#IT'S GOING TO BE LIKE OVER 6K I SWEAR TO FUCKING GOD
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Drafting out a full fic right now for Fireman!Schlatt and new recruit reader because I love the idea so much of Schlatt just being fully against anyone new who comes into the firehouse, like- just being so passive aggressive and snarky and cold and just mean to them because he's extremely critical about anyone who joins.
Because, like, duh, of course he would. He's worked this job and at this house since he graduated high school. He's seen so many people go in and out of this job, he can't even count it on both of his hands twice over. And he fuckin' knows how all of the new people who are joining are doing it to boost their own egos and feel important and have people swoon over them.
Because who wouldn't want that, right?
And he's seen this exact same pattern over and over and over and over again and he's so fucking sick of it that he's just a dick to anyone new who joins. Not enough for it to get him in trouble or be considered a problem, but enough that it gets his point across that he does not like you and is completely comfortable and open with that fact.
And then boom. New recruit reader joining being so fucking excited because they've been trying for years to get into the profession. Whether it be they weren't in the best physical shape, or they didn't pass their test, or they didn't have the right qualifications or what, even if it was none of that. Becoming a firefighter is hard because the competition is so high- especially if you're in New York.
And so, after so many hard years of trying and studying and working out and doing everything under the sun to get in and they finally- finally get that badge? God they are so fucking happy and so fucking ready to put all of their training and all of the things they've learned to use and they're so eager to learn more.
And then joining Ladder 131.
And fuck.
Enter Fireman!Schlatt who decided that he fucking hates his life and that he should have chosen a different career the second he hears the reader talking with the Fire Chief at 6:30 in the morning, introducing themself to him and listening as he talks about the station and their duties and how he'll have them get toured around by someone and-
Oh, hey, Schlatt! Come here for a second!
He hasn't even had a cup of coffee yet and he's already so willing to bash his skull repetitively into the fire pole until his head concaves around it. He would rather spend the rest of his life living in Manhattan than be at the house right now. He would rather cheer for the Mets than have to pretend to be all nice with the new recruit because he fucking knows he won't be able to last a few seconds before saying something that's just plain rude.
AND JUST- THE READER NOT BEING A PROBLEM AT ALL. Like genuinely? If Schlatt had met them outside of work? He probably would have clicked with them without any issue. Hell! They probably could become friends or more if he had met them outside of work!
But noooooo! They just had to be the new recruit, didn't they? They just had to come in with the most insufferable, annoying, irritating attitude (read: they literally just said 'hello!' and introduced themself professionally and were actually really kind and straightforward) and fuck up his entire life because now he has to tour them around the station and have them follow after him like a lost puppy.
(He knows it's wrong and a fucked way of thinking, but he considers pushing them down the fire pole without warning at least four times during that single interaction.)
And, okay, instead of the reader being all sunshine and rainbows and naive and whatnot, I present to you this idea: a reader who has just as much if not more attitude than Schlatt, who takes no shit from anyone. Like- they know Schlatt has a problem with them the second he introduces himself with the response of "Jay Schlatt. Pleasure." through gritted teeth and the coldest glare that he isn't even trying to hide.
Like- as he's touring them around, being all pissy and snarky and rude, them just going "You know, you could just, I don't know... act like an adult maybe and show me around and pretend to like me instead of being such a brat? Maybe? Light suggestion?" and keeping a neutral expression as they walk behind him casually, still taking in all of the information he's spilled and storing it in their mind.
Fireman!Schlatt, who swears on his fucking life he has never once in his life almost swung at a co-worker before, nor has the thought ever crossed his mind, but boy oh boy, did he almost just do it. And he's walking around silently fuming now, not even saying a word to the reader, like- he just passes a co-worker, gives them this look, points at you, and leaves.
Cause he will not be able to control himself if he's around you for another second, and this is now somebody else's job because he will, without a shadow of doubt, lose his if he stays with you.
#Guys please send asks#I'm begging#I need to talk about him#He is so real to me#I am so normal about him#I have so many more ideas about this fic#IT'S GOING TO BE LIKE OVER 6K I SWEAR TO FUCKING GOD#HELP ME#fireman schlatt#fireman jschlatt#fireman!schlatt#fireman!jschlatt#firefighter schlatt#firefighter jschlatt#firefighter!schlatt#firefighter!jschlatt#jschlatt x reader#schlatt x reader
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TITLE: Venom Eater
SUMMARY: Moving on proves its challenges. Not everyone has the ability to accept that what happened, happened - and what was, was. So as you try to lead a new life, single and trying to heal, the journey proves to be far from easy. It’s worse than difficult and more painful than what you could’ve imagined. The only comforting source is that what will be, will be. And there’s no changing that.
WARNING: minors DNI with this post or my blog. I create NSFW SKZ related content and I know I won’t be able to regulate/monitor every potential interaction with those posts so please do not engage with me, my work, or page whatsoever.
TAGS: mentions of breakups, exes, angst, arguments, swearing, smut, slices of life here and there, alcohol (Jisung is drunk but there isn’t much detail on it), confrontation.
WC: 6K+
TAGLIST: @emikisses @linos-kitten @chansbabygirlsstuff @lixiespick @frogieeheart @/fuckthinking @nimx9 @/shishou1687 @inniescandy-01 @konstanceee @/rose13255 @queenmea604
Venom Biter (Part 1) | MASTERLIST
A/N: the long-awaited part 2 to Venom Biter! This was originally meant to be longer but I decided that I wanted to flesh out the plot a little bit more so things will get worse and or better who knows…
There’s never a grey area about what people do after a terrible breakup. It’s always black and white. Whether someone cuts their hair, dyes it, alters their aesthetic, or goes on holiday to escape the reality.
The gym can make for the perfect best friend to subtly take revenge on someone a person once had.
But your new best friend was Tinder. A platform of opportunities to explore and select at your perusal. Providing you with gorgeous men who were looking to fuck and nothing more than that. If Tinder wasn’t the buzz for you that night, it would be going out with friends - friends that didn’t include ones that you made through Minho.
These ones’ you would only see about once every three months then band together again as if nothing has changed in the space between. It’s not awkward when you’re around them and so far, it has taken your mind off the past two months. Since then, your connection with Minho has been one of which where-
“God fuck I’m cumming!”
Minho knows he is too when his eyes screwed shut, laying back as he lets you use his cock, “shit, so am I,” he breathes out, watching you roll your hips in a frantic craze to get yourself over the edge. You miss this.
The way that you squeeze around him is the final straw that breaks the camel's back. Minho swears towards the ceiling, back arching as his dick glides in deeper. Within a couple of seconds, his vision flashes just as white as your insides that he fills.
The top half of your body flops forward onto his chest, spent from the past fifteen minutes that you’ve been riding him non-stop. Now it’s almost possible to hear the rapid thumping of his heartbeat that violently bashes from within. Not wanting to stay in that position for any longer, you peel yourself back, hopping off his body.
“I need you out by seven,” you declare, picking up his sweatpants and t-shirt from the floor and then throwing them right at him.
Minho grumbles but doesn’t flinch, “seven? Fucking hell.”
“Well, I have to go to work so you’re not staying.”
“I figured that,” he fusses before sitting up. “At least let me use your gym here.”
You pause for a second to look at him, wondering where he gets his audacity from sometimes, “fine.”
“Thank you,” he replies then starts donning his clothes as you make your way to the bathroom for a hot shower.
This is what it’s been like for a while now - a pernicious seesaw effect of meeting up with Minho, sleeping with him (usually in the mornings), and going about your day as if he wasn’t in your guts twenty minutes ago.
It’s always a good feeling in the moment but after, there’s a lingering icky weight that you’re tirelessly towing along with you wherever you go. You’re not sure if Minho feels the same because even though you’ve talked to him a few times, there’s no talk of each other's feelings anymore. It’s not that neither of you are ready for that looming and tender conversation. It’s just as if there’s no point.
By the time you were out of the shower, Minho was still on the edge of your bed, fully clothed and ready to leave.
“I’m not making you breakfast,” you say to him, wrapping the towel around your body a little tighter.
“Don’t worry, I wasn’t expecting you to,” he responds. “I need to talk to you about something.”
“Can it wait until the end of the day, because I need to get ready for work.”
He groans, getting fed up, “surely you can get ready and listen at the same time.”
You rustle through your drawers for a pair of underwear and bra, “to other people maybe.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“If you want to use the gym, go now,” you instruct sternly, hoping that he’ll just disappear.
When he detects that he can’t get through to you right now, he gives up. It’s too early to argue, so places his hand on the door handle, opening it for himself to leave and head down to the first floor, leaving you to prepare for another day’s work in peace.
After a quick breakfast, getting dressed and decent, you grab your bags and depart. On your way out, you spot Minho using the weights while you dart past the foyer, briefly thinking about how the time to cut him off is fast approaching.
You can’t keep doing this. There’s no way to move on if you’re both still latched onto each other's ankles like how kids are with their parents. That need for one another is still present.
“Who even am I when I’m not with you?” Minho asked you two weeks into sleeping with him again after breaking up. His comment sums up the reason of ‘why you decide to keep running back to each other’.
It’s not a hard statement to understand. You’ve been with Minho for a long time, you’re both still young and haven’t dated anyone else except between yourselves. It’s like being a dog that was never socialised as a puppy, unable to interact with others because it’s not sure how.
Suppose it’s the fear and anxiety that comes with separating from your favourite person.
The world and society have become scarier than it previously was and life is not as secure when you’re not with the person who can shield you from those things. There’s no comfort, only pure vulnerability, and what better way to feel protected than to return to a lover even when there’s nothing but a feeble spark that’s left over from what was once a blazing forest fire.
Seungmin challenges that particular view of yours at dinner with Felix as well after a long day at work. He wanted to see where you were coming from but also because he’s there to force feed you the icy, sobering truth when you don’t want to hear it.
“If there’s no romance, what’s the point of going back to each other?” he asks.
“They were dating for years Seungmin, you don’t just get over someone that quickly,” Felix responds instead like he was the one being offended.
Dissimilar to Seungmin, Lix will let you down gently and is afraid to hurt you with the sharp use of words that can be sometimes.
“Supposedly,” you mutter to yourself knowing full well how fast it was for Minho to just go ahead and fuck someone else after you had broken up.
“Do you still love him?” Seungmin questions swiftly.
“No,” you respond promptly.
“If there was an opportunity to get back together with him, would you go for it?”
“No,” you answer again. “I couldn’t.”
Felix blinks, not expecting that answer, “well…then…”
“Then stop seeing him if you know what’s good for you,” Seungmin continues. “Those icky feelings that you get after sleeping with him - not good. That’s the regret you’re experiencing and it’ll never feel any better.”
There’s no crack or fault in his advice. Had you not dished out the truth about the details of your messy breakup before and after, you would’ve still been glued to the same spot. It’s important to have someone humble you, and there’s no better person to do that than Seungmin.
“Just keep thinking about it, okay? On another note, Hyunjin’s coming back from France next week so we’re having a dinner and drinks,” Seungmin mentions.
Your mind briefly departs from the subject of your ex, “is he? Has it really been that long?”
“Yeah,” Felix replies, also surprised. “You’re coming right? We’re going to have a few drinks too, and catch up.”
“What time?” You ask.
“Around six,” Seungmin answers. “Does Minho know?”
“Not that I’m aware of,” you shrug, the thought of him returning to your mind once again. “I don’t know if he’d have any interest in going since they’re not friends anymore.”
Felix recalls that factor, “that’s right. But, if the rest of us are going to be there, we should invite him too, no? Unless it’s too difficult for y-”
“It won’t be difficult,” you reply, punctuating the rest of Felix’s sentence a little too quickly. “He and I can get along for about…ten minutes before things go sour. Plus, I don’t mind not going if he wants to. I can always catch up with Hyunjin another day.”
“You’re our friend too, remember? Don’t let your asshole of an ex-boyfriend stop you from seeing us. You broke up with him, not us,” Seungmin sends you a powerful reminder. “I’ll have a chat with him so that you don’t have to.”
He has a full understanding that if you and Minho were to attempt another civil conversation, it’ll go haywire and lead to more regret that you don’t need to be feeling right now. It just goes to prove that he’s beyond correct to even assume that fact.
The minute you both try to convey how or what it is that you’re both feeling, tensions boil over. For some reason that tension is only resolved by being bent over the nearest surface and fucking it out together.
It’s not healthy.
You go to remind Minho of what he did to you which he hates hearing, not because he denies it but because he does truly feel guilty. His only saving grace to that argument was that you had both technically broken up, meaning there were no ties to one another afterwards. Still, he missed the point of the fact that he hurt you as a result of those actions. It was too fresh to have done that to you.
Even when he recognised that factor, it was hard for him to accept that he actually caused you some form of irreversible emotional harm
However, Seungmin was right in the fact that you broke up with Minho and not your friend which enabled you to leave that dinner feeling a bit better and with a clearer judgement about going forward with a decision to cut all ties with Minho. It wasn’t something to look forward to.
But what was, is the dinner in the upcoming week. It’s the prime opportunity to see everyone again for the first time in over a month.
Despite your collection of text messages and calls from the likes of Chan, Jisung, Changbin and others, it was hard to associate yourselves with them in fear that all they’ll do is unintentionally remind you of Minho. It was the same way he felt when he was clearing out his house - not wanting to be around anyone or anything that would refresh his memory of you.
Now, all you want to do is move on.
Work had a helping hand in that process. Having been so busy with things piling up, your mind was free from Minho during the day. You were able to focus on tasks instead of wallowing and thinking about whether or not to give him a second chance
If it weren’t for Seungmin texting you the details of the upcoming dinner, work-life would’ve swallowed you up whole and made you forget.
From Minnie: 6 pm we’re meeting up, Also, just a heads up, Minho said he’s coming. Take it with a grain of salt though bc he might change his mind.
To Minnie: Thank you :)
You inhale a breath of fresh air. Going to this dinner was necessary whether it was going to be difficult or not. The presence of Minho wasn’t going to stop you from seeing your friends, and with that, you decide to get ready and head straight to the venue.
The restaurant has a separate open area for functions and tables people can book out. The dim golden lighting brings a warm and cosy vibe to the venue, coupled with a beautiful earthy aroma from reed diffusers distributed around the place and the smell of promised good food. It’s a relatively fancy setting, but not to a degree where you would be denied entry if you didn’t meet a dress code.
As you walk further down, you can already see Chan and Jisung chatting up a storm in the corner while they wait for the others. It’s a relief that not many people have made it so far in order to keep as low of a profile as possible and to not draw attention to yourself. However, little by little, they will definitely notice you’re there.
Jisung is the first to spot you, his jaw becomes unhinged as he drags himself out of the booth, speeds over with his face lit up, and throws his arms around you in a bone crushing hug. He nearly squeezes and shifts all of your organs out of place.
“Do you know how much I’ve missed you?” he exclaims loudly in your ear.
Chan laughs in the distance at his best friend's behaviour, “let her breathe Jisung.”
He releases your body for a rush of oxygen to surge back to your brain, “sorry, I just can’t help the fact that I haven’t seen you in a month!”
“You Facetimed me Jisung,” reminding him of that one and only time you accepted him reaching out to you to see if you were okay.
“That’s completely different, anyway sit down,” he offers. “I’ll get you a drink.”
Without wanting to hear any protest from you, Jisung darts off to the bar nearby, ordering a beverage or two. Chan then waves out, ushering you to come and sit before you walk towards the booth.
“If I had gone another week without seeing you, I’d probably start to forget what you look like,” Chan jokes, patting his hand down on the space of cushion beside him for you to sit.
“That wouldn’t be such a bad thing,” you respond.
The second you’re seated, you can already feel Chan’s mind trying to intrude yours. There’s no point in lying to him when he’s akin to one of those Occlumens from Harry Potter, an all knowing person who can hear every one of your thoughts at will. Regardless of the fact that he’s not, it’s his parental nature which exudes that.
“Going okay?” He asks you.
You take a deep breath in and sigh out, “I could be worse.”
“You’re still here though,” he responds wisely. “And so are we.”
Chan never wanted to ask why you never told them or came to them when you first broke up with Minho. They all had to find out through one another then needed to text or ring you to confirm that it was actually real. However, they all knew that you must’ve had your reasons. Naturally, it would’ve been tough to accept let alone leaning on your close friends for support.
“Thank you,” you respond.
“Here we go,” Jisung calls out, carefully returning with two different types of cocktails. “They’re both strong as hell so don’t try to choose.”
“Not that you’d have it any other way right?” you reply, helping him with the glasses as he sits down beside you.
He pats your head as he goes to sit down and slings his arm around your shoulder, “you know me too well. Anyway, Changbin and Hyunjin are here. He just texted me before.”
Chan sulks, “what? No! he was supposed to wait until everyone else was here.”
“To be fair, they were meant to be here twenty minutes ago so Changbin is actually on time,” Jisung responds. “Anyway, how are you missy?”
“Better now that I’m with you guys,” you answer, giving him a bit of a friendly nudge before leaning into him.
Jisung grins, genuinely relieved on the inside to hear that you are. Not that you have been able to notice, but they were all worried for you at one point. The lack of information regarding your whereabouts or even the state of your well-being was concerning. It was almost like you had dropped off the face of the earth at one point, right up until you finally made the decision to start accepting people trying to contact you.
Unfortunately for your friends, they had to learn about what you were up to through Minho, and even today, you’re not sure if what he said to them was the truth. Nonetheless, they all knew at the end of the day, if they were ever unsure or suspicious of what he was feeding to them, they were mature enough to come to you to double check. If they were able to get through to you.
“Good. Now come back and hang out with me because these guys are boring.”
Chan goes to lift a finger and point across at Jisung to object his statement before Changbin rounds the corner with Hyunjin trailing at his side.
The last you saw him was some five years ago, just before he went away to an arts’ school in France to study. Now he returns taller with much more cut and distinct features and a head of light brown hair that’s visibly eclipsed his natural jet-black colour. Despite that, he also seems softer or shy when he gives everyone at the table a half smile.
“Who’d you say was boring?” Changbin prods into the conversation.
Jisung points up with his beverage in hand, “you and Hyunjin!”
Hyunjin’s eyebrows knit together with worry, “is he drunk already?”
A bright smile fashions on Changbin’s face when he notices you, “Y//N! Now it’s two welcome home parties!”
Hyunjin turns to look down at you in surprise, “have you been away as well?”
His question serves as a reminder that he has been relatively out of the loop since he’s been gone – not that you expected him to be fully aware of everything since he probably had better things to do. Hyunjin was still active in the group chat, but none of you prefer to communicate that way when hanging out is the better option. Whilst he’s missed out on a lot of stuff that’s happened, he hasn’t been so oblivious to other things.
“Not exactly,” you respond awkwardly. “But welcome back by the way.”
He smiles softly, “thank you.”
The get-together officially kicked off when Jeongin, Seungmin, and Felix arrived just before the second round of drinks was ordered. Everyone was happy to have Hyunjin back. Even for you, it was nice to see him again after so long – it was nice to see everyone in general. The setting was reminiscent of old times when everyone banded together. Whether it was at karaoke, dinner, a bar, someone’s house, or at some event, it’s always a good feeling when you’re around them.
It leads you to feel slightly upset that you haven’t seen them in so long. You’ve missed hearing their laughs, their jokes, and the safety that you feel too. But for a very painfully obvious reason, none of it seems to be the same without Minho.
“Didn’t show up did he?” Seungmin, who had been chatting up a storm with someone at the bar, walks over and takes a seat opposite you at the cornered booth. Just about all of them were alternating from the table to the bar, and a space they’d found to stand up to talk, or in Jisung’s case, dance by himself.
“Mm,” you mumble. “Which I’m sure is a good thing.”
He shrugs carelessly but with a small grin, “for your benefit. Not that I’m an expert in relationship problems but I can speak from personal experience.”
“That’s true,” you respond, remembering that he has in fact had his heart broken a few times by the same person.
Luckily for him, he’s ceased the chase and gave an account the other day at dinner of how freeing it was to be his own individual. It’s something you can only hope to achieve at this point – to be liberated from that sticky dependency you have on Minho.
It’s not love that you feel for him anymore, you’re sure of it. But it’s similar to a violent craving. His skin, voice – oh his voice. Everything about his body has you itching under the surface to have him by your side even though things end in a fiery argument, which is usually how it goes.
It wasn’t love anymore. It was dependency. A type of separation anxiety that fills you up with this icy cold feeling that won’t go away until you specifically have Minho near you. Still, deep down, you knew you didn’t love him anymore.
“Is Jisung okay?” Hyunjin ticks his head towards his friends’ direction.
Judging by the fact that Chan was holding a barely conscious Jisung up was a clear indicator that he definitely wasn’t okay. Never has he been able to handle his alcohol well and it was evident by the lack of control over his own body.
Seungmin looks over concernedly then looks down at his phone to check the time, “shit, I have to take him home too.”
He abandons you briefly to help out Chan. Both of them collectively agree that Jisung needs to go home or at the very least be removed from the bar to sober up. They take him to an empty table nearby and ask the bartender for some water. Meanwhile, Hyunjin turns a blind eye to the chaos and talks to you instead.
“How have you been Y/N?” He asks.
“Yeah, good. You? How was France?”
By the look on his face, it was as if your question brought back a whole heap of good memories to the forefront of his mind, “I couldn’t have asked for a better experience.”
“That’s good to hear,” you reply. “So have you graduated already?”
“Three months from now I will be,” he answers. “Why? You wanna come watch me walk across the stage over there?”
You consider his offer, “what if I said ‘yes’ to that?”
“Then I’d be over the moon,” Hyunjin emphasises then offers a brilliant suggestion that springs into his mind. “In turn, maybe I can show you around France and all the places I went to.”
“Is that a deal then?”
“Sounds like a solid deal to me,” he responds and whether he was joking or not, either way, it seemed a pleasant idea.
During the last hour of the dinner, you spent having an in-depth conversation with Hyunjin. From what he got up to in France, what he wants to do in the future, then covered what you’ve been doing as well
The topic of your ex-boyfriend was difficult to navigate, but you managed it well by diverting to another subject. The last thing you wanted to talk about was Minho for fear that the more you think about him, the more you’d want him.
Then again, you’re reminded once more of the fact that Hyunjin and Minho aren’t friends. He may not have any interest in him whatsoever. But it’s not like they left each other on horrendous terms. Not like how you and Minho did. Plus, it’s hard to see this fresh shade of Hyunjin in front of you, hating anyone he doesn’t like or doesn’t know.
The Hyunjin from five years ago would’ve held a grudge, but now you can see by his shift in personality, that he’s let it go.
When it came down to having to leave, everyone seemed to have their own plans. Seungmin would have the misfortune of taking care of Jisung. Felix, Jeongin, Hyunjin, and Changbin decided to go bar hopping while they were still stable on their feet and even encouraged you to come with them. It took a lot of convincing to tell them ‘no’ after you were set on heading home to the comfort of your own space.
Seungmin assured Chan that he was fine to handle Jisung, then thought it would be a polite gesture to accompany your side when you decided to walk home, regardless if it was only a minute's commute from the restaurant.
“How are you holding up?” Chan addresses the elephant in the room.
His question could be seen a mile away. It made you wonder if that was the reason he chose to walk you home since his place is in the opposite direction. Although he wasn’t confronting you, that’s exactly what it felt like.
“Somewhat okay, I suppose,” you answer.
“No, how are you really? We see Minho all the time. In fact, he won’t leave us alone. But we haven’t seen you,” he responds. “You can still hang out with us you know?”
“I know that,” you almost whine, especially after offering your ear to Jisung just for him to repeat the same words for over two hours. “I’ve been busy.”
“I guess being busy is a positive.”
“It’s when there’s nothing to do or I don’t feel good and I don’t have anyone around,” you respond and both come to a halt when you reach the entrance to your apartment building. “That’s the hardest.”
“That’s when you call us,” Chan says strictly. “I know you know this too, but all of us would drop whatever it is that we’re doing to come and help you. Not just Minho, even though I had some reservations about seeing him after what he did.”
The last parts of his words surprised you. Chan actually thought about cutting Minho off too when he found out what happened…
“So he did tell you everything.”
“Everything,” he confirms. “Including everything that you’ve both been up to now. Like how you still see each other now and then – and not for the reasons I had hoped. So why do you keep seeing him when you want to move on?”
Your eyes narrow at him, “how do you even know that I want to move on?”
“The fact that you still sleep with him but won’t pursue any sort of communication to get back with him romantically, says a lot Y/N. And I know that because he’s told me,” Chan answers bitterly, but not in a nasty way. “Your body might miss him, but I know your mind doesn’t.”
He’s bitten through the truth which you can’t seem to, his elderly brother-type personality forces you to see reason. You’d be offended if Minho tried to initiate a conversation about wanting to get back together, knowing that he’s not in any position to be making requests after what he did.
“Why are you telling me all of this?” You ask tiredly.
“I want what’s best for you,” he says. “Yes, Minho too in some way, but I told him he needed to figure out what he did on his own because I can’t help him with that. That’s his punishment.”
You supress a laugh, “thank you.”
Your short talk with Chan made you realise how empty your cup had been since you last saw him – since you last saw all of your friends under one roof. It was rewarding and it felt like home to be near them. However, his words weren’t there for you to just defer from. You had to listen to him. He was right in saying that your body misses Minho but your mind doesn’t because the next time he came around, you swore to yourself that it was going to be the last time you saw him.
But it needed a conversation, one that you weren’t even sure if you were ready to have, too scared to rip that band aid off.
As you don your bra back on and shimmy on your underwear that Minho almost tore off, you think of all the possible ways to approach this situation, bearing in mind that it does have the potential to blow up.
“W-We need to talk,” you stammer, wondering if that’s a good way to start. It’s a start, that’s all that matters.
Minho stares at you from the other side of your bed, halfway through putting on his t-shirt, “okay, what about?”
Without any warning, you blurted out what needed to - what must be said, “we should stop seeing each other.”
Heavy silence drapes over the room, except for the cogs working overtime in Minho’s brain, trying to decode your words could almost be heard. You can most definitely see it on his deadpan face. It illuminates the seriousness of the situation compared to what it was five minutes ago.
“Can you give me some more detail about that?” He requests.
“I just don’t think it’s healthy that we continue to sleep with each other when we’re not going to get back together,” you inform him.
“You don’t want to get back together?” Minho poses the long awaited question that hurts to even conjure an answer.
“Be honest, we’d be together right now if you knew that I was serious about it,” you say truthfully. “I’ll never not love you, but I can’t love you in the way that I used to.”
The sheer surprise of the conversation made Minho realise that he’s been consuming too much of a good thing. That he actually wasn’t prepared to talk to you about this. It’s been creeping around the back of his mind since you both started seeing each other casually but ignored it so as to spend as much time with you as he could even though you weren’t with him anymore.
“Right.”
“Look, just…don’t go cold on me, because I do want to talk to you about these things,” you plead with him.
“Such as?”
“Such as our friends,” you start off. “All of us hang out a lot, but I didn’t want our…breakup to stop either one of us from seeing them. They’re your friends and mine too. I’d hate for us to be driven away from them because we can’t coexist anymore.”
“Fair enough.”
You can sense that he’s already starting to shut down. An obvious coping mechanism that’s triggered by something he wasn’t prepared to hear. But while the final shreds of his rationality are still with you in the room, you make haste, and dish out the important points he needs to know.
“We might not ever be friends again even though that’s not what I’m hoping for-“
Minho stands up from the edge of your bed, cutting the rest of your sentence off in the process, “if you’re serious about everything that you just said, then I don’t want to see you text or call me first asking me to come over. This isn’t a one-sided deal that only applies to me, you have to stick to it as well.”
“This isn’t even a deal Minho. I am telling you not to.”
“What? Telling me ‘not to’ because you can’t control yourself around me? Fine. I don’t know if you realise this, but the majority of the texts between the both of us, are mainly sent from you - you asking for me, telling me how lonely you are, or how much you miss my body. So don’t start handing out instructions when you’re not going to adhere to them as well.”
There’s a viper-like sting to his words that keeps piercing your resolve. A truthful sting that seeps poison into your blood, making you feel sick and cold. He’s torn you off your high horse for a moment, bringing you back down to earth to realise that it’s not just him who needs to see reason as well.
He had a very strong argument.
Minho sighs and tails more information to his tangent, “look I will do whatever it is that you want me to do. But, if this is what you want, then you can’t deny that it will only work one way.”
There’s an efflorescence of achiness in your chest. A familiar one that you felt in the early days after breaking up with Minho. It was the same one you would feel whenever you’d have to lock the door to the spare bedroom in his house whenever he bought someone else over.
Heartbreak.
It lingers when he finally leaves with the promise of never reaching out to you again, at least for sex because there was no way of avoiding him in the future. That fact was impossible to refute. But this is what breakups consist of. Not one hairline shy off of being messy. It could, though, be much worse. That’s as much you had to be grateful for when you have to start from square one all over again.
Changing things up was necessary. You had already moved out from Minho’s, which there was no choice behind, but that meant new scenery. Different places to peruse in your own time that you hadn’t yet ever since you had moved out
It opened up new opportunities to visit some local things, especially on your way back home from work as you decide to call into a small cafe.
