He’s a lil puppy dog.
Does this man ever sleep? Rarely.
He rises with the son and wants to get the day started immediately but he’s mostly letting you sleep in now.
He LOVES trying new things, exploring new places, generally having new experiences.
His absolute favorite thing to do when he’s not training is playing football (or any game, really) with the kids in your neighborhood. They all love him.
He’s a sweet boyfriend, not as sweet as Sam but he’s a close second.
You alternate who plans date night. You split the chores 50/50 but divvy it up if one of you is sick or has more work to do.
There’s so much alcohol in your flat its unreal.
You usually go to sleep before him but he has a bad habit of throwing himself into bed and partially waking you.
He makes the best breakfast most mornings.
And don’t forget the trips back home to visit his family in Guadalajara.
After a long day of training, he loves just laying down with his head on your lap while you run your fingers through his hair.
Jamie Tartt (Season 1)
FUCK NO
Jamie Tartt (Season 2)
On your first date you got drunk and bonded over shitty fathers.
Not that either of you really remembered the next day, you were both too hungover to immediately recall the night.
His love language is kind words.
At the start he needed a lot of reassuring that you did care about him for who he was, warts and all.
He’s slightly awkward when it comes to romantic gestures so most of the date planning falls on you don’t mind.
He still has some high maintenance behavior but he’s working on it and you’re proud of how far he’s come from the prick he used to be.
Your fights are usually over petty shit like where to eat for dinner or what movie to go see.
He will not hesitate to buy your feminine products for you. He knows your preferred brands and sizes and what treats you like when its that time.
He’s good at those rigged carnival games, the many little stuffed animals in your closet can attest to that.
He talks in his sleep. It’s all nonsense.
He has a soft spot for the neighbor’s cat (and cats in general).
Roy Kent
Rugged.
He’s great to snuggle up to.
The man is honest to boot. He doesn’t sugar coat anything at all.
10/10 times he will go down on you if asked. He’s a giver.
He is the heaviest sleeper in the world. You don’t know why he bothers setting alarms.
Phoebe has a room at your flat and spends so much time with you both.
Many nights have been spent reading different books on the couch together.
He has to clean the drains since 75% of it is his.
Fuck is a very versatile word in your home, used daily.
Not the most romantic man alive but he has his moments.
Date nights are usually relaxed and proper but sometimes you can make the old man have a little fun.
He growls at least a dozen times a day, it’s his main response.
Jan Maas
My beloved
My sweet, beloved Jan who can’t/won’t use a filter to save his life.
He’s blunt in everything and sometimes it makes you want to slap him.
Jan is still getting used to English ways and mannerisms.
He has good intentions but sometimes needs a little help with wording.
He likes going on Aquarium dates.
The more tired he is, the clingier he is and it’s too cute.
Once after a game he plopped onto the couch next to you and basically tried to curl up in your lap.
He can make amazing pancakes.
Thats it though.
You’ll do most of the cooking if you value living in a flat that’s not on fire.
He’s a sweetheart though.
Mostly good intentions though.
Doesn’t mind nudity and had to quickly be reined in by the team. Not at home though.
At home he can easily be found lounging in boxers and a t-shirt while he sips coffee.
He knows what he’s doing.
Tag Team: @bdffkierenwalker
#Ted Lasso#Jan Maas#Isaac McAdoo#Dani Rojas#Roy Kent#Jamie Tartt#Sam Obisanya#Richard Montlaur#AFC Richmond Himbos#AFC Richmond#AFC Richmond Greyhounds#Emotional Support Himbos#I love them all your honor#Jan Maas my beloved#Sam Obisanya is baby
243 notes
·
View notes
Text
Pink Lemonade
CHAPTER 3
Pairings: Jaemin x Renjun x Haechan x Jeno x Mark x Reader
Genre: Smut, Fluff, Humor (I guess), Slow burn af
Summary: The dreamies decide to spend some weeks at an Inn in the middle of the nature to relax and enjoy some outdoor adventures, far away from their crazy idol life. What they didn’t expect was the nice girl running said Inn.
Word count: 4.1k
A/N: hEy guys, I’m SO sorry for 1. taking so long for this shitty chapter and 2. I will no longer be tagging new people simply because I am so lost and I feel like I will miss half of the people who asked so I don’t want to make anyone feel forgotten or upset
THIS ISN’t PROOF READ I SUCK I KNOW I hate thIS STORY
☼ previous / next ☼
The next morning you woke up before Jeno, you tried to silently sneak out to give him the chance of pretending nothing happened, in case he decided it had all been a drunken mistake and it should be forgotten. Your plan was proven kind of difficult with the whole having to untangle yourself from the man and unzipping the tent open situation, bright sun rays suddenly filling the space. You winced at the light and tried to quickly close the door back up, startled by a groaning sleepy Jeno who confusedly sat up and rubbed his eyes, “What’s going on?”
“Sorry, I was just trying to get out,” You apologized.
“Oh, ok. What time is it?”
“I have no idea, my phone died.”
The man searched for his phone among the covers and sighed when he realized he had run out of battery too. You awkwardly stared at each other, not really knowing if one of you should bring up what had happened or just casually move on.
“I don’t think the others are up yet,” You tried to start a conversation before the tension could swallow you up.
“Probably not. I’m still sleepy though, could go for a morning nap,” He smiled before lying back down, you were thankful he was trying to end the awkwardness too.
“I love morning naps.”
“Come join?” He asked with hopeful eyes and you nodded before practically throwing yourself back into his side, careful to not touch him in case he wasn’t interested and you didn’t want to impose yourself. You turned your back to Jeno and closed your eyes, ready to fall asleep in seconds, but was surprised when you felt the man’s arm silently wrapping around your waist and his chest pressing against your back before lazily whispering a “Good night” against the back of your neck. You smiled contently to yourself, hearing Jeno’s breathing get heavier and slower as sleep took over him, following his steps soon after.
The second time you woke up, was to a screaming Jisung. You and Jeno both jumped awake, startled, before running outside thinking there was a snake or something dangerous like that. The two of you were soon staring at the young boy judgingly, looking between him and the cockroach on the floor.
“Jisung, it’s dead,” Jeno sighed, trying to not get annoyed at the young man.
“It’s still moving!” He whined, still refusing to go down from the camping chair.
“They do that,” You sighed too, giving up on trying to make sense of the situation and approaching the boy with your hand out to help him down. “C’mon, help me to put the things back in the truck so we can go back to the Inn.”
Jisung reluctantly did as you said and Jeno started to wake up the others, everyone folded their tents and picked up the trash in silence, too tired and hungover to play around. If looked from afar, one might have you mistaken for extras on a zombie movie.
As you arrived back at the Inn, everyone crawled into their rooms without muttering a single word. You took advantage of the moment to take a shower since you were still in your bikins and Jaemin’s sweater, feeling completely disgusting after a day (mostly a night) of sweating. You were deep in your nirvana state of mind, enjoying the hot water relaxing your muscles and finally cleaning your hair of all that lake water, when you heard a bang at the door. You jumped in shock and looked over at the door instantly.
“Whoever is there, please let me in, I really need to pee!” Jisung screamed, fist still knocking on the door in urgency.
“You can use the bathroom downstairs!”
“Cockroaches,” He squealed before letting out a loud whine. “Please, I’m going to explode.”
You lightly groaned at the inconvenience before quickly shutting the water down and wrapping your towel around you, opening the door and signaling to Jisung that the bathroom was all his. He banged the door shut and you leaned against the hallway wall, waiting to return to your very good shower that you were missing very much after experiencing the chilly wind outside.
“Is there anything wrong?” Jaemin asked after opening his door, seeming like he had just woken up from a deep slumber.
You tried to act casually, like you weren’t standing around in just a towel, “Everything’s awesome.”
Jaemin had his mouth open to start saying something else when another door opened, an annoyed Haechan appearing behind it, “Who’s yelling and why?”
“Jisung needed to use the bathroom,” You explained, feeling way to exposed and embarrassed to elaborate.
“Can’t a guy ever sleep in peace?” Renjun’s suddenly appeared from his room, whining at his friends and rubbing at his eyes sleepily.
“Ok, can everyone please stay inside their rooms for the next 30 seconds?!” You requested loudly in frustration, kind of laughing internally at the way Jeno was midway through opening his door before muttering a sorry and closing it back in super speed.
“Yeah, sorry,” Renjun apologized before going back to his nap, but you didn’t miss the way he gave you a once-over first.
“Enjoy your shower,” Jaemin smiled at you before copying his friend.
Haechan simply stood there staring at you and you looked at him in expectation and a ting of annoyance. The man smirked at you before winking, “Looking good.”
“Yeah, and very much naked, so if you could like, just go inside for a minute,” You politely requested.
“But that’s very much what I’d like to see,” He playfully flirted with a low voice so no one would hear, slowly approaching you. He gave you no time to react as he looked down at your chest, right hand suddenly pinching your hardened nipple and you gasped in surprise, “Cold?”
He looked up at you with a teasing look and you nodded with furrowed eyebrows, confused as to what he was playing. Haechan whispered a “cute” against your ear before returning to his room with a smirk, right on time for Jisung to open the door, “Thank you so much! I’m sorry for interrupting your shower. I think I had the content of two whole wine bottles in my bladder.”
“It’s ok,” You assured him absently, still bothered by Haechan’s antics. You honestly had thought he was all bark and no bite, you two have been playfully flirting since day one and you had guessed it was just part of your friendship dynamic considering you both always laughed about it.
Well, you could do nothing about it except from seeing where life would take you two.
_____________________________________________
After showering, you prepared some yogurt bowls with fruits and granola for breakfast, figuring you could all have a late lunch. Jaemin came downstairs after an hour and helped you out, stopping you from murdering another poor orange.
“Do you think everyone will be up for an activity today?” You asked, hoping they would opt for a more relaxing afternoon, as you were pretty much tired and hungover yourself.
Jaemin softly laughed, “If the activity is dying on the floor of the living room, yes.”
“Oh, thank god.”
“Slept late?” He raised an eyebrow at you and you almost dropped the knife you were holding.
Does he know?
“I went to bed right after you did, red wine is just not my friend,” You awkwardly laughed, trying to calm your mind down. He couldn’t have heard anything over the loud singing yesterday and Jeno probably didn’t tell him.
Jaemin said nothing to that and you both enjoyed a semi-comfortable silence until he offered, “Want me to teach you how to peel an orange?”
“Theoretically speaking I know how to do it, I just can’t make my hands actually work,” You laughed, but moved closer so he could show you anyways.
“I’ll teach you an easier way then, it’s not ideal but it’s better than losing half of the orange,” He teased and you glared at him. “You just have to cut it in half like this, and then like this. Actually you can cut it as many times as you want to. When they are in slices like this you can just use your fingers to pull the peel away.”
“Oh, I think I can do that,” You exclaimed in excitement, “Thank you.”
“My pleasure. Hey, do you by any chance have more of that pineapple cake?”
“Chenle finished it but I can go to town to buy some more when we’re done with this. You can come along if you want to, they have a lot of options.”
“That sounds great.”
The two of you managed to quickly finish decorating the bowl, even adding some pretty flowers Jaemin went out to pick on top of it. After placing it all in the fridge so it wouldn’t become a mess until the others woke up, you scribbled down a note letting them know you had gone to the city and would be right back before heading outside to the car.
“Can I drive?” Jaemin asked jokingly, knowing your car was very dear to you.
“If you crash it, you’re giving me that watch,” You rolled your eyes, throwing the keys at him, who looked surprised at your compliance but laughed excitedly when catching the keys. His watch was probably worth more than your car anyways.
You hesitantly climbed into the passenger seat and tried to not say anything as Jaemin left the property in reverse, you hated riding shotgun.
He did look kind of hot, though.
“I know how to drive, you know? You don’t have to grip the handles so tight,” The man laughed once you were already on the road.
“I’m just not used to not being the one behind the wheel,” You apologized, forcing yourself to relax your hands on your lap so you wouldn’t offend a man’s driving’s skills. “Turn right on that street. Did you enjoy skiing?”
“I did, yesterday was just a fun day as a whole. You also looked really pretty in my sweater,” He looked at you softly and It took a lot of control for you to not melt into the seat.
“I’m giving it back as soon as I wash it, by the way. Thank you again for not letting me freeze.”
“Don’t worry. You can keep it, it looked better on you.”
“Jaemin, I know you’re trying to be a gentleman and all but that’s a Balenciaga swea-“
“And I’d like for you to have it.”
“I’m really living everyone’s fanfic’s dreams, aren’t I?” You giggled softly.
“Do you read those?” Jaemin chuckled.
“Of course. I live in the middle of nowhere, anything to pass the time. Follow that Sunny Mountain sign.”
“Ok. You should teach me how to find those, I’m curious as to what our fans write about us.”
“Uh, you really shouldn’t.”
“Dirty stuff?”
“Lots of it, probably.”
Jaemin laughed at that but said nothing more, deciding to pay attention to the road for once. You were distracted trying to find a cool Spotify playlist on your phone when you felt the man’s hand on your thigh, he didn’t move it and he didn’t look at you, just staring straight ahead with a casual demeanor like it was something you did all the time. You said nothing about it, just enjoyed the touch and followed his lead.
As you arrived at the city, you directed Jaemin around until you were parking right in front of the little traditional bakery.
“Good morning, Mary. Looking beautiful as always,” You complimented the old lady behind the counter, who you have known since you were a little girl. “Please tell me you made some pineapple cake.”
“My dear, if I didn’t I would run out of business,” Mary laughed. “I’ll wrap one up for you.”
“Thank you. Jaem, do you want to try something else?” You asked, pointing to the display in front of you full of a variety of cakes, which this region was famous for. “This is a banana one, it’s so good. The wine one is also tasty.”
Jaemin shivered at the word wine and you laughed because honestly, same.
“The banana one sounds good,” He agreed.
“Mary, I’ll take one half banana, half peach.”
The boy looked at you surprised that you remembered his favorite fruit and you just smiled at him, showing you were also paying attention.
“On it. Is that your boyfriend? I’ve been praying for you to find someone to keep you company in that big old house for ages,” The lady started, taking the cakes from the displays to cut them for you.
“He’s handsome, isn’t he?” You joked, winking at Jaemin who gave you a teasing smile back. “But unfortunately he’s just a guest at the Inn.”
“Oh, that’s unfortunate, but it’s a pleasure to meet you anyways. Maybe it’s better this way, my Gus would be jealous.”
You laughed in joy at the mention of your childhood summer friend, “How is he? I miss him!”
“He’s doing amazing,” She answered with a smile when talking about her grandson, placing the cakes’ halves on a plastic plate. “He just graduated last year, rented me a fancy dress and all.”
“Oh, I didn’t know that! I need to congratulate him. When he’s back in town, can you ask him to drop by the Inn really quickly? We’re having some internet problems as always.”
“Of course, dear. He will love that, I bet he’ll come around by the weekend. Here’s your cakes! I’ll put it on your account.”
Jaemin helped you getting one of the boxes from the balcony and you got the other.
“Thank you, Mary! Have a nice day!”
“You kids too!”
You carefully placed the cakes on the back seats, wrapping the seatbelts around it so they wouldn’t move during the transportation as Jaemin looked around, appreciating the view.
“The city is pretty cute, right?”
“It is, actually. Is that an ice cream place?”
“Kind of. But they do have an ice cream buffet.”
“That sounds awesome, can we go there?”
“I guess the cakes won’t go bad in the car if we’re quick.”
“They won’t, it’s kind of cold today.”
“Right? I thought I was sick or something,” You complained, pouting at the temperature change.
“Here, let’s go freeze,” Jaemin laughed, wrapping one of his arms around your shoulders and leading you across the street.
______________________________
You figured you liked Jaemin. As in, you really liked Jaemin. He was just so easy to talk to and a genuine funny caring guy – You didn’t see much of those anymore.
What was supposed to be a quick trip to the town turned into a 2 hour long tour around all the little spots the city had to offer, playfully taking photos of each other like you were in a romantic movie or something. When you finally went back to the Inn, your heart was swollen and your cheeks were hurting from smiling too much.
“Be right back my ass,” Haechan welcomed you with a grunt.
“We took long but we brought cake,” You pinched his pouting face.
“Ok, I forgive you.”
“Are you guys hungry?”
“For cake? Yes,” Jisung excitedly exclaimed.
“I meant for real food, it’s past lunch time.”
“We actually just ate breakfast, Jeno is still sleeping,” Renjun informed.
“It’s ok, I’ll cook today,” Jaemin messed with your hair and you glared at him.
“No, you won’t. You’re a guest here.”
“And I’m a great cook, so get your ass back in bed and I’ll call you when I’m done.”
“That’s rude of you, Na Jaemin,” You joked.
“Learning from the best.”
You glared at him but decided to accept your fate. After your nap with Jeno and your shower, you were not sleepy anymore, so you decided to invite the rest to sunbathe in the lower deck by the lake. Haechan and Mark were happy to join and the three of you sprawled around under the blue sky after changing into your bathing suits. You were struggling to get sunscreen on your back and Mark silently asked for the tube in your hand, doing It for you as Haechan blabbed about League of Legends – It was really hard to hide the chills across your skin when you were wearing basically no clothes.
After Mark got over being awkward because of your exposed skin, he was actually one of the most fun people to be around that you had ever hung out with. He literally laughed and got excited over everything you and Haechan said and it made you feel special, you definitely understood his charms now. Also, with him being from Canada and all, you two had a lot more in common than you had imagined, which was revitalizing.
Soon enough, both boys started bickering over something and you just closed your eyes and tried to drift off, this was supposed to be relaxing time. But then again, it was hard to put relaxing and Haechan in the same sentence.
After what seemed like ten minutes of the men next to you arguing, you suddenly heard your name and opened your eyes begrudgingly with a “Huh?”
“Help us. Who’s right?” Haechan asked.
“I ain’t even listening, I’m sorry.”
“Haechan over here seems to think he has a bigger chance with you than I do,” Mark smirked and you chocked around air. What kind of demon possessed Mark Lee’s body?
“Of course I do, don’t I?” It was Haechan’s turn to smirk at you and you just stared between them totally lost. They were arguing about song lyrics a few minutes ago, what the fuck happened? “So? Who’s right?”
“Huh?”
“You heard me,” Haechan lifted an eyebrow at you in a challenging way.
“Let her speak,” Mark cut him off and you felt goosebumps up your body once again at his strict tone. Damn, that was definitely not expected from Mark Lee.
“This is very unprofessional,” You muttered in shock, not really knowing what to say.
“Oh, c’mon. You think I didn’t hear your little show with Jeno the other night?” Mark laughed darkly and you shrank into yourself.
“What? What happened with Jeno?” Haechan asked confused.
“Nothing,” You quickly inform, trying to end that conversation.
Mark tsks and softly put your hair behind your ear, looking at you with endearing eyes, “Our pretty Y/N had some fun times with Jeno in their tent, didn’t she? Tell Haechan.”
You gulped and turned to Haechan, only nodding in shame because you were not about to admit you sucked his friend out loud. The boy’s eyes only widened and you could see Mark’s smirk from the corner of your eyes, what a wicked man.
“Guess none of us have a chance, then. Since Jeno got to you first,” Mark played and you briskly shook your head, feeling how you were already pulsing between your legs. The man raised an eyebrow at your reaction, like it wasn’t what he had planned, “Oh?”
“Please,” Was all that you managed to let out. Too embarrassed to elaborate.
“Kiss her,” He ordered and you noticed he was talking to Haechan, who smiled widely before bending down to capture your lips.
His kiss was playful like his personality, his hand found its place behind your neck and he lightly nibbled on your bottom lip with his teeth, not allowing you to deepen the kiss like you wanted to. When you whined in frustration, you felt his smirk against your lips before he harshly grabbed your hair and pulled you closer, his tongue finally against yours.
Well, this was not how you expected your day to turn out.
You were so focused on how good it felt to melt into Haechan, that you jumped in shock when you felt Mark’s fingers playing with your bikini bottoms.
“Look how wet she it, Haechan,” He commented like he was hypnotized by the view and you two broke the kiss so he could look at where his friend was staring. Mark’s middle finger started to lightly circle your clit over the fabric and you moaned, hiding your face in shame. You were probably about to have sex. No, not sex. A threesome. With your guests!!!
“Y/N.”
“What?” You groaned.
“Y/N!”
You uncovered your eyes annoyed only to find Haechan and Mark staring at you weirdly, sitting up on their own beach towels like well-behaved boys.
“Did I fall asleep?” You asked confused.
“Yeah, we thought you were having a nightmare so we decided to wake you up,” Mark explained softly and you gulped.
“Thank you, it was horrible,” You lied, heart beating fast and chest heaving.
Mark and Haechan went back to arguing while you tried to recompose yourself, but as soon as Haechan shot you a knowing smirk, you quickly got up and left, figuring you could play cards with Renjun or something.
____________________________________
Jaemin didn’t lie when he said he was a good cook, and not only that, but he was also an organized worker, washing and cleaning everything right after using it. What a dreamy man. You were still too bothered over having a weird wet dream with your guests, who were right beside you, to think much about how amazing Jaemin was.