Soft bossa nova plays calmly in the background as you stand and deliberate on something sweet to take home with you for after dinner. If it weren’t for the many niche options to select from, you would’ve almost missed the voice talking from beside you.
“I heard the matcha bread is nice here.”
Your surprise gets the better of you, almost forgetting how to speak for a split second when you see a familiar tall figure you met once more from the other week.
“Hyunjin?”
“Hey,” he smiles. “Wanna sit down together?”
You end up ordering yourself a warm drink and a sweet pastry to go while Hyunjin found a small table right in the crook of the cafe. His sudden appearance was rather pleasant, allowing you to divert from your own thoughts for a bit. Plus, it’s always nice to sit and chat with a friend.
“I thought you might’ve been here to meet up with one of the others,” you say to him.
Hyunjin nods, putting his coffee down, “I just spent the last couple of hours helping Changbin buy clothes just down the road at one of the shopping centres, so that’s where I came from.”
You smile, “well he trusts you more than the others in that department.”
“As he should,” Hyunjin grins softly. “How are you?”
“I’m well, I just finished work and was heading home,” you respond.
“I’m not keeping you from going am I?” He asks politely.
“No, not at all,” You quickly exclaim. “The longer I stay, the more of an excuse I have not to do the mountain of things I need to for work.”
Hyunjin chuckles, “well, as long as it doesn’t get you into trouble with your colleagues.”
“I should be fine,” you hope.
“You know, when I think about it, you and I never really spoke that much back then,” he points out. “I only just realised that from last week when I saw you again.”
His comment makes you think back too
Hyunjin was definitely part of your friend group, but not one who you would hang out with individually or with another person. He was just there, almost like he was known to you by association. Aside from the fact that he’s well-mannered and kind, the only aspect of his personality that seemed to have changed is how boisterous he used to be.
Although, that’s to be expected when people mature and cross the bridge from adolescence to adulthood.
“True enough,” you reply and start snickering when you remember something funny. “But I have good memories of you though. Like when you threw that bottle at Jisung.”
Hyunjin’s eyes nearly pop out of his head, “I remember that. I could’ve killed him with that too.”
“Or when Chan had to pull you up from the train tracks because you fell off the platform and got stuck,” you add on.
“Most of those memories seem to have some type of mortal peril attached to it,” Hyunjin discovers.
“You were young,” you remind him tenderly. “They make for the best memories anyway.”
He agrees, staring into a space on the table as he reminisces, “true. So much has changed since I got back. I feel like I’ve missed out on growing up with you all even though we were just teenagers back then and adults now.”
“Maybe, but we’re still young though and some have more growing up to do than others,” you hint very cryptically at one person who automatically springs to mind. “So don’t feel sad that you’ve missed out when there’s still a lot for us out there.”
Hyunjin sits a bit more comfortably knowing that. As you both continue to talk, he realises how much you’ve changed yet somehow remained the same. You grew into your features, enhancing what was already there to a finer degree. Your looks were Hyunjin’s first impression of you when you first met as devious young teenagers.
That was before he discovered that you are as kind and cool as you come across. But you were just distant friends back then. Now, Hyunjin detected a space for that to potentially change. He wanted to get to know the friend he hung out with here and there.
Even though time threatened to cut the starting opportunity short, it was still a start nonetheless, and Hyunjin was confident that there would be other times to arrive as well. So as the baristas begin cleaning up behind the counter and around the cafe, both you and Hyunjin took it as a sign that it was probably time to head off. You both take your belongings, thank the staff on your way out and head into the night.
“Y/N,” Hyunjin says to you. “We should get coffee again sometime.”
You nod, “I’d love that. I still have your number.”
“So do I,” he replies. “What way are you heading?”
“I’m just literally around the corner, not even a minute away,” you answer.
“Okay, I’ll look forward to your text then,” he says.
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marketing ploy ln4 - ch 6
Austria goes to shit. Great Britain follows.
piastri!oc x lando norris, bestfriends brother/fake dating
warnings/notes: inappropriate comments, lando being overprotective, arguments/cursing, mildly severe car accidents (guys its an f1 fic what we were expecting. gotta do the cliche for my first fic), vague descriptions of injury, a few sexual comments, this is SO LONG. like 5k-6k words?
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01 JULY, AUSTRIA.
I woke up with a bad feeling in my chest and an odd headache. My lone hotel room, to give Oscar and Lily some space since she was finally able to tag along again this season, felt so enclosing. Slowly pulling myself out of bed, I groaned and immediately went to get ready when I noticed the time. Luckily, it was only qualifiers today, so I didn't have much to do other than hide in my office and make sure no one's car was going to explode.
But god, on my worst day, everything has to go wrong.
First, Max's tires never got warmed. Something was broken, and I had to do so much boring bullshit paperwork. Then, Checo's brakes got sticky and we had to have him DNF. Then for some reason, half the fucking sensors hadn't even recorded anything so I couldn't even tell why they had gotten sticky. But I did feel a bit better (not at all) knowing it had also happened to a few other drivers so it wasn’t just us.
So I was having the greatest time, sarcasm fully intended. And then I completely missed seeing Oscar and Lily for lunch because I was in an emergency meeting. And by the time I got out of Red Bull's garage, it was nearing five at night and I hadn't had anything to eat or anything to drink after one water bottle and my headache still had gotten worse because of it.
And then got immediately swamped by reporters.
Luckily, I saved some class and patience and was able to make it through fine but by the time I got to McLaren's garage, I was about ready to snap at someone.
"Ollie!"
Thank god.
"Oscar." I hum as he wraps an arm around my shoulder, and then he makes a face as he notices just how exhausted I am.
"You guys had it rough today." He says and I just nod, rubbing at my jaw and rolling my neck as he steps back, leans over, and hands me a packet of some sort of assorted chocolates.
"I love you so much." I sigh as I open the packet and he laughs, dragging me further into the garage where everyone else is settled and just relaxing. McLaren had a really good day, both Lando and Oscar in Q1 and I can see everyone laughing and celebrating. A completely different feel from the tense garage at Red Bull. Lily gives me a tight hug when she sees me and urges me to come sit with her so we can catch up, we end up in a bit further and in a corner so we can have a bit of privacy. All is fine, and Lily is very quickly improving my mood as we giggle and share stories (and I happily answer all her questions about Lando and me) before we're approached by a guy I don't recognize.
"You guys need water?" He asks innocently, and though it's not extremely hot in Austria, I take one from his hands. Lily denies it, showing off the water bottle she's still drinking, and the guy seemingly just blips out.
"Weird." I hum, cracking open the water bottle and taking a sip of the cool liquid, "Never seen him before. Maybe he's new?"
"Or a volunteer?" Lily suggests and I shrug in response, eventually, Oscar comes over and wraps an arm around Lily's waist and she grins, popping a kiss on his cheek. Finally, the two of them were actually looking like a couple in public. Which, is probably what happens when two introverts start dating. I swear they didn't hold hands for months.
"Lando's being interviewed if you wanna wait for him for the media shit." Oscar pokes my hand and I pretend to flick the water bottle at him. The two of us make faces for a few seconds before I nod, taking another sip of my water bottle.
"Yeah, he and I are going out to eat again tonight. Andrea's idea." I sigh, looking over my shoulder where I can see Lando sitting with some people with a microphone in hand. I notice though it's not Sky, but rather ESPN, and I hum before turning back to Oscar and Lily and wishing them on their way. I pull out my phone, answering a few texts before someone walks up beside me. And it's the same guy from earlier.
"Oh. Hi." I say softly as he smiles at me, looking a little flustered for a second before he starts talking.
"Just wanted to say hello, I'm one of the mid-season hires. I'm an engineering assistant, Jordan." He held out his hand and I grinned, shaking his hand firmly.
"Olivia Piastri, Oscar's younger sister. I'm Red Bull's head analyst." I let go of his hand and Jordan nods, he wrings his hands before he continues talking and I feel the confidence he's trying to exhume here.
"Ah, I've seen a bit about you. Kinda hard to miss such a pretty face." Jordan grins, running a hand through his hair and tilting his head with a tiny grin.
Is he flirting with me? Is this guy daft?
"Well, thank you. But uhm--" I look around the garage, hoping to maybe signal another person in the garage to come over and get me out of this just terribly awkward situation. Lando's wrapping up his interview, handing back his microphone and laughing softly as he shakes hands with the reporters.
"Seriously, you're by far one of the most gorgeous girls I've seen." Jordan steps a bit closer and leans on the wall beside me with his body covering my view of the majority of the garage, "are you free tonight? I'd like to get to know you better."
I step back, putting myself back into the view of the garage as I try to keep my patience and shake my head no. I'd never had this issue before, how exactly does one stop unwanted advances? I'd never had to, I was never alone when these sorts of things happened to me.
So, I stammer, "Ah, I'm sorry, I have a boyfriend and.."
"Ay, is he here? Because I don't see anyone staking their claim on you." Jordan grins and I tighten my grip on the water bottle and click my tongue against my teeth. Okay, if he was gonna be like that I could be bitchy too. I glance back across the room one final time, making eye contact with Jon who gives me a sharp nod, but I don't see Lando anymore. Which... could be good or bad.
"He works for McLaren, and is a part of your team, so you might wanna... not... flirt with me?" I turn back to Jordan, make an uncomfortable grimace at him, and end up tightly crossing my arms over my uniform shirt, "So..."
"Yeah, who's your boyfriend then?" Jordan hums, looking over, "Jon?"
"Me," A hand slides across my waist, fingers digging into my skin harsh enough to likely leave bruises as I'm tugged back into Lando's chest. With one hand still firm on my waist, his other hand comes to my jaw so he can turn me to press a soft kiss to my lips before he leans back and whispers, "Hi, baby."
"Hi, Nori." I smile, turning back to Jordan who raises an eyebrow. And I can already tell this is going to be terrible because he hasn't exactly backed down. I see a reporter tilt their camera at us, and I grip Lando's wrist to tell him to back off. But Lando stays close, and my cheeks tint red as Jordan starts to speak.
"Got yourself a good-lookin' girl there, Lando." Jordan grins, winking at me and making my skin crawl. Lando's hands tighten on my waist, pulling me into him a bit more if that's even possible, and now I'm not even mad that he's doing this anymore. I wanted to be doing anything else than being here.
"Mhm. Olivia's my girl, don't you know? She's been my girlfriend for a while, so why dont'cha step back?" Lando smiles, but his threat is not hidden very well.
"Ay, it's all good Lando, I don't like to share my meals."
"Oh-kay!" I shout but Lando takes over, stepping around me to point at Jordan and get in his face. I see half the McLaren garage turn, and someone shouts to send the media out of the garage as the cameras scramble to try and take photos and videos of the altercation.
"If you know what's good for you--" Lando grits, eyes narrowing as Jordan smirks in his face. His confidence was a far cry from the scrawny guy who had walked up to me prior, Lando continues through his teeth, "You won't say anything like that again or I'll make sure you can't speak anymore."
"Sorry, man. Didn't realize this would piss you off so much," Jordan takes a step back, his smile making it known his apology was fake, and my tight grip on Lando's wrist makes it so he won't follow.
"Bye, Jordan," I say, voice soft but level. A sort of period to the end of whatever conversation Lando and Jordan had silently through their eyes before Jordan backed off and slipped into the crowd of McLaren officers off to the side. I keep my iron grip on Lando's wrist and he slowly turns around to look at me. At this point, my exhaustion and anger from the whole day is bubbling just under my skin. Unlike my twin, I was never good at completely holding myself back when I got like this.
"Lando." My tone comes out much colder than I'm expecting, and I grab his wrist again and forcefully tug him to my side as I hiss, "What the fuck was that?!"
"Did you hear what he said?"
"Yes! But was that worth threatening him?"
"What did you want me to do?" He said and when I peeked over his shoulder and saw everyone watching, I grabbed Lando by the collar and pulled him into Andrea's vacant office, slamming the door shut and pointing at him.
"I had it handled, okay?" I snap, "He was just being a jackass, you didn't have to threaten to make him unable to speak--Lando! Who the fuck says that?!"
"Did you have it handled? That was you having it handled?" Lando asks, incredulously, sitting on the edge of Andrea's desk as I stay at the door, using my heel to keep it closed just in case someone tried to push it open at any point since I knew the door didn't lock.
"You don't need to protect me like that, Lando, it's not your job!"
"It's not, I'm your boyfriend--" And the rest of what Lando says fizzles out in my head. Boyfriend. Boyfriend. The word that had been taunting me for weeks. Lando Norris, my boyfriend for the media. The boy who could never be mine. And something in my chest breaks, I can feel the tether finally snap, and I shout.
"No, you are not!" My volume surprises me, and I know McLaren can probably hear us immediately after saying it, so I drop my voice down to a hard snapping tone, "You aren't my boyfriend, Lando. You aren't! You can't be, no matter how much I love you, or you love me, or if we fall in love after all of this is over--you are not my boyfriend and you will never be because we can't be in love, Lando!"
"We can't? Who said that?!" He snaps back, "Do you think I've been doing all of this for media? For a fucking paycheck? God, no Ollie. I fell in love with you the first time Oscar brought you around! Do you think I agreed with this for a check? No, I agreed to that stupid contract because it's you! If it was anyone else I would've just walked the fuck out of that office, it's you I want, only you, only you, Olivia."
"But you know you can't have me, so why string me along like this? We can't be together, no matter what we want, we're gonna have to break up at some point! So why should we even try?"
"Who cares what they say? Zak, Andrea, Christian? You're gonna let them run your life?" Lando steps closer to me, taking my jaw into his gentle hold, voice so soft I feel my heart drum against my lungs, "We do what they say, sure, but once we've completed that contractual obligation... can they tell us we can't ever be this again? Be... us, again?"
"I can't do this Lando," I whisper, bringing my hands to my chest and he steps back. The space between us suddenly felt so vast, and something in me clicked and I knew something irreversible was going to be said. That maybe I had started the downfall here, and Lando's hurt expression tells me I have.
He can only whisper, "Why?"
"I just..." I stammer, making a vague gesture to the room. There's no way for me to express the thousands of thoughts that race through my head, a constant loop of some F1 circuit of emotional mess slamming into every reasonable thought and fizzling out reason.
"Because you're scared of being loved? You're scared of what will happen if you fall in love?" Lando accuses and I can't answer those questions, because I am. I'm so scared. But not because of Lando. Because of media. So I shout the next best option.
"I never wanted the attention! I didn't become a driver because I can't handle the media like you all can! And yet I end up here, and--" I go to keep talking and Lando holds up a hand, shouting over me,
"Okay, then back out! You clearly want nothing to do with me, or this, or everything that's happening, so go tell Christian you're done!"
Silence. I swallow thickly because no. I don't want to be done. I want to fight tooth and nail for everything in this relationship, but also, was this what was best? Should I back out now, before everything we've done catches up to us? A hubris that needs to be checked? I knew from the beginning I was going to burn, but not like this. Never did I think it would be like this.
"Olivia..." Lando whispers, and I feel something roll down my cheeks. I'm crying I realize. The world is blurry, my throat is dry, and I'm crying over a relationship I can now see we both want but... at least to me, we can never have.
Do I ask Christian..?
"No, Lando." I sigh, doting under my teary eyes, "This is why. This is why. We will end up here one day, and I can't do that. I... I'll talk to you later."
"Ollie, wait!"
I turn, leaving the office in a hurry. I shove through the McLaren workers who try to stop me and once I'm in the clear, I run. The Red Bull paddock isn't far and once I get there I can't breathe, shoving through people who now wear the same uniform as me. My office doesn't even feel safe, the flowers on my desk mocking me, and I grab them and in a fit of rage, I throw them across the room. It doesn't make the pain in my chest leave.
“Olivia!” Someone shouts and I turn, Christian just barely in the doorway. I shout, without thinking, without even pausing.
“I’m backing out! I’m done with that media stunt—!” And a hiccup breaks my sentence, “Get me out of it!”
“I—“
“—Now, Christian!”
The garage is silent after my scream, and poor Christian looks horrified as he nods, and shuts the door to my office. I let a shaky breath out as I realize what I’ve done is irreversible, but there’s so much pain in my whole heart I can’t tell if that’s what’s hurting me. I sink to my knees on the floor, a hand on my chest, a hand on the carpet, and I sob.
I don’t even know why I’m crying.
An arm is around my shoulder, a set of hands resting on my elbows as someone whispers to me. I don't even know who the people are when I look up, and the sight of both Max and Checo kneeling in front of me makes the tears double. At some point, Checo leaves, once I've calmed enough for Max to convince me to lay down with his jacket covering my legs as I hiccupped and slowed down my breathing with Max's hand applying solid pressure to my chest.
Charles and Daniel come back with Checo, who then leaves the room entirely, and I end up with my weird little mixed driver support group on the floor in my office.
Something so odd, something that should not be happening in any way, but yet here we are.
Somehow, one relationship shattering had made the other relationships in my life more clear. Relationships that had started casually and professionally, and ended up with me now having twenty or so brothers at this point.
Brothers.
Just like Oscar.
-
Max drops me at Oscar's hotel room a few hours later when he returns from his date with Lily. She ends up going off on her own, with a few of the other WAGs, to give Oscar and me privacy. I settle on the couch, sipping a water bottle as Oscar looks out the window. I hadn't told anyone else what Lando and I had argued about, Max had kinda picked up on it as had Charles, but they had given me a berth. A space to explain. When I didn't take the invitation, they didn't try and pull me in to say anything. Which I appreciated beyond words.
"What happened?" Comes the soft voice of my twin. I knew Oscar wouldn't have been like them though.
“I backed out,” I say, rubbing a hand along the fabric beneath me.
"What?" Oscar turns to face me, "You backed out?"
"Of the shit with Lando, I can't do it anymore. I can't have my emotions being toyed with like this anymore. And we both like each other but one day they're gonna come along and tell us we need to break up and we have to listen to them." I find a stray string in the couch stitching and begin picking it. My nails dig into them, making a slightly bigger hole. It feels like the way I'd ripped a hole into my own heart earlier.
"I had a feeling this was gonna happen." Oscar walks across the room to sit on the arm of the couch, looking over at me, "what happened?"
"I just had a shit day, and... and when this guy at McLaren started flirting excessively with me he got super overprotective and threatened the guy. Which... isn't the worst but he could've handled it better." I wave my hands, "But I had such a shit day I just blew up at him over it, and we fought, and he told me to back out if I couldn't handle it... and when I got back to Red Bull I just did it. I didn't even think and now I think I made a huge fuckin' mistake but I can't go back on it now."
"Could you talk to Christian? Ask him to wait?" Oscar hums, his hand coming up to card through my hair again and I melt into his touch as per usual.
"I dunno." I murmured, closing my eyes, "I just wanna sleep the rest of the day off."
"We can talk about it tomorrow after the race, okay?" He says, looking down at me before turning to look at his phone as it buzzes on the table. I look up at him and see his jaw tense, hand pausing on my head as he makes a face.
"Oh, Christ." He whispers, turning his phone to me. I climb up to sit next to him, eyes widening as I look over the post he shares and my stomach falls to my chest.
"This is not what Christian told me would happen," I whisper, Oscar's hand squeezing my upper arm in some sort of semblance of support. Of course, getting out of this mess with Lando wouldn't be easy.
Now I needed to talk to Christian. As soon as possible.
01 JULY, TWITTER ↴
written by Julia Sine, 01 July, 2024.
Cars aren't the only thing racing down the track in Austria this weekend, so are some hearts! In an exclusive interview after the qualifier today, multiple McLaren and Red Bull workers spoke with reporter Julia Sine about what might become the next 'it couple' after Travis Kelce and Taylor Swift.
"Lando and I first spoke about it in Bahrain. He said the two of them have been close since Oscar's rookie season last year and he was worried Olivia's job would be at stake if their relationship ever leaked to the public," Steve Atkins, McLaren's Head of Communications explained while standing in the paddock with Chief Executive Officer Zak Brown and Team Principal Andrea Stella, "I went and spoke with Christian Horner, the Team Principal of [Oracle Red Bull Racing] and we agreed that since they were on separate teams, and Olivia was an analyst and not an engineer, there was no conflict of interest. Olivia did sign an NDA, just to make sure she wasn't leaking race information to Lando but it was never brought to our attention if Olivia and Lando ended up dating."
"If the two of them are dating, which again I've had nothing clarified to me if they are or aren't, I'd imagine they've been keeping it private due to concerns with the media and fans."
"Olivia and Lando have a very unique connection, and we here at McLaren are all supportive of relations between teams. All our drivers are friends at the end of the day and we support [Lando and Oscar] being friends with any of the drivers outside of racing. However, I will say we have seen some tensions growing between our drivers and Red Bull." Andrea spoke with me and Zak right before leaving for a meeting, Zak agreed with Andrea, and he further stated, "A lot of the tension we've been seeing with Max and Lando on the track stems from this, in my opinion."
When I made my way to Red Bull to ask some more questions about the situation, I was only able to briefly speak with Alice McLoughlin, Red Bull's Head of Communications who said, "The relationships our staff members get into is not any of our business as long as it's not a conflict of interest or damaging to the staff member themselves. I have not been told if there is for certain a relationship, but if there is I wish both of them well but we will be waiting for their announcement before we decide anything.
read more online at popsugar.uk!
--
04 JULY, 2024 - MILTON KEYNES, UK.
My phone ringing breaks the three hour silence I've subjected myself to after my meeting with Christian and Ada. The meeting where I had said me wanting to back out of the contract was emotionally charged and said I no longer wanted to. Luckily, they hadn't started the process of backing me out of the contract yet, so it was pretty easy for me to stay.
Reaching over, I grab my phone and read the contact, pausing before lifting it to my ear, "Lando..?"
"Ollie, hey... uhm, how are you?" He sounds uncertain, almost like he wasn't sure if I was going to pick up. I can't blame him for thinking that, since our last conversation was that big fight.
"Tired." I admit, but don't say it's because I've lost sleep thinking I was going to lose him, "I'm working late again tonight."
"Oh, sorry... do you want me to call you later?" I hear what sounds like a gear shifting, and I briefly wonder if he's on his sim.
"No, I'm just uploading files. And your voice is honestly more welcome than the silence of a nearly empty Red Bull garage... why'd you call?" I turn to look out the windows at the slowly setting sun, watching as the world is beginning to be coated gold.
"I wanted to apologize for the whole thing with Jordan, I shouldn't have threatened him like that." Lando's words come out rushed and squishy, like he's holding out his heart and expecting me to step on it.
I like to imagine gently covering his heart, protecting it, as I speak softly, "No, no you're fine. I was having a shitty day and I took it out on you. I really should be the one apologizing, you didn't do anything wrong. You were protecting me. Thank you for that."
"Yeah, it's fine. I'd do it a thousand times." He says, then theres a long pause. It's not akward, if anything it allows me to feel the emotions roll through me-- embarrassment at my past behavior, nervousness for his call, and a sick sort of love building in my gut that I, for once, did not push away.
Finally, Lando whispers, "did you back out?"
"I was going to, but... I talked to Christian this morning when I was a bit more level headed and we agreed I'm gonna stay." I say, and I hear him sigh with relief. A small smile bubbles across my lips, letting the giddy feeling fill my body as I tap my toes along the floor and spin my chair.
"Can you come outside?" Lando's question catches me off guard.
"What?"
"Look out your window." He says, and I scramble up from my desk and walk to the big glass panes that cover my office, looking down into the mostly vacant parking lot and there he is.
"You are something else." I whisper, then look back at my computer. I could finish the work tomorrow, "I'll be down in ten."
I scramble to save my work, kicking off my work shoes for the actual nice YSL heels I'd worn in. Once they're secure on my feet, I touch up my makeup and spritz myself with perfume. The whole time I'm giggling to myself, smiling as I pack up my desk and then throw my belongings into my purse and find myself half running to the elevator. I hurry to text Oscar that I'll be back a bit later than expected as the floors ping, and when I hit the ground floor, I throw my phone in my bag without a care, clock out and scan out, and open the door to the cool night breeze rippling across my blushing, hot skin.
God, it was so good to let myself feel this raw emotions again.
Lando pushes himself off his car, hands still in his pockets, and I bee line to him. Luckily, he kinda gets the hint of what I'm asking, and his hands come to rest on my waist when I reach him.
I pause to put my purse on the hood of his car, and then grab his collar and pull his lips to mine.
He laughs into the kiss, our teeth briefly smashing before I right us and press in deep. His arms wrap around my waist and he tugs me closer, one hand sliding up the side of the dress shirt I wear before tangling its fingers in the hair at the base of my neck. When we pull back, briefly, I giggle as he peppers kisses to my hairline before pulling me back in.
"Fuck, I missed you." He whispers against my lips and I step back, just enough to see him--and he looks exhausted. My hands come to his face and he melts into my touch, almost like he's craving it.
"I missed you too." I murmur back, watching the way he holds his eyes shut. I can see the layers of stress physically peeling away from him and being swept away by the hand I raise to run through his curls and the other hand I slide down to apply that comforting firm pressure to the chest--right under his collarbones, and then his head falls to the crook of my neck. One innocent little peck placed on my collarbone that has me shiver.
We stand like that for a while. Two silent beings in the windy, cold, English night, and eventually I convince Lando to sit in his car when my thinly covered legs start to get cold. We end up just... driving. A silence enveloping us as I rest my head on his shoulder and he keeps that damn hand on my thigh. It's gonna be the death of me. He is going to be the death of me.
But, loving Lando Norris is a death I would welcome with open arms.
04 JULY -- INSTAGRAM ↴
OLIVIAPIASTRI MADE A NEW POST!
liked by oscarpiastri, landonorris, maxverstappen, and 145k others...
oliviapiastri: my pretty boy <3
landonorris: this mystery guy needs a haircut hes stealing my look >:(
⤷ oliviapiastri: you'll get over it
maxverstappen: i want u to know kelly shouted 'THANK GOD' when i showed her this post
oscarpiastri: OH SO THIS IS WHY YOU MISSED OUR FUCKING MOVIE NIGHT??
⤷ oscarpiastri: ANSWER ME HELLO?
⤷ oliviapiastri: BRO HOLD ON I AM DOING SOMEONE
⤷ opheliapiastri: OLIVIA????
⤷ oscarpiastri: HOLD THEFUCKON??? OLIVIA LOUISE RAY PIASTRI.
⤷ oaklynnpiastri: moment of silence for our mystery guy. oscar is approaching his location at rapid speeds.
⤷ landonorris: rip
⤷ oscarpiastri: shut.
⤷ oliviapiastri: @ oscarpiastri I MEANT SOMETYHIN. I MEANT TOT TYPE SOMETHING. DO NOT SHOW UP TO HIS HOUSE.
christianhorner: geri said 'good that little fucker didn't break her heart' and slammed the steak knife back into the knife holder.
⤷ oliviapiastri: OH MY GOD?? THANK U MOM?? @ gerihalliwell
⤷ gerihalliwell: of course :)! girls stick together!
09 JULY -- GREAT BRITAIN.
"Max, make sure you're giving space here. These turns can get tricky." I hear someone say in the radios, my hands fidgeting with my keychains as I watch the race on the screens, and then glance over to the sensors. All was running well, back tires a bit hot, but nothing we were concerned about.
"Ollie, tell your brothers best friend to get out of the way." Max frustratedly huffs and I laugh, leaning forward to speak into the comms.
"Logan is in P9, actually, not P1." I chime, luckily getting a soft chuckle from Max. We'd been doing exceptionally well this season as per usual, even if I had sort of stopped paying attention a bit. I did note the tensions between him and Lando were really high during this race. The two had been neck and neck since the beginning, and everytime they got a one-up on the other it just made them push harder. They had a pretty good gap between them and the rest of the racers, with Oscar holding his own in P3. It seemed like another weekend with those three on top, but at least watching this race was interesting.
The breaking sensors start flashing, indicating they're running too hot, so I chime, "Max, ease up on breaking. We might want to look into getting your tires swapped for mediums soon."
Max doesn't respond, but he does ease up on the breaking. Which makes me feel a bit better.
"Lando's coming in hot to the pit." Someone says, and I glance up over the computers and my eyebrows knit. He's driving weird. Like... almost as if he doesn't have control of steering. I see the safety car prepare for a possible departure and I stand, looking down at Max's sensors, and then someone shouting brings my attention back up.
"He can't stop!"
There was a moment where it felt like everything froze. My hands couldn’t find my mouth fast enough to hide my shock. Lando’s car slams probably two hundred kilometers into the barrier that leads into the pit lane and skids along the wall all the way inside the lane until it spins and slams into another one of the barriers. Red Bulls paddock is first in the pit this round, and I can see the smoke beginning to billow around Lando's car immediately once the car fully stops. People are shouting, McLaren engineers sort of straggling by the exit to the track as a yellow is waved, waiting for a command. I see Jon amongst them, shouting into his headset, and I hate the silence lets me hear his voice strain as he hollers,
"Lando! Lando, are you alright?"
I can't hear a response from the McLaren driver even if I strain my ears.
“Lando—come on.” I find myself saying, hearing Max and Checo on the radio asking for clarification of what happened, but also hearing someone say it was clear for people to go and get Lando out of a burning car. My headphones are yanked off my head and Christian’s hand firmly pushes me forward.
“Go.” Is all he has to say.
I’m running faster than I can carry myself, stumbling over numb legs as I sprint to the car. My hands scrape the concrete as I nearly fall, but I save myself the embarrassment of wiping out with a quick stumble and keep running. I can hear more people behind me as I climb up, holding onto the halo to stabilize myself.
“Lando!” I shout as I grab Lando’s helmet and slowly slide his head back as I start to detach him from his seat belts. Jon is there immediately, helping my shaky hands undo the devices. I keep looking at Lando's visor, trying to catch his eyes, but there’s no time to waste as I smell and hear the various engineers who'd run out trying to extinguish the car. I get one side of the belt off, starting to detach the hands device from the helmet by Jon's command when two hands grab my wrist.
Snapping my gaze up, I meet Lando’s eyes from where I’m sitting, one leg wrapped around the halo so I don’t fall, one hand on his neck as I hold the clasp to the hands device, the other on the back of the car as his eyes meet mine.
I’ve never seen Lando look so…terrified. His bright eyes are staring me down, pupils small and shaking as his grip tightens on me. I know my own eyes can’t look much different.
“Ollie?” He whispers and I shush him, detaching him from the car fully as I grab him by the shoulders.
“I got you, Nori. Jon and I got you.” I say softly, looking up to where other drivers are stopped on the track—standing up in their cars to get a better view, “get up so everyone knows you’re okay.”
Lando’s hands grab my shoulders, my hands sliding to his ribs as I slowly help him to his feet with Jon on standby. Medical and McLaren officials swarm around us, hands out and ready to help as I slowly unlatch my leg and slide off the side of the car. Lando’s weight on me is nearly crushing, but once we get him out he collapses even further into my arms in a cry of agony. Two hands find my back, medics reaching to grab Lando and I almost fight them in retaliation.
“Ollie!” someone shouts and I turn to see Jon running along to the medics side. I feel stuck, trying to swallow something that makes my eyes burn. Lando’s still got a vice grip on my wrist and when the medics try to separate us—it only tightens.
“Mr. Norris—“ The woman tries.
“Lando.” I finally find the courage to move forward, they’ve got him on a gurney now, trying to lay him back but he keeps fighting them. I can’t begin to understand why, “you’re okay. Let them take care of you.”
They tilt his visor up, and I gently lay him back, Jon reciting medical information over my head as they begin to assess his damage, still pulling us further away from the car which I note is now long extinguished. They stop us at McLaren's paddocks, Jon dipping inside to grab Lando's things as we wait for an ambulance to meet us here.
“Olivia.” I hear Lando’s muffled voice and I feel tears fill my eyes as I lean down, pressing my forehead to where his visor now lays and let out a shuttering sigh that makes my body ache just as much as my heart.
“You’ll be okay, Lando. But you have to let them help you.” I speak in a strained voice, feeling one of his hands come to wrap around my waist. I find his other hand and squeeze it, before that hand comes to rest under his helmet, “I’ll be there as soon as possible.”
“I don’t wanna go without you.” he whispers, my heart shattering into a thousand pieces at his soft plea for me to stay. But I know its useless.
"I'm so sorry, baby." The words feel forced out of my mouth with how much effort it takes it whisper them, "You gotta go. And I have to stay."
"Ollie, please..." He whispers, and I press a kiss to the spot on his helmet where his lips would be, then take his gloved hand on my waist and lift it to my lips and kiss his hidden knuckles. The barrier feels unfair, but I'm doing what I can.
"As soon as I can be, I will be by your side." I say as Jon reappears, the ambulance coming up screaming besides us.
"You promise?" Lando says under the sirens and the shouting and I nod.
"I swear on my life."
That's what ends up being enough, because Lando finally lets go of me after one more final kiss to the 'mouth' of his helmet. The medics and EMTs swarm us, carefully moving Lando who groans and gasps in pain. I can't imagine what injuries he might have as they slowly and carefully load him into the back of the ambulance. Jon speaks with Lando all the while, and right before the doors slam he turns to me and shouts,
"I've got him, Olivia!"
And all I can do is nod, blinking back tears as the doors shut. The second they're pulling away I find myself crying, full body shaking that wrecks me, and I manage to be pulled into the sanctuary of the Red Bull garage by Kylie and a few other employees before it can really be taken advantage of for media points.
But I know I'll keep on my promise. Especially when Christian tells me to just do one thing.
"Go."
taglist (thank you!)
@harrysdimple05 @charli123456789 @fangirl125reader @dark-night-sky-99 @starmanv @ophcelia @buendiabebeta
#f1 fanfic#formula 1#ln4 fic#lando norris x oc#lando norris fic#f1 smau#ln4 smau#ln4 fanfic#lando norris smau#lando norris au#lando norris fanfic
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protection (10) — ari levinson
summary: Ari and your father have been business partners for ages, and it seems that he doesn't care for you. This doesn't stop you from trying; scheming to make the older man fall for you the same way the rest of your father's men have, too.
pairing: dbf!ari x reader
warnings: swearing, use of guns, violence, verbal argument, smut (rough sex, unprotected sex, dirty talk, pussy slapping, degrading language, pussyjob, daddy kink, breeding kink, orgasm denial)
wc: 6k
masterlist | navigation | series masterlist
You awaken at the same moment Ari does; both of you drawing in quick, shallow breaths at the sound of the alarm blaring. It’s loud — much louder than any alarm system you’ve ever heard in your life.
You’d been peacefully sleeping in Ari’s arms, tucked against his warm chest, and dreaming of exactly that. Now, you clutch the sheets close to you as Ari scrambles from the bed, pulling sweatpants over his naked body and grabbing his gun from the nightstand at the same time.
“Stay here,” he demands of you, rushing toward the door.
“No,” you say from the bed.
His head snaps back over to you, watching as you move to get up. He clenches his jaw and walks back over, then grabs your arm.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” he mutters, “Stay here, and lock the door behind me.”
“No,” you repeat.
He raises a brow, silently daring you to defy him again.
“Y/N,” he breathes, his voice so low it sends a shiver down your spine, “Lock the goddamn door behind me.”
You swallow, and he takes your silence for resignation. He releases you and steps to the door again, so you grab his tee shirt and toss it over your head before hurrying after him.
“Ari, wait,” you hiss, grabbing his forearm, “I don’t want you going out there alone.”
His eyes soften, “Baby, I’ll be fine. Stay here. Do not open this door for anyone but me, okay?”
“Ari—”
“Please, don’t argue. I’ll be right back, I promise.”
He doesn’t give you time to form a rebuttal. He merely kisses you quickly, then slips out the bedroom door. He bangs on it twice from the outside to remind you to lock it, which you do. Then, you hurry over and look out the window, finding nothing but the emergency yard lights flashing.
The alarm stops then, leaving an eerie silence to the house. Unable to handle it, you step over to the door and unlock it, then listen for any type of footsteps. When you hear none, you open it and slide out, then move to the top of the stairs.
“Nick?” Ari yells across the house.
“Clear,” Nick replies, “Mateo?”
“Clear,” Mateo says, “Javier?”
“Clear,” Javier yells out, “There’s nobody here.”
“What the fuck set the alarm off, then?” Ari snaps.
It sounds to you like the men have gathered in the kitchen, and you have every intention of listening in on them.
“How the fuck should I know?” Javier replies, “It’s your fucking alarm system.”
“You know, I’m hearing a lot of bullshit come out of your mouth under my goddamn roof—”
“Enough,” Nick groans, “Obviously something set the alarm off.”
“Agreed. I can review the outside cameras, boss,” Mateo steps in.
“Do that,” Ari demands, “Nick, get some extra guys here and have them do a sweep of the property. I want all exit points in the house secured and sealed. Javier, you can fuck right off to bed. You’re not needed.”
“You sure you don’t want me to keep her company while you boss everyone around?” Javier mutters.
Silence falls over the house for a second, and you start to wonder if Ari has caught you somehow. You glance back toward his bedroom and consider hurrying in before you hear a crash downstairs, making you jump.
“I swear to God, as soon as she decides you’re no longer worth the trouble, I’m gonna put a fucking bullet in your brain. After I tear off every finger of yours that ever touched her. You wanna be smart with me? You can be smart from six feet under.”
You hear Javier gasping for breath, and while part of you screams to go downstairs and stop it, another part of you squirms at Ari’s words. How you can imagine his angry face, his bulging muscles, and his dire need to protect you in every way.
“Alright, Ari, you’ve made your point,” Nick sighs, and you listen as he removes Ari from Javier, given Javier’s dramatic gasp in, “We get it, you love your girlfriend, or whatever the fuck she is. Anyway, we have shit to do. Mateo, Javier, go.”
You listen as the two men excuse themselves from the kitchen, leaving only Nick and Ari in the room. You scoot closer to the steps, sliding across the hardwood on your knees.
“Guy’s a fucking prick,” Ari mutters.
“I know,” Nick says, “So, you think it was Christopher?”
Your stomach drops at the mention of your father, and you’ve never been more desperate to hear Ari’s response.
“Of course it was fucking Christopher. He wants her back.”
Nick sighs, “Relax, man. Obviously we’re not going to let that happen.”
“No, we’re not. I could just fucking take him out. That would solve ninety percent of my problems.”
“She’d probably be pissed,” Nick argues.
You swallow, unsure of how you would actually feel. On one hand, he’s your father. Yours first protector, and the man you trusted more than anyone before Ari. Now, with everything he’s done, of course you don’t want him dead, but you’re not so sure you’d mourn him the same way you would have three months ago.
“Yeah. Fuck. I’ve gotta go back upstairs. Take care of the exit points and I’ll be back down in ten minutes to look at footage with Mateo.”
You scurry back into the bedroom as Nick agrees, then twist the lock. Your adrenaline pumps at the mere idea of him knowing you’d stepped foot outside the bedroom after he told you not to, so you take a few deep breaths to calm yourself. He’ll be able to tell in an instant, you’re sure, but you wonder if you can just pass it off as nerves from whatever set the alarm off.
Ari’s knock against the door is firm but still gentle somehow, much like him. You exhale in relief knowing he’s right there, just on the other side of the door, ready to comfort you.
“Baby? It’s me. Open up.”
You hurry over to the door and unlock it, then fling yourself against him before he can even step foot inside his own bedroom.
“Are you okay?” you ask, knowing full well that he is.
“Hey, yes, I’m okay, princess,” he coos, stroking his hand through your hair, “Nobody’s here, I promise. We checked every inch of the house and I’ve got guys working downstairs to figure out what tripped the alarm. I’m sure it was just an accident.”
He’s lying to you, but you can’t tell him you know that. You look up at him through your lashes as his hands slip under your shirt and press themselves against your back, pulling you closer to him.
“An accident?” you clarify.
He nods without missing a beat, “Yes. Happens sometimes. Look at you, you’re all shaken up.”
Your heart is still racing from the fear of being caught, and the reaction your body has to Ari lying to you only speeds it up once more. You bite down on your tongue, not wanting to start a fight, but making a mental note of this moment.
“I was worried about you,” you mumble.
He gives you a soft smile, “C’mere. I’m not going to let anything happen. To either of us. Okay?”
“Okay,” you nod.
“Okay,” he repeats, “You should get some sleep.”
He pulls you over to his side of the California king and lifts you up, setting you on the edge. Your legs dangle and you feel the soft sheets under you, filling your nose with his scent and weakening your resolve. It’s almost like he knows already — and he’s playing into your biggest weakness. Himself.
“What about you?”
“I have to go work on the alarm,” he replies, not meeting your eyes, but instead, tucking hair behind your ear, “I’ll come back up to you in a few hours. I promise.”
You just nod as he tucks you under the blankets, then pulls them up to cover you. You feel like a child instead of his — girlfriend? You’d never questioned your title to Ari until Nick pointed it out downstairs, but now, you want to hear him say it.
“Ari—” you start, but he cuts you off.
“Shh,” he whispers, then leans down and kisses your forehead, “I’ll be downstairs if you need anything.”
You just nod. He smiles at you, then pats your stomach through the blankets before he walks out of the bedroom, leaving you wide awake and alone.
You wake a few hours later to Ari slipping back into your shared bedroom, giving you a tight and apologetic smile as he sees you stir due to his noise. You watch as he closes the door and then crosses the room to get to you.
“Hey,” you murmur.
“Hi,” he replies, giving you a kiss on the forehead, “Did you sleep?”
“Yes.”
He nods, then stands up straight again. He gives you an easier smile, not as forced.
“I have to go out for a bit. Mateo and Nick are going with me, but I have five guys I trust downstairs that are staying with you. I’ll introduce you before I go so you feel more comfortable.”
You sit up in bed, leaning against the headboard. Slowly, you nod, although you really want to tell him not to leave you. He slips into his walk in closet, and you watch his back as he picks out a watch.
“Okay,” you whisper, “Did you and Mateo find anything on the cameras?”
His back muscles tense then. He’s frozen, and you sure it’s because he did find something, and that’s exactly why he’s leaving you.
“What did you say?”
You furrow your brows, “I asked if you guys found anything on the cameras. That set off the alarm, I mean.”
Slowly, Ari turns around. You catch the tightness in his jaw and the stern look in his eye. His shoulders are high and his chest is tense, and when you look down at his hands, they’re both balled tightly into fists.
“I never told you a word about Mateo. Or the cameras.”
Oh, fuck, you think. He watches as you silently scramble to make something up, and even though he’s going to see right through you, you do exactly that.
“I’m pretty sure you did,” you mumble, gripping the comforter in your fist.
“No, I didn’t. I specifically did not tell you that.”
He takes a few steps out of the closet, but he remains a few feet from you. He watches you squirm on the bed, taking shallow breaths and swallowing roughly.
“Ari, I—”
“You left this room,” he states, clenching his jaw, “You left the room after I told you not to, right?”
Slowly, you nod, “Yes. But, I—”
“Goddamn it, Y/N!” he yells, slamming his hand against the wall and watching as you jump at the sound, “I fucking— Anything could’ve happened to you, don’t you get that? Do you think this is a fucking game?”
“No, Ari,” you reply, trying to keep your voice steady as you feel yourself growing defensive and emotional at the same time, “I just wanted to make sure that you were okay.”
“I’m fucking fine,” he snaps, then shakes his head, “I don’t get it. I’m willing to give you everything. I brought you here, and you have a nice place to live, a bed, food on the fucking table, unlimited protection and unlimited money. And you still disobey me when I ask one thing of you.”
You let your eyes flutter closed, and when he slaps his hand against the wall again, silently demanding you look at him, you jump. When you open them again, he almost looks angrier than before. Slowly, you slide out from under the blanket and stand up, then take careful steps across the room.
“I should’ve listened to you,” you say quietly, “I was just scared, and I didn’t want you to get hurt. I’m sorry.”
His jaw ticks, “You will be. I can’t keep having this same fucking conversation with you, Y/N. You need to learn to listen when I speak to you.”
You never realized how much you love when he uses pet names with you until he stops. Your name on his lips, although sexy as hell, doesn’t bring out the same feelings in you as it does when he calls you baby.
Even so, his words bring out a defensiveness in you that you didn’t know you could have with him. Not after everything. Ari’s eyes widen slightly when you cross your arms over your chest and purse your lips, then hike up a brow in a dare for him to continue.
“I didn’t escape one prison just to be put in another, Ari,” you say daringly, “Don’t treat me like a child.”
His eyes darken, “Is that really how you want to play this?”
You tip your chin up, and only when Ari shifts and you skim his figure, do you notice it. He’s hard. You bite down on your cheek to hide a smirk, but the fact only eggs you on.
“Yep,” you reply with a shrug, “I mean, I don’t see you doing anything about it, so—”
“Get on the fucking bed,” he demands deeply, crossing the room in two strides and shoving you back to the mattress when you don’t immediately comply, “Watch me do something about it, you fucking daredevil.”
You want to laugh, but you can’t, because Ari’s tearing his own shirt from your body and spreading your legs forcefully, only to slot himself between them. He unbuttons his pants and pulls them down only enough to take himself out. You reach up to touch him, wanting him close, but he pins both of your arms above your head in only one of his hands.
“Ari,” you moan, shoving your hips up and begging for him.
“Quiet,” he orders, “You’re gonna listen to me, for once. I don’t want to hear you unless you’re begging for me, do you understand?”
“Yes,” you say immediately.
He looks down at your spread legs and spits on your pussy, listening to you cry out for more at the feeling.
“Address me the right way.”
“Yes, daddy, I understand,” you say weakly.
“Good, now shut the fuck up,” he mutters.
You mewl when he rubs his cock up and down through your folds, soaking his tip in your wetness and his spit. You fight against his grip, wanting to reach down and put him in yourself, but he’s too strong.
“Daddy, please,” you beg.
He laughs cruelly, “That smart mouth of yours changes up pretty damn fast every time you see my dick, huh, baby?”
You can’t help it. You know he’s right; you can’t keep up with him when it comes to the attitude and the sex. Anytime his hands touch your body, you melt. You’re incapable of doing anything except exactly what he says — especially when he’s so close to fucking you.
“Please, please,” you continue to beg, unable to think of anything other than him finally pushing himself inside.
“Hmm, I don’t know. Feels good like this for me. Might just cum like this and leave you. Sounds like a good punishment to me.”
You shake your head quickly, letting out little moans of protest as you stare up at him. He can see how needy you are, you’re sure, but you don’t care. You’ve never been so turned on, so desperate. He could ask you to do anything at this moment and you’d do it if it meant he slips in.
“Daddy, I’m sorry, I’m— please.”
He grins and continues his ruthless pursuit of his dick rubbing against your clit, sliding through your folds. You shove your hips up in a lame attempt to get him to catch, but he doesn’t. Ari’s always in control, and if you could comprehend anything right now, you’d remember that.
“You’re going to be sorry after I’m through with you, princess,” he grunts.
You groan when he reaches down with his free hand and guides himself into you, listening as you cry out. Your moan is loud and he revels in it, not caring one bit if anyone else in the house can hear — because he’s sure they can.
He stops once his tip is buried inside of you, and when he feels you clench around him, he tosses his head back.
“More,” you order, demand, beg, “More, more, more—”
“Oh, you’re such a slut,” he snickers.
You whine at his words and clench harder, eliciting a loud groan from the back of his throat. He leans down and starts to kiss along your jawline, still keeping your hands pinned above your head.
“I am, I am,” you agree mindlessly, “Please, daddy, more.”
Ari, prone to teasing, decides to give you exactly what you’re asking for. You scream loudly when he shoves himself all the way inside, not giving you even a second to accommodate him before he’s fucking in and out.
He wallows in your screams, moans, and your inability to even form one simple word. He gives it to you like you’re nothing to him; not the woman he loves, cherishes and protects. And you fucking love it.
Ari spills filth into your ear as he fucks you, and little do you exactly what his plan is with you.
“My sweet, disobedient fucking girl,” he growls, “So fucking sexy. So slutty. Did you disobey your daddy just so he’d fuck you like this? Huh?”
You can’t form words. You’re dizzy, lightheaded, and when Ari sees your eyes roll back, he pushes you even harder. His free hand skims over your hip, closer to where he knows you need it.
“Da—da—oh, f—”
“Shh,” Ari coaxes you, finally allowing his thumb to strum over your clit and reveling in the way your body convulses, “Shut up, baby. Just take it. Don’t you dare cum.”
He watches as his words snap at something inside of you, and your wide eyes find his. Immediately, you start to shake your head, but he stops you by rubbing his thumb over your clit once more.
“That’s it,” he grins, “Good fucking girl. Look who’s finally listening to me? Holding it in so well, baby. Daddy knows it hurts, but hold it in for me.”
You babble nonsense as you nod, promising to listen, promising not to cum until he tells you that you can. Ari takes one more look at your blissed out face, your rolled eyes, and your lips that continuously part and press together as you let out little whimpers before trying to speak. He’s so close, he just wants to push you a little bit more.
He buries his face into your neck and bites your skin, immediately soothing the area with his tongue. You whine and buck your hips up, but he stops you with his free hand.
“Oh, fuck, Daddy’s gonna cum, baby,” he tells you, “I’m gonna cum so deep in you. You’re going to let me cum first since you’ve been bad, understand?”
You nod. And nod. And nod. He smirks victoriously and sits back up, wanting to see every inch of your face.
“Cum,” you whimper, begging him, “P–pl—Daddy.”
“Uh-huh,” Ari smiles at you mockingly, then licks his lips. This is it. Time to push.
He looks down at his free hand, still keeping his ravenous thrusts into your pussy, before he licks the tips of his fingers, looking directly at you, and slapping your clit. You scream as your body convulses, and he physically has to hold you in place to keep himself inside.
“Daddy!” you wail, feeling tears sting your eyes at the amazing levels of pleasure and pain he’s delivering.
“The next fucking time, princess,” he growls, “The next time I have to put you in your goddamn place, you won’t cum for a month. You listen to me when I tell you something, do you understand me?”
“Yes, yes, yes,” you babble, and despite your answer, Ari slaps your clit once more, eliciting an even louder scream, “Oh, fuck!”
“That’s right,” Ari grunts when you clench, and his hips falter as he can’t hold himself back anymore, finishing inside you, “That’s fucking right. Cumming so fucking deep in you, those pills won’t even work. You want me to get you pregnant, baby?”
He snickers when you don’t respond, you can’t, because you’re so sensitive, so desperate to cum. You writhe in the pain and the pleasure, staring at Ari with the most desperate expression as you silently plead for him to let you cum.
Instead, however, Ari gives you a soft kiss on the lips, then extracts his hands and his cock from you. He watches as your haze begins to clear and you realize what he’s doing.
“No,” you cry weakly, still spread nicely for him, “No, daddy, I didn’t get to cum, please, wait—”
“Hush,” Ari demands, “You don’t listen, you don’t get to cum. I won’t be back for a while, but if I get a good report from the men downstairs, I’ll finish you off tonight. If I find out that you touched yourself, well, I think you know exactly what will happen to you.”
Your mind is still too foggy, and you need to cum so badly, that when Ari disappears into the closet, you start to cry. He’s left you, and you fear he’s never coming back. You need him more than you need anything, anyone, and he’s gone.
He emerges a few minutes later in a suit with half the top buttons undone, exposing his sexy, hairy chest that you love so much.
“Daddy,” you babble, “I’ll be good, I promise.”
He walks over to the bed and adjusts the sleeves of his jacket, then gives you a small smile. Wordlessly, Ari helps you back under the comforter, wrapping it around your naked body.
“I know you will, baby,” he whispers.
When he leans down to kiss your forehead, you’re already plotting ways to get him to touch you. To make you cum.
“Please,” you whisper desperately.
Ari just laughs, then shoves his hand under the blanket. You feel his skin on yours as he travels down your body, and with a simple touch, he rubs his index finger over your soaking wet pussy. You shudder and try to keep him there, but he pulls away too fast.
His hand emerges from the bed and he brings his finger up to his mouth, where he sucks your juices off of his skin with a teasing smirk.
“So fucking sweet,” he mumbles, “Get some rest. Don’t forget, no touching.”
He gives you a sickening wave, then grabs his phone off the nightstand and walks out of the bedroom. Your brain is mush, your legs squeeze together, and you’re already wondering if Ari would notice if you got yourself off — so much so that you don’t even hear the click of the lock on the door at all.
You’re not sure if you fall into a daze or into sleep, but when your head finally clears and you stir, you realize that you’re naked on Ari’s side of the bed. Slowly, the entire day comes back to you. You groan at the intense ache between your legs, just begging to be taken care of.
But Ari told you not to. And you can’t disobey him again.
With a deep breath and all the self control you can muster, you rise from the bed and walk over to the dresser, where you first open your underwear drawer. The thought of putting panties on sounds like torture, so you opt for a pair of Ari’s boxers. Then, you grab one of his plain black tee shirts and tuck it over your head, residing to making some coffee and getting fresh air outside.
You toss your hair up as you walk over to the door, and when you twist the knob, nothing happens. The door doesn’t open, and your first instinct tells you that it’s stuck. You swear under your breath, then yank on it again. Nothing. It isn’t until you crouch down and see the lock sitting neatly between the door and the frame, that you yell.
“What the fuck!” you shout, banging on the door loudly, “Ari! Open the fucking door!”
You hear nothing but silence on the other end, so you continue to slam your fist into the wood. You’re sure Ari isn’t even here, but you know someone is, and you want out. Now.
You hurry over to the nightstand and look for your phone, which is gone. You toss your head back as you try to remember where else you may have left it, but you know in your heart that Ari took it with him.
“Ma’am.”
You stop when you hear the voice outside the door, then cross your arms over your chest like a teenager — aware that nobody can see you. Quickly, you walk back over to the door and lean against the frame.
“Who is that?” you ask.
“My name is Patrick, I work for your— um, Mr. Levinson.”
His unsure nature reminds you of Mateo in a way, and even though you want to be angry, you know it isn’t this man’s fault that you’re in here.
“Well, Patrick, can you open the fucking door?” you snap.
“Um, no, ma’am. I apologize, but I’m under strict instruction to leave it locked until I bring you a meal. Mr. Levinson told me to bring it up at two o’clock. Are you hungry now?”
“Yes,” you blurt, even though you’re not, “Look, if you just open it for one second—”
“I really can’t,” he stops you, sounding regretful, “Mr. Levinson told me that penne alla vodka is your favorite. I’m Italian, and I can whip up a mean pasta dish. Would you like garlic bread, too?”
You can hear it in his voice, the way he desperately wants to please you in hopes of pleasing Ari. So, you take a deep breath and change your tune. You work your magic the way you worked your magic on Vick, Mateo, Javier, and Ari himself.
“Italian?” you purr, “Wow. I’m sure you’re so handsome. Honestly, I’d love for you to cook for me. It’s been such a long time since a man has cooked me dinner.”
A lie, but you don’t care. If flirting with Ari’s men will get you out of this goddamn room, you’ll do it.
“It would be an honor.”
Bingo. The way his voice quivers tells you everything you need to know.
“Listen, Patrick, I won’t tell Ari. I just want to watch you work your magic in the kitchen. I’ll be good, I promise.”
Your mind wanders to Javier at this moment, wondering where he is. If he’s in the house; if he’s also locked in. You’re sure that if Ari locked you in, he definitely locked Javi in, too.
“Ma’am, I would love to, but there are cameras. Mr. Levinson can see everything from his phone.”
Fuck.
You know you can’t get Patrick to cave now. You sigh and toss your head back against the wall, then exhale.
“Fine,” you mutter, “Can I at least have my phone to call Ari?”
“He told me he wasn’t taking calls,” Patrick informs you, sounding regretful, “Even from you. He told me to tell you to, um… remember the lesson he taught you before he left.”
It’s Ari’s way of telling you to listen. You roll your eyes and shake your head, then smack the door before walking away from it. You assume Patrick leaves, because he doesn’t say another word, and neither do you.
You make yourself comfortable on Ari’s bed and stare at the black screen on the TV, refusing to turn it on. You don’t want to relax. You want to be seething when Ari comes back for what he’s done. How he left you needy and desperate, then locked you in your bedroom like a child.
Patrick brings up your pasta and garlic bread about an hour and a half later. You hear the lock twist and you perk up, but when you see the man you don’t recognize, you just sigh.
“Pardon me, ma’am, I just brought up your meal,” he says quietly, not looking at you for more than a second at a time, “Where would you like it?”
“Downstairs,” you reply, “Where’s Javier?”
Patrick looks to the floor, “He’s in the guest room.”
“Locked in, too?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
You laugh sarcastically. Patrick places the tray at the end of the bed and, when he catches you staring at the open door, he nods once, then ducks his head and leaves again. The lock clicks immediately behind him, and you’re trapped once more.
The sun sets, and the bedroom grows dark. You turn on Ari’s bedside lamp and pick at the pasta Patrick brought up. Admittedly, it was delicious. The man certainly knows how to cook. And the fact that Ari knew your favorite type of pasta and even went so far as to inform him of such a detail would normally make you swoon. However, given your circumstances, you don’t feel too keen on giving Ari brownie points.
Soon after you shove the tray back to the end of the bed, the lock clicks again. You don’t get your hopes up this time, which is why a thrill shoots through you at the sight of Ari. His tie is loosely hanging around his neck and his top three buttons are undone, but you push past how that makes you feel.
When he sees you, he remains expressionless. You stare at him, pressed against the headboard with your arms crossed, not willing to speak first.
Silently, Ari reaches into his pocket and tosses you your phone. It lands on the mattress, but you don’t reach for it. You just stare — openly, intensely.
He sighs, “I had to.”
“No you didn’t!” you exclaim, “Ari, I actually cannot believe you’d do something like this to me.”
“You don’t listen,” he explains as he removes his tie, “Look, Y/N, I’m not trying to be some fucking tyrant asshole. I have rules for you because they will keep you safe. If you break the rules just to mess with me and something happens to you, I’d never forgive myself. You need to learn that it’s not always fun and games with us. The attitude’s cute, but in my line of work, it could get you killed.”
You scoff, “Well, you don’t have to treat me like a fucking child, Ari. You could’ve told me that.”
“I did!” he shouts, “So many goddamn times.”
You know he’s probably right, but you don’t want to cave. You want him to grovel and slide a hand between your legs and—
You’re frustrated, you realize. You want him so bad, despite the entire day of torture. He watches as you squirm on the mattress and begins to unbutton the rest of his shirt, but doesn’t speak again.