After everyone had lunch (and you decided to sit far far away from your sunbathing partners, safely cuddled between Chenle and Jisung at the end of the table), you washed all the dishes left while Jeno dried them, thankful that you two managed to not let things go south after your little encounter.
The Inn still had no internet so there was nothing much you could do with everyone being tired, so like Jaemin predicted, you all sprawled around the living room’s floor and played some games. After a few hours, you started getting tired of playing and turned the Tv on, trying to find the least terrible channel the Tv’s antenna could pick up, settling on a game show that got everyone pretty excited. Somehow you ended lying on Jaemin’s chest and you noticed Jeno giving you a look but couldn’t quite catch what he meant with it. He seemed normal with you after it, so you decided to let it go, realizing you were only overthinking things.
For dinner, you all had some leftovers from lunch and lots of cake. You had spent so many hours talking that you felt like you have known these boys since forever, or at least you wanted to. There was just not a moment around them when you weren’t laughing or smiling, and besides the obvious sexual tension moments, it felt really comfortable to be around them. Of course they could be annoying and inconvenient at times, they were men after all, but it was not hard to get over that.
Surprisingly enough, even after sleeping until way past noon, the boys were still tired and went to bed early with the promise of fun adventures for the next day. You and Renjun stayed back in the balcony talking about life and art, looking at the stars and drinking a glass of wine. It was nice sharing your deep thoughts with someone who matched your intensity and excitement, Renjun was indeed an artist and you loved experiencing the universe with him for a night.
When it was around 1 in the morning, the two of you said goodnight with a soft smile, knowing you two now shared a bond.
Entering your room and turning the lights on, you were surprised to find Jeno playing with his phone on your bed.
“Hey,” You offered confused.
He gave you an eye smile before dropping his phone on the bed, “Hey.”
“So, you’re in my room…”
“Just wanted to ask if I could sleep with you, it’s nice.”
“Oh, ok. Yeah, I’d like that. Let me just change,” You agreed and laughed at the way Jeno covered his eyes when you grabbed on the hem of your shirt and pulled it off, “I think we’re way past that, Jeno Lee.”
“Sorry, it’s automatic,” He explained as he dropped his hands back on the bed, watching you silently as you changed into your pajamas. You sleepily climbed into bed next to the man, both of you lying on your sides and staring at each other. “You’re so pretty.”
“Thank you,” You softly breathed out. This seemed all too familiar.
He delicately pressed his lips against yours, hand grabbing your cheek so his thumb could soothingly caress your cheek. You closed your eyes and enjoyed the soft touches, reciprocating the kiss with the same fluttering intensity. Jeno simply did that for a few minutes before breaking away from you and smiling, “Sorry, I just really wanted to kiss you.”
“It’s ok,” You giggled, content and in peace.
taglist: @eggbutnotyolk @lauraneuuh @geeisaclown @jenotation @riemm @junguwuuu @prettychaeng @satanssugaraddiction @luvlyjaemin @sweetjaemss @oofimdumb @junglekooks @unknown5tar @rosedchae @deantrblismyhusband @yukheisworld @chippijunxiao @kkakkdugi @luvenshiti @sleep-is-all-i-seek @aka-minhyuk-kun @elithereal @jenniferecand @tacojisung @tiramisubox @hobicore-smut @renjunniex @markresonates @hufflepanda221b @ncttboo @neejaatjeh @heyyyun @yutaalove @iwishihadabettername
#jeno#jaemin#haechan#renjun#mark#nct#nct dream#nct dream smut#nct dream fluff#nct dream scenarios#jeno smut#jeno fluff#jaemin smut#jaemin fluff#haechan smut#haechan fluff#renjun smut#renjun fluff#mark smut#mark fluff#nct smut#nct scenarios#jisung#chenle
630 notes
·
View notes
Note
I wonder how Zeke would react to you being pregnant, would he be absolutely delighted or would just go IM FINNA WHIP DIS HOE 🏃🏃🏎🏎💨💨
Baby - Zeke Jaeger x Reader
warnings: pregnancy, pregnancy sickness, I don’t know the ins and outs of pregnancy but google is my friend- just know I’m unreliable. Angsty, fluffy, SMUT Minors DNI. Pubes? Oversenstivity, creampie. Zeke is sweet.
word count: 4k
note: OMGG HAHAH I can see this going a few ways tbh. also accidentally wrote a fic again :) hehe. It’s Zeke, I cant help it. this started informally so its like a drabble fic hybrid baby which is fitting hehe
He’ll either be like “Well I did say I’d stuff you with my babies so...” and he’ll accept his fate as a father. Will be unusually good especially if it’s a little girl because if he has a son he’ll afraid he’ll be like his father.
Or he’ll give you a look of horror, if you two were protected and this was completely unexpected he’ll be like “...I don’t know if I can do this...” He might run away, but again he doesn’t want to be like his father, eventually, he’ll come back, probably when you start showing because it’s then that he realizes that you’re pregnant with his kid, for real. Will get on his knees and apologize if needed. Give him a wake-up call, “I told you I was pregnant, and you left me alone. You left me alone for almost three months. I had no one and you left.”
You need to accept him a bit, for your sake and for your baby's sake, but that doesn’t mean you won't be mean to him a bit as revenge. Plus, he needs to earn your trust back.
You let him live in the guest bedroom, whatever routine and life you had before, it’s completely different now. It’s awkward. He’s missed so much, he’s missed the worse of your morning sickness and dizziness (which you still have occasionally just not as bad), and he’s missed getting you weird food combos, he’s missed you, he misses your warmth, he misses talking to you in slow cold mornings, he misses rubbing his beard on your neck and you complaining that it tickles, he should have never set a foot out the door, he knows that now.
“This is my baby. Not yours, not ours, not unless you prove yourself.” And boy does he. It doesn’t matter if it’s the dead of night and you want food, he’ll get it with sleepy eyes and pajama pants if he needs to. One day he’s venturing out of his bedroom to see your bathroom light on, and he’s going to check, of course he is, because he is worried. You’re leaning over the toilet with your eyes closed, head propped against the wall, a cold rag resting on your thigh to get your temperature down and try to keep you grounded as you throw up.
You can see how this looks like a bad situation to someone who hasn’t been there for months. Why do they even call it morning sickness when it doesn’t just stick to mornings. So when he slides next to you on the floor with a panicked look in his eyes asking ‘are you okay? is the baby okay? should we go to the hospital?’ it’s a bit irritating but it warms your heart nonetheless. Your head is pounding, you desperately want to sleep but every time you move it makes you a little more nauseous so you can’t even make it to the bed. His hand is on your thigh, it's warm but not uncomfortably warm like your body, and his calloused hands bring you back to reality. “It’s normal,” is the best explanation you can utter out right now.
He wants to ask what he can do to help, but your eyebrows are scrunched in pain and he doesn’t want to deepen that so he’ll at least try to help. He brings you a pillow to rest your hips on, even though you groan when you move you appreciate it because the tiles began digging into your skin, your pajama shorts do nothing to help you with that but the cold tiles feel nice to an extent. All of Zeke’s knowledge from college and how he took care of his hungover or sick friends is jumbled up because can any of those tips apply here? Whenever your stomach didn’t feel good you’d ask him to fix you peppermint tea and that seemed to help but will the smell bother you? This is the first time he’s felt true panic since- well since you told him you were pregnant, and when he came back to beg for forgiveness.
You’re still sitting beside the toilet, it’s much more comfortable now with the pillow, and Zeke brought you a fresh wet rag because the old one was starting to warm up to you. There’s shuffling from the kitchen that’s muffled by the walls and he comes back with an armful of things -- it’s almost comical. Your favorite water bottle refilled with bits of ice clinking around, a blue Gatorade bottle, a handful of plain crackers from the back of your cabinet that he must’ve scrambled to find. He runs back one more time to bring a warm mug- which he now realizes probably is the opposite of what you want because it’s warm and it seems like you want to be cold. He looks awkward as he sits on the other side of the toilet, leaning against the tub, like he’s being graded for his performance. He’s just close enough to reach you, just in case, hand caressing your ankle which is more to comfort him than you.
Now you look a little more relaxed. “Uhm...” he clears his throat as he speaks softly, “... I brought you tea, and crackers, water too. And cookies just in case. And Gatorade.” He looks younger now somehow, like when you and him met in college when he first asked you out on a date, nervous and scratching his ear.
This is the first time you have looked at him so softly since he came back. He does deserve the harshness, he thinks, but seeing the opposite after so long is almost gratifying. “Water sounds nice,” so he hands you the bottle quickly.
Sitting there almost another hour, you still don’t want to try to get up but Zeke stays and hands you everything you need. Pushes back any hair in the way when you lean to retch into the toilet. The times between each retch get longer, and after forcing yourself to eat a few crackers you feel like you have finally come down to earth, the rag and tiles too cold, the warmth of your bed filled with fluffy blankets tempt you.
“I think I’m okay now,” you aren’t, but just okay enough to go to bed and try to sleep. Zeke works you up to your feet, slow and steady, staying firm for you to lean on. You catch a glance at yourself in the mirror and it’s almost like a horror movie jumpscare. Red eyes, half-lidded and tired, eye bags more defined and lips chapped. The thought of toothpaste makes you want to throw up again but you have mouthwash that gentle so that’ll do, and the coconut lip balm you rely on has never bothered you. Zeke keeps at least one hand on your hips the whole time, you figure you do look like you are about to fall apart any moment.
He waddles you to your bed. It looks way different than when he saw it last. More pillows than before, lining the side closest to your bedroom door, his side. Or it was his side. There are more blankets too and a heating pad with a little remote dangling off the bed. He feels like he needs to retch now, guilt chasing up his spine. You’ve dealt with this alone, without him. How many times were you not able to get up off the floor because no one was there to help? The pillows that you lined his side with are taunting him, ‘we had to fill the void you left.’ But it’s just his own voice scolding him.
There are few things in life he is able to regret, but leaving you was one of the worst mistakes he could have ever made.
When you finally get comfortable, one leg thrown over the pillow and at least 3 fluffy blankets that he’s tucked over you, the temptation to ask to stay in your room scratches at the back of his head. He won’t ask, not tonight, not right now. He presses a closed-lip kiss to your shoulder that’s barely felt over the blankets. “Holler if you need me, okay?” He can see your breathing is steady and lets out a short laugh, you must have been exhausted. He’ll pour out the tea you didn’t drink, and make sure to get some more crackers on the grocery list.
/ / :
Slowly, he’s earning your trust. It’s been a month since he’s come back and now the atmosphere is more comfortable. Not romanticly domestic like he so desperately wants it to be again, but he can’t complain about progress.
He hasn’t been allowed to touch your belly, or even see it really because you are wearing the biggest clothes you can find. This is a rare moment where he gets to see you in tighter clothing because you feel too warm, and he gets to see your belly. It’s a cute bump, stretching out the tanktop you are wearing, he can see the dip/pop of your belly button through it, and you’ve refused to wear bras ever since your breasts started to feel too sensitive. Zeke didn’t expect to find this so... to put it in simple terms, hot.
Your nipples are poking through, breasts heavy, and the realization that he pumped you full with his kid and claimed you completely runs straight to his cock. He shouldn’t be this horny right now, especially when you are complaining about being too hot while laying on the couch with your feet propped up, shorts doing nothing to cover you, especially when he can see that you are not wearing underwear and slightly wet. Can you really blame him? You are hot, he loves you, and he’s been pent up ever since he came back and even before because his hand doesn’t cut it.
When he leans to give you a cup of ice water he knows you can see his hard-on through his pajama pants, it’s not like he’s trying to hide it. “Are you seriously horny right now?” You don’t really mean to say it like you are offended, you’re just surprised, and curious, because what the hell is going through his head right now? He’s a little startled because of your straightforwardness but he is nothing if not shameless when it comes to this type of scenario. How do you think you got pregnant in the first place?
“Yes, because a beautiful woman is laying right there with her legs propped up so I can see her cunt -- which is wet by the way -- and her tits, well, she might as well be shirtless and-” He takes his hand to run up your knee, “-she has my cute kid sitting in her belly right now. You are kind of irresistible you know?”
That’s really embarrassing, sure it felt airy but you didn’t know he could see. You can feel your cunt gush -- curse pregnancy horniness -- as you look up to him from where your head is resting against a pillow. You could risk it... You can satisfy yourself sure, the few toys you have resting under the bathroom sink but you know that the best experience, the most satisfying one, would be with Zeke. At least you tell yourself that's the reason, really you miss him, you miss him loving on you like you’re the only person in the universe and his warm touches, you miss him fucking you brainless. You don’t think he’ll leave again at this point, he’s too far in, going to doctor's appointments with you and living with you, and if he tried you might just break one of his legs. So why not? It’s not like he could get you pregnant again-
“If I’m so irresistible, why aren’t you doing anything?” You see him quirk a brow at you, knowing this will change the relationship he’s slowly been earning back. He just meant to embarrass you a bit, see you warm up with his lewd words but actually initiating something is the best outcome. So the hand that’s been lingering on your knee goes down to the juncture of your thigh, brushing up against the bump of your belly. It has you sucking in a breath, you are so sensitive, and he loves how responsive you are.
“As you wish.” He settles himself between your legs on the couch, they spread to accommodate him and he can see more of your cunt peaking out through the shorts. Unless he is mistaken, you have gotten wetter since he last saw it which is sending his blood rushing. Working off your shorts is easy, throwing them somewhere behind him, and he observes for a moment. He hasn’t seen you naked in a long time so he is soaking up every moment like it will be his last. You nudge your ankle to his side, “Don’t stare,” you say in an airy voice he hasn’t heard in a long time. There’s a patch of hair contouring your cunt, being dampened by your slick. You don’t care if he doesn’t like hair or not, you are pregnant and he should be thankful he’s even between your legs right now. Still, a nagging in the back of your head is making you a little self-conscious, but that is slowly being overridden by desire. He takes your offending ankle and rubs circles in it, it’s to keep you in place, a sense of dominance with a soft undertone. His other hand goes to take a few fingers to spread open your cunt, “I’m sorry, I like to stare at things that are beautiful, it’s how I was made.” That doesn’t even sound like an apology, too light-hearted and snaked with lust. Scolding him sounds like a good option but you can’t bring yourself to. You are just too sensitive, his hand isn’t even rubbing at your sweet spots but it still feels so good.
His stare on your nethers finally lets up, bringing both of his hands to trail up your belly, rubbing the bump of your growing baby. His baby, that he put in you. He bends over your belly to kiss it through your top, slowly riding it up so he can kiss the skin. It’s too soft, too comforting. You want to cry because this is what you have wanted this whole time since you found out you were pregnant. You wanted him to be sweet, fawn over you, and kiss your belly, and love your kid as much as he claimed to love you. There are so many things left unspoken, so many things to talk over that you both haven’t gotten to. You card fingers through his blonde hair, it’s just as soft as you last felt it, though you know he’s been using stupid low-quality shampoo because he can’t steal yours anymore. He looks up at you, giving you a much too sweet smile before settling his glasses on the coffee table.
He whips off his shirt to stay at least equal exposed as you, you’ve always complained about how it’s unfair. What’s really unfair, he thinks, is how hot you look laid out for him. The roughness of his hands contrasts the softness of your skin, the pudge of your thighs, the slowly appearing stretch marks on your belly, the softness of the edge of your breast he can feel teasing the edge of his hand as he adventures your body. Even your little moans are soft like silk running across his skin every time you breathe one out from his touches. Pulling your tank top over your breasts, he stares again. He really has missed a lot, your breasts look a little different, just a bit bigger, and your nipples swollen a bit with sensitivity, perked and begging for his attention.
So he caves, pressing his fingertips into the flesh of your breasts making you gasp because of the tenderness. The pads of his thumb circling around your areola before thumbing roughly over your nipple. They’re so cute, so responsive, Zeke loves it. He kisses your belly one more time and adjusts himself closer to you, pajama pants brushing against the swell of your ass, and leans so he can lap at your chest. His tongue feels almost prickly like a cat because of how sensitive you are, it hurts but it doesn’t hurt at the same as he tongues your nipple into his mouth and sucks hard, teeth teasing your nipple just a bit. It causes you to jolt and moan, digging your fingers into his hair as he continues to press kisses into your chest. You can feel his chest vibrate with a salacious giggle, his sadistic tendencies tend to slip out like this, and seeing you jolt and knowing your cunt must be absolutely drenched makes him all too prideful.
“Zeke, that’s enough-” He’s sucking the skin of your breasts hard so it'll leave bruises when he’s done. One of his hands presses gently into your belly, “Soon I won’t be able to do this as much. Let me have my fun.” All the implications send your blood rushing to your head as you throw it back into the pillow. He sucks a few more bruising hickeys to the underside of your breasts before pulling back, leaving a bite at your nipple.
He’s too needy to even work his pants off completely, doesn’t even bother with his socks. He was right, your cunt is drenched and leaking slick so much, sticking to the hair that's there, it’s almost running to your ass. “Fuck, you’re so fucking-” he can’t even find the words to describe you right now. Beautiful, divine, ethereal, are a few words that come close to describing you. So he just presses a kiss into your knee before settling his cock near your clenching hole.
“You’re okay with this?” There’s so much kindness in his voice, seeping into your skin. You know this is your chance to pull back, to continue the steady incline of your relationship with him instead of this jump. You don’t know if it’s your horny brain taking over or your logical side agreeing with it but, you want this.
“Zeke, if you don’t fuck me I’ll probably cry.” Maybe that wasn’t the best response to this situation, you realize, but you’ve long passed the point of being embarrassed for this. He lets out a rough laugh at your response, pressing his thumbs into the juncture of your thigh and hips. Before he does anything he wrestles a pillow from beneath the couch to sit under your hips, making you wiggle until you are comfy.
“We can’t have that, now can we?” It’s mocking but filled with affection. He glides his cock over your slick cunt to wet it a bit before prodding at your hole, sliding ina bit slowly to let you adjust. “Shit-” It feels completely different -- puffy, your insides are swollen and plush, caging his cock in an enticing vice.
His fingers are digging into your thighs as he holds his cock, pushing in until he reaches the base. Your nails are clasped to his bicep and you swear your eyes roll back from the pressure of his cock inside you. Stretches your walls to the max, pushing against all the soft ridges of your cunt.
“‘S too much-” He’s barely even moved since he’s been inside you and you’re already complaining? With your slurred words? Cute.
“You can handle it, can’t you?” He shouldn’t be mean, but this isn’t really mean, is it? Rocking his hips into yours, making sure the pillow propping up your hips stays in place, there are tears rimming your lashes from pleasure and little whines being pushed out of you from the force of his thrusts. You can’t even respond with words, he’s too deep and it feels too good and it’s been too long since experiencing this. You barely even use the dildos you have but he’s bigger, thick around the middle and the tip of his cock hammering into your soft patches that you can never reach, that send you closer to the edge sooner than you think.
The creaking of the couch echoes off the walls but the slaps of his thighs meeting yours feel much louder, it almost makes you dizzy. Zeke is glad your belly hasn’t gotten bigger otherwise he wouldn’t be able to situate himself on top of you anymore, elbows caging you in, his full-bodied warmth comforting you. You whisper curses into his mouth as he kisses you, still rocking into you, your legs wrapped around the back of his thighs to pull him ever deeper into you. Moans trapped by his lips and his own raspy groans by yours. Arms wrapped around his midsection with you nails digging into his back, your nipples brushing against his chest which is pleasurable in it’s own torturous way.
He can feel your plush cunt clench around him sporadically and your thighs tighten around him. The feeling deep in your belly is about to snap, the tears clinging to your lashes roll down the sides of your face and Zeke makes them disappear with wet kisses and a rough thumb, pushing your chin down to capture your lips with his again. “Gonna cum for me?” There he is again with a cock lilt to his voice that has your cunt quivering around his cock, but you have no room to complain right now. You are sure you’re leaving red streaks down his back now because it feels like every muscle in your body is tightening as you cream around his cock, leaving a translucent ring for him to mess up with a few more well placed thrusts that have him reaching closer to his own orgasm. “Cummin’ so pretty for me- fuck.” You hold him close and continue to constrict your cunt walls around him, his head placed near your neck for him to bite at as he fills you up, a deep rock into you and he stills, plugging his cum inside you.
Zeke wishes he could lay here forever, your belly between him and you, and him inside you. It’s a comfort in it’s own right, seeing you filled with him, claimed with his kid inside you, ontop of you in borderline possessiveness. There’s things you both need to speak about but right now he can predict you saying you are either hungry or needing a bath, or both.
After you both catch your breath he leans back, slipping his cock out in the process. It’s picturesque, seeing his seed slip from your cunt and down your ass, sticking in the curls around your cunt in the process, and seeing the previous fruits of his seed growing inside you. He didn’t expect to like it this much but fuck. You look godly, basking in the aftermath of a wonderful orgasm, truly glowing.