“Fine. I’ll listen better,” you shrug, “But do not lock me in here again. How did you even come up with that?”
He swallows, “Nick says I’m too soft on you.”
“Oh, nice, Ari. You left me without an orgasm and then locked me in our bedroom alone all day because of something one of your boys said to you?”
He smirks as he toes off his shoes, then removes his dress shirt. The jacket and shirt get tossed lazily onto the dresser, and when he looks back at you, shirtless, muscular, and just the tiniest bit angry, you feel the slick run down your thighs again.
“You a little frustrated, baby?” he teases you, stepping closer, “You want me to make it better?”
“Fuck off,” you mumble, although, inside, you’re preening for him.
“Oh, now, that’s not very nice,” he grins and steps over to the bed, pulling the comforter back and exposing your bare legs. He swallows when he sees you dressed in his boxers and tee shirt, “You’re certainly a sight.”
“I am,” you say confidently.
Ari laughs and leans down to kiss you, but you’re not done being petty. You turn your head away from him, listening to the low growl that escapes him. You try, and fail, not to let that impact you in any way.
“I’m gonna go take a shower,” he tells you, “While I’m gone, you might wanna find my good girl and let her know that daddy’s ready to play.”
You can’t help but look up at him as he says these words to you. He smirks when he sees how wide your eyes are, how much you secretly want him. He kisses the tip of your nose, then releases you and steps into the bathroom. He doesn’t bother closing the door, and you listen as he turns the water on in the shower.
He wants you to follow him. He wants you to come to him, on your own, and beg. You know this. You’ve given yourself the pep talk all day. Don’t give in. But, when you see him drop his boxers into the floor of the bathroom, you can’t help yourself. He shifts just enough that you can see his hard cock before he steps into the shower, and that’s all it takes.
You pull his shirt over your head and drop it on top of his clothes, then remove the boxers of his you’re wearing and add them to the pile.
Ari doesn’t even seem surprised when you slip into the shower. He doesn’t react when he feels your hands on his back. He has one hand on the tiles of the shower and the other is lazily stroking his cock, which makes your mouth water.
He turns slowly, his hair wet and his eyes hazy. He examines your body from head to toe, stopping for an extra beat and observing how swollen and desperate your clit appears.
“I’m sorry, daddy,” you whisper, “I’ll be good. I’ll listen, I promise. I just don’t want you to treat me like he did, you know?”
Ari’s shoulders drop. He stares at you for what feels like forever before he steps closer, then cups your cheek in his free hand.
“Baby, that’s not at all what I was trying to do.”
“I know,” you nod, “You just want to keep me safe. I get it.”
“You’re my only family,” he practically whispers, allowing a new vulnerability to be seen in his eyes, “The reason I have for coming home at night. If I didn’t have you anymore…”
He trails off, and his hand falls from around himself. You reach down and take over, listening to the way his breath hitches at the sensation.
“I love you, Ari,” you say, “I will always be here, waiting on you to come home. Even when you act like a fucking asshole.”
He grins, “That’s my girl.”
He leans down and kisses you, not at all surprised when you let him take control immediately. He backs you up against the tiles and deepens the kiss while the steam fills up the shower, only adding to the heat you feel at this moment.
You claw at his back, desperate for him to do something, anything, to dull the ache between your legs that he’s responsible for.
“I know, I know,” he murmurs against your lips, as if he can read your mind, “Hold still, princess. Daddy’s gotta eat before he takes you back to bed. I’m gonna make it up to you over and over and over again.”
You whimper as his hand comes down and cups your thigh, pulling your leg around his waist.
“Oh,” you slip out before you can stop it, melting in his arms.
“Mhm. You can be as loud as you want. Just let me enjoy my meal, okay?”
You nod helplessly as Ari pins you against the wall, holding you up as he kneels, tossing your legs over his shoulders like it’s nothing.
“Okay, daddy,” you whimper, knowing you’re absolutely in for it for the rest of the night.
You can’t walk the next day, but it’s completely and totally worth it.
a/n: thank you for indulging my slutty side. this idea just came to me and i had to write it. we'll be back on plot with the next part (maybe) lol. i hope you liked it! comments and reblogs are very much appreciated!
*i no longer have a tag list. follow @mackupdates for updates <3 thank you for reading!
#ari levinson x you#ari levinson x reader#ari levinson x y/n#ari levinson#ari levison x reader#ari x reader#ari x you#ari levinson fanfiction#ari levinson imagine#ari levinson smut#ari levinson series#ari levinson x female reader#the red sea diving resort fic#the red sea diving resort fanfic#the red sea diving resort#chris evans characters#chris evans character fanfiction#chris evans character x reader
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swimming into you . bob
PART ONE : he's so pretty (when he goes down on me)
pairing ; bob floyd x female!reader
synopsis ; things between you and Bob are strictly business: he’s your backseater, and that’s all there is. Until he offers to help you let off some steam and you find out just how pretty he looks between your thighs…
wc ; 6k
warnings ; 18+ only; explicit language, angst, panic attack, reader definitely has PTSD, mentions of past character death
note: this has no smut which might be a surprise after the first part, sorry. but this needed off my chest, so... idk. i hope you enjoy it anyway, please don't be disappointed
desertsagecelestial aka sol i STILL owe you my life
Your life is a downward spiral, a maelstrom that pulls you ever deeper towards rock bottom, a rollercoaster on an eternal decline, a plane mid-crash, a…
“I swear to god, Spec, you’re the most dramatic person I’ve ever met,” Phoenix says, squinting at you over the rims of her sunglasses. “And I know Hangman personally.”
You can’t answer because you’re staring at those Ray Bans, and it’s making you think of Bob’s glasses in that bathroom, lenses fogged up, metal pressing against your naked skin, makes you think of sliding them up his nose, and then you’re thinking of his fingers and his tongue and his voice against you, and…
“Bro, are you dissociating?” Phoenix has tilted her head sideways. “Do I need to get you a doctor? What the hell is going on?”
It’s a sunny day, but that’s not surprising in California. You’re in the common room, lounging on nondescript beige couches. Outside the glass front, somewhere in the sky, Rooster and Hangman try and fail to shoot down Maverick. The radio crackles with the static of their comms, spitting out their taunts in endless circles nobody listens to anyway.
The other pilots are on standby in the hangar, and Bob is… god knows where. You hate that you’re so attuned to his every move now you notice even when you don’t know where he is. Part of you wants to write it off as the blind loyalty that comes with flying a two-seater, but you know that’s not true.
For a moment, you just look at Phoenix. Then you say, “Do you think Bob is good in bed?”
She blinks at you. A moment passes, then another, then…
“Specter, what the fuck?!”
You shrug. “I’m just asking.”
“Jesus.” Phoenix rubs the balls of her hands across her eyes like her head is about to split apart. “Why would you ever ask that?”
Because he ate me out in the Hard Deck’s handicapped bathroom, and I think it broke my brain, permanently altered my body chemistry, changed my actual life…
“Just… I don’t know. I was wondering.”
“Well, stop wondering,” she suggests. Then she gives you a suspicious look. “Did something happen between you two?”
You turn your gaze to the window, to the contrails like smoke signals on the canvas of the skies, to the roaring of engines that’s become your lullaby, to the sight of Bob crossing the airfield. Something in your chest hurts. Everywhere you look, he’s already there.
“No,” you say. “Nothing happened.”
+
The first time you met Bob, you looked right past him. There were bigger fish to fry here and bigger things to look out for, and Hangman was grinning at you and saying something stupid, so you walked by him without even realizing he was there.
He’s got a habit of that - flying under the radar.
“Yo, Specter.” Phoenix draped herself around you, pulled you against her chest. You were both giddy to see each other again, to fly together once more. “This is Bob. He’s your new backseater.”
You don’t remember much. Remember only that he wore glasses and was smiling at you with something eager, something hopeful about his face. Remember looking away immediately, nodding once.
“Don’t try to get in my way up there,” you told him, and then you turned away to beat Hangman at darts.
Ignoring the way his face fell. Ignoring Phoenix nudging you. Ignoring the sinking, tumbling, crashing feeling in your chest.
It was the beginning of the end, and you knew even then.
+
Sometimes you think Rooster knows.
He’s always been kind to you, kind enough to keep you hoping at the same time it tells you not to dream too much. He’s kind to everyone, anyway.
“Why’d you wanna be a pilot?” he asks, waving down a bartender and putting both your drinks on his tab.
For a moment, you think about telling him the truth. All my life, I’ve been dreaming of flying away. All my life, I’ve been dreaming of escape.
It seems too much. You’ve never told anyone.
So you just shrug, take a swig of your beer, and say, “I like the thrill.”
Rooster laughs. “I know what you mean,” he agrees, winks, knocks his bottle against yours.
And just like that, the door is opened again. You dream the dream a little longer.
Part of the Rooster appeal, part of why you suspect your crush is so persistent, is that there’s no way it’ll ever happen. All of the thrill of the fall, with none of the fear of the impact.
+
“We need to talk about it.”
You’re fastening your helmet as you stride across the runway towards your plane. Maybe if you walk fast enough, you’ll be able to shake him.
“No,” you growl, but it’s diminished by the fact that you’ve been struggling with your clasp for a good minute. Your fingers are shaking too hard for you to get a steady grip.
Bob hastens his steps and catches up with you easily. His shoulder rubs against your own, and your breath catches in your throat.
“Specter,” he begins, but you cut him off.
“There’s nothing to talk about, Floyd.” It doesn’t matter how angry you sound. It doesn’t matter how the irritation boils and burns in you. Inevitably, inexplicably, your mouth always begins to form the Big Boy anyway, and then you’re back in that bathroom, back with him, and in your head, you pull him closer instead of pushing him away, and something about it makes you feel like crying. “It doesn’t matter.”
You stop by the plane. Bob’s lips purse, and he looks down at his feet, shoulders pulled almost all the way up to his ears.
“I just think…” he begins, then stops himself.
Payback and Fanboy walk past, getting to their own aircraft, and they’re laughing and chatting—jovial, easy, light-hearted. You envy them. You can’t remember the last time things didn’t feel heavy to you.
Only that’s a lie too. You do remember. It was with Bob Floyd’s face buried in your pussy and your mind somewhere off in the stratosphere.
“Shit,” you curse, frustration coursing through you, fingers still fumbling with the damned clasp, and fuck it all, you just want to fly, you don’t want to think, you don’t want to feel, you just…
Bob knocks your fingers out of the way and closes the clasp for you. Suddenly, he’s so close you can smell him again—your chest burns.
“Specter,” he says, voice soft, “we need to discuss it.”
You swallow around the lump in your throat.
“You promised we wouldn’t talk about it,” you whisper. He seems to want to say something else, but you can’t. You just can’t do it. The fear is there, and it’s making your head spin. “Please, Bob.”
Something about those words is choked. Raw.
He looks at you for a moment, brows furrowed, eyes gentle, and then he nods. Steps away. Doesn’t say anything else.
You climb into the plane and wonder when, oh, when, did it all get so complicated.
+
Phoenix looks at you like she thinks you’re going to fall apart right where you sit. You hate it.
“You can talk to me, you know?” she says softly, leaning across the table in the mess hall, deep enough her chest almost ends up in the mashed potatoes. “You don’t always have to keep everything inside, Spec.”
It’s not true. That’s your first thought. You can’t talk to her, can’t talk to Bob, can’t talk to anyone. No one, you know this, is going to understand you now.
Your second thought is that you’re a horrible person. Phoenix is kind and genuinely wants to be your friend. She’s been extending hands across canyons for years now. But you just can’t take them. Too afraid you’ll drag her down into the drop with you.
“I hooked up with Bob,” you say, even though you should be telling her something else.
She obviously doesn’t know what to say to that. Opens her mouth just to close it again. Then finally settles on, “Why?”
Part of you wants to say you were the one who told me to let off steam. But this one, you can’t blame it on her. Can’t blame it on anyone but yourself.
“I don’t know,” you say with a shrug.
But you do know. That’s the problem.
You think of him on his knees in that bathroom. You think of him at your back in the air. How he breaks you apart. How he puts you back together.
“You know,” Phoenix says after an incredibly long time. “I always thought you had a crush on Rooster.”
It makes you laugh, even though it isn’t funny. Not even a little. Not even at all.
“Yeah,” you say. “Yeah, so did I.”
+
“So, Bob,” Hangman says, grinning in a way you can’t describe as anything other than villainous. If he, too, had a mustache, he’d be twirling it right about now. “Who do you prefer flying with: Phoenix or Specter?”
This was a horrible idea. Evenings at the Hard Deck should be barred for you from now on.
“Oh, come on,” you groan, going for nonchalance even as something inside you goes taut.
Bob looks decidedly uncomfortable, twisting his beer bottle around in his hands, fiddling with the soggy label, not looking at anyone.
“Uhm.” He shrugs. “They’re both good.”
Hangman’s having none of it.
“Nah, nah, nah, none of that diplomacy shit, Floyd. Gotta pick one.”
Coyote, always the shit-stirrer, claps a hand on Bob’s shoulder. “Yeah, bro. Who’s your best girl?”
Before responding, Bob casts his eyes down towards the floor, clears his throat. His glasses are riding low on his nose again, and you sink your fingernails into your palms to stifle the instinct to reach over and push them up for him.
“I guess… well, Phoenix is more consistent. Specter always… she’s a…. she’s a li…”
“Say it.” The words just burst from you before you can remember deciding to say them. Bob looks up then, eyes wide and face open. Your voice is venomous, and you feel like a rattlesnake about to strike. “A liability. That’s what you wanted to say, isn’t it?”
For a moment, Bob and you just stare at each other.
“I didn’t say that,” he says, voice gone soft. He’s going translucent as you speak, blending back into the chaos of the crowd.
“You didn’t have to.”
Everybody’s staring at you, but you keep your chin held high.
“I’m going home,” you say, and then you leave.
++
“You’re going too steep.”
Bob doesn’t have much hope that you’ll listen to him. You never do, apparently, unless he’s got you pinned to public bathroom doors.
It’s like a fever dream to him now, that night. Impossible that he was ever so close to you when all there is between you these days is distance and feelings tangled like thickets of thorns. When you won’t talk to him and won’t look at him, when it doesn’t matter what he says or asks.
Unsurprisingly, your answer is almost instantaneous. “We’re fine.”
The first time Bob met you, he couldn’t stop looking at you.
You were beautiful, in your uniform, under the bar lights. Beautiful and bright and brilliant and as decidedly out of his reach as the moon. You didn’t even look at him twice, not even after Phoenix introduced you. Drifted into his life and out of it like the specter that gave you your callsign.
And Bob never believed in love at first sight, still doesn’t, but there was something there, something beneath the thin veneer of arrogance you wore, you still wear. Something just under the surface, he thinks nobody but him sees—something he wants to keep as his secret.
You’re brilliant. The best pilot he’s ever met (even if half his friend group would balk at the idea), determined, clever, cut-throat. Stubborn to a fault. Witty and funny and always ready to stand up for yourself. The complete opposite of him.
Most of the time it’s admiration and curiosity, and then sometimes, it’s something else. When you slip from untouchable Ice Queen to something softer, when you lose yourself in the sky, in a book, in his touch in a bathroom at the Hard Deck… when you feel like nobody’s looking, that’s when Bob thinks he might love you.
Bob is a pilot. He gets up into that sky, and sometimes he deludes himself into thinking one day, one day, he’ll fly high enough, stretch far enough, and then finally, he’ll reach that moon. It’ll never happen, of course. The moon stays firm, beautiful and bright and brilliant, and achingly, eternally lonely. Never his to have.
The plane keeps climbing, steady, steady, steady, and Bob can barely breathe.
“Specter,” he chokes out. “Come on, girl.”
And then suddenly, abruptly, tipping like a pendulum, the plane falls. It’s an almost artful arch at the beginning, a ballerina angling her body towards the ground in a jump, and it leaves his stomach hanging somewhere above his head.
Then something changes. You keep falling.
“Specter, time to pull up,” Bob says, twisting to try and find Mav. Where is he?
There’s no answer.
“Specter,” he repeats, thinking you’re ignoring him for another reckless stunt, for another moment of you trying to recapture glory.
Still, you don’t respond, and that’s when he realizes something is horribly, terribly, awfully wrong.
“Specter!” he calls a third time, and now there’s a note of panic creeping into his voice he’s sure the others can pick up on over the coms. “Specter, you with me?”
The ground keeps hurtling closer. You keep silent.
“Bob.” That’s Mav’s voice, over the comms, right in his ear. “What’s going on?”
“I don’t know,” Bob gasps, and he’s breathless, he’s chafing, he’s… “She’s not… Specter!”
“Is she in g-Loc?” Rooster asks.
Rooster, Bob thinks. He twists, searching the horizon for his friend, but he can barely see anything. His vision has gone blurry.
And you’re still, still, still spinning towards the ground.
“Specter,” Bob says again, and he’s never known fear like this before. Not the first time he flew on his own. Not when he and Natasha had to punch out. Not when Mav and Rooster went down. Not ever. “Specter!”
And then he’s just saying your name, your real name, your first name, the one he’s said a million times in his head and never out loud, straining against all the buckles as if he can reach you, stretching out his arm over a distance impossible to breach.
“Bob!” That’s Rooster again. “Bob, you gotta punch out, you gotta eject now!”
I can’t leave her. That’s all he thinks. I can’t leave her, I can’t leave her, I can’t…
And Bob isn’t religious, never has been, but he’s saying, “Please, wake her up, please, God, I’ll do anything, please wake her up, please….”
You come to with a gasp like tires screeching on the asphalt, like a choir of angels or something, and then you’re pulling up, you’re getting the plane back on track, you’re…
In his ear, you’re saying, “Sorry. I… sorry.”
Bob sobs.
+
He knows you won’t acknowledge it before you land. He knows you’ll play it off, smile about it, laugh like nothing happened.
But he saw the tremor of your hands. He heard the fear in your voice. You can’t hide because he’s seen too much of you. Because he knows you, even if you don’t want him to.
“Specter,” he says, racing after you across the runway towards the hangar.
Everybody’s there, standing in a crowd near the doors. Pale faces, drawn with a panic that should be familiar by now, that’s part of this job. A panic nobody ever gets used to.
“I’m fine,” you say. You’re smiling, but it’s strained, and it’s a lie. He knows it is.
And Bob is angry. Angrier than he’s ever been with you because it’s not fair, not fair that you’re shutting him out, always shutting him out when all he wants is to hold you, be there for you, love you…
“You almost died!” Bob calls, voice rising, and he’s pretty sure there are still tears on his face. At least his cheeks feel wet.
Everybody’s looking at him. He can feel their eyes on him.
Usually, it would be enough to make him want to draw his head all the way between his shoulder blades, but not right now. Not with that feeling still simmering in his belly. Not with the feeling of that plummet still in his bones and the echoing silence of the cockpit in his ears.
You stop. For a moment, you gape at him. Then you say, “You would have died, too.”
He’s shaking his head before you’ve finished, frantic, saying, “I could have punched out, you were in g-LOC, you would have died, Specter, this isn’t funny, this isn’t a game, this is real….”
“I can handle myself,” you say, but something about your voice is chafing.
“I think what we just saw,” Rooster says, face solemn, arms crossed in front of his chest, “proves that even you can’t always handle yourself, Specter.”
By your hips, your hands clench and unclench into fists. Your whole body seems to pulsate to a rhythm nobody but you can hear, shoulders heaving, head nodding up and down.
You’ve always stood apart from them, even as you stood right next to them. Never letting anybody in.
I can help you, Bob wants to say. You don’t need to carry it alone.
But you’re shaking your head, pulling the helmet against your chest. Stand on that runway, a step from him, a million miles from him.
“I’m fine,” you insist one last time. Voice like a wind chime. Face like a ghost.
And Bob thinks it might be time to let the moon go.
++
A week later, Hangman goes down.
Birdstrike, both engines on fire, ejectejecteject, static on the radio, fire streaking across the sky, then the parachute opening and the wind howling and him floating, light as a feather, towards the ground.
You’re out of the room before you can hear how it ends. Stumbling through the hallways of the base like a sleepwalker, like a toddler, like someone on the verge of a terrible thing.
It’s growing in you, something you can’t name, something that mounts and mounts and…
In a corner, next to a water fountain, you crumble like a ragdoll. Fold yourself into a neat square of limbs, knees pulled all the way up to your eyes, face pressed into the space between them.
The panic flares into your body like electricity, tingles down your spine and into your legs, tugs at your hands and feet. And your chest is full of it, of that anxiety and that memory, so full the feeling crowds against your ribcage, threatens to snap the bones. There’s no room for oxygen.
I’m going to choke, you think. I’m going to…
“Hey.”
You know it’s Bob without looking up. You couldn’t do it anyway, even if you tried. Your muscles won’t listen to you, not now when your body belongs to the anxiety.
“It’s okay,” Bob whispers. He’s crouched in front of you, you know this because you can see his shoes through the gaps between your knees. Angled like a V, straining towards you. “He’s fine. Hangman’s fine.”
It should bring relief, but it doesn’t. You shake your head, forehead still smashed against your knees, and your skin tugs against the patellas.
No, you think. I can’t do it. Not again, not again, not again. Please, god, make it end, just make it stop, I can’t, I can’t, I…
“I can’t,” you say, and you don’t know what you mean.
All you can think about is the crash. The gravity pulling at your chest. A canopy exploding above you. The pain of that dislocated shoulder. And then the emptiness, the aching, endless emptiness of the after. The guilt, the grief, the fear, the fear, the fear.
“Can I touch you?”
Bob’s voice is so soft, even with the underlying current of firmness. Just like it was in that bathroom. And it should be an oxymoron - for someone to be so tender, for someone to be so unyielding. But it’s not, not with Bob. Bob, who seems to contain true multitudes.
You nod because you can’t find your voice.
He draws you into his arms, right there on the floor. Hands on your back, tugging you against his chest, urging your head into the space below his chin. He’s so warm, and he smells nice, and he’s everywhere.
“Easy,” he whispers. “It’s alright. You’re okay.”
And then it’s just him. The steady beat of his heart instead of the screaming of warning systems. The smell of his aftershave instead of the smoke and the gasoline. His fingers pressing into your spine instead of the straps cutting into your shoulders.
Bob holds you together until you can do it yourself.
You draw back, slowly, almost reluctantly, and the moment his touch is gone, you miss it like something intrinsic to you. Miss it like a limb.
“I’m sorry,” you whisper. You don’t want to look at him. You can’t look at him.
Bob exhales.
“Don’t apologize,” he says. “Can you… explain it?”
You suppose you should. Suppose you owe it to him after these weeks. After everything you’ve put him through.
“It… it scared me,” you whisper. It takes a lot to get that out, to admit that there’s anything, anywhere, that could scare you.
You don’t want Bob to know. You want Bob to think of you as someone above things like fear, someone strong and brave and whole. But it’s just all too much. You’re eroding, crumbling, tumbling off the tightrope you’ve been walking for so long.
If someone like Hangman, someone brilliant, someone fantastic, someone who burns brighter than life, can go down… then what about you? What about Bob?
“The rest, too.” At your questioning look, he elaborates, “Explain all of it to me.”
You could keep pretending you don’t understand him, but you’re too tired. Something about the panic has made you fuzzy, has blurred your edges, and you just want it to be over. You just want to be rid of everything clogging up your chest.
You want to feel again what you felt that night in the bathroom with Bob. You want somebody to carry the burden with you, so you won’t feel it dragging you beneath the surface of the ocean all the time.
“I killed her,” you say finally. The words are barely more than a whisper, but they burst from somewhere at the very core of you. Something you’ve kept hidden from view for years.
Bob pauses. Stares.
“... What?”
“I killed her,” you repeat, voice watery, hands shaking. “My last backseater. I killed her.”
He opens his mouth only to close it again—shifts his weight where he’s still sitting on the ground. Your knees are almost touching.
“Spec…” he begins, but you don’t let him finish.
“Everybody always said it, you know? That I was a wildcard, that I just… did whatever I wanted without thinking about others. Everybody but her. She’d always say, oh, you just don’t understand her, she’s brilliant, she knows what she’s doing, she….” You have to stop yourself, have to suck in a breath that sounds like you’re drowning, like your lungs are filling up with water. “And then one day we had a fight. She said that I… that I didn’t listen to her up in the air, that I always trusted myself more than I trusted her, and she… she called me a liability.”
Something in Bob’s eyes shifts, something like understanding flutters across his face, but the dam inside of you has broken. The river rushes without stopping.
“So I decided to prove her wrong. I wanted to go right, but she told me to go left, and I did. We got into a jet stream. I lost control of the plane. We had to eject. I made it, and she didn’t.”
You pause then. Blink against that horrible, unforgiving, brilliant sun outside the window. Your cheeks are wet.
“She was my best friend, Bob.” Your voice breaks, and you fold in on yourself, deflate. “She was the only one who ever believed in me. I knew her since we were eighteen, we did everything together, I only started flying two-seaters so I could fly with her, and you have to understand, I would have… if I could have changed it, if I could have died instead of her, I would have, I wouldn’t even have thought about it, I… And I know I’m not a… not a good person, I know I’m selfish and mean, and I hurt people all the time, and I know I hurt you, but I just… ” You trail off. Your voice is barely more than a whisper. “She was my best friend.”
It’s not nearly enough to explain what she meant to you. It’s all you have.
Bob doesn’t answer for a long time. When you finally find the courage to look up at him, you brace yourself for the inevitable: shock, disgust, disdain.
You find none of it.
Bob looks at you with a tenderness on his face that punches all the air out of your lungs.
“Why didn’t you tell me this sooner?” he asks, voice soft.
It’s almost helpless, the way you can do nothing but shrug your shoulders.
“It’s not…” You can’t look at him anymore, afraid you’ll do something stupid, afraid you’ll kiss him or tell him something you won’t be able to take back. “I didn’t think you’d care.”
Bob’s brows furrow.
“Of course I care,” he says, as matter-of-factly as if he’s chatting about the San Diego weather. “I care about you, Specter. I always have.”
You don’t know what to say to that. It tugs at you with ice-cold fingers, even as warmth spreads through your stomach. And it scares you, hearing him say that. He shouldn’t care about you. Not if he knows what’s good for him.
“I’m sorry,” you say after a long, long moment. “I’m sorry for… at the Hard Deck, I think I needed somebody, and you were there, and it… I used you. I’m sorry for it. I made a mistake.”
When you look at him next, something on Bob’s face has changed. Some window that was previously thrown wide open is shut. He looks down towards his shoes, glasses sliding slowly, slowly towards the tip of his nose.
“Up in the air,” he says finally. “I get it now, I think. Why you don’t listen to me. But I… Don’t you trust me?”
Hearing him say it hurts somewhere at the very core of you. In the grand scheme of things, in the great failure of your life, Bob is probably the person you trust most.
“I do,” you whisper, shaking your head. Folding your fingers in your lap and biting your lip so hard the sting distracts you from whatever is going on in your chest. “I just… I trust myself more. I have to trust myself more.”
Bob is quiet for a long, long moment. Then he nods.
“I understand,” he says, but it sounds like he wants to say something else entirely. “Can we just… let’s be friends, Spec. Please.”
And he sounds tired. The kind of fatigue that goes bone-deep, that travels over days and nights and weeks, the kind of fatigue you carry with you wherever you go. You know how that feels.
It’s a horrible thought just how much you’ve hurt Bob, and so you’ve never allowed yourself to think it. Have brushed it off and brushed it away, under beds and under carpets and into handicapped bathrooms with broken locks. Have pretended you couldn’t tell in the cockpit, pretended you didn’t see it in the mess hall when his face fell after another scathing remark, another dismissal.
All the way, you told yourself you were doing it for him - it’s not good to get close to you. You’ve never learned how to build things, grow things. All you know is how to ruin them.
So you say, “I don’t want to be your friend, Bob. I want to be alone.”
Behind the sheen of his glasses, Bob’s eyes are wet.
“I don’t think that’s true at all,” he says, finally.
And then he gets up, walks away, and leaves you behind on the floor, a town buried beneath a landslide, a meteor crater, a canyon of sand and rock, and the lone survivor clawing his way over the edge.
+
“Nat says you have a crush on me.”
Rooster gives no greeting, simply slides into the unoccupied seat by your side with those words. He’s broad enough that he dwarfs the rickety chair, the Hawaiian shirt so out of place in the beiges and grays of this military base.
A week ago, maybe you would have been embarrassed. Now, you can barely muster a shrug.
“What’s it matter?”
Rooster raises an eyebrow. The television room is deserted save for the two of you - some movie is playing with the volume all the way down, but you haven’t even been paying enough attention to tell if it’s a romantic comedy or a slasher.
“It matters,” he says.
You shake your head, staring down at the packet of gum in your hand. The whole room smells like mint.
“I wasn’t ever going to act on it,” you say, “that’s why it doesn’t matter. It’s just… there. It doesn’t change anything for you.”
Rooster is quiet for a moment. And then he says, “It doesn’t work like that.”
“Hm?”
“The way you think it does,” he elaborates as if that clears it up. “You think you can just walk through life and not affect others. You think if you’re just mean and closed-off, if you never let somebody in, you won’t matter to them. That you won’t hurt them. That then they can’t hurt you. That’s not how it works, Spec.”