/ / :
“After you have this kid I’m fucking marrying you.” He doesn’t mean to say it but it’s too late to turn back now. Post-ciotal bliss must be fogging up his head.
You give him a wild deshevled look as you prop yourself up on an elbow. “Wha- Zeke what the fuck? Is this your way of trying to propose to me?”
It hurts that you sound offended but he does deserve that. “No, not yet, we have a lot to do before proposing.” His hands rub over your naked belly as he looks down at you.
“What does that even mean?”
“It means I have a lot of time between now and when you have them and I’m taking advantage of every second.”
You cough out a laugh, “You’re ridiculous. Our baby won’t be able to stand you, I bet.”
You don’t even notice the slip-up but he does -- ours, not my. “Of course, they won’t be able to stand, they’re a baby, they can’t even hold their heads up on their own.”
The pillow that was behind your head hits his face and he is laughing deep within his chest. You’re complaining about he’s going to evolve into worse and worse dad jokes but ah, if you are godly this must be heaven.
𝔱𝔥𝔞𝔫𝔨 𝔶𝔬𝔲 𝔣𝔬𝔯 𝔯𝔢𝔞𝔡𝔦𝔫𝔤, 𝔩𝔦𝔨𝔦𝔫𝔤, 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔯𝔢𝔟𝔩𝔬𝔤𝔤𝔦𝔫𝔤 ʕ•́ᴥ•̀ʔっ♡
//: 𝖒𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙
#⚠️.pregnancy#❖.zeke jaeger#◆.aot#⚫.filth#⚫.teardrop#⚫.pillow#⚫.writing#zeke jaeger x reader#zeke smut#zeke jaeger smut#I wrote some of this tipsy bear with me#aot x reader#aot smut#aot fanfiction#attack on titan x reader#zeke yaeger x reader smut#zeke yaeger x reader#zeke yaeger smut#zeke yeager x reader#zeke yeager smut#snk x reader#snk fanfiction#snk smut
678 notes
·
View notes
Text
Third Wheeling
CEO!Yoongi x Reader
Genre: Strangers to Lovers!AU, Angst, Fluff, Smut
Chapter 10.
Warnings (Updating Still): Smut, Cheating, Unexpected Pregnancy, Unfaithful, Emotional Damage, Love,
Warnings In This Chapter: Heart To Heart, Fluff, Infidelity, Sera Is A Cunt, Triggering Moments (I.E): Hearing Infidelity, Making Light Of Other's Trauma, Mentions of Cigarette Burns, General Rudeness
A/N: This chapter is early because I’m hungover. Always a shoutout to @ppersonna, @xjoonchildx, @ladyartemesia. Enjoy!
The smell of blooming flowers is something you never thought you'd become fond of. It's never been something that you've even considered. But you find yourself so often these days finding small delights in simplistic things.
Sitting in front of the large fountain that has been hidden behind clean cut hedges and tall rose bushes, you let the gentle breeze wash over you.
You can hear Baeksoo quietly speaking to the plants as she waters them. It's calming in fact, to hear her speak words of praise.
You've thought long and hard about this evening. Which is astounding since it's just dinner. But, you don't know simple things about Yoongi.
You think to ask Maya but you want to do this by yourself.
"I thought I'd find you here," the voice draws your attention and suddenly you're misty eyed.
Just the way she walks and the tilt of her gorgeous face is enough to make you weep.
"Leena!" you cry out.
Jumping up from the bench, your arms spread wide as you feel relief flood over you.
"Hey, Miss Thing!" she cheers, pulling you into her arms.
You begin to feel as if you could breathe again.
"You look so great! I missed you so much!" she whines loudly, squeezing you tightly to her slim body.
"What're you doing here?!" you ask, pulling away to look at her pretty face.
She grabs your wrist, tugging you over to the bench you were just sitting on.
"Taehyung needed to bring Yoongi some documents for a mall or something before we're off to France, so I made sure I was able to come and see you."
You watch as she demurely crosses her legs and you make a mental note of it. She went to many etiquette classes when she was younger and you’ve always admired how graceful she is. It’s the way she moves so effortlessly and with such confidence. You’ve always wished to be like her.
The floral fragrance seems to enrapture you once more as you sit together. Flipping her hair over her shoulder, your best friend makes it a point to continue to hold you.
“How is he treating you? I swear to God, if you tell me that you’re being treated like the help I’m going to fucking flip.” your best friend asks.
You sigh gently, looking up at the clear cerulean sky.
“He’s treating me normally, I guess. One minute he’s so cold with me and the next he’s just being so sweet. I don’t know what the fuck to feel. Last night, we went at it and he came to apologize to me.” you reply as the breeze blows through your hair.
“Excuse me? Min Yoongi apologized to you?” she sounds dumbfounded and all you can do is nod in agreement.
“Oh my God, he’s so fucking whipped! That’s amazing.” you snort at her excitement, rolling your eyes before looking back over to her.
“I think he’s just being civil. We’ll see, we’re having dinner tonight.” your confession hits her like a stack of bricks and she squeals loudly, gripping your hands tightly.
“I’m gonna drop dead on this expensive gravel beneath my feet. YOU and YOONGI are having dinner tonight?! Like, eating in the presence of one another civilly?!” her blue contacted eyes go wide and her mouth drops open while you nod.
“Yeah. I’m cooking dinner,” you say, confusion enrapturing your tone.
She guffaws loudly, her head lolling back as she gasps for breath. “You’re so insane! This is amazing! He totally fucking likes you!”
“Well… I don’t know about that but-” your voice is cut off by hers.
“Shush! Silence! I’ve said what I’ve said! And it’s the law!” she cries out, pressing her perfectly manicured finger to your lips.
“Sexy girl! Let’s go!” you hear Taehyung scream.
Leena turns her head to the voice before pouting. “You better call me with all the details of your date. I want to know how he looks at you, how he eats his food with you around, how he fucking sneezes. I want the whole laundry list of things that happen tonight!”
You giggle at her enthusiasm before nodding. “Yes ma’am. A laundry list of all the things Min Yoongi does to make me mad.”
She rolls her eyes before kissing your cheek happily.
“Love you, Miss Thing!”
“Love you, too!”
Standing tall, she fixes her long dress. She looks around the garden impressed before folding her arms.
“I’m really happy for you, by the way. I think things are really going to work out here.” she calls to you, starting to walk away.
“Bye Yoongi!” she yells up to the house and your eyes follow hers.
He stands on his large balcony, a cup of coffee in hand staring at you. He bows his head to her, a smirk present on his lips before looking back at you.
“Little dove, good morning.” you hear him say as he retreats back into his room.
How long was he standing there? How much had he heard?
Listening to Frederic drone on about food is something you don’t think you could ever get tired of. He makes the French cook stereotype feel so alive. You’ve been in the kitchen plenty of times, have gone through the cabinets many, many times throughout the nights when staff and the chef were sleeping. But, to hear him feeling the need to explain it all to you as you both take small steps around the gigantic kitchen is humorous and you let him do his thing.
“Now this, this is a sieve. You can strain things through it,” Frederic says, picking up the large strainer.
You hum playfully as you lean down on the island counter.
“I have made my own food before y’know,” you quip to him as he unbuttons his chef’s jacket.
He tuts his tongue as he brushes some hair back behind your ear. “Ah oui, bien sûr Madame. I know, I just want to make sure you know where everything is.”
You smile at his kindness, it must be difficult to relinquish your kitchen to others especially after being in charge for so long.
“I promise I won’t make anything dirty and I promise, cross my heart, that I will take good care of your kitchen,” you swear to him as he throws his chef’s jacket over his shoulder.
He presses both of his hands to either side of your face, wiggling them slightly with a smile.
“Merci, Madame. You are in every word parfaite. I cannot be happier to make you food in this home,” he whispers as you tilt your head with a giggle.
“Go have a good day off, have fun,” you insist as he drifts his hand over the marble countertop, as if he’s finding it hard to say goodbye.
“Oui, bien entendu. I’ll have a drink in your honor, Madame,” he says with a sigh.
You give him a wink as he exits the kitchen and you watch him slowly leave to the maid’s quarter. Your lips sputter as you look around the large, empty kitchen before sighing.
“Okay, let’s do this.”
He should be working. He opened up his computer, he grabbed all the necessary documents from both Taehyung and his office but he just can’t seem to focus.
Yoongi can smell the aroma of food coming from the kitchen and it makes him curious. What are you making? How do you even know what he likes? Do you even know how to cook?
He wants to know more about you, or try to learn more anyway.
Recalling just this morning, he can hear you so clearly -- “He’s treating me normally, I guess. One minute he’s so cold with me and the next he’s just being so sweet. I don’t know what the fuck to feel. Last night, we went at it and he came to apologize to me.”
You think he’s cold and you’re absolutely right. He always has been and it’s gotten worse these last couple of years.
He doesn’t know who he even is anymore. At least he doesn’t think he does.
Then you mentioned that he came to apologize. It must have meant a lot to you. It was weird for him to feel that aching in his chest, to feel like he fucked up. Even in the past when he’s done and said horrible things -- he never had such an ache.
Something about you just… sends him reeling.
Then he remembers what Leena said, “You better call me with all the details of your date.”
Was this a date? He didn’t even think of it in that way. It’s just two people eating… right?
Just a man and the… mother… of… his… child.
“I need whisky,” he mumbles to himself, standing up.
He hasn’t been on a date in God knows how long. He hasn’t spoken to a woman, truly spoken to one, in what feels like a millennia.
Picking up the empty bottle of whisky from the small bar caddy, he curses to himself.
He decides it’s in his best interest to go all the way to the kitchen to get a bottle. Even though his bedroom is just a floor down.
But, it certainly isn’t because you’re in the kitchen cooking. No. Not at all.
As he gets closer to the kitchen, he can smell different types of herbs and delicious meats cooking. He can smell raw peppers and onions and it makes his mouth water.
Yoongi watches you from afar for a minute, just standing on the last step of the stairwell. You’re humming, the song is sweet and calm. You have on a cute apron around your waist, with small smears of what seem to be a sauce of some kind on it.
He can feel his heart lightening at the simple sight of you. You look so… beautiful. So fucking domestic. And, he feels like he doesn’t even need the alcohol anymore because just watching you makes him drunk.
How bizarre.
“What’re we doing?” Maya whispers from next to the stairwell.
Yoongi practically jumps out of his skin at the sight of her, pressing his hand to his heart.
“Jesus fucking Christ,” he whispers fiercely, trying to calm his erratic heartbeat.
He hears the older woman giggle and he rolls his eyes at her giddiness.
“I’m just getting whisky,” he mumbles aloud, still trying to keep quiet in case it would disturb you.
“Oh. I see. I can get it for you, Sir.” she replies and he grabs her wrist gently as she tries to walk away.
“No, no! I got it. It’s okay. I was just…” he can’t even complete his sentence.
What was he doing? Checking you out? He was just watching you, feeling so serene.
“You were being sweet, like I raised you. You were entranced by her.” Maya says.
He grimaces at her. “No! I was just… waiting to see if she burned down the kitchen or not.”
Maya giggles to herself before bowing her head. “Of course, Sir. I see that now.”
He rolls his eyes as she takes off to the maid’s quarter.
He watches you wave to Maya with a shy smile on your face.
“Goddammit,” he mutters, combing his fingers through his hair.
He takes small steps, trying his hardest not to disturb you as he walks by the long bar.
“Oh, hey Yoongi!”
Your voice is so sweet. Especially when you say his name.
“Smells good,” he calls to you, walking through the small hallway before appearing in the kitchen.
“Thanks! I hope you like it,” you reply happily as you stir something in the pot.
As he takes in your face, he snorts gently at a small stain by your cheek.
“I think you’re a messy cook,” he teases, walking towards you.
“Huh?” you ask confused.
Stepping in front of you, he taps his index finger to the underside of your chin.
“Look at me,” he instructs.
As you look up at him, he can feel himself falling into your eyes. You’re so doe-like and precious even when you don’t know it. It’s kind of miraculous.
Wiping his thumb over your cheek, he snorts gently. Your breath hitches in your throat as he strokes his thumb over you.
“What’re you making for dinner?” he asks, trying to distract himself from how soft your skin is.
“Well, I made a lot of things.” you reply, pulling your face away from him to look down at the pot.
He hums inquisitively, grabbing a glass off of a rack and pulling out the whisky.
“Do tell, little dove. You’re making me hungry,” he jeers, pouring himself a large portion of the alcohol.
“Well for the appetizer, I made brussel sprouts with parmesan and bacon and a small salad. For the soup, I made a soybean sprout soup. And, the main course is veal with lemon butter sauce and glazed carrots.” you tell him proudly.
He begins to smirk at how pleased you are with yourself.
“Sounds good, I’m excited,” he replies, lifting his glass.
You giggle gently, turning off the burner underneath the pot.
Leaning down on the marble island across from him, you rub your hands together.
“I hope you like it,” you whisper.
You sound shy now and it peeks his interest. You’re like a frail flower. It’s so difficult to get a read on you or put you in a category. But, maybe that’s how it should be. You shouldn’t just be one specific way, you should be well rounded. And he thinks you’ve got that.
“I’m sure I will. Although, didn’t I put in the contract that you shouldn’t be eating so much?”
Finally for once it doesn’t come out as gruff and angry, it was meant to be a joke. Luckily for him, it came out that way.
You find yourself smiling, almost having the urge to stick your tongue out at him playfully.
“I haven’t been able to cook in a long time, this feels nice. Eating a lot once in a while isn’t so bad,” you counter good-naturedly.
He raises his glass at your words. “Touche. Little dove, touche.”
You lean your head on your shoulder, your fingers skimming over each other as you look down at the marble beneath you. For once, the silence isn’t awkward or uncomfortable. It’s pleasant.
“Was it nice to see Leena this morning?” he knows the answer, but he wants to see you smile wider.
And so you do. Brimming from ear to ear, you nod.
“So nice! I’m so happy that I got to see her,” you admit, looking up at him.
“Well, she can come over whenever she wants. It’s in the contract,” he suggests.
“I didn’t know if I wanted her to come over yet, y’know. With Sera around and stuff…” your answer falls flat as Yoongi chuckles across from you.
“That’d be like putting two piranhas in a tank and seeing who wins,” he chuckles.
You snort gently, pointing at him. “Exactly.”
He watches you fix things up around the kitchen, cleaning as you go.
And finally he speaks after some time. “What can I do to help?”
Humming you shrug with a smirk. "I got it. Why don't you go relax for a while?" you suggest.
As you go to lift the pot, Yoongi whistles loudly as if to tell you to stop.
"I read that pregnant women shouldn't be lifting anything heavy. Don't even think about it. I got it," he insists, waving his hand for you to move.
"You read something?" your voice is wrapped with humor as you move over.
"Very funny, little dove. Go set up the table," he instructs with an ever present smirk on his face.
Yoongi leans back in his seat, his stomach was full of delicious food by now but he can't stop picking at his plate. A true testament to how great of a cook you are.
"Damn." he whispers, wiping his mouth with his napkin.
You smirk across the table, your arms folding with pride.
"Good?" you ask softly, grabbing your drink.
"Very good. I'm impressed," he says as he slings his arm over the top of his chair.
You giggle gently, your head lolling back to look at the clear night sky.
"Who taught you how to cook?" he asks, watching as you count the stars.
So here it is. Will he be as truthful as you? Will he talk to you?
"My parents. My dad always liked cooking more than my mother. She was sick a lot when I was young. Always in the hospital. So my dad got comfort from making her food and I used to take it to her," you answer, looking back down at him.
Yoongi nods gently, it's starting to click in his mind. "That's why you hate hospitals?"
"That's why I hate hospitals. There was a time when she was admitted for a bad stomach ache and she got worse in the hospital because the bedding and the nurses weren't clean." you reply breathlessly.
The father of your child cringes at the thought, taking a sip of his whisky.
"You?"
Yoongi takes a deep, slow breath. He stares at your face and the task at hand is daunting. If people didn't already know him, he didn't open up. But, he should open up to you.
Or he thinks so anyway. You're having his child, you should know about him. And maybe if he speaks his history then it will break the cycle. Then he won't turn into his parents, he won't have a fucked up kid like himself.
"You don't have to talk about it if you don't want to," you say quickly.
You can see him wrought with nervousness. Just the prospect of letting things out must terrify him.
"No, I should talk about them. If not with you then surely a therapist," he jokes out of worry.
But, then he looks at your face. He feels that sense of dizzying calm once more. Like everything is going to be okay.
He chugs the rest of his whisky, his mouth watering and grimacing.
"No, I don't know how to cook. I'm not even sure my parents know how to cook-" he lets out a breath, letting the warm fire of the alcohol in his belly keep him going, "-they never took care of me. I was born and they were relieved to have a boy so they didn't have to try again."
You hum sadly at his words, tucking your legs beneath you as he runs his hand over his face.
"Maya has always taken care of me. She's always loved and cared for me. She's my mother by all accounts, if I'm being honest. My father was a very big disciplinarian… if that's what you want to call it. Most people would say abusive," he says, pouring himself another glass of whisky.
"Kneeling on rice, getting hit with sharp objects, burning cigarettes out. Things like that," he waves off the notion with his hand, shivering while even speaking the words.
Your heart breaks for him, thinking of how painful that must have been when he was a child.
"I haven't seen my parents in… four years now, since I got married. I hate them." he spits at the ground beneath his feet.
You can see the emotional turmoil he's reliving. You can't imagine how difficult that is.
"I'm sorry," you whisper and he shakes his head fiercely.
Picking up his fork, he taps it gently to the fine china as he thinks.
"So I grew up hating authority because of them and the teachers at Sairmount. They always said I should be doing better because of my position and what I would grow into. I hated that. Even when I tried my best I received no praise, and if I made one mistake it was like the end of the world. So I ended up just kind of… becoming a shell."
You nod to his words, your index finger swirling around the rim of your glass.
"What else, little dove?" he asks softly.
As he tilts his head, you take in his handsome features. He's just a product of his environment. You wonder what he would be like if he could thrive.
"I heard that you go to BDSM clubs and stuff, is that because you feel the need to put people in pain like you were when you were younger?" you ask, trying to be considerate of his feelings.
He takes a sharp breath through his teeth almost as if you've burned him.
"Jesus. You might as well be my therapist," he mumbles, running his hand over his face.
But, he doesn't feel awkward talking to you. He likes this. He appreciates how you listen. How your eyes stay soft and you don't judge him.
"When I was younger -- I was probably sixteen when I developed a taste for it. I was getting angry and violent. I was breaking shit and I needed to funnel that into something. So I started going to a club and learned how to be a dom. It was about the comfort of being in charge. I would have a sub and tell them to jump. They would say how high. I thrived off of being in charge. Thrived off people doing my bidding sexually. It just felt right for me to tell someone what to do and have them want to do it for me. I was in charge, people listened to me, I didn't have to do things others wanted. People did what I wanted them to do. I've toned it down since then."
"You were pretty dominating with me," you offer softly.
He chuckles at how innocent you look, his index finger swiping slowly over his lower lip. "That's because you're so sweet. I wanted to wreck you."
With a gentle giggle, you put your elbow on the table before resting your head on your hand.
"You kind of did," you reply, putting your hand on your stomach.
His eyes follow your hand and he begins to smirk above his glass.
"Clearly," he whispers, his eyes slowly drifting up your body to your swollen tits.
He licks his lips slowly, his teeth tugging at his bottom lip gently.
He never understood the attraction to pregnant women like his friend Jimin. The younger man was obsessed with the notion of it and Yoongi couldn't possibly begin to grasp it. But now, with you sitting here before him, he might be beginning to understand.
Averting his eyes from you, he tries to keep his rampant thoughts at bay.
"What else do you want to know, little dove?" he asks, trying to distract himself.
Your cheeks puff out as you think, your fingers combing through your hair gently.
"Sera? What's with her. If you hate her so much why did you get married to her?" you whisper.
Well, that's something to kill the sexual mood he was starting to feel.
He spits on the ground at the simple name of her. He stares far off into the distance, his eyes lingering on a grove of trees Baeksoo has so kindly planted.
"Sera…" he mumbles, stretching out his legs.
You might as well know. You aren't going anywhere in his life.
"Jesus, I think about it everyday and it still makes me mad," he chuckles to himself, the sound bitter and full of resentment.
You watch his face contort in pain, just the simple memory making it hard to withstand.
Without a second thought you're moving your chair. The sound is loud as you move the heavy metal and he watches you with amused eyes. Finally, your seat is next to him and you huff out gently.
"What?" he asks gently as you plop back down.
You grab his hand, intertwining your fingers to bring him peace. His head lolls back against the chair, his eyes fluttering shut at the simple move. It's a simple thing to hold hands but it feels powerful when it's you.
"You don't have to tell me if you don't want to," you say to him.
His thumb drifts over the back of your hand, his eyes opening to the numerous stars that hang brightly in the sky.
"Everyone knows I hate her but no one truly knows why. Maya, Joon, Hoseok, they know. Hell, Hoseok dives deep into her bitter cunt at night and he knows." he shakes his head gently, his eyes flitting from star to star.