You exhale. It feels a little like he’s just pried open your chest, pulled all your most private, darkest thoughts into the world.
“I… I don’t know what you mean.”
“It’s like this.” Bradley leans forward, sun-tanned hands reaching for you across the gray, gray expanse of the table. He doesn’t touch you, but he leaves his hands palms-up, an offering between you. “There are people here that love you, Spec. Even if maybe sometimes you don’t deserve that love. And you have the power to hurt them, just like they have the power to hurt you. You’re already in it. You’re just pretending you’re not.”
You grind your teeth. It’s too much. You can’t do it.
Eject, eject, eject, your mind is screaming at you, but it’s like you can’t find the cord.
“Bradley…” you begin, without knowing where you want the sentence to end.
“And you don’t have a crush on me.”
He says it like it’s a fact. He says it like he knows you better than you know yourself.
You’re beginning to suspect he might have a point.
“I think I know when I have a crush,” you say quietly.
“No, you don’t. Otherwise, you’d know you’re head-over-heels for Bob. Otherwise, you’d know he’s loved you since the first time he’s seen you.”
You think of Bob - Bob on his knees at the Hard Deck, Bob’s voice pulling you from the deepest, densest darkness of your life, Bob silhouetted by the unforgiving sun as you splintered into shards of glass right in front of him, as the contents of your life spilled across his feet and drenched him in your night.
It feels like being pressed into the seat at take-off - anticipation, fear, relief… You’re on the verge of something.
“Specter.” Rooster leans low across the table, his face in your field of vision. Kind eyes, kind mouth, kind face. The sort of kindness you don’t deserve. The sort of kindness that rips holes into your life and your resolve and your heart. “You don’t really want me. You just want to want someone and not be afraid they’ll hurt you. You just want to want someone without it being real. Because then it won’t hurt.”
I already know this, you want to tell him, but you can’t. Something about hearing it from him, something about realizing you’re not half as complex as you always thought you were, is strangely reassuring at the same time it makes your stomach churn.
“And you’re scared to want Bob. Because that would be real. Because that could hurt.”
Bob Floyd, who is so much kinder than you ever deserved. Bob Floyd, who has your back. Bob Floyd, who loves you, even when you don’t know how to love yourself.
“It already does, though,” you whisper, your voice impossibly small, your eyes burning. “It already does hurt, Rooster.”
And Rooster smiles. The sight of it plants a hope inside you you didn’t think you were capable of anymore - a sapling fighting its way through concrete.
“That, Specter,” he says, “is how you know it’s real.”
+
Bob is crying when he opens his door.
He stands there in plaid pajama pants and a white shirt, without his glasses, hair no longer slicked back but curly and soft, and you remember sinking your fingers into it, remember wanting to ask what conditioner he uses, remember…
“Do you love me?” you blurt.
Bob blinks and opens his mouth. His cheeks are wet.
“I…”
You don’t let him finish.
“Because I don’t know if I love you. But I know that I like you. And I know that I’m scared, Bob, I’m so fucking scared. Every day of my life, I’m scared. I’m scared that you’ll die because I trust you, and I’m scared that you’ll die because I don’t trust you, and I’m scared that maybe I could love you, and I’m scared that you’ll hurt me or that I’m always going to keep hurting you and I don’t… I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what to do with all this fear, Bob.”
And then it’s Bob, the WSO. Bob the pragmatic. Bob the fucking best boy you’ve ever met.
He nods, says, “I know.” And then he takes a deep breath. Goes on, “You don’t need to know any of that stuff. You don’t even have to not be scared. Spec, fuck, I’m scared. I’m scared of how much I like you, and I’m scared of how much you’re hurting all the time, how tightly you keep that all locked up. I’m not asking you not to be any of those things. I’m just… I’m just asking you to talk to me. Let’s figure it out together.”
When he says it like that, it seems almost easy. Simple. Logical.
“For the record,” you say, voice a ruin, and you’re pretty sure you might be crying too, “I don’t think it was a mistake. What we did at the Hard Deck, I mean. I think it… I think it may have been the best decision of my life. I don’t make a lot of those.”
And Bob smiles. Steps to the side and opens his door to you.
“You wanna come in?”
You do.
In his bedroom, with his arms around you, it’s almost enough to pretend you’re whole again. It’s enough to know you’ll get there someday. To a point where you’ll know how to grow things instead of ripping them out of the earth. To a point where maybe, finally, you’ll deserve that love Bob hands out so freely.
In his bedroom, with his arms around you, it’s a little like drowning. It’s a little like flying.
#bob x reader#bob floyd#top gun maverick#robert floyd x reader#bob floyd fic#bob top gun#bob fic#top gun fic#top gun imagine#mine#writing#f: hsp
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supernatural fic rec list
(mostly for me to keep all my favorites together. all on ao3) (be nice, i’ve never made one of these and the format is new to me)
Try asking by @applecrumbledore
Wincest, 7k words, rated T. Outside POV.
“Jerry says he saw them going at it in the back of that car of theirs outside Atlanta last year, I swear to God.”
“Listen, man, I don’t like them either, but that’s a low blow. Jerry’s a fucking pervert.”
The sound of dead leaves by clavicular and unhappy_ghost
John/Sam + wincest, 6k words, rated M. Sam POV.
John looks at Sam in a way no father should. Sam aches when Dean smiles.
The shadows that loom over Sam Winchester are not just those of the monsters lurking in the night.
Echoes of Hell by The_Nightbreaker
Gen, 35k words, rated M. Sam POV.
It wasn't real. He wasn't in Hell anymore. That's what he tried to tell himself over and over.
But two centuries of torture don't disappear in a day.
Sam struggles with visions of Hell, fighting to maintain his grip on reality. Dean hates that he can't protect his brother from what isn't real—but curse him if he doesn't try.
When the boys stumble on a case with ties to the Devil himself, will they be able to pull themselves together in time to stop the sacrifices? Or will the echoes of Hell finally overtake them?
Aka, season 7, but the plot is Hell trauma, not leviathans.
Evening Shadows by withthekeyisking
Gen, 2k words, rated T. Outside POV.
Sam is hallucinating the monster who tortured him for nearly two centuries, Dean feels like he's failing his brother, and a diner waitress bears witness.
Lesser Evils by Dyed_Red
Wincest, 9k words, rated E. Dean POV.
“So you’re just gonna, what – torture us for an hour while your guys hightail it to Buffalo? That’s your master plan here?”
“Oh I can do a lot in an hour or two, Sammy. Like having your surrogate daddy here carve Dean a new face. Like backsliding you off your pretty bandwagon. Like…Seeing how far big brother will go for his sweet baby Sam.”
Prophecy of an Abomination by ashitanoyuki
Gen, 88k words, rated M. Sam POV.
Sam wants to be normal. Sometimes, it's harder than he'd like to keep faith in God.
Or: a story of religious!Sam plus powers!Sam culminating in horrifying Sam whump (with eventual comfort to go with the hurt). A character study of the first two seasons that sharply diverges in season two.
he’ll follow me down every street, no matter what my crime by according2thelore
Wincest + Meg/Dean, 17k words, rated M. Dean POV.
“What do you want, Sam?”
Sam stands up, so Dean is forced to look up into his face. Sam turns them slowly, so the small of Dean’s back bumps into the polished wood of the counter.
“I want…” Sam says, eyes flicking down to Dean’s lips and Dean knows when something is too good to be true, knows that this can’t possibly be real, knows—
“Christo.” Dean rasps, just before Sam’s lips land on his, eyes open wide. Sam’s eyes flash black.
“Whoops,” Sam says casually. A thread of tension stretches between them, almost interminable, and then they both move at once. The demon in Sam’s body slams Dean back, and Dean crashes against the bar.
~~~
A rework of S2E14 "Born Under a Bad Sign" with Meg!Sam and Dean instead of Jo for WincestWednesday on tumblr's July Event, prompt "Favorite Episode" (with a cameo from the second prompt "Blood")
You’d Have Loved Her (But You Won’t) by punkrock101
Gen, 5k words, rated G. Sam POV. (compiler’s note: this is my personal favorite fic of all time)
Sam never got to tell him.
Sam never got to tell anybody.
Flowers in the Impala by Evendar
Wincest, 2k words, rated M. Outside POV.
Kate wants them to be a family - really, she does - but there's something wrong with John's boys.
—-—-—
that’s long enough for now, i think. feel free to reblog with your favorite fics as well
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I Trust You
Kageyama Tobio X Fem! Reader (she/her pronouns); past Miya Atsumu x reader
Warnings: Cheating/infidelity, angst, fluff, swearing, kissing, Atsumu is a real jerk
WC: ~6k
A/N: I’ve had this fic sitting in my drafts for a LONG time. I decided to finally just get it out so it’s not really proof read and definitely not beta read 😅
You couldn't believe what you were seeing. Blinking a few times, you rubbed your eyes to make sure the imagine in front if you was real.
Your boyfriend of over a year, MSBY setter, Atsumu Miya was kissing another woman. Your heart sank to the pit of your stomach as you watched the scene unfold, his hands grasping her waist like they had yours just this morning. The thought made you sick.
"Hey YN,” voice sounded from behind you as you turn to see your best friend Mila standing next to her boyfriend, Korai Hoshiumi of the Schweiden Adlers. Mila's hands flew up to her mouth at the sight before her. Korai watched his girlfriends gaze, following it to see you as well as Atsumu behind you. You could see Korai's fist clench in rage as you turned to see Atsumu. His eyes met yours, his face paling.
"Atsumu baby, who is she?" the woman in his arms asked as tears blurred your vision. You couldn't move, the shock of everything overcoming you like waves in the ocean.
"Hey what’s," a voice said from behind you. Turning, you saw Tobio Kageyama, setter for the Schweiden Adlers, standing next to Mila and Korai. His eyes concerned when he saw your face, turning into pure rage when he looked beyond you at the scene causing your tears. It couldn't have been more than a few seconds since you first laid eyes on your boyfriend and the other woman but the time felt like it had all but stopped.
You watched as Mila approached you, reaching out to grab you. "Hey honey, are you ok?" she said, trying to check on you. Your eyes snapped to hers as the tears rolled down your cheeks, you turned to look at Atsumu who had no let go of the woman and was walking closer. You instinctively backed away, turning and running from the arena where your entire world had just shattered. You heard Mila's voice yelling at you then at Atsumu as you continued to run.
“Atsumu you fucking asshole!” A voice shouted as your head fogged, running as fast as possible just to escape.
“YN wait!” Another voice called but you didn’t stop, running as fast as you legs could carry you, desperate to escape the pain.
“She ran this way,” a voice carried through the arena as you hit the front door, the cold air biting at your face as you took off down the busy street.
Signaling a taxi, you hoped in, telling the driver your address as you stared forward, not wanting to look back.
Back at you're shared apartment with Atsumu, you grabbed a suitcase and stuffed as many clothes as you could in it, hoping to quickly make your exit. You filled your toiletries bag full of your skin care, shampoo, conditioner and whatever else you needed. The end goal being to not return for as long as humanly possible.
You grabbed your laptop, tablet and chargers making sure you had all the basic necessities and left the apartment as quickly as you came. Catching the elevator, you rode down to the first floor, holding yourself together surprisingly well.
Upon exiting, you saw Atsumu's car pull up in a hurry. Not ready to face him just yet, you decided to hide in the lobby bathroom until he got into the elevator. You heard his hurried words, "come on, come on" as he clicked the button, the elevator door opening and closing. You quickly exited the building, grabbing a taxi and telling them the address to Mila and Korai's shared apartment. Clicking your best friends number, you held your phone up to your ear as it rang.
"YN! Oh my god thank God you are ok! We are all so worried about you,” Mila said sounding scared.
"I'm headed to your apartment now, can I stay a few days just until I can figure things out?" you said, your voice cold and empty.
"Of course baby, you can stay as long as you need too,” Mila responded. You could hear her talking to someone, presumably Korai, telling them you were safe.
"Thanks Mila," you said, the tears catching in your throat as your emotions started to crest. You hung up quickly, trying to hold everything in so as to not alarm the taxi driver.
Arriving at the upscale apartments, you quickly walked in and headed to Korai and Mila’s apartment.
"Hey Korai," you said, trying to smile as he opened the door, grabbed your luggage and hauled you into a hug.
"Hey YN," he said as you hugged him back tight.
"Is she here? Baby!" Mila said running toward you and scooping you into a tight hug. You hugged her back as your body began to shake uncontrollably, the emotions you had been resisting finally boiling over.
You begin falling to the ground, screaming and crying as Mila held you, petting your hair and kissing your forehead. Everything was becoming too much and your body was worn out.
"Hey-Hey shhhh it's ok, it's all going to be ok," Mila said, petting your hair as you sobbed. You could hear Mila talking to Korai but you couldn't make out the words, your brain was clouded with all the emotions of the past hour.
"He's calling again,” Korai said as you continued to sob in Mila's arms.
“Tell him she's safe and to fuck all the way off," Mila growled at her boyfriend who you assume only nodded and walked away.
"W-what is wrong with me Mila? W-what did I do?? I-I k-know I'm not always around but I-I try! I go to all his games, I make dinner, I thought everything was ok," you said crying out to your best friend.
She continued to pet your head, holding you close as she whispered, "YN this isn't your fault! Don't you dare thing any of this is your fault baby! Atsumu is a fucking idiot and he doesn’t deserve you!" You cried harder as she pulled you closer yet, kissing your forehead. Korai returned to the living room, his face unreadable.
"Well?" Mila asked.
"He wants to come over. He’s losing it Mila. He knows YN took her stuff and left. I heard him throw something against the wall,” Korai said.
"Are you fucking kidding me? He did this and now he’s acting like a child because he got caught! " Mila whisper shouted, still caressing your hair as she continued to console you.
"I told him no babe. I said our priority is YN and that I don’t think he should be around her in the state he’s in. He told me that it wad fucked up and that he was going to send Osamu over," Korai said, exasperated.
"Does he really think she wants to see Osamu right now either?" Mila chimed in.
“That’s what I said but he was adamant so I called Osamu and told him what happened. He said he wasn't going to fight Atsumu's battle and as far as I know, he's just as pissed at Sumu as the rest of us. Apparently Sakusa had already called him because Atsumu was raging in the locker room, ”Korai said.
“He should be raging at himself right now! He’s the one who fucked everything up! I swear to god that man,” Mila growled.
You breathed in harshly, hiccupping as you pulled your head away to look up at Mila and Korai. Positive you looked like you had just been hit by a bus with your makeup all over, you went to speak.
Korai's phone rang again as he quickly answered it quickly.
"I swear to God if that's Sumu again," Mila said, sounding like she was ready to kill.
“Hey Kageyama- yeah she's here with us now," Korai said as you watched Korai ran his hand down his face, “Dude- trust me I know, I want to punch him just as bad as you do but we can't do that. We can't risk suspension before the Olympics."
You wiped your eyes as you and Mila watched Korai walk around the living room.
"Nah she's ok dude. She's with Mila and me and she's going to stay for as long as she needs too,” Korai said looking and smiling at you. You smiled back, looking down and whipping your eyes a little. Mila pulled you into a hug to which you reciprocated.
"I think we all just need to cool down man. Yeah, I know- I know Kageyama. Yeah I'll tell her. Ok bye,” Korai said hanging up.
"Kageyama wanted to make sure you were ok YN. He wanted to come check on you but I think we all need a night to just chill,” Korai added.
You smile and nod at the thought of how much Tobio cared for you. You sat back, getting to your knees and standing as Mila watched.
“Tobio ran after you YN,” Mila interjected, “he probably would have caught you if he hadn’t gotten into it with Atsumu.”
Your eyes widened as you spoke, “they didn’t fight did they?”
Korai shook his head, responding, “no, Bokuto and Hinata got in-between them and then the coaches got involved.”
You nodded, satisfied with the fact that nobody had fought and gotten hurt. As much as you disliked Atsumu, the idea of him getting hurt wasn’t something you wished to happen. As far as Tobio, you didn’t want him to risk suspension over your drama.
"I'm going to shower and go to bed. Thank you both for everything. I love you so much," you said, tears coming again as you look from Mila to Korai.
"Are you hungry YN? We can," Mila said as you shook your head.
"no I'm ok but thanks," you said grabbing your suitcase and heading towards the guest bedroom.
It was pure luck that Korai and Mila's apartment had coming with a guest room with an en suite. You stripped your clothes, grabbed your toiletries and removed your makeup. Eyes and face puffy from all the crying, you tried your best to hold in your emotions as you studied your expression.
What could you have done different? Could you have done anything at all? What does she have that I don't? The questions plagued your mind as the tears began to fall all over again.
You started the shower, placing all your things in. It hurt to see your shampoo alone, without Atsumu's sitting open next to it. Your body wash and sponge sitting on the edge like it should be and not knocked off on the floor like it had been so many times. The words of Atsumu dropping your body wash on his foot rang in your ears as the hot water cascaded down your body. This was really it; this was really the end.
Your body shook as you cried, sinking to the floor of the shower. You couldn't tell your tears from the water as you sat on the floor, knees to your chest. The life you had dreamed of, the life you had so loved, the life that was so perfect was perfect no more.
You awoke the next morning with a pounding headache, all the crying, lack of food and water had taken its toll. You sat up in the soft bed, rubbing your now dry but surely red eyes as you tried to wake up.
The clock on the nightstand said 6:30am. You remember crawling into bed around 10:30pm, unsure of when you had fallen asleep. You made your way to the bathroom, brushing your teeth and washing your face as you looked in the mirror.
Your hair was matted from falling asleep while it was still wet. Adjusting your tank top and shorts, you began combing through your hair. Throwing it up in a top knot, you slowly opened the door and made your way to the living room, smelling coffee and hearing rustling in the kitchen.
"Good morning," you said as Korai spun around, smiling at you as he reached for a coffee mug from the cabinet.
"Hey, sleep, ok?" He asked. You shrugged and sat down as he poured you a mug, grabbing creamer from the refrigerator.
“Mila turned your phone off last night. Uhh- he kept calling and texting," Korai said studying his protein shake with great interest.
"Shit- I'm sorry I totally forgot about my phone," you said looking up at him.
He just shook his head. “YN don't apologize for any of this. None of this is your fault,” he said as a small smile graced your face as you brought the cup to your mouth.
“Korai, I know you have to work with Atsumu for training. I don’t want this to effect your team,” you said lowly looking at Korai.
“YN, I understand your concerns but what Atsumu did doesn’t have anything to do with volleyball. He hurt you and you are very important to Mila and thus important to me. I can’t just pretend it didn’t happen,” he said as you nodded.
“If only I wouldn’t have gone to that game,” you said, sighing into your coffee mug.
"If you wouldn’t have gone to the game YN, there’s still a big chance that me or Korai would have seen him and girl code dictates that I must tell you everything,” Mila said coming into the kitchen, her hair all over the place and her eyes looking tired.
“Yeah but I’m sure bro code is different,” you said ad you and Mila looked to Korai.
“Nah, if I would have seen that I would have told Mila and my girls got a big mouth,” he said as Mila looked at him, offended.
“Just remember what this ‘big mouth’ does for you Mr. I wouldn’t be talking smack like that,” she scoffed ad you laughed.
Korai laughed as he took a drink of his protein shake and you watched as Mila stomped around the kitchen, grabbing everything she needed.
“Did Korai tell you I told him off last night because I did!” Mila growled, as she slammed her mug on the table.
“You what?” You said, setting down your coffee as Korai folded his arms over his chest.
“Yes, unfortunately before she silenced your phone, she answered one of his many calls,” Korai said shaking his head.
“Mila? Really?” You said looking at her as she looked back.
“Girl, I laid into him hard! Like made him cry and then beg for me to give you the phone. Then I blocked him,” Mila smiled, satisfied with herself as Korai’s head fell back on his shoulders.
A knock sounded at the door as you and Mila froze in your seats.
"It's just Kageyama, it's our long running day" Korai said as he made his way to the door. You felt the breath that you didn't know you were holding release as your tension fell away. Korai opened the door and Kageyama stepped in, looking straight at you a small smile creeping on his face. You smiled back as he made his way over to you, bending down and kissing the top of your head.
"Hey kid," he said as you grabbed his arm and squeezed, his small gesture sending comfort throughout your body.
"Let's get going. We have like 5 miles to make it through before practice," Korai said, grabbing his keys and phone and shoving it in his pocket. Kageyama looked at Korai and back at you, nodding as he made his way out the front door. He smiled at you before, again kissing the top of your head in a sweet gesture and making his way to the front door. Korai waved to you and Mila, closing the door behind him.
A few days had past since you had caught Atsumu cheating. The first 4 days were rough. Unblocking his number, the calls and texts flood in as you quickly began to second guess your decision. He had tried several times to confront you, waiting outside Korai and Mila’s apartment. It was finally when Mila lost it, swearing to take a baseball bat to his beloved car that he stopped showing up.
According to Hinata, Atsumu stayed late at the gym and arrived early the next morning. Korai said that Olympic practice had been tense the past few days as well. Atsumu had taken every chance to try and catch Korai alone, trying to get whatever information he could from him. Korai told you that he said nothing about you other than that you didn’t want to speak with him.
You knew you had to end it officially with Atsumu but you were no where near ready to confront him. Every time you thought about him, images of him kissing that woman flooded your brain. You couldn't get rid of them; you couldn't stop thinking about it. You began to wonder if he had kissed other women or had slept with them. You replayed your relationship over and over in your head wondering what you could have done differently. It hurt you mentally, physically and emotionally, the pain felt never-ending.
A few days later, you were heading home from work when it happened.
"YN- YN! Stop YN!" His voice hit you as you turned to see Atsumu chasing after you. Your mind flooded with emotions, seeing him for the first time since you had discovered his infidelity. You turned, walking faster in your heels and dress, trying to make it back to Mila and Korai's apartment. You could hear him shouting, his tall frame trying to move through the crowds of people as you effortlessly weaved in and out, dodging where you could just to get away. You rounded the corner, running as fast as your heeled feet would take you, turning to see Atsumu still trying to get to you.
You abruptly halted when you run into someone, the person grabbing you by the arms, head bowed and eyes meeting yours.
"YN hey- hey are you ok?” Kageyama asked as he looked into your big eyes, filled with tears yet again.
"YN for fucks sake, I just want to talk,” Atsumu said coming up behind you as Kageyama moved you to the side, his arm grasping firmly around your waist, his hand possessively holding onto you.
"Atsumu get lost,” Kageyama growled as your tears only fell harder, your body coursing with emotions.
"Tobio, this isn't about you! Now let go of YN so I can talk to her. I'm not going to hurt her,” Atsumu said but you had enough.
"You already fucking hurt me!" You screamed, looking over at Atsumu who was stunned by your outburst.
"YN I-"
" No Atsumu- no more! We are done! I don't want to hear it. I don't want to see you, I don't even want to be around you! You threw everything we had down the drain! An entire years worth of memories and love, just gone! Whatever she had that I didn't, I hope it was all worth it because I won't let you have any more of my time or emotions," you scream, locking eyes with Atsumu as he stood there stunned.
You could see the tears beginning to crest in his eyes. You pulled away from Kageyama, grabbing his arm and tugging him along.
"Let's go Tobio,” you said as Kageyama followed you wordlessly, leaving Atsumu stunned and alone on the street.
"Holy shit- I can't believe I did that,” you say to Kageyama as he closes the door to Korai and Mila's apartment.
"You fucking did that YN,” he said, smiling at you. You look back at him, smiling wide as you run and hugged him, arms going around his neck as his went to your waist. "I'm so proud of you sweetheart" he whispered into your hair as you smiled into his shoulder.
A few weeks had passed, and you were getting ready for a night out with the Adlers. You had slowly been moving on from Atsumu, learning to navigate your life as a single women and enjoying every minute of it.
You still had your moments, especially when Atsumu would show up or send extravagant gifts to your door. He sent jewelry and flowers, everything under the sun to get you to hear him out, accepting all the gifts only to turn around and mail them right back to him.
He had to be mad to think he could buy your love again after what you had seen. He swore up and down that nothing more than kissing happened but even then, it still didn't matter. Kissing another women was enough to solidify the end of your relationship.
You had managed to gather the remainder of your items from Atsumu's place after receiving word that he was out drinking with MSBY one Saturday night. Leaving what you could live without and grabbing the more sentimental items, you left the key on the cabinet with a note that you were no longer on the lease.
You adjusted your short black spaghetti strap dress as you finished curling your hair. You're outfit tonight was purchased new after an impulsive shopping trip with Mila to the mall the day after you had officially moved out of Atsumu’s apartment.
It was different than what you normally went for, short and revealing but you were feeling strong and confident as the dress showed off your breasts and ass nicely. The black heels you had gotten were a nice addition to the dress as well as the faux diamond choker and bracelet set you had found.
After one final check in the mirror, you grabbed your lip gloss and mascara, shoving them into your clutch as you headed to the living room.
"Holy shit on a shingle YN, you look fucking amazing!" Mila screamed as Korai looked over to see your best friend gawking at you.
“You’re one to talk babe! That red dress looks fucking spectacular girl,” you said as Mila blushed and waved you off.
He quickly took a shot of whiskey, rolling his eyes and setting the glass down, “maybe I should have worn something more applicable to getting into fights” he said as you and Mila glared at him, a smile crossing his face. The doorbell rang as Mila rushed to answer it.
Kageyama smiled as Mila as he entered wearing a casual navy suit with a white button-down shirt. He looked incredible. His eyes met yours as he slowly took in your form, visibly gulping as his eyes made their way down your body and back up to meet yours. Your eyes met his, sparkling big and bright as you pushed your hair behind your ear, smiling downward.
"YN, you look- you look-" Kageyama stuttered, trying to form proper semtances.
"Spectacular, amazing?" Mila interrupted.
"No, absolutely perfect,” he said smiling at you as he walked closer to you, bending down slightly to kiss your cheek. His hands going to the small of your back as your hand went to grasp his bicep.
"You look incredible Tobio," you say smiling up at him. You knew Mila was talking but you didn't hear anything she was saying, the words not even computing in your brain.
Over the past weeks, Kageyama had been a savior on top of being an amazing friend. He was constantly on the look out for you, helping you with whatever you needed.
When Mila and Korai left for a weekend getaway, he came over and spent the entire weekend hanging out with you. You baked, cooked, talked and watched movies. It felt so freeing to be able to laugh and have fun.
You couldn't say your feelings for Tobio were strictly platonic. You felt safe with him, cared for and protected. You knew his eyes would linger on you, his breath hitching when you would grab his hand or touched him but you were talking it slow, no where near ready to jump into something serious.
Without exchanging words, Tobio already knew this. It had been a late night, after eating brownies and having a good cry with him at your side. You had laid on his thigh, resting your eyes as he stroked your hair, your eyes drifting closed. You heard him say, "I'll wait as long as you need me too YN. You're worth it."
You arrived at the bar with Mila, Korai and Tobio as he interlaced your fingers with his, walling along side of you to where the entire Adlers team was seated.
"YN!! Hey its so good to see you again! You look phenomenal!” Hirugami, the captain of the Adlers said kissing your cheek. You smiled and thanked him, as Tobio pulled out your chair and helped you sit.
You ordered your drinks, talking with the team. The hours flew by as you laughed and smiled the entire night. It had been so long since you had felt this good. You're eyes didn't miss Kageyama's staring at you as you chatted and laughed with his team.
Mila stood up and looked at you, the universal girl signal to follow her to the bathroom. You excused yourselves as you began walking towards the back of the bar.
On your way back to the table, you head a loud group laughing and shouting.. Looking over, you saw Hinata, Sakusa, Bokuto and Atsumu all sitting around at a table, woman laced all over them.
You're eyes widened as you grabbed for Mila's hand. She turned around, eyes catching the scene just as a voice shouted "Hey YN!" from over by the group. You looked over to see Hinata waving at you as all eyes suddenly turned to you, including Atsumu who was sitting in between two women.
Mila grabbed your hand and begin to pull, trying to get you out as quickly as she could. You gave a quick smile and small wave to the team as Mila pulled hard, dodging every which way she could.
You could hear Sakusa berate Hinata for saying something as you made your way through the crowd.
“YN come on,” Mila pulled as you tried to break through the dense crowd of the packed club.
"Hey- Hey! YN stop!" You heard Atsumu shout as Mila pulled you away, trying desperately to reach the Adlers table. You were caught behind a sea of people as Atsumu came within an arms length, reaching out to touch you.
“YN, I said wait a second!" Atsumu finally said, grabbing onto your other wrist and halting your movements.
Mila turned in rage and shouted, “let go of her Atsumu right now!"
Atsumu held on to your wrist and glared at Mila. "I want to talk with Yn- alone please," Atsumu snarled, his words a little slurred from what you could only assume was the booze he had been drinking.
"Over my dead body," Mila shouted as you turned to her with pleading eyes.
"Atsumu, I don't want to talk to you. We are done and I've said my peace now please let me go," you said trying to gently pull away from him.
You knew you were roughly in the middle of the bar, too far away for the Adlers to know what was happening, not that you wanted Tobio or Korai to know. You could handle this.
"YN please, I know I fucked up ok and I'm miserable! I’m begging you YN, please don't throw this all away. Please, we can get married and you won't have to work anymore. You can stay home and I'll take care of everything for you baby. Please just one more chance," Atsumu said pleading with you as you watched his eyes water. You knew he was truly sorry for what he had done, for the mistake he had made. Unfortunately, you weren't going to forgive him.
"Atsumu, I'm sorry but I can't forgive you for this. Maybe one day we can be friends again but right now, I don't want to see you," you said, still trying to pull your hand away.
Mila was watching, enraged as she pulled her phone out. You knew you only had seconds before Tobio, Korai and potentially the entire Adlers team would show up.
Bokuto and Sakusa approached Atsumu from behind. "Dude let her go she doesn't want to talk to you," Sakusa said, putting his hand on Atsumu's shoulder.
Atsumu shrugged it away as you heard Mila say, “Korai, Atsumu is her and he wont let go of YN!” Silence followed as Mila shouted, “yes, in the middle of the bar!” She hung her phone, turn to glare back at Atsumu.
“Korai and Tobio are coming right now Atsumu! Let go of YN and we will just leave,” she exclaimed as Atsumu shook his head back and forth.
Kageyama picked up his glass, swirling the amber liquor around as he glanced around, waiting for you to return from the bathrooms with Mila. He couldn’t help but stare at you all night, the way that dress looked on your perfect body and how your smile life up the room. He was so incredibly happy you were having fun.
“What did you think about the line up coach our our?” hoshiumi asked as Kageyama shook his head, looking over at the winged spiked who was now smirking
“Im sorry what?” He said as Hoshiumi just rolled his eyes and laughed.
“You’ve got it so bad for her don’t you? I mean I don’t blame you one bit, YN is amazing and drop dead gorgeous,” he responded as Kageyama smiled down into his glass, ripping it back as the liquid rolled down his throat.
Suddenly, Kageyama heard the sound of a phone ringing as Hoshiumi quickly picked his phone off the bar table.
“Hey babe- wait slow down what?” He said as Kageyama set his glass down, Hoshiumi’s eyes meeting his.
“Shit Atsumu’s here? Where are you?” hoshiumi said but it was too late. Kageyama was on his feet and moving through the crowds towards the bathrooms. He figured Atsumu had to have stopped you close enough to be out of range of the Adlers table.
“Ok Kageyama and I are on our way!” He heard Kōrai about or at least he thought he did, his vision was tunneled on finding you, not caring if who he pushed to get out of the way.
The moment he saw you, his ears began to ring. You were struggling against Atsumu, trying to get away and all Kageyama could see was rage.
"Come on bro, that’s enough let's go back to our seat," Bokuto said as he turned to give you a look at said "I'm sorry".
"No YN and I are going to-” he said as you felt the air suddenly shift, an angry presence appearing behind you.
"Yn and you are going to what" a voice boomed loudly as you jumped slightly. You felt a radiation of anger and possessiveness hit you as you turned to see Tobio looming over you, Korai and the Alders on his heels.
"He won't let her go!" Mila cried out as Korai looked from her to you, anger filling his face.
“Atsumu that’s enough!” Korai sneered as he stood besides Tobiom
Kageyama's fists clenched harder as he approached you and Atsumu. "Let her fucking go NOW!" He yelled as Atsumu stayed firm.
"You son of a bitch! You've always wanted her! I fucking knew it, the way you stared at her all the time during games! You want to fuck her don't you Tobio? You just want what you can't fucking have!” Atsumu shouted as Kageyama got in Atsumu’s face.
Atsumu let go of your wrist, causing you to tumble back a bit, Mila grabbing you as Kageyama grabbed Atsumu by the collar, getting right into his face. Korai came to check on you and Mila as you watched the seen unfold before your eyes.
Kageyama pulled Atsumu up towards him growling, "let's get one thing perfectly clear Atsumu, YN isn't yours anymore! You fucked that up when you decided to stick your pathetic dick somewhere else. You fucked up the best thing you ever fucking had. An guess what fucker, now it's my turn to show her how a real man treats a women." He shoved Atsumu off, causing him to stumble back into Bokuto and Sakusa who held him back as he tried to right himself.
Kageyama turned, searching the crowd for you as his eyes met your big ones, he pushed his way towards you, grabbing you around the waist and pulling you into a hug. You hugged him tightly before pulling back and looking into his eyes. "Can we go please?” you begged, as he nodded looking back at Korai who gave him a chin lift in return.
You could hear shouting coming from the bar as you left, paying no mind to what was being said and holding onto Tobio as you make your way to a taxi outside.
He opened the door for you as you scoot in, getting in besides you and telling the driver the address to his apartment. You didn't argue, knowing fully well you were safe with him. You could feel his anger radiating as he still held onto your waist, from behind. You're hand came to rest on his hard chest, his eyes looking down at your hand and then up to your eyes. You smiled a little at him as you snuggled your body close to his, Tobio pulling you close to his body.
At his apartment, he opened the door, letting you in as he took his jacket and shoes off, you following suit, removing your heels.
"I'm sorry YN, I let- shit!” he said, one hand resting on his hip and another combing through his hair. You walk up to him, standing close as he looks down at you.
"Is what Atsumu said true?" You ask him. You wanted to know the truth. He looked at you, then looked away and nodded.
"I've liked you for a long time YN, before you even started dating Atsumu,” he said, turning away and pacing the floor. You stood there and watching his movements.
"When I first met you, I thought you were so gorgeous and perfect. Mila and Korai had just started dating and you were always around. Then Atsumu showed up and fuck- you looked so happy. I couldn't ruin that for you, so I just let you go, content on staying friends with you," he said stopping to look at you. Your eyes softened as you walked up to him, placing your palm on his cheek and looking into his eyes.
"Tobio, look at me," you said as his blue eyes met yours, "what Atsumu and I had is over and I'm not going back to him. I thought about it and the idea of a relationship with someone I can't trust will just never work."
Kageyama nodded as you continued to speak, "I thought it would take me a while to find someone I could count on again. To find someone who cared for me as much as I cared for them but then I realized, I already found that." His eyes widened as he realized what you were saying.
"I trust you Tobio and if you trust me-"
His lips crashed onto yours as your arms went around his neck, his arms snaking tighter around your waist as he leaned down, deepening the kiss.
His tongue grazed your lips as you opened them, allowing your tongues to mingle, a moan sneaking past your lips as your bodies molded together. He felt incredible against your body, fitting perfectly in all the right places. His arms squeezing your waist as your caressed his biceps through his shirt, feeling his bulging muscles. He groaned as you slowly separated, biting his lip as you looked into his beautiful eyes.
He smiled, laying his forehead against yours as he spoke, "YN baby, you've made me the happiest man alive." You smile back, pulling him closer as your let’s met his once again.
#haikyuu!!#haikyu!#haikyū!!#kageyama tobio#miya atsumu#tw: cheating#tw: infidelity#hoshiumi kōrai#hinata shoyo#bokuto kotaro#sakusa kiyoomi#f! reader#kageyama x fem! reader#kageyama x reader#kageyama x you#haikyu kageyama#timeskip kageyama#haikyu team japan#hq team japan#hq kageyama#kageyama x y/n#kageyama x f! reader#haikyu fanfiction#kageyama fanfic#haikyu timeskip#timeskip atsumu#kageyama#haikyu angst#tw: angst#hq fluff
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major, minor, and the things in between - nishimura riki [TEASER]
"are we friends, lovers, or whatevers in between?"
pairing ; nishimura riki x fem!reader
genre ; slice of life, enemies to lovers, romance, drama, small angst
warnings ; swearing, drinking, brief mention of blood
estimated wordcount ; 6k-8k
estimated release date ; june 9 - june 30
synopsis ; though never quite well acquainted (or so jake thought), sim y/n had always felt strongly against nishimura riki, until her brother jake had forced them to get along. but, what was meant to have them get closer turns into something a little more.
read teaser below the cut !
"whats so hard about getting along with niki? hes a good kid!" jake complained. since his little sister couldnt get along with one of his best friends, it made even the intimate gatherings.. unpleasantly awkward.
"hes annoying, like you are being right now."
"no, why do you really hate him so much."
"i dont know! he just reminds me of someone i guess? and he always cheated on projects back in middle school. even stole my ideas so he could make it look like im in the wrong."
"thats it? youre holding a grudge over him just being a middle school kid from, what, 5 years ago? cmon, theres gotta be something better then that. not to mention even if there wasnt, that makes you sound hella dumb holding a grudge from the 7th grade when youre graduating next year."
y/n thought to herself. of course there was another reason, but it seemed unnecessary to bring up. and she also just didnt want to share it with jake. or maybe, it wasnt the right reason after all.
______________________________________________________________
"hey sunoo! god it feels like forever since i last saw you!"
it was really only a week.
"i know right! its been too long!"
she smiled, no matter what mood she was in, sunoo always was the sunshine in the rain.
"so, whos here?"
"oh, you know the usual. sunghoon, heeseung, jake, and jay. niki and jungwon are supposed to be setting up something in the courtyard."
"setting up what?"
"a volleyball net. jake was on nikis ass all week and wanted him to 1v1 you while we all played basketball. jungwon just wanted to help however he could, hes been tired all week from his job and the dance program."
no fucking way.
"youre saying i have to be alone, with nishimura riki? hell no!"
"isnt it great?" "this is a disaster!" they both exclaimed in unison.
"how is that bad?" "how is this good?!"
sunoo signaled for y/n to continue first. "i just cant stand riki. jakes been on my ass to talk to riki but i didnt think hed actually talk to him, or that hed even listen either."
"seriously? i always thought you had a thing for him. i mean, you look good together, you both share mainly the same interests, mainly the same circle, not to mention the undeniable love you have when your eyes meet-"
"okay thats enough! you know what, how bout we go outside, im hungry anyway."
sunoo shrugged and went along with y/n down the hall.
#enhypen fanfiction#enhypen#enhypen x reader#enhypen scenarios#kpop imagines#fanfic#niki x reader#enhypen niki#nishimura riki#nishimura niki x reader#sunoo#niki enhypen#niki fanfic#sunghoon#jungwon#jay#enha#park sunghoon#jungwon x reader#kpop#kpop fanfic#heeseung scenarios#fluff#x reader#enha x reader#enhypen fluff#enha smau#heeseung#lee heeseung#jaemified
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Hate To Love You
Being around him was unbearable. You weren’t sure why he hated you as much as he did, but he ensured that you were aware of it any time he saw you. After one night of taking it too far, the full story finally comes out.
Read part two here
Pairing: Sam Kiszka x f!reader
Word Count: just under 6k
Warnings: SMUT 18+, unprotected sex (pls wrap it before you tap it), oral (m!receiving), oral (f!receiving), fingering (f!receiving) dirty talk, hair pulling, slight exhibitionism, sex in a public place (sort of), swearing, insulting, dickhead sam, drinking, bit of a love triangle more so at the end, sorry if i missed any!
smutty enemies to lovers, my weakness. Enjoy! sorry for any grammatical errors, please be kind :) also maybe a part two if anyone is interested?
~
The door to Danny’s apartment flung open, causing a collective whip of heads to turn and look towards it. Sam Kiszka stumbled in, clearly tipsy and looking a bit disheveled. You clenched your jaw at the sight of him, hoping by some power of the gods he wouldn’t show up tonight, although you knew your wish was not likely to come true. He was always around, looming and seeming to want to do whatever he could to ruin your mood.
Music was softly playing through the room, bodies were crowded in every corner, and your drink was quickly reaching the end. As if some higher power was willing you to have a terrible time tonight, Sam’s eyes immediately fell on you. A frown quickly twisted on his lips as he made his way towards you. If you weren’t so scared of looking weak, you would’ve cowered away from him, but you stood your ground. His hand rested on your arm as he leaned in to whisper something to you. “You know, when you’re here, they should really give me a warning before I show up,” he said. You casted your eyes to look at his face. He smelled like booze and cigarettes as if he’d just stumbled out of a dive bar.
“Why is that, Samuel?” You made sure to elongate your words with an annoying drawl, just to piss him off.
“So I can prepare myself for a terrible fucking night.” He let your arm go with a little push, causing you to lose your footing slightly. No more words were shared before he disappeared into the group of people behind you. His cologne lingered in the air for moment, making it harder to forget he had arrived. You brushed the interaction off, knowing that Sam was always going to be the way he was and you couldn’t let it bother you.
As you made your way to the kitchen to pour another drink, you ran into the host of the nights event. “Pipsqueak!” Danny called over to you. You had to laugh at the nickname. He started using it within days of meeting you, just a gentle joke poking fun at your height. Of course he’d thought you were short, most of the time he failed to realize that almost everyone was short compared to him. He wrapped his arms around you, engulfing you in a hug. “What’s your drink of choice?” He asked, motioning to the bottles of liquor displayed on the counter.
“Whatever you’re making me.” You smiled, taking a seat on one of the chairs. Danny was always a ray of sunshine, sober or not. He made everyone’s day better just by existing. He was the first you’d met out of any of the members of Greta Van Fleet. You had been sitting by your lonesome at a bar one night after a final blowout with your shitty ex-boyfriend. You’d found solace in the cheap tequila shots at the nearest dingy bar. He stopped for a drink after a long day at the studio. It was like fate meeting him that night. He was a very attractive guy, but the friendship you’d blossomed with him that day was something you’d been craving since you made your start in the city. Under different circumstances, you may have let him take you home that night.
You were never the best at making friends. Not because you were mean or any other outstanding baggage, but mostly because you were awkward. You’d spent your entire high school career dating the same toxic guy, and moved in with him almost immediately after graduation. There was never much time to make any friends other than him, simply because he wouldn’t allow it. So, the social cues you should have grown into simply passed you by. Danny was like a breath of fresh air, never minding your stuttering or uncertainties with the whole bonding process. He took to you immediately, imploring you to hang out with him and his friends.
That night he listened to your story with no judgement and even offered you somewhere to stay until you’d found your own place. You brushed it off, thanking him, but you already had one lined up. The breakup was long overdue and you were nothing short of a planner, always having an exit strategy. Instead, he came with you as the entourage as you collected your things from your ex’s house. He helped you move in, wanting to get to know you, and ended up wine drunk with you by the end of the night. It was a perfect housewarming activity. Within the next weeks, he’d introduced you to his best friends, who all had the same welcoming personalities. You were finally at peace with a group of people who made you feel like you belonged.
In the beginning, Sam was just as kind and charismatic as Danny was. You had even found yourself falling for him a little bit. But something changed somewhere along the line and you never really knew what it was. One day he’d went over to Danny’s apartment to share a cool bit of music he’d thought up and found you lounging in his kitchen, clearly freshly woken up. You’d stayed over after a night of bar hopping with your new-found best friend. Danny was still asleep as you made breakfast, which wasn’t a rare occurrence. It looked a little domestic to anyone else, but there was no chance of anything more ever happening between the two of you. Simply just two friends who loved spending time together.
Sam was stunned seeing you in that state, stuttering as he greeted you. He didn’t even stay to show Danny what he’d written. He was out of there faster than he’d arrived. The dynamic shifted that day. It started off slow with him being more passive with you, less engaged, but as time went on it had turned into hatred. It was if he couldn’t even stand the thought of being in the same room as you. There was never a reason why, or an explanation of any sort. Things were just different.
“Whatcha thinking about, pip?” Danny asked, mixing a drink for you. Your eyes looked up to meet his, immediately growing a smile on your lips.
“Nothing too interesting,” you replied. He stuck a straw into the solo cup, bringing it up to your lips. You took a sip, swallowing down whatever concoction he’d made for you. You let out a hum of pleasure, nodding your head in appreciation. “That’s so good!” You exclaimed. He laughed at your reaction, setting the cup in front of you. “You know, if the music thing doesn’t work you, you’d make a great bartender.”
“Maybe in twenty years we can open a bar together, like a family restaurant but instead of good food, really strong drinks that will knock you on your ass. Then we can force our kids to take it over when we retire.” He laughed.
“Exactly!” You giggled, grabbing your cup to take another drink. At that moment, someone had bumped into the back of your chair, causing you to spill the liquid all over the front of your dress. “Shit!” You yelled, standing quickly.
“Sorry, didn’t see you there.” The voice sounded from behind you. You gritted your teeth, knowing exactly who it belonged to.
“Fuck you, Sam.” You said, not even having to look at him.
“You wish!” He said, carrying on to whatever he’d been intending to do. Danny gave you a sympathetic look, scrambling for some paper towels. You cleaned yourself off as best you could, anger radiating from you.
“Fucking asshole.” You mumbled, tossing the wet paper into a trash bin.
“Sorry about him,” Danny said, but you stopped him before it went any further.
“Dont,” you stated. “You’re not responsible for him, you don’t have to apologize on his behalf. I’m quite aware of what he’s like by now.” You let out a humourless chuckle.
“I don’t know why he’s like that, though. He loved you when I brought you to meet everyone.” Danny said, clearly not understanding his distaste for you any more than you did. You shrugged.
“Guess it doesn’t really matter why, cause it doesn’t seem like it’s gonna change any time soon.” Danny reached out and placed a large hand on your shoulder, giving it a reassuring squeeze. He pulled you into his side, wrapping his arm around your shoulder. He knew how much it bothered you.
Eventually you two had parted ways, him getting pulled away by another friend. You found yourself mingling with a small group of people you’d seen around a few times at previous gatherings. Your eyes wandered around the room. Danny had quite a spacious apartment, and somehow always managed to escape a noise complaint. Your gaze fell upon the one person you wanted to avoid all night. He was next to a girl who you’d never seen before, leaning into her and saying something that was causing a blush to rise to her cheeks.
A tinge of jealousy ran through you. You had to shake it off, completely shocked at the emotion. There was no world where you thought you’d find yourself envious of any of the girls Sam found himself wrapped around. You chalked it up to the copious amount of liquor in your system, maybe making your loneliness a bit more evident than it was when you were sober. In truth, you were. You’d never even had a date after your breakup the year prior. At first it was willing, not wanting to end up entangled with another asshole again. Recently, it was more of routine than anything else. You’d grown comfortable with your empty apartment, your own space how you liked it with nobody to disturb the peace. That didn’t mean you weren’t human, though. Everyone craves intimacy by times.
You made your way back over to the seat you’d been in earlier. You wished Danny would come back to mix you another one of the drinks he’d made you. You tried your best, but it was always too strong or way too sweet. You had to laugh at your own alcoholic incompetence. You didn’t start drinking until you were legal age to do so. Maybe it was because you were a bit of a goody-two shoes growing up, or perhaps that you really just didn’t like the taste of it. Either way, you were still trying to find the ropes of mixing your own beverages and always seemed to fail miserably.
You hummed along to the music playing through the speaker, minding your own business. You didn’t feel the need to be constantly conversing at events like this; sometimes, you’d rather sit back and take it all in. As you pulled out your phone to check the time, you felt a body present itself next to you. You looked up to see a guy you’d occasionally seen hanging around with the boys, but you couldn’t place his face to a name. You gave him a smile as he sat down beside you. “Hey, y/n, right?” He asked. You nodded, taking in his features. He was relatively attractive, but not someone you’d seek out intentionally.
“Yeah, that’s me.” You answered.
“I’ve heard lots of great things from Danny, I just thought I’d come over and keep you company. You looked a little lonesome over here by yourself.” He offered a smile, a quite cute one at that.
“I wouldn’t mind that at all.” You shifted to face him so you could get a better look at him. He was tall, but not as tall as Danny or Sam. You still had to look up to meet his eyes. “What’s your name?” You asked, suddenly embarrassed that he knew you but you didn’t know him.
“Oh, I’m Scott.” He said, suddenly reaching his hand out for you to shake it. You took it, letting the touch linger for a moment. “Sorry, I guess we’ve never really properly met each other.” He let out a nervous chuckle.
“We have lots of time, now.” You offered.
You lost yourself in conversation with him, finding out he had quite the sense of humour. You’d found yourself getting tipsier by the minute, losing your rigidness the more the time went on. He had said something particularly funny, causing you to lean into him while you laughed, resting a hand on his shoulder. He took the opportunity to snake an arm around you, and you didn’t mind it in the slightest. In the midst of him beginning to ask you about yourself, a hand presented itself on your shoulder, as well as one on his. You looked back to see Sam looming over you. You had to stop yourself from rolling your eyes.
“Hello, Samuel.” You said, dryly. He ignored you and turned to the boy beside you.
“I see you’ve met y/n!” He boomed. Scott nodded, not sensing the tension in the air.
“Yeah, we were just getting to know each other. She’s great!” Scott replied. Sam gave a laugh, nodding as if to agree.
“She sure is, but be careful, man, she’s quite the catch. I’d hate for her to cause anything between you and Danny boy.” He informed him, causing you to shoot him a look of confusion.
“What do you mean, man?” He asked back.
“Well, they’re quite involved, if you get what I’m saying.” Sam chuckled. He recoiled at the words, looking between you and Sam. “Oh, she didn’t tell you?” Scott shook his head, clearing his throat.
“Well, uh, it was nice talking to you, y/n.” He stood, excusing himself. Your stomach dropped. When Scott was out of earshot, you turned on Sam.
“What the fuck was that?” You seethed. Sam scoffed.
“You’re flirting with Danny’s friend, in his own house. That’s pretty low, even for you.” He announced. You stood, too, grabbing onto his arm and dragging him into the hallway for a little more privacy.
“I don’t know what idea you have in your head, but it’s wrong.” You informed him. “Unless you really wanted to go above and beyond to make me miserable tonight.” You let go of him, turning to face him now.
“The idea that you’ve been fucking Danny and flirting with everyone else behind his back? I’m pretty sure that I’ve got that pretty clear.” He shot back, arms crossed over his chest.
“Are you delusional?” You asked, incredulously. “I’m not sure what world you’re living in, but Danny and I are most definitely not fucking.” A look of uncertainty flashed in Sam’s eyes. “And not that it’s any of your business, but we never have.” His posture slipped a bit, relaxing slightly.
“He seems to like you an awful lot, and you’re always over here, or he’s at your place. I have a pretty hard time believing that.” He said, still on the defensive. If he didn’t hate you so much, you could almost believe he was jealous.
“Because we’re friends, Sam!” You shouted, shoving your hands into his chest. He faltered, running into the wall behind him. “If you could get past your own ego and talk to me for ten seconds, you would know that! Maybe you would also know that he’s the only friend I’ve ever really had, so yeah, we’re pretty close!” You we’re fuming.
“Oh, so I’m the bad guy because I don’t like you?” He snapped back now, catching the attention of a few stray people passing by. “If I remember correctly, you were the one who started flirting with me, and then I walk in one day to you making breakfast in Danny’s kitchen with just his shirt on!” You stepped back when he spoke, not expecting him to explode like that. As soon as he’d said the words, the months of passive-aggressiveness seemed to make so much more sense. “I thought that maybe you actually liked me, that it was going somewhere, and then I walk in on you in my best friends kitchen like that?” He was getting closer to you with every word he said. The tension was immeasurable. You were both furious.
“Maybe instead of running away, you could’ve just talked to me like a normal person! Then you went on your little fucking power trip, being an asshole to me whenever you got the chance. Do you get off to it, treating me like shit?” Your noses were practically touching by now.
“It kills me, actually.” He was speaking lowly, now, just for you to hear. “Because even if you’re a fucking slut, somehow I still feel the same way about you as I did back then.” He admitted. “But it’s always Danny this, Danny that, he’s the best guy in the whole world and Sam’s just a douchebag, right? I get to watch him love you and get chastised because you broke my fucking heart.” You could’ve strangled him on the spot.
“You’re an idiot, Sam.” You shook your head. “You are so fucking stupid.” You laughed. He didn’t know how to respond, watching you intensely as you formulated your next sentence. “I was falling for you too, Sam. You broke my heart, too.” You spat. “Everything is not always about you!” You saw something flash in his eyes. Remorse, maybe? You weren’t sure.
“Do you still feel that way?” His tone still patronizing, but laced with curiosity.
“No,” you hissed. “You may be attractive, but you’re still a dick. I liked you when you didn’t want to make my life a living hell.”
“So you think I’m hot?” He smirked.
“Fuck off, Sam.” You tried to push past him and rejoin the party. He grabbed your wrist as you passed him, pulling you back to face him.
“I asked you a question.”
“I’m not going to sit here and stroke your ego all night.” You pulled at your arm, trying to shake him off. He pulled you in closer, letting his free hand rest on your hip. Goosebumps prickled your skin as you looked up at him through your eyelashes.
“I was kind of hoping you’d stroke something else.” As cringey as the pass was, you couldn’t help but feel your breath catch in your throat. His grip on you tightened slightly, but you didn’t want to give him any satisfaction.
“In your dreams, Kiszka.” You breathed, unsure of why he was affecting you so much. You hated him.
“Oh, yeah. I’ve dreamt about it a lot.” He was leaning down, lips resting on your ear now. The feeling of his breath on your skin ignited something in you, suddenly not caring about the months of shit he’d given you.
“Then why don’t you do something about it, already?” His grip on your waist tightened just before he snaked his hand around to your lower back, moving to the side and pushing you in front of him. He guided you into the nearest open door, which happened to be the bathroom, and closed it behind him. You had no time to process what he was doing before you were lifted onto the counter, Sam between your legs and his lips on yours.
You wasted no time getting your hands on him, pulling him closer to you. The bulge in his jeans was growing more noticeable by the second and his hands were clawing at the bottom of your dress. His fingers slipped underneath, teasing you through the lace of your panties. You let a moan slip out into his mouth, suddenly becoming hyper aware of where you were and who could hear you. “Sam,” you said against his lips. He didn’t stop but he switched to kissing down your neck, sucking marks into the soft skin. “S-Sammy,” you whined. He hummed against you, pulling your underwear to the side and running his hands through the pool of wetness. “We can’t do this here!” You whispered, but your body was betraying you. You were grinding yourself against his hand, begging for friction.
“You want me to stop?” He mumbled, mouth now down to your collarbone. His unoccupied hand freed one of your tits from the top of your dress, wasting no time pulling it into his mouth. You let out a hiss of pleasure, trying to find the willpower to push him off of you. He let his fingers slip inside of you, making it even harder for you to tell him to stop. “That’s what I thought, princess.”
“Can you at least lock the door?” You pleaded, finally making him pull his head away, but his fingers remained steady. He looked at you, lust clouding his vision. He gave a smirk before he spoke.
“I’ll make you a deal,” he drawled, pulling your chin up so you would look him in the eyes. “I’m going to get you off, and if you can stay completely silent, I’ll lock the door before I fuck you.”
“Sam-“
“Ah,” he cut you off, letting his thumb trail over your bottom lip. “Or, I can just leave you here like this, dripping and aching for someone to take care of you.” Your eyes widened in shock, not willing to call his bluff. ‘Still an asshole even in the bedroom.’ You made a mental note. But, it was fucking hot. “Up to you,”
“I can be quiet.” You promised. He let his thumb that was tracing your lip push past them. You opened your mouth slightly, allowing easier access, then closing it around it. You suctioned your mouth for a moment, and then let him pull it away. It left your lips with a gentle pop. He let out a long exhale.
“I know you can, baby. Just be good for me for a little while, and I’ll lock the door for you.” You nodded, eager for him to keep touching you. His fingers moving inside you weren’t enough, you needed more. He pulled his hand from you, bent down slightly and hooked his arms under your thighs. He pulled your ass forward, bunching the bottom of your dress in his hands and got down on his knees. Your breath caught in your throat just watching him between your thighs. Not once did you think you’d end up here.
He ran his tongue through your folds, getting a taste of what he’d been doing to you for the last few minutes. His attention landed on your clit, which had been begging for him all night. Just with a swirl of his tongue, you were trying not to scream his name. He could tell just how much he was affecting you, and it was driving him crazy. He suctioned his lips around the bundle of nerves, causing you to reach your hand to his hair. It only drove him to work harder, now adding his fingers back to you. You were biting your lips and trying to steady your breathing, praying a noise wouldn’t slip from your mouth. He was secretly hoping you would, just to get the satisfaction. He curled his fingers, hitting a spot inside you that caused you to pull on the strands of hair you had in your grasp. He pulled away for a moment to catch his breath. “Fuck you taste good, baby.”
Your feeling of desperation was immeasurable. You wanted so badly to say his name, make some noise to show him how good he was making you feel, but the idea of someone hearing you made hold back. Sam was pumping his fingers at an agonizing pace, using his tongue to drive you over the edge. He wanted someone to hear you, to know that you were making noise just for him. Within minutes, you were at your end, the knot in your stomach growing by the second. You bit down on your tongue in a last ditch to silence yourself, but when his tongue ghosted over your clit one last time and you lost yourself to pleasure, his name tumbled from your lips along with a gasp. You gripped his hair hard enough that he had to fight to keep his mouth on you. When you came down from the high, your limbs felt like putty. “I-I’m s-sorry,” you stuttered as he came back up to his feet. Your orgasm was glistening on his chin as he pulled you in for a kiss.
“Don’t apologize to me, I could listen to you say my name like that all day.” He breathed. His hand reached to the doorknob, clicking the lock. “I don’t want anyone interrupting this.” He said, pulling at the buckle of his belt. You hit his hands out of the way, wanting to do it yourself. You slid off the counter, praying you could stay steady on your feet just for a moment. You undid the button of his jeans and pulled his zipper down. With one swift moment you pulled his cock free and dropped to your knees.