You begin to bite your lip nervously as he squeezes your hand tighter.
"I didn't always hate her. I loved her once. I loved the prospect of her anyway," he breathes out, his hand gripping tighter at yours, "I was engaged at fourteen. It was mandatory, the leech's parents were friends with my parents. Their company was going down the drain, they almost had to declare bankruptcy. So this was the easiest thing for both parties. It's very normal in the high profile life to be engaged to someone else for money. It didn't bother me at all that I was engaged, so were the people around me. I thought I was going to have a life like Namjoon."
He snorts at the simple thought and mindlessly he tugs your hand with his over your stomach.
Just the thought of his baby inside of you brings him peace.
With a gentle sigh, he continues. "She didn't go to school with us and I had only seen her a few times at balls and galas. She was annoying back then and she was always brisk with people. But I liked that, I guess. Because I was the same way. I had a childish crush on her for so long and it kept growing as we got older."
He stops talking only to down another glass of whiskey. He closes his eyes as you run your hand comfortingly over his. "When I moved into this house, I had it renovated to please her. I did anything and everything to make her happy. And I was so… excited to have someone that was mine. Someone to spend the rest of my life with. I didn't want our marriage to be like my parents. And, now it's worse."
You find how sad he is depressing. Frowning, you click your teeth softly.
"I'm so sorry," you whisper.
Shaking his head, Yoongi looks at you. He gives you a sad smile. It's heart wrenching to look at his handsome face so distraught.
Even if he can be an asshole sometimes, you can understand him better now. That's all you wanted. You just wanted to be able to connect the dots.
"It was the night of our wedding, that's when I became aware of how awful of a person Sera is." he says, staring off into the distance.
He couldn't understand why she wanted to get married on New Years. It's freezing cold but if it makes her happy then he should do it. It'll be his duty as a husband anyhow.
"Come!" Taehyung whines to him as he sits in the booth.
"I'm not having sex with a woman the day before I'm getting married. That'd be such a dickish thing to do," he counters as Taehyung wraps his arms around the stripper beside him.
"You've been celibate for a year or some shit. You abstaining for the Lord or for the sake of your new bride is not going to make you a born again virgin, okay?" the younger man asks with a laugh, running his hand over the stripper's pert backside.
Rolling his eyes, the Kisung CEO takes a sip from his drink.
"It's not about being a born again virgin, you moron. It's about fidelity. It's about trust. She and I agreed that we would just be for each other." Yoongi barks out gruffly.
Taehyung grimaces at the simple thought. "Fine. Well whatever pact you have with your blushing new bride is depressing me. I'm going to get my dick wet with… Luna. That's your name, right?" the hotel CEO asks the woman on his arm.
She giggles loudly, the sound frightening and way too forced. "Laura, silly!"
"Yeah. That. Bye Hyung. Try to cheer the fuck up or something." Tae calls, picking the stripper up with his strong arms before swinging her over his shoulder.
Yoongi snorts loudly, his eyes flitting from here to there in the large strip club. This wasn't for him anymore. He would be married now. To a woman all his.
He's been living in this fantasy. Waking up on weekend mornings next to his wife, eating breakfast together. Having a few kids. Being able to enjoy each other's company.
He loves the idea of that. He's gone through so much terrible pain in his lifetime. Maybe, fate is telling him he deserves a reward now.
Standing up, he finishes the rest of his drink. He tosses a few hundred bucks onto the table before heading out.
He knows it's not customary to see his bride the night before the wedding but, maybe he can just have a talk with her. He's dying to see her.
For once, Yoongi let someone else take the penthouse besides him. Sera should be fully comfortable before her big day.
They bought out the whole hotel. She wanted to be married in Italy on New Years. She wanted diamonds dripping from the fucking ceiling and she would have it. She would have it all.
The walk from the strip club to the hotel wasn't far. Yoongi can see the lights on in the penthouse and his heart begins to hammer in delight at the thought of seeing her.
She's so fucking beautiful. Albeit, she can be a little irritating at times but who isn't? She's almost godly in his eyes.
He's been waiting for this day since he was fourteen. He can remember when Namjoon got engaged. How fucking against it he was.
Joon always wanted to do things his way. He wanted to pick who he was with, he wanted to be happy on his own. He despised Yoona for years before their big day a year ago. Then he found out how similar they are. He fell in love with everything she's in love with.
Yoongi hopes it'll be the same.
The ride up the elevator to the penthouse is quiet. Gentle muzak plays that seems to lull him into a false sense of security.
Sera might be really big on traditions. She might have him sit in the living room for them just to talk but that's okay too. Whatever she wants.
The elevator opens silently and Yoongi fixes his blazer in the hallway mirror. He smiles to himself softly, looking like nothing can bring him down from this cloud.
Until he hears it. Until he hears the gentle groaning of a man in his sexual pleasure.
"Oh fuck, Sera. Do it again, you filthy slut." he hears and his world comes crashing down around him.
"Yeah, fuck. You like that? Your cock is so much bigger than Yoongi's. I want you to come play with me during the week while he's at work," she sounds breathless.
The CEO's eyes flutter shut and he grips onto the table before him to keep him steady.
"Yeah. I'd bet you'd fucking like that. I bet you love the idea of me fucking your little cunt while your husband is away at work. Let me cum in your pussy before the cuck gets home. You'll let him in this pussy with my cum inside of you," the voice is that of Sera's driver. The one man Yoongi never even gave any thought to.
His hand feels for the wall. His legs are shaking by now and he slowly slides down the gold wall, pressing his hand over his mouth.
"Cum on my cock, you fucking slut."
The sound of her orgasming will never leave his brain. He can hear how pleased she is.
Yoongi in his past has had sex with others too. But, they promised to be faithful to one another. He believed her.
He can feel his eyes welling up with tears as he squeezes them shut tighter.
He thought fate was giving him a helping hand. He was going to be happy! What has he done so wrong in his life for misery to consistently stay?!
Heavy breathing is heard throughout the silent penthouse.
"Why did you promise that stupid fuck you would be only for him?" Jungmo, the driver, asks breathlessly.
Sera giggles, a sound once so adorable it brought Yoongi to his knees.
"Because I want his fucking money. There's no prenup if he thinks I'm all for him. He genuinely thinks that I love him. He thinks I care about whatever the fuck has happened in his miserable past. Do you know that he told me that his dad used to burn cigarettes out on his skin? I was supposed to feel sorry for him." Jungmo and Sera laugh along with one another.
Yoongi's mouth opens at the sheer atrocity he's listening to. She's so fucking cruel. How did he never see this? How could he have this happen to him?
"You were supposed to feel sorry for that billionaire while you're only sitting barely comfortable at seven million!?"
"I know, right?! The fucking nerve! Like, he doesn't even understand that my life has been so much worse! I had to almost go fucking bankrupt! Who gives a fuck about your sad past? What about me?"
The CEO tugs at the blazer fabric situated above his heart. He clamps his hand tighter over his mouth to stifle the sob raring to break free from his throat.
"I can't wait to take all his fucking money and leave him with only his sad little memories."
Crawling over to the elevator, he pushes the button softly. Praying to God that it doesn't make any noise when it opens.
She's such a cruel bitch. So fucking vile.
He stands up on shaky legs as the door opens without a sound. Pushing the button for the floor below him, he waits until the door closes.
He waits until he is safe in his room.
He wails loudly, falling onto the carpeted flooring of the hotel room. He gasps for air, hands digging and pulling at his hair.
He cries for an hour, maybe more. Time seemingly stops in his distraught state.
When he calms himself down, he pulls out his phone. He crawls over to the bar caddy, wiping viciously at the tears he's spilled for the woman upstairs.
Yoongi doesn't even grab a glass, he just pulls the bottle of whisky down to the floor.
Sitting back against the long bar of the room, he dials the only number he can right now.
The sound of the phone ringing is so loud, it makes him want to weep all over again.
"Yoongi? It's two in the morning, what the fuck?" Namjoon calls blearily, through the phone.
"Joon… Please come to my room." his voice cracks and breaks as he picks up the bottle of whisky.
"Jesus, are you okay?" his best friend asks quickly.
"I need… I need a prenup. Please. Come." Yoongi begs, lifting the bottle to his lips.
"I'm coming! Hold on!" Joon calls to him before the line goes dead.
He gulps down the whisky at a ferocious speed, the liquor swirling and settling in his guts. The fire flaming and goading him on to no avail.
"YOU FUCKING WHORE!" he screams at the top of his lungs.
Yoongi launches the bottle across the room, burying his face into his knees as the sound of glass echoes all around him.
"Oh Yoongi. I'm so sorry," you whisper, clutching tighter to his hand.
Yoongi finds himself laughing at the memory now. He was so blind back then. So lovestruck.
"Nothing that isn't fixed now, little dove. Now we're both trapped in this marriage." his voice is devoid of emotion as he picks up the liquor bottle.
You can see how hurt he is even now. How reliving the memory is something akin to death to him.
You lean in towards his body. You press your lips to his cheek and he grabs you tighter at the feeling.
"Maybe that's why I liked you in the club? Because you seemed so completely opposite of the whore that lives in my house," he says finally as you pull away.
He turns his face to you, your lips just mere inches apart.
Yoongi lifts his hand, placing it gently on your cheek.
"You're a good girl, Y/N. You're so kind and sweet. Fucking understanding. You're going to be a great mother. I'm so sorry that you have to deal with me. Deal with an asshole every day. It isn't fair to you," he whispers, his thumb grazing over the apple of your cheek.
His hand is so warm against your skin, so soft. He's being so gentle.
"You're not an asshole. Not truly." you reply softly.
With a snort, he rolls his eyes. "See. You're almost too kind."
You giggle as his hand drifts down the column of your neck, his thumb rubbing over your jawline.
"I'm serious. You can be an asshole, for sure. But it's because of all the terrible things that have happened to you. If you were happy, really and truly happy. You might flourish. You might be able to find yourself again." you reply.
It comes out as a suggestion but it's really a wish. No one should ever be put through what he has had happen to him.
He tilts his head unsurely, pulling away from you.
"You're going to be a great dad. I won't let you be anything but a good dad to your child. No one is perfect, Yoongi. We can do this together." you say, earnestly.
Together.
The word makes his heart rate pick up speed.
You're pretty perfect in his eyes.
He can tell as you sit with one another, how heavy your eyelids are getting.
"You're tired," he observes.
"No, I'm okay!" you reply quickly to him.
He clicks his teeth, eyes narrowing at you. "We're going to be truthful with each other from here on in. Are you tired?"
With a hesitant hum, you nod. "A little. The baby makes me tired a lot these days."
"Okay." Yoongi whispers finitely.
Standing up, he moved your chair for you. With a simple grunt, he picks you up in his arms bridal style.
"I can walk!" you whine, wrapping your arms around his neck.
"So can I." he jeers cutely.
Wading with sure steps through the house, you find how easy it is for him to look down at you. His eyes are soft when they look upon you now. Like telling you about his life has taken a huge weight off of his shoulders.
He kicks open your bedroom door with a smirk.
"There would have been a time I would have died to bring you up here to ravage you," he says, goodnaturedly.
"You still can." you sing softly as he lays you down on your bed.
"We'll see, hmm?" he whispers as he lifts the covers for you.
"Stay," you mumble, arranging the pillows to your liking.
"You want me to sleep with you?!" Yoongi feels frightened at the notion.
"Yeah… just stay. Don't leave me," you whisper as you close your eyes.
He hesitantly walks around to the other side of the bed. He fumbles with his pants and his shirt almost embarrassingly so.
Yoongi hasn't laid with anyone in years. He hasn't thought about doing so in ages.
"Did you leave?" your voice is just above a whisper.
He watches you for a second, how pretty and serene you look with your hair splayed over the pillow.
"No, little dove. I'm here. I'm not going anywhere," he replies, laying down beside you.
Swallowing thickly, he gets comfortable under the same covers as you.
This is bizarre.
Tiredly, you pull his hand. His eyes go wide as you situate it over your stomach.
"It's not a big deal, Yoongi. Just sleep." You mumble as you turn onto your back.
He can feel the tiny bump developing under his hand.
It is a big deal.
To him.
He brushes some hair out of your face gently.
Maybe Sera wasn't his start to a new life. Maybe it's you.
Next Chapter ---->
Third wheeling Taglist - @wickizer, @imluckybitches, @slothykreuger, @claireelise19, @ggukkieland, @rspbrryy, @iv-bts, @bambuzlee, @chanelbts, @mxxngxdss, @bluewhale52, @milesjeon11, @diamonddia-mond, @vinylphwoar, @yxnxxli, @hubbytaehyung, @140503at-dawn, @bts-7beauts, @jadeblackwoll, @sunshiine-hobii, @creatorspalace, @eclectically-esoteric, @nikkiordonez12, @kaitswrld, @skamlover200, @sevgilove98, @kooeuphoria, @jikooksgirl19, @hobbledehoy26, @singular-itae, @dchimminie, @lowlifeoeuvre, @sugaslittlekookies, @bloopbloopb, @pjmcth, @softysuho, @codeinbelle, @jaiuneamesolitaiire, @betysotelo18, @jeonmisha, @iwanttohitmyself, @ayyyocee, @neverthefirstchoice, @itsbangtanoclock, @little7bitchh, @veryuniquenamegoeshere, @deathkat657, @firstlovesuga-93, @namjoonia, @paperpurple, @muzikabijou, @liebeoppa, @veronawrites, @kleff03, @ruinsofangels, @brightwingr5, @leekanchol, @rkivemagic, @ithinkileftmycoatoutside, @melaninkpops, @y00ngisbabygirl, @ungodlyjoon, @prochnost513, @dunixxd, @athenakyle, @igotnotype, @chxmachxps, @tinymintyoongi, @vangameren-blog, @alpaca1612, @ohcarolinamin, @thegreatestsushi, @jooniebuggy, @eltrain80, @btsmylife21, @deeepvibes, @httpminyg, @deliciouslydisturbed365, @rkchmestizangmaldita, @jimin-chu, @pimpnameyannie, @preciouschimine, @daughterofthequeen, @monetsberet, @vanillamyg, @aamxxrii, @kooafraid, @ladykadyrova, @singjisu, @yazanii, @moonlitmyg, @justzeera, @absolutefantrash, @whocaresarchives, @loosewindmill
#third wheeling#ficswithluv#btscreatorscorner#btswritingcafe#thebtswritersclub#ceo!yoongi#ceo!bts#angst#bad memories
759 notes
·
View notes
Note
prompt idea if it vibes with you... frat!tom and y/n are close friends at a party and Tom accidentally drunkenly tells her how he feels about her. this could be followed by her making sure he gets home and sobers up and in the morning they talk abt it (smut could ensue, if the mood so strikes). wishing you good writing vibes 💞
no smut, just a lot of fluff! thank you for requesting--this concept makes me feel :’)) cw: alcohol
frat!tom !!
*:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧
You’ve never seen Tom this drunk before, and you have to admit, it’s quite cute.
There’s a rosy flush to his face, and his eyes are even warmer than usual. He’s incredibly affectionate, clinging to your arm like it’s his only lifeline, kissing your cheek every time there’s an opportunity to. It’s not that the gushing behaviour is unusual—Tom’s always been a flirt, for as long as you’ve known him—but you’ve never seen him act this enamoured. Not around you.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” You whisper into his ear.
Tom looks up at you, movements jerky and tired. You’re sitting beside him on the sofa. You’d been playing a game of truth or dare with the rest of the group, but they’d all scattered as soon as it finished. Now it’s just you and Tom, sitting side by side.
“Definitely,” he mumbles, voice slightly slurred. He yawns loudly, stretching out his arms and giggling when he accidentally hits your shoulder with a soft fist. “S’rry, love.”
You snort, reaching out to pat his arm. You’re tipsy, but you’re nowhere near as trashed as your friend appears to be. He curls into your touch, and you watch, smirking, as he collapses down over the sofa, stretching his legs out along the cushions as he rests his head in your lap. Your fingers move up to find home in his hair, and you stroke his strands softly as he moans.
“God, that feels good,” Tom whines. His eyes flutter shut and you continue to massage his scalp, tugging lightly on his hair when you figure out he likes a bit of pressure. “Fuck… I love you.”
You chuckle, leaning down to gently kiss his forehead. “Love you too,” you reply.
Tom’s eyes shoot open, and his jaw falls slack as he blinks. “Do you?”
A confused smile finds your face as you nod. “Yeah. You’re one of my best friends, Tom.”
A line forms between his brows. “No, no, that’s not… I didn’t mean it like that.” His nose scrunches up as he pouts, and Tom reaches up to grab your hands. He grasps your fingers firmly and stares into your eyes. “I love you.”
You tilt your head to the side, suddenly feeling a little light headed.
“I love you?” You try again.
Tom chuckles, eyes flickering down to your hands intertwined with his. He clumsily kisses your knuckles before sighing.
“I’m in love with you,” he repeats, voice slanted. “‘M too much of a coward to tell you when I’m sober, but I guess it’s easier when I’m fucked.” He glances up at you, seeming nervous. “It’s um… it’s fine if you don’t feel the same or—“
All of a sudden, Tom breaks off, and he goes very still as he groans. His cheeks pale, and you startle when he sits up suddenly, looking around, startled.
“Don’t be sick,” you warn, heart beating rapidly in your chest. You reach out to the table beside you and pick up your bottle of water, flicking open the cap and passing it into his hands.
Tom downs it quickly, and you soothe your hand over his back as you try to make sense of his confession. You want to believe him—fuck, you’ve been in love with him since the moment you met him—but you also watched him down four shots in a row and do a keg stand, so you don’t know how much you trust his woozy words.
“Thanks,” he murmurs, wiping at his mouth as he passes back the bottle. Tom goes to lie down again, but you gently coax him back up.
“I’m taking you upstairs,” you decide, after a quick glance at his watch to confirm it’s gone three.
Tom pouts, but it’s quick to disappear as you stand
and carefully pull him up with you. “Wait, are you coming too?”
“Yeah. I don’t trust you to climb all those stairs without me.”
He wiggles his eyebrows, slumping against you as you slowly lead him towards the grand staircase.
“If you want to come into my bedroom, you could just come out and say it,” he slurs. “No need to tease, baby.”
You scoff. “How are you still such a flirt when you’re drunk?”
“It’s in my DNA. I’m programmed to appreciate pretty things, and you, love…” He reaches up and boops your nose. “You’re very pretty.”
You decide you quite like Tom when he’s drunk like this—affectionate and loving.
“You’re cute,” you reply. You sigh contentedly as you finally finish dragging him up the stairs. “Go brush your teeth,” you urge, gesturing in the direction of the bathroom. You’re on the top level of the frat now, reserved for the members of admin. As president of the frat, Tom’s lucky enough to have his own room.
“Come with me,” he whines. He blinks at you with those warm brown eyes, and you find yourself melting.
It takes a while to get Tom ready for bed. First it’s his teeth, then you have to pull him out of his incredibly tight skinny jeans, then convince him to drink some water. By the time you’ve got him back into his room and into bed, he’s dead on his feet, and honestly, so are you.
“Sleep with me,” Tom mumbles, holding out his bare arms. He’s burrowed into his double bed, staring up at you with a boyish smirk on his face.
“I should probably go,” you say, sighing slightly.
“Please stay, Y/N.” His lips roll into a pout. “I want your cuddles. Promise I won’t do anything weird.”
You nod, as a quick balancing of positives versus negatives decides you’d much rather stay with Tom than trudge home in the rain.
After flipping off the lights and pulling off your outfit, you rummage through one of Tom’s drawers and find a large rugby shirt. You slip into it and tend to your makeup as best you can before collapsing into bed beside him, immediately finding his buff arms encircling your waist. Tom curls into you like a koala, and as you gently card your fingers through his hair, you’re reminded of his confession.
“Did you mean it?” You whisper.
“Hmm?”
You swallow. “Do you love me?”
Tom peels away from you, and even in the dark, you know he’s looking at you.
“Yeah,” he admits. “Had a crush on you ever since we were partnered together for that study group last semester. Tried to tell you a few times, but couldn’t ever get the words out right.” Tom sighs dramatically, and pulls you closer. “Jus’ don’t wanna lose you as a friend, Y/N… Would rather never tell you so you can’t reject me.”
You release a soft breath, then lean down to kiss the top of his curls.
“Go to sleep, Tom,” you mumble. “We can talk about it in the morning.”
“Okay,” he whispers. “Night… love you.”
You hope that he’s speaking from the heart, and not from the blend of alcohols swirling through his system.
“Love you too.”
*:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧
You’re woken by Tom, when he groans and swears and flings his arms around as he wakes up. When he accidentally bashes you in the side, you curse too, turning over and grumbling incoherently as you try to ignore the ache in your side and the pounding in your head.
“Y/N?” You hear him say, voice confused. “Why are you in my bed?” His words crack with fatigue, and Tom moans again. “Fuck, what did I drink last night? I can’t remember shit.”
You begrudgingly turn back over, the duvet rustling. Tom’s sitting up against the headboard now, glass of water in his hand, and you watch as he downs the pills you’d left out for him last night.