A gasp of surprise came from him as you took him in your mouth, swirling your tongue around the tip. He balled your hair in his fist, letting his head fall back with a groan. You relaxed your jaw and took him as far as you could into your mouth, bobbing up and down. “Fuck, y/n.” He muttered, looking down at you. “You look so pretty like this.” Your eyes fluttered up to meet his. The look on his face was enough to send you over the edge, but you kept going, wanting to make him feel the same way he’d made you feel. You bobbed your head down once more and he bucked his hips forward, causing a gag to overtake you. He pulled you off of him by your hair in an instant, feeling slightly bad for his earlier action. “I need you to stop before I cum. I still need to fuck you, remember?” His tone was breathy, trying to sound arrogant but failing slightly.
Just as you sprung back to your feet, he pulled you in for another kiss, filled with neediness. He pulled away, spinning you around and pushing you down so your chest was flush with the counter. He hiked your dress up again, this time far enough up that your ass was exposed. You felt his hands brush over it softly, giving a gentle squeeze while he admired the view. It was the most tame he’d acted with you all night. As if he’d realized it too, you felt a sharp smack, eliciting a gasp from you. He pulled your underwear to the side again, lining himself up with your cunt and showing no mercy thrusting into you. A yelp escaped from your lips, but you silenced yourself quickly. He grabbed your hair in his fist again, pulling your head back and leaning down so his lips were on your ear.
“Keep your fucking mouth shut,” he hissed, teeth grazing over your earlobe. “I’m going to keep going, now. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Sammy.” You rushed out.
“That’s my good girl.” He said, pulling away from you. “I love those noises baby, but I want to keep them all to myself.” Fuck, he was hot. You didn’t have any time to ponder over the words, because he’d resumed his pace, fucking into you desperately. He had one hand on your hip and the other still knotted in your hair. You hoped the music in the main room was covering the noises of his skin slapping on yours, but you wanted him so badly you didn’t care. “Fuck you feel good.” He growled, loosening his grip on your hair so he could move his other hand to your waist.
“Harder, please, Sammy.” You pleaded.
“You asked for it,” he groaned, more to himself than you. He dug his fingers into your hips and pulled you back onto him as he thrusted into you. You couldn’t help but let a choked moan out, but he didn’t care enough to chastise you for it. He kept up his pace, hitting your cervix with every re-entry.
“I’m gonna…” you trailed off, voice wobbly from the pleasure and the pace he was fucking you at.
“You wanna cum, princess?” He asked. All you could do was hum a noise of affirmation. “Okay, baby,” he mumbled. “Cum for me.” He demanded, but you could tell that underneath the authority he was begging for you to do so. With a few more thrusts, you found yourself coming undone, your legs giving out from underneath you.
“Fuck, Sam!” You gasped. In an instant, his hand flung around you to cover your mouth, stifling any noises or profanities you couldn’t hold back. He wasn’t far behind you, twitching inside you and hips faltering. He pulled you onto him one more time, holding you in place. He lost his composure, leaning down on top of you as he reached his own orgasm. He managed to mutter your name while he turned your head to the side to connect your mouths again.
Heavy breathing filled the otherwise silent room. You were both covered in sweat, in no shape to go out and face the crowd of people outside. He pulled out of you, moving his hand under you to avoid any mess spilling out. You laid on the counter for a moment, not feeling strong enough to hold yourself up. He pulled you panties back in place, leaning down and leaving a small kiss on your asscheek, then sucking a mark into it. You let a giggle out as he pulled your dress back down. “That’s for me to see, later.” He assured you. He pulled his pants back up and buckled his belt.
“I have to get cleaned up.” You informed him, finally pushing yourself up off the counter. You made a move to push past him, but he stopped you.
“Fix your hair and your makeup and get back out there.” He said, no look of joking in his features.
“But Sam-“
“You heard me.” He said, placing another kiss to your lips. You felt yourself throb at his order. “You’re gonna go out there and hope you don’t make a mess anywhere, and in twenty minutes, you’re going to meet me outside and we’re going to leave.” He informed you. You couldn’t even protest, his tone turning you on again as soon as the words left his mouth.
“Where are we going?” You asked.
“To my place, and then you’re going to let me hear all of those pretty noises I missed out on.” He said, pulling you in for one more kiss. “And then maybe tomorrow I can take you on a real date, make up for… well, everything.” His voice was softer now, taking your cheek in his hand and running a delicate thumb over it.
“I’d like that.” You assured him. A small smile broke out on his face. Your heart fluttered. It had been a long time since he’d smiled at you.
“Me, too.” It was crazy how different he was acting in comparison to just a few moments before. “You should cover up those hickeys, too. If we haven’t been caught yet, we will be if you walk out with those on display.” He chuckled. You turned to look in the mirror, inspecting the damage. He was right, he had left a few marks that were darkening already. You wiped away the smudged mascara and lipstick, thankful you hadn’t worn too much makeup.
You straightened your hair out and ran a hand through it, brushing out any knots that had formed. Sam admired you, looking at your face in the mirror. He felt like shit that he’d been so mad at you for no real reason, and that he was so hurt he never bothered to ask you for the full story. But, the looming knowledge that he held made him feel even worse. Danny was most certainly in love with you, and he’d just fucked you in his bathroom. “I think this is as good as it’s gonna get.” You sighed.
“Beautiful,” Sam said, pulling you back into him. “I’m sorry for being a dick.” He mumbled, lips pressed into your hair.
“You’ll make up for it.” You smiled into his chest. He nodded, huffing out a sigh. Guilt had begun to eat him alive. “Y/n?”
“Yeah?”
“Does Danny know that you don’t have feelings for him?” You looked up to him, wondering why he’d bring this up right now.
“I mean, I never said it explicitly, but I’ve also never made any advances either. I don’t see why he would think I do. He’s never even brought anything up in regards to it, either.” You said. Sam nodded, taking a sharp intake of breath. “Why?”
“I think that maybe you should talk to him.”
“Why?” You asked again. He stayed silent, fingers dancing over your cheekbones. “Sam, why should I talk to him?” You pressed.
“If we’re gonna do whatever this is, he should be the first to know.” He eased into it. Your stomach dropped, knowing exactly what he was hinting at.
“You knew he had feelings for me?” You whispered. “And you had sex with me in his bathroom?”
“I know,” he ran a hand through his hair. “Probably not the smartest move on my part.”
“You think?”
“Fuck, y/n, I’m not trying to be the bad guy!” He exclaimed. “I’ve been in love with you for just as long! Maybe I could’ve went about it differently, but we don’t have to tell him this part exactly!” Your stomach churned with anxiety. “If you knew that before, would you still have done it?”
“Of course not!” Sam recoiled as if you’d shot him. Your eyes widened. “No, not like that, Sam!” He relaxed a bit. “I mean, yes I still would’ve gotten with you, but not here! I like you, Sammy, and I have from the beginning, but I don’t want to hurt him, ever. He’s my best friend!”
“He’s mine, too!” He snapped back. You took a deep breath.
“Listen, it’s okay. We’ll figure it out.” You said, taking his hand into yours and intertwining your fingers. “I want to be with you, I really do. I’ve always liked you, although you were quite the asshole for a while, I still do. I wouldn’t have had sex with you if I didn’t.” You reiterated your earlier point to soothe his worry. He leaned into you, nodding at your words.
“I want to be with you, too. We’ll make it work, and we’ll do everything we can to make sure he’s alright, too.” He said softly. “But the bathroom incident stays a secret for the rest of our lives.” You let out a giggle.
“Alright, then.” You stood on your tip-toes to place a kiss on his lips. “I’d still like you to take me home with you, tonight, if you’d have me.” You whispered. “We don’t have to do anything, I think I’d just like to be there with you.”
“Of course, princess. I couldn’t think of anything I’d want more.”
.
Part two, perhaps?
#danny gvf#danny wagner#fanfic#greta van fleet#gvf#gvf fic#jake gvf#jake kiszka#josh gvf#josh kiszka#sam kiszka#sam gvf#sam kiszka fic#sam kiszka smut#gvf love triangle#greta van fleet fanfic#greta van fleet imagine#greta van fleet fic#writing#mine#sammy kiszka#builtbybrokenbells#gvf imagine#greta van fleet fluff#jake kiszka fic#gvf series#gvf fandom
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I started building this thread two years ago but I always get so busy around his birthday, I could't finish collating everything. This has long been overdue but better late than never.
Happy birthday, JJ! 🤴🍁
Here are some JJ-centered fics to celebrate. Note the pairing for fics with romance for easy reference, otherwise it's JJ-centered.
after the fall by thankyouforexisting / @dragonagelesbian [T, 2K]
JJ isn't the first person to fall apart because of his anxiety.
“I just - I just heard something, and I thought maybe you needed some help?” Yuuri sounds like he’s a bit embarrassed, but he pulls through. “I’ve, uh, I’ve done my share of crying in bathroom stalls before, so don’t worry, I won’t judge.”
He doesn’t say anything, terrified. His knuckles are white against the porcelain. Yuuri can’t see him like this. Yuuri beat him. Yuuri broke a world record.
“If - I mean, if you want me to leave, that’s alright.” God, he’s still going. “But I won’t say anything, I swear. And Victor always makes me carry tissues and disinfectant cause he’s worried Yuri will get a cold, so I’m really good at clean up.”
Good Catholic Boy by Heavenly_Pearl / @kaleidodreams [M, 20K] JJ/Bella
Jean-Jacques Leroy always considered himself a good Catholic boy, but when he and Isabella give into temptation, his life is changed forever.
Irrepressible by tonberry [M, 8K] JJ/Otabek
For as long as he can remember, JJ has wanted to be liked.
(He's not very good at it.)
The First Cut by BoxWineConfessions [E, 27K] JJ/Yuri, Otabek/Bella
People made divorce seem like this long drawn out and ugly process, but it really wasn’t. He bought the town home for Isabella as a gift, and so it was hers. The flat down town would go to him, as it was closer to the rink. They paid off her medical school loans last fall, so that was done too. He had a few cars, which she unanimously agreed were his to keep, so long as she could keep her Corvette. She changed her vanity plate from Dr. Leroy to Dr. Yang. He saw it parked out front of the courthouse.
this is who i am baby, just follow me by kanoitrace [G, 3K] JJ/Bella
Theme of King JJ is his reminder to himself that he can do anything, but it has no meaning if she isn't by his side.
Timezones and Tricky Translations by ilien / @ili-here [T, 6K]
JJ gets a lot of texts from Yuri Plisetsky. He's aware that the ones that aren’t “Fuck you!” are actually meant for Otabek, but he answers them, anyway.
transatlanticism by copperwings [E, 11K] JJ/Yuri
It takes approximately two and a half minutes of video chat for Yuri to realize that JJ in public is completely different from JJ in a more private situation.
JJ in public is brash, loud and infuriating.
JJ in a private setting is still loud, but he’s also a huge blushing idiot who can’t sit still for more than thirty seconds and who stumbles over his words and chuckles nervously. His eyes are often lowered as if he doesn’t know where to look.
It would be annoying if it wasn’t so fucking cute.
-
...or: how Yuri and JJ cope with an ocean between them.
we can't always be trailblazers by @mrscalculation [G, 2K]
JJ never meant for Yuri to genuinely hate him, but he couldn't quite pinpoint the root of the problem until recently.
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The Wrong Place at the Wrong Time: Pt. 5
Silco x f!reader - SFW
CW: ANGST, fluff, self-doubt, arguments, hurt, comfort, light injury, swears
6k words
Summary: Your new job as negotiator for the Eye of Zaun is proving to be a rather fascinating career change for a former kitchen utensil salesperson. But, not nearly as exciting as the way you’re getting delightfully close to the enticing man himself.
PART 1 | PART 2 | PART 3 | PART 4 | PART 6 | PART 7 | PART 8
A/N: some angst in this one, but do not worry, all is well -elsie x
-
Being a negotiator for the most powerful man in Zaun was equal parts compelling, thrilling, and quite frankly, a surprising amount of fun. Although, part of you wonders whether that was because of the man who delicately guided you each step of the way, ensuring you quickly settled into your new, exciting life, rather than the actual job itself.
You’d moved from your apartment into the little room you’d stayed in twice as a guest, at Silco’s demure suggestion. Letting the poor man ramble on and on about needing to keep you close in case there’s a business emergency, and ensuring you weren’t threatened or kidnapped again, until you’d eventually pretended to think about it before whole-heartedly agreeing.
I mean, you were going to agree anyway, but it was entertaining to hear him make excuses under the slightly false pretence of ‘innocent concern for his employee’.
Instead of selling kitchen utensils to barbaric customers, your days now consisted of accompanying the Eye of Zaun to meetings and planning strategies for said deals in his office, which was turning out to be a rather enjoyable way to spend your time.
In fact, you’d discovered one of your new favourite pastimes through the job: bullying Finn in every meeting you had with the golden-jawed fool (Sil’s words, not yours). You delighted in running rings around him until his scowl was so deep, you were sure it would give him a blinding headache. And to make it even more delightful, Silco would often join in with your teasing comments, sinfully smirking alongside you until the young chem-baron was positively infuriated.
Gods, who knew crime could be this fun? You’d have turned to the dark side years ago if you knew it was this that was waiting for you.
But, as in any new job, it didn’t come without a few bumps in the road, which was the situation you found yourself in one Wednesday, as you and Silco entered his office having just returned from a rather difficult meeting with a new gang leader.
Silco hangs his coat on the stand and you follow him over to his desk, sighing deeply as he flops down into the high-backed chair. Remaining on the opposite side of the desk, you rest your weight onto your hands against the edge of the wood, locking your arms straight to keep you upright.
“Well, I think that went well…eventually,” you grind out, looking quite sheepish.
“Eventually,” Silco agrees, tilting his head to the side.
“Listen, I’m still getting used to this whole crime thing, I’m bound to slip into old habits every so often!” you protest.
“Yes, but you began the meeting by saying ‘You look like a man who could use a good lemon squeezer’...”
Fuck.
You really had said that to an actual crime lord. Rather foolishly on your part, you were hoping that it had all been a fever dream. But Silco repeating the very phrase you’d opened with in a meeting with a terrifying gang leader only confirmed your worst fears.
You loudly groan, your face scrunching up to show your obvious despair, before folding your arms on the desk and leaning your body forward to place your forehead on them.
“I just didn’t think! Gods, no wonder he threatened me, it sounds really bad out of context!” you groan into the desk.
Your next groan is almost comical by how loud and over exaggerated it is, the low sound being accompanied by the action of you sinking to the floor and laying flat on your back in front of Silco’s desk. And as if it would fix all your problems and erase your blazing embarrassment, you also cover your face with both hands.
Dear Janna, please evaporate me.
Thank you in advance for your cooperation.
Lots of love… me.
Silco must have stood up because in the midst of your stupid prayer, you hear the tell-tale sound of his chair creaking.
He says your name in a questioning and slightly concerned tone.
“What are you doing?”
“Oh, you know, just hoping the ground will swallow me up,” you mumble into the palms of your hands.
He huffs a laugh and sits back down. It’s very quiet for a few seconds, long enough to make you wonder what on earth he’s doing while you’ve got your eyes closed, before you hear him start to scribble away on one of the many reports atop his desk.
The sound is comforting only for a handful of moments, before that doubting little voice in your head gets louder and louder until you can’t ignore it. Oh, pissing hell.
And you know what they say: A problem shared is a problem halved, so you decide to birth your worry out into the dark office (well, dark only because your eyes are still covered by your clammy hands).
“Silco?” you say quietly.
“Yes, dear?”
Your voice goes a bit wobbly.
“I’m really sorry for messing up.”
Instead of him telling you to ‘Shut up’ like you expected, you’re graced with the sound of the chair creaking again and some footsteps coming around the desk until they’re next to you. Seconds later, a pair of strong hands are gently pulling your hands away from your eyes, revealing a gorgeous kingpin kneeling down beside you.
Oh look, it’s Silco!
Fancy seeing him here!
His expression is tinted with a smidge of worry, as he speaks to you in a low voice, that you would have found very hot if you weren’t already feeling so uneasy.
“You have nothing to be sorry for; you were brilliant. He took the deal, didn’t he?”
“Yeah, I guess,” you admit reluctantly, “I’m just worried I’m not good enough for you… for this job,” you quickly correct, your eyes darting up to meet his.
He frowns and his eyes tick over your face.
“You are more than good enough,” he says seriously.
Silco’s mouth opens again like he wants to say more, but he shuts it quickly and exhales sharply. You wait a few moments before speaking again, just in case he wants to voice whatever’s clearly going on in his head. But he doesn’t.
“Are you sure?”
“I am.”
“Thank you,” you tell him quietly after a few breathless moments and a quick, reassuring squeeze of your hands from him.
You chance another quick look at him and note that he still looks perplexed. One day you think you might be brave enough to just ask him outright what was troubling him, like you did on the balcony, but today wasn’t that day.
Breaking eye contact with him, you roll your head back to look up at the ceiling, where something wonderful catches your eye.
“Would you like to get up now?” Silco asks.
“No, thank you, I’m admiring Jinx’s artwork. At least, I assume it’s Jinx’s and not yours,” you say with a wide smile.
Silco follows your line of sight and peers up at the rafters above you, finally spotting that they are littered with colourful drawings in neon markers. He sighs again and you wonder how he has any breath left, considering how many times he’s emptied his lungs like that in only one day.
“Your assumption is correct,” Silco says tiredly.
You giggle at this poor, exhausted dad. Bless him. He’s honestly too adorable for his own good.
Selfishly, you want him to lie down next to you, but to your disappointment he quickly squeezes your hands again and stands to move back round the desk to his chair. Given the horrific way his knees crack as he does, you assume he didn’t join you on the floor because he was so old that if he did, he’d probably never get up again.
Gods, that would make future business meetings extremely awkward if the Eye of Zaun was just sprawled out flat on the rug for all of them. It’d probably make him lose some of his well-earned intimidation factor, you think.
Orrrrrr, maybe it’d confuse them so much they’d be terrified into doing whatever he said…
You excitedly make a mental note to add it to the notebook of, quite frankly, fantastic business ideas you’re keeping to one day present to Silco.
But in all seriousness, after Silco’s kind reassurances, you now feel a lot better about the (partly) disastrous meeting. And truthfully, you still can’t quite believe just how kind Silco is to you. Now that you have a glimpse into how he speaks to other people, especially his other employees, you can’t help but notice how much softer and more understanding he is with you.
Really, it’s quite baffling.
The only other person you’d witnessed Silco being soft with is Jinx, and you knew without a shadow of a doubt that he adored her, so you’d be forgiven if your mind didn’t start to subsequently wonder…
Does the Eye of Zaun have feelings for you?
-
Silco’s loud, exasperated sigh fills the air in his office.
“Left hand green,” he exhales, like he’s just run a marathon, when he’s actually just languidly sitting on the couch one quiet evening.
Jinx moves to put her left hand on one of the green spots on the mat spread out on the floor, which proves to be a fairly tricky manoeuvre, since one foot of hers was on a red spot and the other on a blue one. She wobbles, but by some divine miracle, manages to stay upright, her tongue darted out in concentration.
At Jinx’s successful move, Silco flicks the spinner once more, the pleasing little sound making you smile.
To be quite honest, you’re surprised he’s not cheating and just choosing whichever combination would end the game the quickest. You’re almost certain he’s being this grumpy because neither you nor Jinx had wanted to play his game of choice for the evening…
Chess.
I mean, has he even met a twelve-year-old before??
It had been no surprise that Jinx had chosen the game you’d found at the market instead, the chess board left untouched on the little side table.
“Right foot red,” Silco sighs again like a sulking child.
You look down. Both of your feet are currently on green spots. Shit. There’s no way you can stretch that far across the mat.
“Do you have to throw a mardy every time you spin the thingy?” you tease, trying to distract him while you put your foot on the closest yellow instead.
If he wasn’t going to take the opportunity to cheat at the game, you sure as hell were.
He scoffs.
“I am not throwing-”
Jinx suddenly loses balance and unceremoniously falls over. She scowls and jumps up quickly.
“Yeah you are! I want to spin it now,” she demands, reaching out for the spinner in Silco’s hands.
Silco happily holds it out, probably relieved to finally be rid of his job as The Spinner.
“Which means you have to play,” she finishes confidently, a grin spreading across her little face.
He looks utterly horrified and it takes all your strength to hold in the snicker that threatens to escape your lips. Silco cautiously brings the spinner back towards his chest.
“I can’t, pumpkin, I’ve never played before,” he tells her, attempting to be soft, but the horror in his voice easily shines through.
Oh hell no. If you had to play, then so did he. Furthermore, his excuse is absolutely terrible and you decide to tell him as such.
“What’s that got to do with the price of eggs?” you scoff.
“What?” Silco asks, his head snapping to you, completely baffled.
“Exactly,” you reply knowingly.
Jinx cackles with laughter at his scrunched up expression of confusion and uses the opportunity to snatch the spinner from his lithe hands.
Now spinner-less, he looks shocked at having been played by the two of you, and promptly scrunches his nose even further. The kingpin starts to grumble as he reaches down to remove his shoes, finally standing to take his place at the edge of the mat opposite you.
He looks so miffed, it is really quite hilarious. Well, that’s what you get for taking in a stray kitchen utensil salesperson.
You very nearly say ‘Come on, my little coconut’ when he glares at you, but you refrain, because in the past few weeks Jinx has taken to repeating just about everything you say. So, to save him some future despair, you go for something that won’t make him go completely crazy when she inevitably calls it him for the next month solid.
…Okay, maybe you’re aiming to drive him just a little bit crazy.
“Come on, don’t be so SIL-y,” you tease, grinning as you stand across the mat from him.
“Yeah, dad, don’t be so SIL-y!” Jinx giggles.
Heh heh heh.
Like the absolute menace you knew you were, you return his thoroughly unimpressed glare with a smug smirk. Oh, you could do so much delicious damage to this beautiful little crime boy with Jinx on your side.
The game begins with Jinx flicking the spinner and announcing each move with the confident gusto only a twelve-year-old could muster up for such a daft little game.
“I should warn you, I’m the world champion at this game’, you taunt cheekily at him.
“There’s no such thing,” he replies loftily.
“How do you know?”
“I just know.”
“I jUsT kNoW,” you mock in a childish voice, jutting your elbows out to the side as you place the topside of your wrists against your hips.
Silco glares at you again but you can tell he’s biting his cheek as Jinx cackles with laughter from the sofa. Truthfully, you’re having more fun than you’ve had in years. If it was up to you, you’d stay in this moment forever, with the man who made your heart skip a beat, despite seeing him every single day, and the young girl who was starting to feel like your own.
The game now in full swing, you struggle not to howl with laughter at the sight of the King of Zaun spread out on all fours on top of the colourful mat, trying to keep his balance. He looks like a fucking spider.
At one point, Jinx announces a colour for Silco to put his hand on and your eyes widen in surprise when the nearest spot left is between your legs. Fuck.
Silco looks at the spot and you see the realisation dawn on his face. He glances up to look at you and you can tell he’s feeling as apprehensive as you are. You begin to feel that same delicious tension you’d felt in the kitchen when your second kiss had been interrupted.
Oh no, this is very bad, you should stop this before it gets out of hand.
…Nah.
Coquettishly, you raise an eyebrow as if to say ‘Go on then’ and his pupils widen in response to your silent challenge. You think he’s going to refuse and abandon the game, but to your absolute delight, he slowly reaches his hand through your legs and places his hand firmly on the spot.
And to make it even worse, once he realises the power he now has, despite being situated below you, the tip of Silco’s tongue pokes through the gorgeous little gap in his teeth as he gives you his own wickedly coy smirk.
The heat that rushes through your body is entirely too overwhelming.
Good gods.
Luckily, Jinx is completely unaware of the additional little game going on between you and her father, as she sits atop the back of the sofa, happily flicking the spinner.
“Left foot yellow,” she calls.
The move puts you even closer to him and you daren’t look down at him because you’re in danger of saying something you’re most definitely going to regret. And unfortunately, it’s that particular distraction that causes you to take a step that’s far too big and you promptly slip on the shiny plastic mat.
You squeal as you tumble forward, grabbing onto his shoulders for support and consequently taking him down with you, until he’s laying on his back and you’re straddling him, your hands pressed into his shoulders while he grabs onto your waist to steady you.
Silco’s face is frozen in shock as he glances down at you sitting on top of him before snapping his eyes up to meet yours. And although his expression retains its look of surprise, you’re close enough not to miss the flicker of lust that dances in his eyes.
Oh gods, oh gods, oh gods. What is happening??
But the little bubble you’re both in bursts at the loud sound of Jinx’s ecstatic laughter and the moment Silco remembers she’s in the room, the tops of his cheeks begin to flush in a deep red.
“It’s time for bed, Jinx,” he declares suddenly, avoiding eye contact with you as he removes his hands from your sides.
You scramble to get off him, and he instantly stands up and makes his way over to his desk, his back to you both until he sits down in his chair.
“Aww,” Jinx whines.
“I’ll take her!” you say hastily, shoving the game mat and spinner back into the box haphazardly, your own face completely flushed.
“But I’m not tired!” Jinx protests.
“I’ll read you a bedtime story,” you tell her placatingly.
“With the voices?”
“Uh, absolutely,” you say, ushering her out of the room.
The quicker you were out of his office, the better.
“I’ll be there to say goodnight soon, pumpkin,” Silco calls as you begin to exit the office.
With Jinx happily on her way to her bedroom, you chance a single peek back at Silco, who is holding his clipboard up in front of his face, clearly pretending to read the report before him as you gently close the door.
Welp, that just made your confusing feelings for him a million times more complicated.
…Oops.
-
Barely a week after that rather awkward end to your evening, you arrive back at The Last Drop one afternoon from a, let’s just say, less-than-desirable solo meeting with a client. And by less-than-desirable, you of course meant that the bastard had decided to try to stab you before you’d even had the chance to speak to him.
I mean, at least your negotiation skills couldn’t be blamed for the sudden violence, you think, as it appeared he’d come into the meeting with the sole intention of killing you.
But on the bright side, you’d managed to get in at least one quip of ‘Well, that was awfully rude of you’ as your bodyguard had tackled the man to the ground, leaving you with a small gash on your arm instead of the hole in your heart like he’d been aiming for.
You’d been promptly whisked away back to The Drop, where you were currently assessing the damage to your arm in your bedroom. There was no chance in hell you were going to let Sil see what had happened, because you knew he’d go absolutely mental, so you’d forgone stopping by his office like you usually did after a solo meeting, until you’d had a chance to clean yourself up.
There were plenty of medical supplies in the bar’s staffroom, so that was your first port of call on the whistle-stop tour you’d aptly named: ‘Fix My Arm Before Silco Finds Out’.
You peer around your bedroom door into the hallway like a spy on a secret mission and are relieved to find it empty. Phew.
Now confident you wouldn’t get caught, you step out of the room and begin to make your way down to the bar, only to nearly bump head-first into the one person you were actively trying to avoid.
Silco McHotFace. (Okay, you’d made that last bit up because no matter how many people you asked, nobody knew his last name… perhaps he just didn’t have one).
He looks very surprised to see you in the corridor, which is really quite ridiculous because you live here.
“When did you get back?” he asks.
“I’m not back,” you blurt out, slowly backing away from him like a deer caught in headlights.
Silco says your name flatly, clearly unamused by your ridiculous statement.
His eyes flicker down to where you were holding your arm tightly, trying to make sure the blood flow had stopped completely. He squints at you in the darkness of the hallway, concern dancing in his mismatched eyes.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong,” you lie, trying to run away from him as you stumble backwards.
“No you don’t,” he says as he grabs you by your elbow and you can’t help but wince sharply when pain shoots through your arm.
Finally, Silco spots the blood on your shirt sleeve.
And his immediate reaction can only be described as pure panic.
He takes a sharp intake of breath as his eyes widen and dart across your body in a frenzied examination. The grip on your elbow tightens until you audibly yelp and he loosens it, rubbing slow circles into your skin as if to soothe the accidental pain he’d caused.
Without another word, he leads you to his office, his hold on you never once leaving your now trembling body.
Once behind closed doors, he guides you to the couch and lets you sit down, leaving you momentarily to fetch some disinfectant and a roll of bandage from the drawer of his desk. Back at your side, Silco takes a seat beside you before abruptly ripping your already torn shirt sleeve off your arm. You almost jump at the suddenness of it.
He’s uncharacteristically quiet as he does so and you don’t like it one bit.
“Hey, that’s my favourite shirt!” you lie, hoping to bring him out of his odd little stupor with your over-the-top reaction.
“I’ll buy you a new one; what happened?”
You sigh. He really wasn’t in the mood.
“I went to that meeting with Elred and he may or may not have tried to… uh…”
He looks at you expectantly as he gently cleans the cut on your arm.
“...stab me,” you finish quietly, hoping he won’t hear it if you don’t look him in the eye.
The look on Silco’s face darkens considerably at your confession and the red iris of his corrupted eye swirls with the intensity of a whirlpool.
Honestly, you were expecting him to go completely ballistic, but this silent, simmering reaction was far, far worse. Even worse than the time he’d threatened the rude customer at your market stall.
“It wasn’t my fault, I promise! I didn’t even say anything to him, he just attacked me for no reason,” you scrabble to fill the heavy silence.