“You had way too much,” you say, keeping your voice quiet. “You wanted me to stay, so… I stayed.”
Tom hums, letting one of his hands come down to rest on the back of your head. His eyes skim your face and a gentle smile works out across his lips.
“You’re in my shirt,” he mumbles. “Looks nice on you.”
You bite back a smile, shrugging bashfully.
“Do you really not remember anything?”
Tom hesitates. He slowly puts the glass of water down before sighing, using that hand to ruffle up his hair.
“I remember bits,” he says. His eyes narrow. “Do you remember everything?”
You think for a moment before nodding. “Yeah.”
Tom nods, and you almost hear him swallow. “And… you’re still here.”
You smile softly. “Yeah.”
“So that means…”
“Yeah.”
He hums, and then reaches down to tug you upright. Despite your complaints at being pulled from the warm embrace of his duvet, you can’t find it in yourself to complain when Tom pulls you into his lap and wraps his arms around you. His eyes are slightly bloodshot, and his hair lies messily across his forehead, but you think he looks beautiful.
“I meant it,” he admits, voice soft. His fingers gently roll over your waist. “I mean, I would’ve liked to say it more, uh...eloquently, but… it’s true, Y/N. I love you.”
He seems to be holding his breath, and the sight of him so nervous makes your heart race. You reach up and wrap your hands around his neck, smiling as you bring him in for a very soft, gentle kiss. You feel him grin into it, and you realise this is exactly where you’re supposed to be.
“I love you too, Tom,” you tell him.
“Oh.” He kisses you again, growing more confident as you pull yourself nearer and nestle further into his arms. “Really?”
“Mmm.” You let your fingers play with his hair as you hum, pressing your forehead to his and closing your eyes. “You’re really funny when you’re drunk.”
“I’m a disaster,” he complains. “‘M so hungover now, too.”
You hum in agreement, then pull back and yawn.
“Can we go back to sleep now?” You ask, drawing a chuckle from Tom.
“Fuck yeah,” he mutters. He pulls you down with him, and this time, it’s you that curls into him. He wraps you up in his arms and holds you close, kissing the top of your head with care. “Love you,” he chimes, and despite how unfamiliar the words are, they sound right, filling his accent like that.
You press a soft kiss to his chest, and let your eyes droop closed.
“Love you too.”
#tom holland x reader#tom holland fluff#tom holland x reader fluff#tom holland#frat!tomfic#tomblurbs#myblurbs#tom.sfw#queue
517 notes
·
View notes
Text
so, you’re real - tommy shelby
summary: while high off his ass, tommy shelby is approached by a mysterious woman offering him something more valuable than drugs: information. your services become essential to how tommy conducts business, but your anonymity means he can’t help but fall in love with you from a distance.
words: 5.4k
pairing: tommy shelby x fem!reader (race non-specific)
warnings: tommy shelby. that’s the warning.
a/n: first tommy fic :D he’s one of the most beautifully complex characters ever in television imo but that also means his kinda nightmare to right. so,,, he might come off a little ooc because he’s very soft!tommy in this. i also wanna write a tommy fic based off ‘why’d you only call me when your high’ by arctic monkeys for obvious reasons.
masterlist | add yourself to the taglist! | faq
Tommy Shelby could count the number of people who’s seen him high as a kite on opium with three fingers. Arthur was the first; he drukenly stumbled into Tommy’s room instead of his own one night and the smell of the pipe sobered him enough to start asking questions. Tommy shoved him out and by the morning, Arthur was too hungover to remember a thing. The next was Polly; Tommy stumbled down the stairs as he was high around three in the morning once as he searched the house for more booze. Polly watched from a distance as he sat himself on the kitchen table and wept, squeezing his eyes shut and covering his ears with his hands. She chose not to mention it the following morning, but a perscription for morphine found its way to Tommy’s desk a few days later.
The third person... was you.
You didn’t know the Shelby’s personally. You were the assistant of a local Small Heath accountant that dealt with Birmingham’s most infamous clients: local coppers, factory owners, politicians, even gangsters. Your boss was known as the Devil’s Safe—nothing that came in went ot without the client’s consent.
But you weren’t a saint. Being so close to his office at all times and knowing far too much about where the most influential people in Birmingham got their money and where they spent it, it was nearly impossible to keep your mouth shut.
So, you didn’t. At a price, of course.
You quit your job and created a small network of spies that could feed you information about anyone or anything at anytime, using your knowledge about the Devil’s Safe as leverge. You charged whoever could afford for your services, coppers and criminals alike. Some self-righteous copper tried to shut you down once. Keyword: tried. There were too many spies all over the city to try to arrest (that is, if he could find grounds to arrest them), and you were too important to too many important people that arresting you would likely have him assasinated.
That, and you tipped him off about a corrupt police captain who had been trading orphans for cash. It got him a promotion and you a protective shield over your dealings from the coppers.
Tommy first met you at the races. You were hanging off the arm of Roberts, Billy Kimber’s advisor, and he briefly caught your eye before returning his gaze to Grace who stared at him lovingly. He didn’t know it then, but you were analyzing him. His posture, his facial expressions, how he spoke to Kimber, and most importantly, his books that Roberts happened to have a copy of. Nothing went unnoticed by you. The Shelby’s were starting to cause ruckus all over the city and you were interested. But, to maintain your facade, you snuck a few kisses to Roberts’ neck to distract him from your snooping.
When Tommy returned to the table with the bag of cash his brothers had collected from the Lees, you were gone.
---
The second time he sees you, he isn’t even sure if it’s you.
It’s late at night as he approaches The Garrison when he notices Polly standing with another figure in the alley. He slows his steps and silences his breathing, trying to catch the end of your conversation.
“You’re sure this is where she is?” That’s unmistakingly Polly’s voice.
A soft chuckle rips through the air and Tommy suddenly wonders what your voice sound like. “There’s only so many women carrying a newborn and looking that terrified of what may be behind her,” the other voice says. It’s not soft or angelic, Tommy notices. Nothing likes Grace’s. It’s deeper, smoother, and he can almost hear the smirk in her voice.
“How do I know you’re not lying to me?” Polly asks back skeptically. Tommy has the common sense to realize she’s talking about Ada who had gone into hiding after Freddie was arrested. Polly hadn’t been able to stay in the same room as him for very long since.
You pull out another envelope from your coat and teasingly dangle it in front of her. “Here’s the list of all of Ada and Freddie’s known addresses. The Communists have them move every few weeks; the address I gave you is Ada’s current address. Go there tomorrow from seven to nine in the morning. Ada’ll still be in bed and Karl will still be asleep. Then, you’ll know I’m right, you’ll give me the full payment, and I’ll give you the rest of the addresses.”
Tommy is slightly stunned at what he’s hearing. They had been trying to look for Ada for nearly two weeks to no avail, but this woman was able to find her that easily?
The woman turns to walk away before Polly can respond and in the street light, Tommy can make out the outline of your face. It was so brief that he couldn’t tell if you were actually there or if he imagined your face in the darkness.
Polly doesn’t notice him as she makes her way back inside the pub. The following afternoon, Polly is pounding on his office door saying she’s found where Ada had been hiding.
---
The third time he sees you, he’s sitting in the empty Garrison with a bullet wound in his shoulder, whiskey coursing through his veins, enough meloncholy and anger to swim in, and a broken heart.
Billy Kimber was dead. Campbell was gone. But, so was Grace.
It was a series of emotions he hadn’t felt in a long time: relief, then anger, then happiness, then frustration. Then the shovels started. Then, it all got too loud and he slipped his opium pipe into his coat pocket before going to The Garrison to drink his sorrows away. He had never taken the pipe out of his room before. In that state, he didn’t care.
He doesn’t really know how you got in; he had angrily yelled at everyone to leave the bar when the night was late enough for him to feel emotion and locked the door behind him. Maybe I didn’t lock the door right, he thinks. In reality, you had picked the lock.
“I could’ve told you she’d been working with him,” your voice calls behind him. He’s still hunched over his drink, the pipe lying next to a nearly empty bottle of whiskey. He didn’t need her to clarify who she was talking about.
“You could’ve, eh?” Tommy mumbles dangerously. He felt light, but his eyes and his heart felt heavy. He hated the feeling. Oh god, he hated it.
“Hmm,” you hum back, taking a seat next to him. You reach behind the bar and pull out a bottle of gin and poor yourself a drink. Tommy watches you do so. You don’t look like you pity him, in fact, you don’t even look at him. Instead, you focus your attention on the drink.
After taking a sip, you reach into your coat jacket and pull out an envelope, slidding it over to Tommy. You had clearly seen the opium pipe that still had smoke coming out of it, but you gently pushed it out of the way so the envelope rested in front of Tommy’s drink.
“What is this?” he asks, still too high to think straight.
“Consider it a resume,” you quip back, taking another sip of your drink as you study the collection of liquor and spirits on the back shelf of the bar.
“For what?”
“My services.”
“You a fuckin’ whore? You think that’s what I need right now, eh?”
“What I think you need right now, Mr. Shelby, is a sense of security. To be ahead of the enemy. I can give that to you,” you reply smoothly, barely flinching. Tommy notices your voice doesn’t falter even at his jab. He begins to sober up, finaling looking at you.
You had an air of mystery and intrigue. Your eyes looked all-knowing and the corner of your lip was quirked. A white blouse was tucked into a deep red skirt with your black wool jacket overtop of it all. If he was a different man, he surely would have taken you home.
“Why are you telling me this?” he finally asks.
You look back at him, the smirk on your lips growing. “Because I quite like your family. Polly is quite intelligent and Ada is a delight. I also know far too much about you, so it’d be a shame if someone paid be good money to tell them everything there is to know about you. But if you came to me first, there wouldn’t be much of an issue. The rate for ratting out one of my clients is ridiculously high.”
So, it had been you with Polly that night, he thinks. “You’d work for me?” he asks again, tone getting more serious. The last time a woman worked for him, it didn’t end particularly well.
You laugh and Tommy is momentarily stunned. It’s a beautiful laugh that appeared in an awful moment. “I don’t work for anyone, Mr. Shelby.”
And then you left. Tommy stares a the door for a few minutes after you’ve left, wondering if he had imagined your visit the whole time. When he turns back to his drink, the envelope you left behind is a sign that you had been real. He hesitantly opens it and his jaw unhinges at the contents inside: there were several documents, reports, and even pictures tying Grace Burgess and Inspector Campbell together. It seemed so plain and simple once it was laid out in front of him.
Under the flap of the envelope was an address as well as a rate of service. It was high, Tommy couldn’t deny it, but he also couldn’t deny how the pressure on his chest eased for a moment when he was with you. Even more so when you had left the address.
The next morning, a wad of cash from Shelby Company Limited shows up at one of your drop locations. It’s more than you asked for and quicker than you expected it to come. You smirk softly and get to work.
---
Tommy doesn’t see you again until he pays a visit to Sabini’s club a few years later as he works on his London expansion. He had been a client of yours for nearly two years now and he was continuosly impressed with your work. You literally had eyes everywhere; there wasn’t a place between Manchester and Brighton that you couldn’t get to. You had been the one feeding him inside information about Sabini’s operations in London, as well as how to get Alfie Solomon’s attention.
Despite all this work, he hasn’t seen you since you approached him when he was high in the empty pub. He gets all his information through courriers, telephone calls from messengers, and packages from drop locations all over the city. He asked a courrier once why he hasn’t seen you since.
“No one really sees her, sir. We just get orders in one way or another, we excecute them, and then money shows up. She doesn’t want anyone to tie her to her clients or the boots on the ground.”
“She’s clever.”
“She’s bloody brilliant, is what she is. She’s set up this system so bloody tight that no one really knows how it works except her. One lad up in Coventry tried to turn her in. Went missing a few days later.”
He doesn’t think about you often, but when he does, he’s reminded of that night in The Garrison; how mysterious and beautiful and dangerous you looked, how his chest seemed less tight with you around. Maybe he’s imagined it. Maybe it was the opium clouding his vision. So, he pushes those thoughts away because as far as he’s concerned, you’re an enigma. Hell, he doesn’t even know your name and he’s been paying you big money and giving away too much of his plans.
But he sees you that night when he and his brothers storm Sabini’s club. You’re sitting on a fancy velvet lounging chair, tucked under the arm of what Tommy assumes is a wealthy banker or socialite. You don’t see him (not yet, at least) but Tommy sees you. All Tommy sees is you. The smoke that flows out of your nostrils as your lips curl at whatever attempt at humour then man with you made draws Tommy in. So does the cut of your deep blue, satin dress. He knows it then, that you’re real. That you’re not a figment of his imagination.
“This place is something else, innit?” Arthur remarks as they make their way deeper and deeper into the club. Tommy is still drawn to you as his brothers gawk at the permiscuous behaviour around them.
The party atmosphere doesn’t last long however, as the boys make a show out of trashing the place. Tommy makes sure to put on a performance, to play up the fear. When he shouts something along the lines of being on a holiday, he happens to catch your eye and the first thing he notices is the smirk playing on your lips. He’s first confused as to why but he understands: you had a large part of the London expansion and you also likely knew that Tommy was going to be there that night. You weren’t there with a man. You were there to see him. You were there to see his reckoning.
The image of you tattooed itself onto Tommy’s brain and the feeling he felt in his chest was something he craved to feel again.
---
The next morning, the brothers stumble into Ada’s home, uninvited. Their younger sister begrudgingly lets them in, still clad in her nightgown, and hastily tells them to keep their noise level down as Karl was still sleeping.
It doesn’t last very long.
“You shoulda seen their bloody faces, Ades!” John hollers, mouth full of biscuits and tea. Ada hisses at him for spewing food across the table.
“Didn’t know what was coming, the lot of them,” Arthur adds, already taking a sip from a flask. He was barely sober from the night before and it wasn’t even eight in the morning. “Fuckin’ Sabini, Ada. He won’t know what’s bloody comin’.”
“Sabini, eh?” Ada plays along, still slightly annoyed but now intriguied. “You didn’t happen to hit up his club last night, did you?”
“’Course we did!” John snickers. “What’d you think we’d do, start small?”
Ada’s facial expression suddenly changes into one of slightly more concern. Arthur and John don’t notice, but Tommy does. “I was hopin’ you would,” Ada plays it off but Tommy notices.
“Ada?” he asks, voice stern but eyes curious. His sister was intelligent, so much so that her mouth was as good at getting her out of trouble as it was getting her in it. Tommy was sure that there was more than what she let on.
“Tom?” Ada says back, not meeting his gaze and instead taking a bite out her toast and jam.
“Why’re you so hung up on Sabini’s club?” Tommy asks directly, slowly getting tired of his sister’s semantics. He mommentarily understands how Polly feels when he keeps things from her.
Ada sighs, having also attracted attention from her two other brothers. She sets down her toast and looks directly at Tommy. “You saw her, didn’t you?”
“Saw who?” Arthur asks, booming voice too loud for the sudden change of tone in the room. Ada grimaces but still stares at Tommy.
Tommy knows exactly who she’s talking about. But he wonders how Ada does.
“I did,” he says simply.
“Who’re you talkin’ about?” John asks next, looking between his siblings. Arthur shrugs at him.
“Did you say anything to her?”
“No.”
“Good,” Ada says too quickly. Tommy narrows his eyes at her.
“For God’s sake!” Arthur says again, slamming his tea cup back down onto the table. “Who in the bloody hell are you talkin’ about?”
Ada rolls her eyes and continues eating and Tommy is left to stare at his brothers. He wants to answer. He wants to answer so badly. But he doens’t even know her name.
“I—” Tommy trails off. He’s rarely rendered speechless, but he is when it comes to you. Who were you? Why did Ada know you? Why can’t he get you out of his head? Why does he hope you’re standing there in the shadows every time he steps out on the street?
“You? You what, Tom?” John asks this time, equally as exasperated.
“He doesn’t know and it should stay that way,” Ada says simply. “She offers you a service, you pay her, end of transaction. Stay away from her Tommy, I mean it.”
“What service?” John asks again, still getting more questions than answers.
Tommy sighs, rubbing a hand over his face. “After Grace, she offered me a service. Cash in exchange for information. Said she knew that I needed a sense of security.” She was right, Tommy thinks but doesn’t dare say.
“Information about what, exactly?” Arthur asks, voice dropping an octave as he leans forward.
“Everything. Anything and everything. She knows everything. I don’t have the slightest clue how,” Tommy answers honestly, his own disbelief being obvious for the first time.
“She can betray us...” John warns, skeptical especially after Grace.
“She won’t,” Ada says simply.
“How do you know?” John challenges.
“She won’t,” Ada reaffirms with a glint in her eye. John immediatley backs down. Ada doens’t trust easily, especially after Freddie.
Tommy believes her. You know too much, far too much. More than he or you had bargained for. You also gave too much. Tommy asked for one thing, you gave him what he wanted and more. Tommy wanted a brief description of the shipping business in Bristol, you gave him an itemized list. Tommy asked you to keep an eye out for any potential threats, you gave him incredibly precise weekly reports. He asked people what your service was like as if he didn’t already know himself: you were never this thorough. He knew you wouldn’t betray him because you would have done it already. The question is, why did Ada trust her?
“You know who she is, don’t you?” Tommy asks his sister once again, doing his best to intimidate her. It’s no use.
“I do,” Ada says simply.
“Even her name?”
John scoffs. “You don’t even know her bloody name and you’ve got that look like you’re in love? Jesus, Tom! You need a good fuckin’, I’m telling you.”
Ada ignores her brother’s comment. “Even her name.”
Tommy gestures for her to elaborate and Ada hesitantly continues, “Polly paid her to find me after Karl was born. She found me personally, not through a messenger. We got along quite well, she was very honest about what she’d been hired to do. She gave Polly that information she was looking for, but we kept in touch. Personally, I mean. I like her.”
“Tell me her name, Ada.”
Ada makes a face of fake appeasement. “Can’t do that, sorry Tom.”
Tommy’s jaw clenches. “Ada...” he warns.
Ada’s glare mathces his own. “Her identity is all she’s got Tommy. The minute a client knows who she is, it all falls apart. For the love of God, for your safety and hers, don’t find her.”
And hell, does Tommy want not to listen. He wants to find you again. To see you. To speak to you. To learn your name. To feel the weight in his chest lighten once more.
But you remained impossible to find. Even with his London expansion, he wasn’t any closer to finding out who you really were than the day you first spoke to him at The Garrison.
So, he tried to push his thoughts away. He didn’t get so lucky.
---
He was used to receiving messages from you on Sunday evenings before the week began and Thursday mornings before the week ended. Sometimes, they’d be in the form of a phone call from a messnger reading a message written by you. Other times, he would visit a drop site where he picked up parcels of information and evidence you had collected. Fridays were paydays, so he’d get a Blinder to drop a parcel of cash (though they never knew it was cash) at a drop site and wait for a courrier with a blue ribbon pinned under the lapel of their overcoat to retrieve it.
All your foot solidiers and clients wore the ribbons. You avoided paper trails so everything was with symbols. Ribbon colours were a discrete way for both the client and the courrier to tell who was who. Clients wore white ribbons, courriers wore blue ones, messengers wore green ones, and red ones were used for emergencies.
That’s why Tommy panicked when a man burst into his office late at night the day before he was set to take down Sabini, urgently lifting his lapel to show his red ribbon.
“What’s happened? Are we in danger?” Tommy asks immediatley, standing up from his chair.
“No, sir,” the foot soldier said. They were never allowed to say the names of clients, only sir and ma’am. “I have a message from her. It was urgent and couldn’t have waited until Thursday.”
The man gives him a sealed envelope before bowing and leaving as quickly as he came. Tommy checks to make sure that he is alone before ripping it open. It wasn’t a message, but a phone number and the word clairvoyant scribbled quickly with fancy ink.
Tommy furrows his eyebrows but picks up his phone and dials the operator. The other end picks up immediately. He hastily says the number he wants to be patched through to as well as the word scribbled below it. The operator says nothing else and he hears the phone ring again before a female voice finally picks up.
“Mr. Shelby, I was waiting for your call.”
It was you. Tommy’s heartbeat quickens. You continue to speak, oblivious to his shock, “I don’t make calls myself unless absolutely neccassary. You don’t need to worry about privacy; I have connections with the operating center that patched you through. They won’t say a word to anyone, telling them that you called and they won’t be listening.”
Truthfully, Tommy hadn’t even been thinking of that. He was still slightly shocked that he was hearing your voice, the same voice as nealry three years ago. The opium fucked with a lot of things, but not his sense perception. Your voice was as beautiful as he remembered it to be.
He forces the thoughts out of his head and finally speaks. “What’s happened? Is there an emergency?”
“You aren’t safe at the races tomorrow. There will be an attempt on your life.”
Tommy is not entirely surprised. “I’m sure you can put two and two together; what I plan to do at the races is practically a suicide mission, dear. Of course there’ll be an attempt on my life.”
You scoff at the other end of the line. “Mr. Shelby, I’ll rephrase: you may succeed in your plan tomorrow, but something will catch you off-guard. Something big.”
“What is it, then? If you’re so sure,” Tommy challenges, but is taken aback by the silence.
You sigh, defeated at the other end of the line. “Mr. Shelby, I’ll be honest. An Inspector Campbell approached me this morning, asking for my services to give him everything I knew about you plans tomorrow. I took his money.”
Tommy’s jaw clenches. “You called me to tell me you’re a fuckin’ conspirator against me now, eh?”
“I resent that. There’s a reason I ask you not to tell me anything about your business aside from what I need to know to do my job,” you snap back. “Campbell gave me money to tell him information I didn’t have. So, I took the money and told him lies. He didn’t pay enough money to turn me against one of clients anyway and I don’t negotiate.”
Tommy laughs in slight disbelief, “You clever bloody woman.”
You can’t help but grin at the other end of the line. “He let it slip that he had something planned, though. That you weren’t getting out of this alive. Thomas, I don’t know what and I don’t have enough time to find out, but you needed to know,” you say before soflty adding, “I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I didn’t tell you.”
Tommy nods solemnly before saying, “That’s the first time you’ve called me Thomas.”
You laugh and Tommy’s heart clenches at the sound. “Is that what you choose to focus on?” you ask, amused despite your worry.
“I’m not afraid of death. Not anymore,” Tommy answers.
“It’s a shame. There seems to be a lot in your life that’s worth living for,” you reply, your voice softer that Tommy’s ever heard it.
“Will you do me one final favour? Take it as my dying wish.”
“Thomas—” you start before he cuts you off.
“Can you tell me your name?” he finally asks, but he’s met with silence. He clears his throat and adds, “Please?”
You sigh at the other end. This is not how you were supposed to conduct business. Anonymity was the only thing keeping you from being excecuted at the hands of the Crown or a crime-boss. But here the feared Thomas Shelby was, asking as his dying wish to know your name. You don’t know him aside from your brief interactions and stories from Ada. But strangely, you trust him with the key keeping your identity safe.
“Y/N. My name’s Y/N.”
---
The following evening, Tommy trudges home covered in mud and blood. His encounter with the face of death was anticipated, but still left him scarred. Despite his success against the races and against Sabini, he felt trapped. With a success in the business, he still finds himself indebted to Winston Churchill. He’s exhaused of this cycle and in the moment, he embraced his fate just a little.
As he pushed the door to his home open, his eyes are immediately drawn to crackling fire. He hadn’t expected anyone to be home, as the family was staying in London with Ada to celebrate their successes.
So the sight of you, sitting on his couch and staring into the fire shocked the life back through him.
He takes of his hat and stares at you in slight disbelief. “So, you’re real.”
You turn to face him and the tension previously present in your features fell and the corner of your lip quirked upwards. “You’re alive,” you state the obvious.
“The Devil’s tried too many time to kill me, I’m starting to wonder if God does exist,” he says plainly, taking off his coat and taking a seat on the other end of the couch from you.
A small laugh escapes you. “He has jokes, does he?”
Tommy smiles softly but shakes his head and stares at you. “You’re really real. I was starting to think I was imagin’ ya.”
“Ada says you’ve been asking about me.”
“I have. She wouldn’t tell me your name, though.”
“You got it anyway.”
“Who’s to deny a man his dying wish?” Tommy darkly jokes again.
“I can’t go back to operating how things were. Even you knowing my name is too much,” you say softly, turning back to the fire. You were slightly frustrated with yourself. Years and years of building a network built around your anonymity destroyed by one man. Deep down, you felt that it was time.
“I wouldn’t tell anyone,” Tommy says simply.
“But you’d want to be in my life,” you say back, still not looking away from the fire. “I’m a woman, but I’m not stupid. I know why you tried to look for me.”
Tommy sits back and watches her. A woman’s never been more direct with him before. Even Grace, who had just asked him to lay with her one final time before moving back to America at the races, had never laid out what she saw so simply and bluntly before. She was right. Tommy wouldn’t tell anyone your name if you asked him to, but he would still want to see you. The only thing more painful than not knowing who you were was knowing and still not being able to see you.
“You could start again,” Tommy says. He barely recongizes the softness in his own tone, but he decides the change is good. “You could work for me, have your men join the Blinders if they wanted.”
“I don’t work for anyone, Mr. Shelby,” you say again cheekily, reminding him of the first time the two of you spoke. You turn to face him and stop to admire his beauty—how the fire cast beautiful shadows across his face, how the moonlight sparkled in his eyes.
“That you don’t,” Tommy hums in agreement, still looking at you. His gaze hadn’t left you since he came home.
It’s silent for a few moments before Tommy says, “Stay.”
“With you?” you ask in slight surprise.
“With me, in Small Heath, with the company—whatever you want. Just stay.”
“You barely know me.”
“Then let me get to know you, Y/N,” Tommy answers, finally saying your name for the first time. He loves the way it spills off his tongue and you equally adore the sound of his voice when he says it.
You nod softly, agreeing with his hearfealt proposition. The two of you spent the rest of the night staring into the fire, allowing your heartbeats and breaths come into sync as you slowly fell asleep.
---
It’s been five years since you had started working for Shelby Company Limited as Tommy’s senior advisor and security specialist, four years since your network of spies had merged with the Peaky Blinders, three years since you and Tommy got married, two years since you gave birth to a set of twins named Benjamin and Mae Shelby, and one year since you had also become a political advisor to your husband and his allies in Parliament.
With your years together, the Shelby family found you to be an intriguing, fascinating, and intimidatingly wonderful woman. They couldn’t comprehend how right you seemed with Tommy. They also couldn’t comprehend how involved you were in their success without them even knowing who you were. However, they love to poke fun at Tommy for basically falling in love with from two interactions.
You were currently at the Arrow House doing the final touch-ups to your makeup for the gala you were hosting in your home. It was a typical charity ball that made sleezy politicians look good in the eyes of their constituants, but you had pressured Tommy to allow you to host it on behalf of the Shelby Family Institute. He had been skeptical, but relented when you reminded him that it wasn’t about giving them a platform to look good, but using their ego to benefit the institute.
“I’ve put the children to bed,” Polly announces as she walks into the master bedroom. The room is obscenely large with a king sized bed in the middle, but Polly can’t help but feel pride every time she visits. It was the both of your hardwork that you got you here and she was proud. “Ben passed out almost immediatley, but you’re right about Mae. She’s a trouble maker.”
You give Polly a smile through the mirror of the vanity you sat in front of, “Thank you, Pol. Really.”
“Where’s that bastard husband of yours?” Polly jokes as she stands behind you, inspecting her pearls in the mirror.
“His study, no doubt,” you joke with a slight smirk.
“The faith the two of you have in my is astounding,” Tommy says sarcastically, immerging through the en-suite dressed in his tuxedo.
Polly rolls her eyes and leaves the room, leaving the couple to stare at each other.
“You clean up well, Mr. Shelby,” you state, smiling as he approaches you. “Though I’m not sure if that’s because of you or your OBE.”
“Sometimes, I wonder if I should have continued loving you at a distance,” he comments humourously.
You laugh—a real laugh—and wrap your hands around his neck while his arms immediately find themselves around your waist.
“How’re you feeling, darling?” Tommy asks, referring to the mental and emotional preparation for the event that was about to start downstairs.
“I’m not the biggest fan of a lot of your colleagues, Tom,” you say honestly. “Their wives however...they give me thousands of pounds worth of information every sentence.”
“You never cease to amaze me with that mind of yours,” he tells you honestly.
“And you never cease to amaze me with how verbally affectionate you can be,” you quip back lightheartedly before Tommy softly kisses your lips.
“How ‘bout this?” he says once you pull away. “I take care of getting donations, you take care of getting more leverage on the labour bill I’m looking to pass.”
“Done,” you say with a smile before Tommy kisses you again. You begin to hear cars pull into the driveway when you try to pull away, but he keeps you close.
“Tom,” you giggle, breathless. “Tom, the guests are arriving.”
“I’ve waited for you for years, they can wait for you a little while longer,” he replies with a smirk before kissing you deeply once again.
#tommy shelby#tommy shelby imagine#tommy shelby x reader#thomas shelby#thomas shelby imagine#thomas shelby x reader#peaky blinders#peaky blinders imagine#peaky blinders x reader#tommy shelby fanfic#tommy shelby fanfiction#thomas shelby fanfic#thomas shelby fanfiction#thomas shelby fic#tommy shelby fic#peaky blinders fic
413 notes
·
View notes
Text
Hayloft (p.2)
Pairing: Arvin Russell x F!Reader
Summary: Your dad brings home his new coworker, Arvin Russell, telling you that he’ll be living with the two of you for a while. While attempting to keep Arvin from seeing the disfunction of your relationship with your father, the two of you grow closer than you thought. (Inspired by “Hayloft” by Mother Mother, though that’ll really only be one chapter later on so I don’t know if it really counts…)
Warnings: Abuse, drunkenness, misogyny, reader’s mother is dead, decapitating a chicken, reader is kind of emotional in this chapter
Word Count: 4.2k
A/N: My first slow(er) burn fic! Let me know what you think!
Part 1
_____________________
Work had passed fairly quickly as it always did when you had the opening shift. It sure sucked having to arrive at five o’clock in the morning but at least you got off earlier and you knew that that way you could grab groceries before your father got home and could yell at you about an empty kitchen again. By two o’clock in the afternoon, you were home again, hopping out of your truck and grabbing as many bags as you could in one go.
The loud sound of metal slamming against metal shook you and you flinched, looking between your door and the frame to see Arvin walking out towards you. It hadn’t occurred to you that his car was even in your driveway. After so many years of having busted broken down old cars sitting there that your dad had been swearing he’d fix for almost ten years, cars in the driveway seemed normal. “Let me give you a hand,” he offered as he got closer, lifting the canvas bags from your hands before you could object.
“Oh!” You exclaimed as you felt the weight suddenly taken off your own arms, “Thank you.” You dove back into the truck to grab the last two bags before slamming it shut with your hips. The two of you began your stroll towards the front door, the dirt driveway kicking up around your feet. “You’re back early.” You noted, looking over at Arvin.
He shrugged, “Yeah, uh, Wallace had me on the early shift today.”
You fumbled with the bags as you tried to unlock the door, kicking it open with your toes when it finally gave in. You walked into your home and Arvin followed, closing the door behind him. “Been here long? I didn’t see you in the driveway.”
“Not too long. I just didn’t want to let myself into your home without nobody there.” Arvin set the bags on the counter next to where you set yours.
You began to unpack the bags and put the groceries in the respective places. Arvin watched off to the side, unsure of how your kitchen was organized so he was worried he’d do more than good if he stepped in. “My daddy got the late shift?”
Arvin shook his head, noticing that his beat up old hat was still on his head despite being indoors and took it off immediately, his tousled brown curls parting messily down the middle. “No, we went in at the same time. He ‘n some buddies said they was goin’ to some bar in town.”
He watched your shoulders fall a little and you sighed, “Figures…. You didn’t go?”
Again, Arvin shook his head, “No. No offense to your daddy but I don’t like to drink the way I get the feelin’ he does.”
You snorted, turning to him with a knowing chuckle, “Let’s just say that I’m sorry in advance for whatever he says or does when he gets home, if he gets home. Sheriff Pike might end up callin’ in the mornin’ tellin’ us to pick him up.” Though it was stated as a joke, Arvin could hear the tragic reality behind your words.
Arvin then noticed the pack of beer bottles that you were pulling out of the bag. As if you could feel his eyes looking at you with worried curiosity, you glanced over at him, noticing the way his eyes flicked between you and the beer in your hands. You offered a sad shrug, “I know what you’re thinkin’ but trust me. Sometimes it’s better to have him drunk and possibly content than sober and angry there’s nothing to drink. Besides, the beer is better than the hard stuff with ‘im.”
“‘M sorry. I didn’t mean to be makin’ faces. Your business is your business,” Arvin backpedalled, giving you an apologetic nod.
You shook your head, “Don’t worry. I know how it looks. I’m sorry you gotta see all of it. I been tryin’ to keep to keep him calm but if you end up stayin’ a while, I’m sure you’ll get to see him at his worse times.”
Arvin chewed his lip as he contemplated whether or not to bring up what had been going through his mind but he had to make sure you were alright. “I-I heard you ‘n your dad talkin’ last night… right after you left my room.”
Your face fell as you realized what he was talking about, “You weren’t s’posed to hear that. I’m sorry.” Shit, this was what you were hoping to avoid.
“Are you alright?”
Gentle. Caring. His tone was something that had been long lost to you in this house and it took the words out of your mouth for a moment. It was embarrassing, the way your heart welled up with… well love wasn’t quite the right word but the warmth of being cared about. Not since after your mother had passed had you heard somebody actually care about how you felt.
You just nodded and gave a forced smile that you could tell was easy to see through but it was the best you could muster. For someone who was able to take so much shit from their father and was able to look the man who would throw things at you and grab you by the hair dead in the eye with nothing but contempt, it was compassion that made you crumble. It had been so unexpected, especially from Arvin, the stranger living in your house.
“Shit, ‘m sorry! I didn’t mean to - I didn’t mean to overstep. I only…” He stammered over his words and at first you were confused until you felt the single hot tear tracing its way down your cheek.
You were quick to wipe it away, shocked at your own uncharacteristic show of vulnerability. You hadn’t realized until now that you had zoned out on the ground while Arvin’s words repeated in your head but now a flash of embarrassment ran through you. “No, no, no. I’m sorry. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.” You sniffled once before giving a small laugh of disbelief. “It’s just… It’s been a long time since anybody asked that.”
You straightened up and ran your hands through your hair, eyes closed as you thought of what else you needed to do. Thankfully, if your dad was at the bar, you had at least another four hours to just you and Arvin, all night if you were lucky, though you seldom were. That was when the feeling of dread set in. Your dad had requested chicken roast for dinner tonight and whether he came home early and only a few beers in or you had to drive him home hungover in the morning, the man would be furious if there weren’t at least reheated leftovers for him. You had to kill Patty and prep her for dinner.
“You okay?” Arvin asked again, though this time it was in reference to the way a heavy look fell over your features. It wasn’t a profound deep question like it was earlier.
Your head wavered from side to side and your lips twisted, “My daddy asked for chicken roast tonight. I gotta go out and fix Patty up.” You tried to put it lightly though it felt anything but. “I’ll be out in the coop. You’re more than welcome to clean up in the shower or do whatever you’d like ‘round the house. The radio is in the livin’ room if you wanna tune into somethin’.”
You pushed yourself off the counter and walked to the door in your kitchen that led out to the backyard but Arvin made a few steps to follow, “Is it alright if I keep you company? It don’t feel right bein’ in your house without you or your daddy here.”
You smiled at the thought of him staying with you and you nodded, continuing out the door, “Sure, c’mon.”
The hen house wasn’t very far from the back door. From there, you could see the several acres of land that your father was wasting. Your grandparents had bought this land in the late 1910’s and had started up a little farm of their own to sell locally, though your father had abandoned the farming portion after they died. It was where your daddy had grown up and then where you had as well. God, how you missed your grandparents. Your grandmother’s soft words of love and kindness but sternness and willingness to swat your butt with a wooden spoon if you got an attitude (though she would yell at your father if he ever tried to discipline you - “Now you leave that poor baby alone!”). Your grandfather had looked like a rough and angry old man from years of hard work but he had the softest heart of anyone you’d ever met. How the two of them had raised your father was beyond you.
When you approached the wired fence and jiggled the lock open, the chickens inside stood surprisingly still. They trusted you. You could see it in their little brown eyes. You were safe and warm and didn’t want to harm them. You came in for the unfertilized eggs they laid and left, oftentimes with some seed and a soft pat or two on the head. Patty, a fat white hen with black specks, walked comfortably around your feet, nuzzling her head against your leg. She was the nicest hen you’d ever had. She trusted you.
God, you were about to cry again. You bent down to pick her up and you held her against your chest, trying to look her in the eye, though it was difficult when she kept jerking it in different directions. “I can’t tell you how sorry I am,” you murmured low. Usually it was your father that would slaughter the hens if he really wanted the meat that badly. You had never done it yourself but he’d made you watch every time so that you knew how if the time ever came. Each time it made you sick to your stomach.
Already, you felt green. The unassuming hen that you had been friendly enough to for her not flip out when you held her was none the wiser that her life was about to end by your hand. You glanced over to the large wood round just ahead and the axe that was leaned up against it.
Your face contorted as you realized how much you disliked the placement. The way your father would slaughter chickens right in front of their friends made your heart break. It was barbaric.
You walked over to Arvin and held Patty out towards him, “Would you mind holdin’ onto her for a second?”
Though visibly confused, he took the chicken from your hands, drawing back when her wings fluttered out at the contact with the new strange man. Arvin watched as you walked towards the large round and tried to push it with all your might. “What’re you doin’?”
“I’m-” you grunted, feeling it slide slowly, inch by inch, “trying to move it where the other chickens can’t see.” You took another moment to use all your force against it before standing up straight and breathing heavily, “I know it sounds dumb cause they’re only chickens but it feels cruel to make ‘em watch, y’know?” You went back to pushing the round and Arvin approached behind you.
From here he could see the blood stains in the wood. It looked as if the blood had been washed off but the wood had been stained crimson regardless. There was also a divot where an axe had clearly been driven down many times over the years, chipping away at the wood.
Arvin’s heart actually warmed a little at your attempt to show mercy and your willingness to go out of your way to spare some chickens’ feelings. It wasn’t something he was sure he’d do himself but when he heard you say it, he realized you had a point. It was cruel to imprison a bunch of animals and then lead them out one by one to be slaughtered in front of everyone, each animal waiting their turn. “Here, take ‘er back. Let me.” Arvin stepped in, handing Patty back over to you and bending down to lift the round onto its side with much effort. The wood had to weigh at least a hundred pounds and had long since settled into the ground where it had been placed when you were a child.
Your eyes widened as you watched his biceps bulge, straining the material of his blue t-shirt. You’d never seen a man with muscles like that before and you found your eyes trailing along his arms, following every popping vein from the tops of his hands, up his forearms, and onto his biceps until they disappeared beneath his shirt. It was something you hadn’t expected to see in him. Arvin looked like a quiet, polite, hardworking young man but you never would have imagined the immaculate muscles he possessed. You found your mind wandering to what other surprises laid in store beneath all those layers he wo-
You needed to calm yourself down. If only he could hear your thoughts, he surely would be furious and disgusted with you. You hadn’t had such impure thoughts since that one time you had been messing around with Jimmy Bates in the backseat of his old car back in your senior year of high school. The two of you didn’t even go all the way but you went far enough and the guilt ate you alive since the two of you were never officially together anyways. He was just the cute boy from high school that you had pined over years that had finally given you the chance right before he shipped off to join the war.
“This alright?” Arvin asked, shaking you from your fantasy, and you snapped back into reality to realize he had rolled the wood round around the side of the coop behind the wooden wall, outside of the other chickens’ views.
You nodded and walked over to him, “That’s perfect. Thank you so much for doin’ that. I know it’s sorta stupid.”
Arvin shook his head, putting his hands on his hips, “If it means somethin’ to you, it ain’t stupid at all. Besides, now that you pointed it out, it was a little barbaric.”
You smiled up at him, one which he returned. How was this boy so damn nice? Was this some cosmic way of the universe finally giving you something good in your life? You’d become so calloused to your father’s harsh words and barked commands that you had forgotten how nice it was to feel cared about and validated. And you barely knew him.
“‘M glad you think so.” You looked down at Patty in your arms and any good feelings you’d had melted to sadness and fear. “You been a good girl, Patty. I know you struggled with layin’ eggs for a while but you were always a good girl. Never bit me once unlike some of them other hens.” You weren’t often very soft and vulnerable but you were about to take something’s life for the first time and you couldn’t help but feel the weight of that on your heart. If this were a life or death situation, you would feel better about it, but it wasn’t. The only reason Patty had to die was because your father would throw a fit if she didn’t.
You carried her to the log and gave her a little kiss on the top of the head, “Please don’t hate me but I understand if you do. Say hi to my momma for me, will you? Tell her I love and miss her.” You set her down and got her in the position you always saw your dad put the other chickens in before he chopped their heads off. Arvin handed you the axe with uncertainty but watched on as you struggled to bring yourself to finish the deed.
You held her down and you could tell by the way she was flailing that she was panicking now. Patty was well aware of what was happening. “I’m sorry!” You choked, tears welling up in your eyes as her panic began to turn into your own panic. How did people do this? Why was this so freaking difficult?
Tossing the axe slightly in your hand, you readjusted the handle and just as you went to swing, Arvin piped up, “I can do it.”
You looked over at him, the afternoon sun reflecting the tears in your eyes and making the color of your irises stand out in tragic beauty. “I-I- Would you really not mind?” You breathed out in relief.
Arvin stepped forward and you handed the axe out to him, “I don’t mind.” You held onto Patty until Arvin could position her just right as well. He had no idea what he was doing - he’d never had to slaughter a chicken before. He had heard that all you had to do was cut their head off though and then he’d heard the rumors of them running around like crazy even after their head hit the ground. How hard could it be?
Once he had the hen pinned down where he wanted her, he looked up to see you chewing on your thumb, brows knitted in discomfort. It wasn’t the first chicken you’d watched get slaughtered but it was far from something you enjoyed observing. Arvin signaled to you with a nod before raising the axe above his head and you shut your eyes tight, flinching at the sound of the old metal head thudding into the old wood.
**
You had the carcass sitting in the sink while you pulled off the blood soaked feathers, depositing them into the trash bin by the handful. This part was easier for you, something you’d done many times in the past. “Thank you for doin’ that. I’m sorry I’m such a baby.”
Arvin sat at the kitchen table behind you, “You ain’t a baby just cause you don’t like to kill things. I’d say it’s probably rather normal.”
The time was inching closer to four o’clock now and the sun was beginning to hang ever so slightly lower in the sky, the precursor to sunset. It was warm outside and a cool spring breeze blew in through the open window above the sink. You snickered as you pulled another handful of feathers out, “Yeah? That mean you ain’t normal?” You looked over at him with a playful glint in your eye but your smile fell when you saw an uncomfortable look cross his face, almost like he’d seen a ghost.
“I ain’t never said I liked killin’ either.” Arvin attempted to match your joking tone but it was pretty evident there was a weight behind his words.
“Hey, I‘m sorry. I was only jokin’.” A pang of guilt washed over you but it was only that. A joke. You hadn’t imagined teasing him over something like killing a chicken would set him off, especially since he volunteered to do it for you, but apparently you were wrong.
Arvin sniffed and scratched his nose, “I know.” After a moment of awkward silence, he stood, “Let me give you a hand. What do you need done?”
You scanned his face once more to make sure he was really okay but you decided to drop it when you saw his insistent look. You shook your head, “I got it. It ain’t much after I get this all gutted and cleaned.” You picked up the mostly featherless carcass by the wings and plopped it back down into the sink.
“Well ‘m sure there’s vegetables or somethin’ else that goes with it, right? Let me start cuttin’ those up.” His persistence was adorable, making your heart flutter in the most wonderful way. The idea of a man actually being helpful was unknown to you before Arvin. Your life had been filled with your dad’s drunken bossings since you were twelve years old. You couldn’t remember the last time a genuinely kind voice offered you anything more than a smile on the street, not that you took that for granted. Arvin was just different though. Noble and helpful and kind.
“You really don’t have to-”
“Yeah, you keep sayin’ that but I really do want to help. So what can I do to make things easier on you?” He took a few steps closer to you until you felt the beginning of what could have been sparks if he stepped any nearer, like when you hold two magnets a few inches apart and you can feel the energy between them, that hint of attraction, but it’s not quite close enough to pull them together.
The blush in your cheeks at his simple gesture made you break the eye contact with a nervous laugh of retreat, “Okay, fine. If you’re gonna be so insistent,” you drew out with a teasing drawl, “you can cut up veggies. There’s potatoes over there and carrots and zucchini in the fridge.”
Arvin’s lips turned up in a small smile when you finally resigned your stubborn ways and he went off to find the vegetables where you had directed him.
Needless to say, when your father came home from the bar to find you and Arvin talking over a song by the Platters playing on the radio with Arvin cleaning up the dishes while you tossed together the vegetables and the seasoning, he was less than pleased.
“What the hell is going on here?” His slurred speech made your eyes widen in fear. He was supposed to get home later like he always did. But then you found yourself chiding your irresponsibility. Why the hell would you take that chance? You knew better than to let Arvin help out and now you were gonna pay.
Arvin sensed the way you tensed up beside him and watched as you spun around to face your father with haste, “Just finishin’ up dinner now. Should be ready by six so you got more than enough time to take a sho-”
“Why the fuck is he doin’ the dishes?” You father was leaning against the wall, clearly relying on the structure for support. This wasn’t the time to test him, not with Arvin here. It was times like this when he’d start throwing stuff at you.
Before you could say anything, Arvin piped up firmly but respectfully, “I offered, sir. It’s no problem at all.”
Your dad pointed at Arvin, “A man ain’t got no place with his hands in a sink of dishes. You leave that shit to her and she’ll just grab you a beer.” He stumbled over his own feet before catching himself ungracefully.
Arvin’s jaw set tightly and you gripped the countertop with white knuckles behind you. Times like this, you weren’t even sure what to say anymore. No amount of standing up for yourself got you anywhere with him. You never made any headway with your dad’s sexist views on gender roles. It was pointless. The only thing to do was try and work your way to supporting yourself so you could get the hell out of dodge and never look back.
Arvin’s voice surprised you, “A man’s place is helpin’ out the women in his life when they need, not leavin’ ‘em to do all the housework themselves.” You nearly choked on your own tongue at his words. It was a bold statement for a man to make, especially to the head of the house that was being so gracious as to host him free of charge, but he didn’t back down. It appeared like the jab was lost on your drunken father but Arvin continued with a slightly less accusatory comment to diffuse the situation regardless, “I grew up helpin’ my grandma with all the house chores so I really don’t mind at all.”
You watched the way your dad eyed Arvin and then you before scoffing and grumbling incoherently as he shuffled his way into the living room. You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding. “I don’t want you gettin’ kicked out ‘cause of me. You didn’t have to say nothin’.”
Arvin glared at where your father had disappeared and nodded, “Yeah, I did. You don’t deserve all the shit he gives you.”
You suddenly found yourself avoiding his eyes and twisting your lips. He was right and you were well aware of that fact. The abuse your dad put you through was uncalled for at best. The fact that Arvin had actually taken the time to not only notice the same fact but acknowledge it and stand up for you was something you never thought you’d hear someone do. It made you uncomfortable. You’d been fighting this battle by yourself for so long that letting somebody even know it was being waged was enough to make you want to sink away. Even so, a part of you wanted to let Arvin keep standing up for you. It made you feel weak after having to stand up for yourself for so long but also validated.
Your eyes flicked up to meet his for only a moment before turning back towards dinner that sat in a roasting pan on the stove, “Thank you.”
______
Taglist:
@thisisparadisemylove
@justapurrcat
#arvin russel imagine#arvin russell x you#Arvin Russell#arvin rus#arvin russell x reader#arvin russel#arvin russel x reader#arvin russel x y/n#tom holland#tom holland imagine#tom holland one shot#The Devil All The Time#tdatt#tdatt imagine#tdatt fics#Hayloft
251 notes
·
View notes
Text
Fireside
Leone Abbacchio x Gn!Reader
Warnings: sfw. mentions of violence and injury. pre vento aureo
Notes: how Abbacchio met his s/o + some relationship fluff
When Abbacchio heard that there was going to be a new member of Bucciarati's gang, he was less than thrilled.
Abbacchio hated when the group expanded. He hated the new faces, the new names to memorize, and how didn't know them yet. He had no way of knowing if they were reliable or not. He hated change. Every day for him was on repeat: get up, work for Bruno, drink himself to sleep. He was content with the way things were. He's never eager to see something change.
If you had any say in the matter, you would have never joined Passione. After a debt brought on by your family, you found yourself running out of options. It was join or die. You would be assigned to Bucciarati's gang after passing Polpo's test. The stand you gained wasn't strong enough for you to join the guard, or even the hitman team. For that, you often considered yourself lucky. Things could always be better; its them getting worse that worries you.
Passione was nothing like the old mafia movies you watched as a kid. You're not quite sure what you expected, but this was a lot worse.
Bruno was a decent leader- his teammates respected him and he only tried to kill you once. Compared to some of the others, you had it easy. Narancia and Mista warmed up to you rather quick. They were a bit hyper for your liking, but soon grew on you. Fugo took longer to come around, but eventually got used to you. When Abbacchio first laid eyes on you, he couldn't figure out why you were there. For as new as you were, you held your own pretty well. You weren't outright weak, but it was clear you had not been in the life for long. It was impressive, but not enough to say anything about it. Compared to the others, you were reserved. That didn't mean you were quiet. If the others got you going, you could be just as loud as them. Nobody was spared from your and Narancia's pranks. You grew into your stand. Bucciarati made the transition easier. They quickly became family; your annoying brothers and adoptive father.
Early on Abbacchio was a real prick.
Overall he was hostile and prickly. His personality was hard to get along with. In the beginning you kept your distance. You quickly became too consumed with work to worry about him, and pushed him to the back of your mind. Abbacchio gave you a week before you either broke down, or were killed. For him to respect a newer member, they had to prove themselves to the gang.
You lasted longer than he expected you to.
Over the year that you would work for Bucciarati, you had only been assigned on a handful of jobs with Abbacchio. Your conversations had been few, and only in passing. It pissed you off just a little bit. While you weren't the most personable either- at times you were outwardly hostile- you figured he'd have come around by now. With as aggressive as you could be, it shocked him just how easily you charmed the others. To him, it almost felt artificial; it was a skill bred from the need to survive in Passione's underground, not true charisma. He never failed to let you know that you hadn't proved yourself to him.
You two were only sent on the same assignment together because everyone else was busy. Despite your reservations about Abbacchio, there wasn't much you wouldn't do for Bruno. It was only one job. If it was that bad, you'd ask to not be partnered with him again.
Your job was to retrieve a dead drop, then return to the hideout. It wasn't anything high-stakes. Abbacchio sat the entire car ride in silence. It wasn't hard to tell when he was having a rough day. He was never the most talkative, but he always participated in whatever conversation the others were having- if only to insult them. Today he was quiet, which didn't seem like a good sign. If someone gave you an inch, you'd take a mile. Getting them to talk was a way to get the ball rolling. Any polite conversation you tried to have was shot down with a glare, so you quickly scrapped that idea. You figured he was hungover, and thought it best to leave him alone.
You suppose it was better than him complaining. There was only so much you could put up with.
It was really no fault of your own that things went wrong. Expect everything that can go wrong, to go wrong. The mission wasn't supposed to be high-stakes; there was no reason why another group would be after the dead drop. A rival gang spotted you and went for the package. Abbacchio took it and ran while you tried to hold them off for as long as possible.
As you were heading back to the car, you were cornered.
The kid couldn't have been much younger than you. He aimed a gun between you and Abbacchio, who was only a few feet behind you. He gives you two no time to respond, and only hesitates for a moment when he pulls the trigger.
He missed.
You still don't know how he missed, only taking a moment to thank whatever higher power that just saved your ass. That didn't stop your short life from flashing before your eyes. The bullet struck the ground just a few feet behind you, sending up a spray of dirt and rocks. Part of him couldn't believe that someone was willing to take a bullet for him. Really, you were just trying to protect the package, but it was probably better if he didn't know that.
On the trip back home he scolded you for being so reckless. Since the kid missed, you saw no issue in it. What he feels isn't a sense of pride, more than it is guilt.
He found you less annoying than he'd ever admit.
Whatever you did, it planted the seed of affection within him. Admittedly he was the last place to nurture feelings, and akin to planting flowers in a barren desert while refusing to water them, it didn't stop it from blooming.
There was a mutual respect between the two of you. The man was a mess, and rarely sober, but began to pick himself up a bit. This did not go unnoticed, though the others rarely mentioned it. You would go on to be assigned more jobs together. He was getting less and less vocal about how much he disliked you. While you didn't talk much, you spent a lot of time together. He often found your presence comforting. He'd grown to not only tolerate your company, but enjoy it. The two of you would never admit to being friends- he was too stubborn for that- but that's what you seemed to be.
On late nights he'd walk with you to your apartment. He claimed he didn't want you to get mugged, and that you lived in a bad part of town, but the act was dropped when you mentioned him being chivalrous. You would invite him in for a drink or two. While you didn't want to encourage his bad habits, he never said no to a glass of wine. He never said no to you. You'd had gotten used to being around him. The little spare time you had was spent with him- not doing anything in particular. It never had to be anything special, often times you just lounged around the hideout together.
One night he was out for a job later than usual.
He insisted on taking this one alone. Bruno raised an eyebrow to that, but made no comment on it. Abbacchio had been in a bad mood all day, and while they couldn't prove it was you, the others had the sneaking suspicion it was. You argued. Often. It was rarely serious. He showed his affection by bullying people. What he threw at you, you would send right back.
As much as you didn't like him going alone, you didn't fight it. Mostly out of spite.
By then the others had gone to bed- or gone home for the night. It was only you left at the hideout. On the few nights he'd go straight home, he'd shoot you a text. There wasn't any particular reason you stayed back for him. Maybe it was a gut feeling. It felt a bit childish to wait by the door. He was your partner and you weren't eager to see him sent back in a pine box. Unfortunately, he was important to you.
By the time the door opens, you're dozing off. You're on your feet the moment you hear it.
"You scared the hell out of me." You say.
"The front door. Scared you." He says.
"You scared me," dramatically you roll your eyes, "asshole. You always tell me when you'll be gone this late."
His heart races when you give him a once-over for injuries. While you don't touch him, the way your gaze travels over his body makes him a bit anxious. On his best days he doesn't want to be looked at, on his worst its unimaginable- he just doesn't want to be perceived. If he had any say in it, he wouldn't care about how you saw him. But you make him worry about how others view him.
"This isn't your blood I hope." You say.
Slowly he nods.
You motion for him to sit, before grabbing the first-aid kit from the other room. The wound looks better when all the blood is cleaned away, and doesn't appear to need stitches. Gently you set your hand on his. It's rather cold. When he doesn't pull away- or show any sign of discomfort- you wrap your arms around his neck.
"What are you-"
"Just let me have this." You say. "We don't have to talk about it ever again."
His arms awkwardly wrap around you, his head resting in the crook of your neck. He can't remember the last time someone has held him like this. The smell of your shampoo is comforting. His heartbeat drops for a second before picking up in pace.
"I was worried about you." You say.
No matter how many times he goes over it in his head, he still doesn't believe it. It's not that he doesn't feel the same way- he's head-over-heels for you- but he's in denial about it.
"I love you."
It's under your breath, and so quiet that he almost has to do a double take.
"Say it again..." He says.
"I love you."
He doesn't believe it, but he's so content in your arms he won't question it. He could die happy in this moment.
It would take the others weeks to realize you two were dating.
To their credit, it was sooner than you expected. Not much changed when you made things official. Abbacchio wasn't a fan of pda. They were only tipped off because of Narancia. The prank was harmless- he did that sort of thing all the time- but god it pissed Abbacchio off. Nobody had seen him that mad in years. When you told him to calm down, and that it didn't bother you, he sat in the corner to brood.
You moved in together not long after that. The change felt natural, and took little effort from either of you. It was easy to settle into a routine with him, seeing as you spent so much time at his apartment anyway. Abbacchio always woke up first, although he stayed in bed until you woke up. He's not sentimental- nor will he ever admit to be- but he never passed up the opportunity to watch you while you were so at peace. His nightmares existed long before Passione. He rarely slept, and usually got four hours on a good night. Sleeping next to you helped.
On the rare days off you had together, you spent your time lounging around your apartment. When he was sober, he was a decent cook, and often made dinner for the two of you. He preferred dates at home, over going out in public. He'd bring you coffee while the two of you would watch Italian soap operas. If he was feeling particularly soft, he'd let you braid his hair. Physical touch was something he was still getting used to. It's not that he didn't like it; it was unfamiliar to him and that made him uncomfortable. If it made you happy, he'd try it, even if he personally didn't see the appeal.
He often finds himself thinking about the future. Before it never seemed too bright. Thinking about his past is an almost immediate slope into self loathing. He wasn't all better, but he was healing. Both you and Bruno made sure of that. There wasn't much that he wouldn't do for you.
Every day he wakes up slightly more in love than the last.
#jjba#jjba part 5#jojo's bizarre adventure#golden wind#vento aureo#leone abbacchio#leone abbachio x reader#jjba x reader#abbacchio x reader
122 notes
·
View notes
Text
Where no one knows your name
How many times is a person meant to make new friends?
When I moved into an apartment in DC with an absolutely iconic girl from Craigslist, I wrote in my journal, “you never know when you’ll meet your next bridesmaid.” Charmingly juvenile, as I was 24 years old. Ironic, as I never had any bridesmaids. And embarrassing, knowing I wrote something that’s surely been embroidered on a bachelorette party t-shirt by now.
My point was: you can meet people you fall in love with anywhere, anytime, assuming your heart (and calendar) are open.
Now my heart and calendar are open and I am one of Elizabeth Bennet’s sad sisters, cloying and desperate for attention while everyone at the ball ignores me.
Meeting people here is unnerving and hapless and eye-clawingly vulnerable. My first new friend told me she was moving away in a few months. Do you invest deeply in hopes of another faraway friendship? Do you just go back to waving as you pass on the street? I like this girl! What an embarrassing thing to have to say to someone! Do you just invite people to every and anything like a lunatic? I can’t even remember to call the people I am forever-and-ever in cahoots with.
I’m also deeply bound by what I’ll call the Movie Trap: say it’s 3pm during not-a-pandemic, and you get the urge to see a movie. You look at the showings, and there’s one you really want to see at 7:15. You think to yourself, “I should make an effort,” and you text a friend.
“Hey, you wanna go see This Cool Movie at 7:15 tonight?”
No one ever says yes. Don’t give me an example of when someone has, because it’s always one of these answers:
“Oooh, I’m actually seeing it with Kate tomorrow - wanna come?”
“Can we go to the 9pm showing? Stuck at work.”
“Yeah but let’s see Movie You’ll Fucking Hate instead.”
Now maybe I’m just lighting flares guiding you to the worst parts of my personality, but this drives me nuts. No, Liz, I don’t want to go tomorrow. I want to go tonight. At 7:15. So I can be in bed by 10. And you’d have to drag my dead body and prop open my eyes to get me to see something like Marriage Story in theaters.
The Movie Trap is a big reason I usually hang out by myself, or I make plans weeks in advance. (Don't I sound like a blast.) Just the idea of being like, “I like you! Wanna hang out in October?” makes me want to collapse into a puddle of sad adulthood. Which is why on Friday at 4:30pm, when a girl I’d met a week prior asked if I wanted to grab a drink, I just said yes. I put on a pretty dress, did my makeup, put stuff in a purse, and drove the 25 minutes to town.
It was really fun! And how novel to have new contacts in my phone like “Maggie blue house” and “Jess concert friend” — a throwback to the days of “Greg guy on L train” and “Devon ad party.” The very concept of not knowing someone’s last name or even needing it, and a year from now updating their contact info and smiling at your origin story.
But for the most part, no one is in our phones. In terms of phone numbers collected, here is the list:
Two friends we knew prior who thank god you guys exist.
New friend who is moving away.
New friend who is game to drink tequila and ride mountain bikes.
Neighbor-not-yet-friend who I really fucking like and am not sure how to cross hang-out threshold with.
Not to say there aren’t any other prospects or people I’m platonically gaga over, but I don’t have their phone numbers. There are honestly a lot of people like this because when you live in a small town (and you’re from the Midwest) you say “oop, sorry” to every person/object you bump into, and you say “hi :)” to every person you see. These are the rules. If I drive by you and don’t wave, it’s because I was so deep in a daydream I probably shouldn’t have been driving in the first place. This isn’t acceptable, because in our urgency to tattoo our vaccination status on our foreheads so we can make friends, it turns out just driving by someone can be a viable strategy.
A few days ago, a man was driving by our kitchen window and then our driveway, and then he reversed back up to the kitchen window and started waving.
Ben went outside — it was that kind of wave. The man had seen from his car a smokejumper emblem on the back of a truck in our driveway.
“Hey, are you a smokejumper?”
We aren’t. But my dad was, and he was in town visiting, accompanied by the emblem on the back of his truck. The guy said we should drink sometime. Numbers were not exchanged. We’ll call that a node, because it’s not quite a connection. And it’s mainly nodes, waiting to be connected, to have relevance.
But first, no matter who you’re trying to befriend, you have to answer everyone else’s Do I Care Quiz. The quiz is employed by 93% of locals to determine how they feel about you existing within their personal 50-mile radius. The first question is non negotiable:
1) Are you visiting?
Variations on this question include “how long are you in town?” or “what brings y’all to town?” or my least favorite and most insulting, “did you just finish Jeeping?” I know I have blonde hair and say y’all, but how dare you. (Also, to be clear, you can own a Jeep, customize your Jeep, mod out your Jeep, and love your Jeep, but you’re not Jeeping until you drive too fast through a tiny town so you can hurl your Jeep over a mountain pass without ever getting out of it.)
So the answer to “are you visiting” is “no, I live here.” Which brings us to the next question, my favorite for how loaded the gun, kneeling in the grass, scope on, target locked it is.
2) Are you part-time or full-time?
The first time I answered this question, I didn’t realize it was essentially like asking how someone voted in the 2020 election. The judgment was cocked and ready and the palpable relief/joy/or at the very least, tolerance, exuded by answering “full-time” was like when the sun comes out from behind the clouds on a 40 degree day. I was fine, but wow that does feel better.
The third question though does not have a standard hoped-for answer. This is where nodes turn to connections turn to phone numbers.
3) What brings you here?
It seems like the best possible answer would be saying you work in town, and you’re going to begin construction on displaced-worker housing to ensure the people who run this town can actually live in it. We’d have everyone’s phone number. Saying you’re a writer who works remotely and bought a house from a legendary and beloved local who could no longer afford it is really something you keep to yourself.
But in the interest of making friends, I just word vomit my entire history. We might as well find out at the onset if I make your eyes roll back into your skull. Not at all threatening that all it takes is a single social signal misinterpreted to be the absolute death knell of my ability to make friends in a town of some 1400 adults.
In fact, I’ll share one such interaction. I was hiking with Cooper, about 5 miles by foot away from my house. I was on a trail, crossing a sloped meadow, and a group was traversing up the hillside to the trail. I said hi, where y’all coming from. One girl answered and we talked about the trail. She eyed me up and down.
“Did you just move here?”
“I did!”
“I served your family last week,” she said.
“Oh,” that phrasing. “Must have been my in-laws.”
“Heard you bought Jack’s house. Such a bummer when locals like that are forced out.”
“We didn’t even know about his house,” I said. “We were looking at another house and he asked his realtor if he could get us to come see his house. We just loved it, and him!” She had no emotional reaction to this.
“You moved from California?” she asked. (Dangerous question.)
“Yeah, got these sea level lungs, haha,” attempting to disarm with humor was a failure, “but couldn’t be happier to be out of California.”
“It’s not like this all year. Winter’s really hard here, you’re in for a rude awakening.”
“Well California’s the last place I lived, but I’m not from there. I’ve lived in brutal winters. At least Colorado gets sun!” I laugh with cloaked loathing.
“It’s different when you live at altitude,” she said, like no human aside from her had ever been literally anywhere. “Are you trying to go around?” She indicated the path behind her.
“No, y’all go ahead, just gonna wait to give you your space. I’m sure you’re faster than me.”
“K, good luck making it to the lake."
Maybe she was thirsty. Maybe she was hungover. Maybe she just has vicious delivery, but it felt like every blade of grass was leaning against the wind to listen. She was with four other people and not one of them said a word. I left that interaction not wanting to see another human ever again.
But that interaction, and her intimate knowledge of exactly which house I lived in, made me want to decorate like we lived in a gingerbread house, all candy canes and plum drops, screaming to any passerby that we’re friendly. One of the mayor’s first questions to me was “what are you going to do to the house?” There are rules here about what your house can look like, and I kept emphasizing we bought the house because we loved it, not because we wanted to change everything about it. And now, instead of wanting to decorate the interior, I want to put up shades so we don’t contribute to light pollution, I want to hang a sign by the water spigot saying “grab some if you need” for hikers and mountain bikers, I want to paint a sign for the wild mint by our door that says, “I mint to tell you to take some,” because our neighbors were openly panicked they wouldn’t be able to just grab mint from the cabin’s garden anymore.
Without question, COVID makes things harder. Dinner parties feel like dares. Dropping cookies off at someone’s house feels invasive. Grabbing a drink feels like the ultimate sign of trust. But at least we have nodes who can connect who can think to invite us and who can see that despite having lived in California, we’re not all that bad.
In the meantime, I’ll be painting signs about water and mint, hoping to garner the benefit of the doubt from the so beautifully, earnestly, and waiting-to-see-if-you’re-worth-it doubtful.
Subscribe to the newsletter at tinyletter.com/keltonwrites — high altitude relocation and renovation in a tiny mountain town.
38 notes
·
View notes
Text
A true story about rehab from 2007
Names and places changed, dates slightly fuzzy, yada yada
This all starts with Chris. Chris might be a good example of how things are objectively broken.
Two summers ago, Chris and his girlfriend moved from everyone's old hometown, Alton, to everyone's current home, Garden City. I had known Chris briefly when I still lived in Alton, which was up until about 8 years ago. In high school he was friends with my sister, a year behind her, I think, only he had some legal trouble and didn't graduate until two years after her. The first arrest came during his junior year, when police found some marijuana in his car while he was in class. "Apparently Alton is a utopia," he said years later. "No robberies need solving, no cars need ticketing, no fences need mending, fuckit nobody's house must've been dirty because if there was anything else even remotely worthwhile that those cocksuckers could have been doing they wouldn't have taken a drug dog through the high school parking lot."
The ironic part was that he was, honest-to-god, holding it for a friend. Hadn't touched the stuff until then, hadn't even drank more than a beer or two. Cops came in and pulled him out of class. Cuffed him right there in class, in front of everybody. From what I've been able to piece together that marked a very strong loss of innocence for young Chris. No rules were worth following, after all, if The Bastards could punish you for nothing. This was greatly exacerbated by the fact that, according to several of the best lawyers Alton had to offer, the search of Chris' car was unconstitutional as it was not actually parked in the school parking lot, or even on school grounds, at the time of the search. The juvenile court judge would hear none of it though—all the police had done was break Chris' constitutional right to privacy. He had committed the much greater crime of having an eighth ounce of marijuana in his glove compartment.
His claim of having his rights violated incensed the judge, who sentenced our poor Chris to 72 hours in county jail and 12 weeks of rehab. Were it not for his successful, stable family, he would have been sent to juvie.
It was his first offense. He was 16.
Jail, he said, wasn't that bad. He got to do it over a weekend. The guard was an old lady and even though she was kind of a bitch she let him bring in his homework. She said she was surprised to see someone his age in here, with the adults, but whatever he had done it must have been pretty bad or else he wouldn't be here, would he? They kept him away from the drunks at night and the only other people who came into the "pen" (his word, not mine) were guys who got bailed out within a couple of hours and were too pissed off about their own bad luck to give him any shit for his.
What really fucked with him was rehab. It didn’t matter that he'd never smoked a single joint (or even a cigarette) at this time: he was an addict and by gum he had to admit to being an addict before the obese, shit-smelling overseer would sign the form saying that Chris had attended his sessions. Every weekend for three months he was legally forced to lie. Yes, he said, he was an addict. Yes, even though it made no sense in any grammatical or even symbolic context, he was forced to say "my name is Chris and I'm a narcotic." His personal habits were picked apart—why was his hair so long (it wasn't that long, really)? Why did he wear the same pants on Sunday that he wore on Saturday? Who were these "Dead Milkmen" that his T-shirt spoke of? Ohh… and surely this is a good-tempered, Christian punk band, right? No? Well you see right there that's a part of the problem. Have your mother sign a note saying you've thrown out all of their CDs and any other enabling you might own. No—you can't sell them, you must throw them out.
"We had to go in a day and a half every weekend. All day Saturday and then Sunday from noon until 4. It took me five weeks, when I was starting to get comfortable, before I asked if I could come in Saturday afternoon and all day Sunday. It worked out better for me that way, since the place where I worked wasn't open Sundays. The fat guy just opened his mouth and would not close it. 'When would you go to church?' he said. By then I knew enough to laugh and say 'oh yeah what was I thinking.'"
A few of the people had actual problems. One guy got caught with meth, was beating the shit out of his wife and his two little girls, and seemed genuinely remorseful. Another guy had to drink a sixer every morning or else he'd get the shakes so bad he wouldn't be able to drive to work. But most of the people there were more or less normal and had either fucked up once or else been fucked over once—got into a bar fight while legally drunk, blew .02 over the legal limit at a roadblock, smoked pot once every few weeks and got narced on by a snitch, that kind of stuff. These people were split over how much they believed the bullshit they were being fed. Those who believed, as the official literature did, that being hungover once in your lifetime or ever drinking more than 4 beers in a sitting two or more times in a month are both signs of hardcore alcoholism, they became repentant and preachy.
One such lady was a thin, tan, well-dressed soccer mom who would snitch on the others when they didn't pay close enough attention to the instructional videos or else would appear in any way to not be taking things seriously enough. If you were bad you got demerits, credit card-sized pieces of construction paper upon which frowny faces and intimidating biblical verses were printed. The overseer would also scribble something down in his notebook, which must have had some kind of official weight because it was on his person at all times.
Most people have an innate desire, however illogical it might often be, to please authority figures, and so Chris and the rest of the doubtful "addicts" thought the embarrassment of getting their reprimand literally handed to them was punishment enough for resting their eyes or letting a stray giggle break loose when the acting in an informational film was especially bad. Chris made only one such mistake. During a lecture, the overseer kept making the point that it wasn't the drugs that people get addicted to—oh no, it's the high that keeps you coming back. Chris smiled—remember at this point he still probably hadn't ever been high, not in his whole life—because it seemed like such a stupid, nonsensical thing to say, because even though he was only 16 he could appreciate moments like this, when the moronic essence of a big, scary process could concentrate itself into a single sentence.
"It's not the drugs: it's the high," the man said. He was very clean shaven, dressed like a detective in a 70s cop show, his hair was combed so straight it was like wire, his glasses were round and cruel looking and he had this, this look on his face, this air about him like he thought he was a genius. He nodded a little bit after the repetition of his idiotic point. Proud—he was actually proud of the things he was saying, proud of his position, proud of getting to fill the heads of desperate or else unfortunate people with nonsense. And this made Chris smile—not laugh, just smile, and the soccer mom pulled on his ear really hard, so hard it made his eyes water, and then she raised her hand to snitch on him. The proud overseer was still proud, looked like a king in an old movie, and with the most serious air Chris had ever seen, the fat man called him up before the entire room. His eyes were still watery from the shock of having his ear nearly yanked up and so he looked down, towards the ground, so people wouldn't think he was crying.
"You ashamed of something," the fat overseer asked. Chris didn't say anything. "Look up," said the overseer. Chris kept looking down. His chest moved in and out heavily and his fists were clenched, and he wasn't sure but he may have been crying normal tears by this point, but they were out of rage, not sadness. Or—no…really what's the difference between those two, and it's impossible that the immense hopelessness of his situation and the utter retardation of his surroundings hadn't saddened somewhat. If it were just rage making him cry then he would have also lashed out, punched the overseer or at least called him a name. No. No, the hopelessness must have stung enough to make him sad. But his tears were out of rage primarily, and out of nothing even close to shame.
"Look up. Now."
He did. His jaw was clenched and his eyes were tightened into red little slits but he looked more defeated than mean, more helpless than threatening.
"I want you all to look at this face. Soak it up. Take it all in. Done? Give you another second. Okay, now you're done. This, people, is what failure looks like. Some of you will see it again, right here. This is what it looks like when you don't take yourself seriously, when you don't care enough about yourself to appreciate the chances that are being given to you."
He extended a demerit card towards the Chris’ face. It was accepted without a whimper.
Weeks later, it came time for Chris and the gang to "graduate" from their classes. By this point, Chris had gotten drunk several times (even puked, once) and tried to smoke pot a few times but it hadn't done anything to him. Maybe he was just too drunk to feel it or he wasn't inhaling right, who knows. Anyhow he figured a few bong hits wouldn't hurt before he had to show up to the ceremony, right, since he hadn't felt anything yet. And, man, it was a blast because he was high as a fucking kite at the graduation, must have shoved 20 inches worth of the party sub into his mouth and downed at least 7 flutes of sparkling grape juice.
His mother and stepfather—both stinking rich, by the way, disheartened by the lad's sudden fall from grace and more than a little pleased to see him making such a fast and exemplary recovery with the aid of such a caring and competent program—were dressed to the nines. His mom was making time with the addicts. This was her wont, the irresistible, flirty friendliness that drove her from the dregs of society (Chris' biological father) all the way to where she was today. While this was going on, Stepfather gracefully let loose to the riffraff around him all those little signs that showed that he was a kind man, but of great consequence. He'd talk about sports while stretching him arm just so, just far enough to let his fancy watch fall into view. He'd offer to lift heavy objects as an excuse to show off his bed-made tan, his gym-toned arms and back. All of your jokes made him smile, but only just long enough for you to get a glimpse of his perfectly straight, snow white teeth. Both of them kept making their way over to Chris, who had stationed himself near the concessions table, to whisper into his ear how proud they were of him for pulling himself around and hint bluntly at him still receiving for his birthday a new car. All the while, through this bleary, more-or-less with it haze, feeling content and calm with his surroundings and his high, Chris kept thinking about how much he had it made. Everyone was a sucker, it seemed, but him. Really, wow. Everyone is stupid but me.
The soccer mom cut quickly around the room, stopping alongside each cluster of people and telling them that something important was about to happen, it was time for everyone to walk into the little classroom where they normally met. "You're not gonna want to miss this" she said, looking right into Chris with a mean little smile on her face that she knew would scare him. Oh god, Chris though, she knew that he was high. What was she in here for—ooh shit man, you've heard her talk about it 100 times. Vicodin, right. Vicodin and wine, passing out while one of her kids started a fire. That's right. Calm down. She wouldn't have known what someone looked like when he was high on pot. Mom and Stepfather couldn't even tell and they saw Chris every day. Calm down.
Chris shoved a few more bites of party sub into his mouth. His mom laughed and said "getting better must make you work up an appetite, huh?" Stepfather laughed. Chris couldn't say anything, not even by the time they had walked all the way into the classroom and sat down on little folding chairs, because there was so much sandwich in his mouth. Things began to quiet down within a couple of minutes. The overseer, smiling, poked his head out of his office and waved to the small crowd. People clapped a little bit. Chris noticed that "AWARDS RECEPTION" had been written on the blackboard with colored chalk, the letters alternating blue to red, blue to red. A stack of certificates sat on the table up front. The overseer waddled to the table and gestured towards his office and a large, black policeman walked from office to the entrance. He looked all business. There was another one who poked his head out from the office and then the overseer was still smiling, like the soccer mom he was wearing big, mean, fake smile and Chris sunk into his chair and moaned a little bit because he knew he was about to get arrested, again. Arrested in front of his parents.
Mom asked stepfather what the policemen were hear for the stepfather said—ahh the great rational bastard, it was all Chris could do to stop himself from hugging him—that since this was an official presentation, court mandated and all that, they must have some cops come and witness it. That's all it was. Nothing to get too upset about. Still—gotta stay calm. If the cops took no notice of Chris then they wouldn't take any notice of his being so incredibly fucking high.
"Well," the overseer began. Chris was hyperobservant and noncritical and he realized for the first time how long it took the overseer to get through sentences, because of all of his fat. He'd pause every few words and take in a deep breath from his gut. When he spoke it was in these bursts that were effeminately condescending but still bulky and powerful. Like, if being told you were bad by a sharp-tongued gay man didn't hurt you then maybe being yelled at by an abusive gym coach would. Only he wasn't a gym coach and probably wasn't gay, either. Talked about his wife and kids all the time. This was an act. He had measured out this persona for himself. This was some kind of cruel professionalism.
Jesus, Chris thought to himself. Pot fucks up the way you think about things. How long had it been since they sat down? How long since he'd been scared by the cops? When was the guy going to start talking—ohh, wait he's already talking. Might want to listen:
"And this is what this program is supposed to achieve: smiling faces. Not just the smiling faces of those who are on roads to recovery—their own personal roads—but of their families and their friends. The selfishness might end here. The pain they have caused you, that they are sorry for, might end here. But it's up to everyone here to make sure that all of these faces keep smiling."
He paused—too long. Wanted people to clap for him. They did. Then they finished. He continued. His tone was different. He had sounded like he was reading off a card. Now he sounded more like he normally did, during classes.
"But it would be… hypocritical of me to let everyone who came here leave here, especially… if I knew that they would be making people start… to cry sometime soon. Two of our friends will not be graduating today."
Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck.
"The first… Rup-ERT Donwiddle."
Ahh. Okay. That guy—white guy, lots of scars—never even showed up after the first day. He wasn't even here. Chris sunk his head into his lap, like he was stretching or about to puke, while the overseer mumbled about how Rubert had squandered his chance for recovery and blah blah blah.
"Rufus failed… due to lack of initiative. He didn't come. But every time we have this course, it seems… there is someone who does come… but who shows such disrespect that he might as well not have"
The overseer's tone changed, again, abruptly but not in a way that seemed unplanned. He was talking somewhere in between the rehearsed tone he'd used earlier and the mumbling, jumbled tone he used during regular meetings. The air shifted around Chris. It felt like strategy, men moving into position in order to accomplish some kind of task or anticipate some kind of resistance. The bigger cop stood by the door that led to the outside, blocking it. Meanwhile the guys who had missed the most class and been handed the most demerits began to shift in their seats a little bit while their wives looked at them in white fear, the sterile blank walls felt like they were closing in—that's what expression actually meant, when it actually feels like the room you are in just got smaller, more oppressive—and the big fat fuck who ran the place worse the biggest fatfuck smile Chris had ever seen and he if had dropped dead of a heart attack no one with a mind or soul would have gotten up to help him. In spite of all of this, the synchronization was such that Chris couldn't work up any fear. He was too busy admiring the evil of the whole process.
Chris took to talking to the soccer mom, a few months later, as part of some revenge scheme that never quite materialized. He had first planned on sleeping with the woman and ruining her marriage. When that didn’t work out he thought about maybe figuring out the vulnerabilities of her home and passing that knowledge on to some unseemly sorts who, god willing, would have raped, robbed, and kill her. He didn't do that, though, for the same reason he didn't speak up during the meeting when the police were blocking off the door and overseer was smiling the very worst smile the world had ever seen: because the woman's evil was so immense that he could barely process it, could do little else, in fact, aside from sitting back and admiring it. What he learned from her, after she had opened up to him and filled him on all the details, was that if you didn't pass the rehab course it counted as either a violation of your parole or else as a violation of your court sentence, so your failure was akin to skipping bail trying to escape from prison. That's to say it was a Very Serious offense, one that could put you in prison for a long, long time. And what the overseer hadn't told to anybody but the soccer mom, who was his favorite, was that his policy was that out of every class there had to be at least one addict who failed to pass in spite of showing up, one person who because of this or that reason simply did not deserve to consider his or her self cured of their addiction. That's what the demerits were for. Whoever got the most failed the course. You couldn't tell the whole class about this since then the people who got the most demerits early on would have stopped coming all together. On top of that, if you got into a situation where a few weeks in one guy had racked up 20 or 30 demerits, then that more or less lightens the stakes for everyone else. They'll start mouthing off or falling asleep since they know they'll never make up enough demerits to catch the worst guy, and then by the end of it you'd have been better off not doing any sort of demerit system at all. No—no, the trick was to keep it a surprise. That had two positives: one, you catch the guy by surprise and make sure he gets what's coming to him. Two, you put the fear of god into the others who are all sitting around watching. That's when they got taught what happens if you don't respect the things you should.
All Chris knew at the time of meeting was that the balding factory worker, Hank was his name, was getting pulled up really unnecessarily roughly by the cop, had his arms thrown behind his back, and was getting cuffed and pushed out of the room while his teenage daughter was screaming in abject terror and his wife was burying her head in her hands and then the two women sat there while the smiling overseer berated Hank, talked about how he needed to learn how to accept help and how this was for the good of him and his family and You two ladies should stop crying, it's pointless, what you need right now is strength, loyalty, and conviction. Hank had blown .02 over the legal limit at a road block. He insisted he hadn't had a drop to drink in months, not since his first DUI, that he couldn't perform the heel-to-toe sobriety test successfully because of a fully documented injury he had sustained during Desert Storm and that the alcohol on his breath—which came up on only one of the 5 breathalyzers he was given—must have been from gum or mouthwash or cologne or something. His parole was zero tolerance, though, and so he found himself at the meetings. Every week he told the overseer that something he had said was bullshit. He wouldn't say "My name is Hank and I'm a narcotic," he said, because that is just fucking stupid. He wouldn't apologize for hurting anybody because he hadn't hurt anybody. He wouldn't lie for the sake of lying because goddamn it that's not what this country is about.
And for that he went to prison.
Coming face-to-face with the reality of just how cruel and unfair the system is can, especially for a teenager, lead to a distrust so strong and all encompassing that it borders on despair. This distrust can, sometimes, be healthy and inspire you to try and change things. More often, it can grow into full-blown hatred, a maniacal desire to change things or to right wrongs that leads you to do something rash or destructive. Still more often, it leads to a sense of defeatism, a feeling that you can't win since the system is so fucked so why the hell should you even try. At least, that's what I gather from hearing Chris talk about it. That's probably what I would have done if something like that would have happened to me. I would have given up and failed.
And for the longest time Chris had given up and had failed. He drank and drugged and destroyed. This made him a blast to hang out with. This was when he still lived in Alton and I would see him once every few months, when I was at home visiting my family. My sister moved to Garden City to attend the university at which I now teach. Most of her friends soon followed suit. He was left behind. As I am self-absorbed to the point where I don't care about my friend's lives except for when their stories are particularly miserable or amusing, I don't know much about this time period except that it saw Chris turning things somewhat around. Not by much. He still drinks far too much. But he's in school now—he's at the school where I teach, actually, although I've never had him for a student.
72 notes
·
View notes
Last Seen Blogs
lanfear-on-a-full-moon
Lanfear's chambers
maarshey-blog
Supreme PC Games Domicile
illeity
This Madness of Creation!
mimirock3
Rock
stell-art
✨art✨