But Silco doesn’t say anything, instead focusing on cleaning your arm up and carefully wrapping it in a bandage, making sure to keep it tight enough to hold, but not so tight that it hurts.
You decide to try a different approach, one that uses up all your bravery because it requires a certain level of vulnerability that you were still getting used to.
“What are you thinking about?” you ask softly, trying to catch his gaze.
“Are you hurt anywhere else?” Silco replies stoically when he finally meets your eyes.
Fuck, what is he holding back? Why won’t he just say what he’s thinking??
“No, no, just the arm,” you tell him before a thought pops into your head, “Um, actually, do you have any of those painkillers you gave me when I passed out in the warehouse? They really helped with the pain last time.”
He stands up from the sofa, his arm brushing gently along your thigh as he does, before he makes his way over to the desk again and begins to dig through the drawers. After a few moments, he finds what he was looking for and approaches you again, holding out a tiny vial of shimmer for you to take.
What?
“No, the stuff you gave me when I passed out,” you clarify, hoping he’ll realise his mistake.
He gives you a confused look and holds the vial out again, as if it would explain everything.
It gradually dawns on you as you stare at the glowing purple liquid in his hands.
Oh, fuck.
It all makes sense now. How quickly you’d bounced back from such a nasty head trauma. How easily the marks from your kidnapping had disappeared. How little pain you’d experienced when it probably should have killed you.
“You gave me shimmer?” you say slowly, your face growing more and more horrified by the second.
“It’s not the recreational kind, it’s a medicinal strain. I use it for my eye,” Silco tries to reassure you.
“But it’s still shimmer.”
“Yes?”
He’s looking at you now, his face more unreadable than ever before. You can���t help the way your stomach begins to churn as your breathing gets heavier with dread.
“Silco.”
There’s a long few moments where you just stare at each other, neither one of you knowing what to say about this horrible little impasse you’d found yourself in.
You had plenty of reasons for not wanting to take shimmer. You saw the way it ruined the lives of those who got addicted to it. How quickly their bodies deteriorated until they were nothing more than husks of their original selves. Part of you can’t quite believe that Silco would knowingly take something that destroys your body like that.
But maybe what was really making you feel so shaken up was the fact that he’d given it to you without your permission.
You’re just about to ask why he’d decided to give you shimmer when a knock on the office door beats you to it and Sevika comes in without waiting for Silco’s usual bid of entry. You watch blankly as the tall woman roughly shoves a snivelling man into the room as if he weighs nothing at all.
And despite the cuts and bruises already blooming across his face, you instantly recognise him as one of the bar staff who’d been caught stealing just before you’d left for your meeting earlier.
You look across at Silco who has already cultivated his face and his stance into a perfect mask of detachment. And even without seeing the dangerous look in his eye, you know for certain that Silco is going to kill him because no-one crosses the Eye of Zaun and no-one steals from him without facing the grim consequences.
Not being your expertise, you never stick around for these sorts of ‘meetings’, so you automatically stand up from the couch and turn to face Silco, frustrated that your chance to talk this all out with him has been ripped away from you.
“Thanks for patching me up,” you mumble, expecting him to tell you to come back later to finish your discussion.
But he doesn’t.
Instead, he pockets the vial of shimmer and spares you a single fleeting glance before moving towards the man with slow, methodical steps, like a predator closing in on its doomed prey. You take it as your cue to leave and walk as quickly as you can out of the office, feeling absolutely sick to your stomach.
-
You don’t see him again that day, although it’s not through a lack of trying. Stopping by the office again later in the evening, you find both Silco’s office and his bedroom are empty, and you can’t even find Sevika at her usual spot in the bar, so you go to bed feeling like you’re in a daze.
You want to fix this misunderstanding before it completely eats away at you.
The next morning, you’re up early for another solo meeting but that little voice in your head convinces you that there’s no time to check if Silco is already awake. Truthfully, the longer you leave it, the harder it gets to just face it head on. But even then, you worry that by talking about it, you’ll accidentally make it worse. So you hurry on out before anyone can see that you’ve gone.
And despite your meeting going very well, persuading the woman to give way more than what you were offering in exchange, you still felt like you were beginning to drown in your own thoughts. In fact, you’re so preoccupied, you barely notice that you have a lot more bodyguards than you normally would have, and the woman you’re meeting with is searched thoroughly before she comes anywhere near you.
By the time you get back home, your sadness feels like it’s consuming your whole body, so you just quietly give your report to Sevika on your way through the bar and go straight to your bedroom, after telling her you’re feeling unwell. You miss the way she frowns at your uncharacteristic melancholy as you walk away.
Spending the rest of the day staring at the ceiling as you lay unmoving on your bed, you repeatedly think through everything you said to Silco the night before and you desperately try to decipher his reactions. But you can’t figure out what went wrong.
You feel like you’re starting to go mad.
Hours later, in the middle of the night (or perhaps it was very early in the morning, you’d lost track), you’re sitting on the kitchen floor in your pyjamas, slowly cleaning the kitchen utensils one by one, as a stream of tears cascade down your cheeks.
You’d laid out a soft blanket to sit on as you gently cleaned and placed each utensil back into the cutlery tray, your back leaning against the lower cabinets.
Suddenly, your mindless scrubbing is interrupted by Silco walking into the kitchen, mug in his hand as he heads over to the coffee machine like he’s on auto-pilot. But at the sight of you camped out on the floor, he freezes.
At first, his expression is one of surprise, that is, until he realises that you’re crying and it instantly melts into one of worry, and dare you say… aching?
Silco places the decorated monkey mug on the table and moves to sit down next to you on the blanket, his knees bent as he leans back against the cabinets with you. Slowly, slowly, he reaches towards you, gently wiping the tears from your cheeks with his thumb.
Your heart feels like it’s being squeezed at his tender gesture.
Unable to make eye contact just yet, you continue to look down at the spork in your lap, sniffling a little.
“Did you know that sporks were invented after there was a national shortage of forks and people whittled their spoons just so they could eat?” you eventually say.
“Really?” he asks incredulously, his eyebrow raising. He definitely doesn’t believe you, so there’s no point doubling down on the lie.
“No, I made it up,” you admit, a hint of coyness in your voice.
Silco rolls his eyes and sighs softly. There’s a shadow of your usual dynamic lining the conversation, but it’s much more delicate than normal. More unsteady, like neither of you want to rock the boat.
“Why are you still awake? It’s the middle of the night,” he asks gently.
“Why are you still working?” you counter just as softly, finally meeting his gaze.
He tilts his head in defeat and you sit in silence for a few moments. It’s not uncomfortable, far from it. Just… quiet. Space to think and feel each other’s energy.
“I apologise if I-” “I’m sorry for overre-” you both suddenly say at the same time.
Silco huffs a tiny little breath through his nose before nodding at you once, a gesture to let you speak first.
“I’m sorry for overreacting. I know you couldn’t really ask me if I was okay with being given shimmer when I was unconscious,” you explain, looking up at him anxiously with your head leaning back against the cabinets, almost pleading with him to understand where you were coming from.
“I did it to save your life; I had no other choice,” he says sincerely.
“I understand that and I’m grateful… because it meant I got to know you.”
With that final word, you place your hand on his bent knee and he automatically tracks the motion. Silco gazes at your hand for a long few moments before looking up at your face.
His expression is utterly heartbreaking. A deplorable mix of tenderness and confusion.
You can tell he’s thinking hard about something. But this time, you don’t push.
He must have come to a decision because he pulls himself to stand up, looking down at you as he holds his hand out towards you.
“I want to show you something.”
“What is it?” you ask, taking his hand and letting him pull you to your feet.
“I’ll explain when we get there.”
“But I’m wearing my jim jams,” you say bashfully, looking down at your current attire.
“That’s okay, darling, you can wear my coat,” Silco replies, gently smoothing the rogue strands of hair from your face as he looks down at you softly.
-
Silco takes you to one of the empty piers overlooking the River Pilt, letting you wear his large (and surprisingly warm) coat over your pyjamas the whole walk, and he even lets you keep it on when you both sit at the end of the pier, your legs dangling high above the water.
Your hand automatically snakes its way into his, your fingers linking together perfectly like they were designed to be alongside one another.
And in the quiet, dead of night, Silco explains everything.
He tells you about his past. What happened to him in this very river. How his own brother betrayed him. How his eye became polluted. Why he has to take shimmer to counteract its effects.
Why he continues to fight.
He reveals it all and you simply listen, absorbing his words as easily as you absorb the heat from the side of his body pressed against yours.
You realise part-way through that this is the ultimate show of trust from the man who is infamously reserved in his personal affairs. Part of you wonders whether that’s just for power and control or whether it’s really because he’s never trusted anyone with it before.
Before you.
He’s revealing a part of himself to you that must be awfully painful to revisit. You feel honoured that he has so much faith in you.
Once he’s finished telling you his story, Silco gently asks what you’re worried about. And not just regarding the shimmer, but your job as his negotiator, and even about your general worries in life.
And apart from those thoughts concerning your entangled feelings about him, you tell it all.
Silco makes you feel infinitely better with the way he makes you feel listened to. If he can’t offer a solution, he simply squeezes your hand, letting you know he’s there.
There for you.
When you’re finished, you lean your head against his shoulder, with the knowledge that things are okay now. You almost feel a little bit silly for worrying so much about talking it through with him.
And though you know for sure that you never want to have a disagreement with him again, you’re also aware that you’re both probably stronger for it now. You know each other better. And you also know that there’s a new level of trust between you that simply wasn’t this strong before.
It’s the closest you’ve felt to someone in a long time.
Your body leaning against his and your hands still interlinked, Silco absentmindedly strokes his thumb across your own, the action soothing not only your skin, but your previously troubled spirit.
You decide right there and then to gift him with all the love you hold for him in your overflowing heart.
“Silco?” you say quietly into the still air of the night.
“Yes, my lovely?”
“You deserve to be happy.”
Silco is quiet for a long while and you think he’s not going to say anything else. With your head on his shoulder, you can’t see his expression, but you do feel his shoulder rise and fall when he takes a slow, deep inhale and exhale of cool air.
Finally, celestially, he speaks again.
“As do you, my dear, as do you.”
-
PART 6
A/N: i hope this wasn’t too sad!! There’s a lot more fun scenes to come, i promise! also i’m sorry for being such a daft little goblin with this fic, it’s just that nobody has stopped me yet and i have zero self-control :)))
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Tag list: @htmlbitxh @pinkrose1422 @jennithejester @wondermia69 @redskull199987 @paradoxdraggon
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The Art of Scraping Through: Chapter One—In Love with Every Stranger
Summary: The pain of the past and the uneasiness with the future weigh on you, but in the end, you realize what’s best for yourself and the new stranger in your life, and of course, Tom is with you through it all.
Word Count: 6k
Warnings: swearing, slight angst, mentions of character death, paparazzi, typos
Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist
∘₊✧──────✧₊∘
The Stonington Municipal Airport smelled like mildew and something earthy. Everything looked like it had a hazy yellow filter over it and with such little foot traffic, there was practically no one there other than you and Emily. That was always ideal, considering trips to the airport could be extended by hours due to fans stopping you for pictures and autographs.
This was the airport Chet was supposed to be driving your parents to. It was only fifteen minutes from your house.
The airport security was fairly easy to get by, and with how few people there were, it took only ten minutes to get off the plane, get through the gates, and go out the door to meet your Uber. Emily was on her phone the second she had reception again, taking calls and texting. You called Tom once you made it into the Uber and were en route to the CPS office.
Stonington was an island town off the mainland of Maine, right off of Brooksville, so you had to go to Little Deer Isle, then to Brooksville, making the drive just to the office and back an hour or two, depending on traffic. That was particularly bad during tourist season.
“Hello, love?” Tom answered after the second ring.
“Hey, Tom,” you smiled, “we landed about fifteen minutes ago, so we’re on our way to the office in Brooksville now.”
“Okay, darling,” Tom said, “was the flight okay?”
“Mhm, yeah,” you nodded, “it was pretty quick.”
“Where are you staying tonight?”
“We'll probably just get a Holiday Inn or something.”
“Okay, and how was the foot traffic? You know how airports can be…”
“Not bad at all actually,” you said, “the flight from JFK actually was more hectic. I think I got stopped like… at least ten times—”
“Twenty times!” Emily groaned from beside you.
You chuckled, “Sorry, that was Em, she said it was more like twenty.”
“That’s still on the low end,” Tom smiled, “well, I’ll let you go now. I’m about to head back to the house to check on the basement.”
“Can you make sure Harry got those folders for me?”
“Sure,” Tom agreed, “and I’ll stop at the store on the way home and the groceries for this week.”
“Okay, thank you, Tom. I love you.”
“I love you too,” Tom said, “bye.”
“God,” Emily looked over at you from where she was slumped against the window, “you two are so fucking domestic.”
You furrowed your brows and laughed, “Thanks?” you questioned.
“I mean…in a cute way,” she clarified, “I’m just surprised you’re settling down so quick. I mean, we’re only twenty-five.”
“I’m not “settling down”.” you argued, “I mean, it’s not like we’re getting married or having kids or some shit like that. And I’m still self-sufficient. I make my own paychecks and pay my own bills—”
“I’m not saying it’s a bad thing,” Emily defended, “I’m just shocked is all.”
“What’s there to be shocked about? I love Tom and he loves me. I mean, we’re committed, but we’re still our own people. I wouldn’t consider it settling down. I feel like to do that they’d have to be some submission to it.”
Emily eyed you and tilted her head, “What if Tom wanted to settle down? Take a break from work and pop out a few babies?”
Emily loved you and Tom together. If you weren’t her best friend, then it was Tom, and after you’re little scuffle at the studio, Tom was left with an uneasy feeling in his stomach regarding his future with you. So, he texted Emily about it.
“I think it’s way too soon to think about that,” you chuckled awkwardly, “I mean, I don’t even think I have any maternal instincts.”
“You know Tom wants kids,” Emily said, slightly pointedly.
“Yeah, I know,” you sighed.
Tom had made comments about wanting to be a dad for as long as you’ve known him. He made them in interviews, he joked about it with his friends, and he even may have slipped it a few times in bed, cueing you in on that slight breeding kink of his.
“So?”
You shrugged, “So what? I love Tom and if he really loved me then he’d be willing to compromise.”
“Well, are you?”
“Y-Yeah,” you said, “like in ten years when I feel ready—”
“Ten years is a long time, (Y/N).”
“If Tom loved me, he’d wait twice as long.”
∘₊✧──────✧₊∘
“Harry!” Tom yelled as he opened the door, the light splatters of rain coming through the opening and dripping onto the hardwood floor, “Come help with these groceries.”
Harry came barreling into the foyer with your dog, Chowder, on his heels.
“Oi,” Harry exclaimed looking at all of the bags in Tom’s hands, some going all the way up to his biceps, “how much did you get?”
“Just some stuff for the week, and then some stuff to make a nice dinner for (Y/N). we didn’t get to go out tonight so I figured I could just make something here and then pop the question then instead,” Tom explained as he handed some of the bags off to Harry. He glanced down at Chowder, “What’s he still doing here?”
“We were cuddling,” Harry defended, bending down to scratch the Rotty behind his each, much to his enjoyment, “he’s so warm.”
“Uh huh,” Tom nodded, eyeing Harry as he walked into the kitchen and began unpacking the food and putting it away.
“Anyways, about the proposal, I was thinking—”
“Is this about the white horse? Because if it is, then I don’t wanna hear it, Harry. I already told you how impractical that is—’
“No, no,” Harry shook his head, “it’s not about that amazing, brilliant, fantastic idea I had,” he said, glaring at Tom as he put a box of pasta in the pantry, “it’s about (Y/N)’s schedule. I was looking through her folder, and mate, she’s got brand deals scheduled out for the next three years. I can’t even imagine what her actual calendar looks like. How’re gonna find time to plan a wedding?”
“I don’t know,” Tom shrugged, “I mean, she loves to work, I can’t blame her for that, it’s what makes her happy. It’s more about being committed to each other. Like showing her that I’m ready for the next step.”
“What if she isn’t ready?”
Tom paused what he was doing, which was unpacking the avocados and apples from their bags and restocking your fruit bowl. That was a question that Tom refused to think about. Of course, he knew there was a possibility that you’d say no. Of course, he knew that you had the power to completely shatter his soul. He just didn’t like to entertain those thoughts. He knew that if he got into his own head about it, it’d be impossible to come out. Harry didn’t realize how powerful of a punch that question truly packed.
“I don’t know,” Tom sighed, looking at his brother, “I haven’t thought about that, and honestly I don’t want to think about that.”
“But Tom, you have to at least consider—”
“No, I don’t,” Tom argued, “I love her and that’s that. There’s nothing more to it. I can’t even begin to think about a life without her. If something happens and in the end, we don’t end up together, then I’ll have to deal with that if that’s what happens, but there’s no point in hurting myself by thinking negatively about my future with her.”
“Okay,” Harry nodded, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you or anything. I’m just trying to look out for you. (Y/N)’s really great and you guys are lucky to have each other, but she loves her job. I just don’t want you to ever feel second to that in her life.”
∘₊✧──────✧₊∘
“Hello, I’m (Y/N) (Y/L/N),” you said once you approached the counter, “I spoke to someone on the phone about me being here—”
“Oh, yes, hello dear,” the woman looked up from her computer at you. She had kind eyes with smile lines and deepened as she took a look at you, “you’re here to sign some papers, right?”
“Mhm,” you nodded.
“Okay, well if you’ll just have a seat over there then and I’ll the social worker come by in a bit and bring them to you.” She motioned to the hard plastic chairs in the waiting area. You nodded and walked over, Emily following closely on your heels.
“No, sir,” Emily spoke on the phone as she took a seat, “unfortunately, we’ll have to end our partnership with your brand. Mhm, I understand why you’re upset, but (Y/N) isn’t going to endorse a brand that tests on animals—no, she won’t reconsider. It’s not about the money—well, let me tell you something, I snuck a vial of that shit you call face oil and I had a rash for a week, so I highly doubt you’re all natural.”
“Em,” you eyed her.
She cleared her throat, “anyways, that will be all. Thank you for calling.”
Your knees shook up and down as you waited impatiently for the social worker to come out. The sooner you got out of there the sooner you could get back to New York and get back to filming. Not to mention getting back to Tom and the dinner you two had planned. God, you wanted to have that dinner so bad. You hated canceling on him… again. Although technically this time it wasn’t work-related, you still felt horrible.
Being an actor himself, Tom understood when you got busy with filming or doing press—hell, half the time he was doing it as well—the difference between the two of you was the amount of time you set aside for yourselves and each other. If Tom wanted to take a day to spend with you, then he’d set the day aside. Whereas, if you wanted to spend the day with Tom, you’d have to see where you could pencil him in. You hated doing that to him, but part of you couldn’t help it. You had a job to do.
“Ms. (Y/L/N)?” An older lady in a grey pantsuit came into the room with a clipboard.
“Yes, that’s me,” you said, raising your hand slightly.
“Good, I’m Annie, I’ve been assigned to Octavia’s case,” the lady came over and set the clipboard down in your lap, “so just sign on the dotted line on these documents and we’ll send Octavia to the next available foster home.”
“Octavia?”
“Your niece,” she said with a nod, holding a pen out for you.
“Right,” you gave her a small smile and took the pen from her, “and um, where will she go then?”
“I’m not sure yet,” Annie shrugged, “if I’m being honest with you, Ms. (Y/L/N), the system is not the best place for children, I’m going to do my best to get her into a good home, but there’re no guarantees.”
“What do you mean?” you set the pen down, “The system is supposed to help kids find good homes so they can move on with their lives.”
“It is, you’re right,” Annie agreed, “but we can’t help every kid. We can only do our best.”
“I don’t understand,” you chuckled humorlessly, “you’re a social worker, yet you’re saying you’re not sure you can get my niece into a good home? There should be no question on if she gets into a good home,” you began to raise your voice, “they should all be good homes!”
“I’m sorry, Ms. (Y/L/N),” Annie raised her hands in defense, “I didn’t mean to offend you. If you could just sign the papers, I can assure you I’ll do my absolute best—”
“This isn’t some game,” you said seriously, a sharp edge to your tone, “this is my niece’s life. She already lost the only family she had, now you’re saying you can’t promise you can give her even a halfway decent one? It may just be your job, but it’s her whole life you’re organizing. Do you even know what you’re doing?”
“Ma’am, you have to understand, the foster care system is flawed,” Annie explained, “a good life is not something I alone can guarantee your niece. I can do my best. I can check in on her, I can ask her how she’s doing, but I can’t magically put her with the best family out there or give her her old life back.”
You bite your lip and simply nodded, “Alight then,’ you said, looking over at Emily, who had just gotten off the phone.
“Just put the clipboard on the counter when you’re done—”
“No,” you handed her the clipboard and pen back, “no, I think I’ll just take Octavia with me. She’s much better off with someone who can actually promise a good home.”
“(Y/N),” Emily placed her hand on your arm.
“What? She’s my family, Em,” you said, “and Chet left her to me. I owe it to her.”
Emily sighed and let go of your arm, “Do you want me to call Tom?” she asked.
“No,” you shook your head, “I’ll call him in a bit.”
“Alright then,” Annie took the clipboard from your hands, “in that case, I have some other papers I’ll need you to fill out and some medical records and other documents I need to hand over. Then I have the address that you can go pick Octavia up from.”
“She’s not here?” you asked.
“No, she’s been staying with one of our facility members for the time being.”
“Let’s get this done then,” you grabbed your purse and followed Annie to the counter.
∘₊✧──────✧₊∘
“Tom, I’m so sorry,” you sniffled into the phone, “I don’t know what came over me. I just—this lady had no idea what she was doing, and I just couldn’t leave her to the system. I mean, kids get stuck in the system for years, so many of them stay there their whole lives. I don’t want that for her. She’s my family and I have to be there for her. I wasn’t there for her in the past and I have to be there now. W-We only have each other—”
“(Y/N),” Tom cut you off, “baby, I’m not mad. It’s okay, I understand. It’s been a rough day for you, and darling I’m so sorry you’re going through all of this. I’m going to help you. I’ll be there for you every step of the way.”
“This won’t be easy, Tom,” you said honestly, “a child is a lot of work. This is a huge commitment.”
“(Y/N), I love you,” Tom assured you, “I would never abandon you. I know this is sudden, but I’m actually really happy about this. I mean, this is going to be a big step for us, but I think we can do it. Besides, you’re right, she’s your family and she shouldn’t get lost in the system.”
“Thank you for understanding, Tom. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
“You’ll never have to worry about that, darling. Now, what time will you be back tomorrow?”
“Hopefully early, I still have to go on The Tonight Show tomorrow night. You’re able to come and watch right?” You asked.
“Mhm, yeah, I should be free. Is there anything you need me to do right now? Harry and I are just chilling at the house, so we’re free if you need anything.”
“Yeah actually,” you said, “if you don’t mind, could you maybe get a room set up? Just a bed and maybe some toys if can make a stop at target or something. I know it’s getting pretty late so you’d have to leave now. God, I’m so sorry to spring this all on you,” you rambled as you thought bout all of the things that needed to be done before you even had Octavia in your house.
“No, no, it’s no trouble at all, darling. Harry and I will be out the door in a minute. I already stopped by the grocery store and stocked up the kitchen so you don’t have to worry about that at all, love. And I’ll try to make it to the airport tomorrow to pick you up. If I can’t, I’ll just send Harry, okay?”
“That sounds perfect,” you sighed, “thank you so much, Tom. Honestly, I really appreciate you so much. I love you.”
The Uber was about to pull into the driveway of the address you’d given him so you said your goodbyes to Tom and got ready to meet the newest most important part of your life.
“Don’t worry,” Emily held your hand as you walked up to the door, “this will be good for you.”
“She doesn't even know who I am,” you frowned, “I don't know why I thought I could do this.”
“You can do this, (Y/N),” Emily assured you as she rang the doorbell.
The door was opened a few seconds later by a woman with bright red hair and a shining smile on her face.
“Hi,” you offered her a small smile, “I’m—”
“(Y/N) (Y/L/N),” she finished for you as she beamed and held her hand out, “I know, I’m a huge fan. I loved you in Midnight Murderer.”
“Oh,” you shook her hand, “thank you, it’s lovely to meet you. Um, I’m here for—”
“Octavia, your niece, right?”
“Mhm,” you nodded.
“Great, well come on in, you two. I’m Jenny, I work with Maine CPS.” she explained as she led you and Emily to the living room, “I usually don’t bring children in, but my husband insisted. He actually went to high school with you.”
“Really?” you smiled.
“Yeah,” she nodded, “he’ll be home in a bit. He’s just grabbing an ice cream. Can I get you two anything? Tea, water—I have a coffee cake on the table in the kitchen.”
“I’ll take a slice of that cake,” Emily smiled, looking up from her phone.
“A water would be lovely,” you nodded.
“Great, I’ll be right back.”
You looked around the house at the homely minimalistic decorating and the sweet little knick-knacks and pictures framed on every open shelf and counter. It made your heart ache to see such a lovely home.
Your mom kept a house like this, with pictures of you and your brother framed by the fireplace and on every end table. Your house used to smell like sweet watermelon in the summer and cinnamon in the fall, and in the winter she’d always use gingerbread wax melts to make the house smell like Christmas.
One time you went to London to visit Tom's family for the holidays, and it nearly brought you to tears to make gingerbread houses with them. It smelled just like home.
It hurt seeing this type of love in a home, knowing that Octavia wouldn't have that again when she went back to New York with you. You were always on the move, always moving around different cities. The townhouse in New York was beautiful, but it was only for when you and Tom stayed in the city. It hardly had any personalization or homeliness to it. Then there was your condo in Los Angles that you hadn’t even gotten a chance to furnish yet, and Tom's house in London, which was lovely and perfect for the two of you, but also housed his mates whenever they stayed in the city. All of this moving around didn't seem practical for such a young child. Then you began to think about school. How would you go about making sure she got a proper education? Would you have to hire a personal tutor that followed you everywhere? How would she make friends?
Your head was spinning by the time Jenny came back with your glass of water. You were so in your own head that you hardly noticed Jenny and Emily talking around you, discussing how many bags Octavia was bringing with her to New York.
You were finally pulled from your stupor when the door opened and a little girl with her hair pulled into pigtails and light-up sketchers came running in, chocolate all over her face in a sticky mess. She took one look at you and her eyes lit up with glee.
The wind was knocked from your lungs when you saw her. She was a spitting image of your mom. It’s almost as if giving her that namesake was planned from the start.
“H-Hi,” you smiled, “I’m—”
“Auntie (Y/N)!” she squealed running into your arms, nearly knocking the glass of water from your hands.
“Oh,” you set the water down on the coffee table and hesitantly wrapped your arms around her, “um, yeah, that’s me,” you said unsurely as you patted her head.
“Chet talked a lot about you to her,” the man in the doorway said, two pints of ice cream in his hands, “showed her all of the scrapbooks and everything. Even watched all of your movies.”
“Reggie,” your lips formed a thin line after seeing your brother's best friend, “I didn’t expect to see you here.”
“Hell, I didn’t expect to see you either, Miss Hollywood,” he said, almost mockingly, “I heard you were going to sign your rights away.”
“I changed my mind,” you said simply, “Chet chose me to take care of her and I plan on doing just that.” You ran your fingers through Octavia’s hair as you looked down at her in awe.
Jenny could see the glares passed between you and Reggie, so she quickly took Octavia’s hand and led her away to her room, “Come on, why don’t we go make sure you have everything packed, okay?”
“Okay,” Octavia nodded, following obediently behind.
“I’m gonna go make a few calls,” Emily announced, taking her phone and her coffee cake into the kitchen, leaving you and Reggie to hash it out.
Reggie gave the pints to her to put into the freezer before thanking her and taking a seat on the chair next to the couch you were on.
“Chet never stopped hating himself for what he did, y’know?” he said after an awkward beat of silence.
“Reggie—”
“No, you gotta hear this,” he insisted, “he’d want you to. He never meant for what happened that night to happen. I mean, no one means for these things to happen, but shit (Y/N). You think Chet just lost his parents? He lost it all.”
“Well so did I,” you said sternly, “and it was his fault. I’m not taking in Octavia because I forgive him or any bullshit like that, because I’m still so fucking angry. I’m taking her in because she’s my family and we only have each other. I owe it to her.”
Reggie shook his head and chuckled humorlessly, “You’re a stubborn bitch, Hollywood. Y’know the only reason this little girl knows who you even are is because of Chet. He wouldn’t ever shut up about you. He always held out hope that you’d come home at some point, ‘specially when he was sick. He thought, any day now, I’m gonna see my little sis again.”
“Shut up,” you snapped as tears brimmed in your eyes, “I don’t wanna hear it. I’ve made peace with what happened, I’ve moved on. You don’t get to mess that up for me.”
“Whatever,” Reggie waved his hand in dismissal, “I’ve said what I needed to say.”
“Where’s her mom?” you changed the subject, looking down the hall where Octavia and Jenny walked off.
“You know ‘er,” Reggie said, “Tammy? You remember her, right?”
“Her?” you raised your eyebrows and scoffed, “Wow, and where’d she fuck off to?”
“Not sure,” Reggie shrugged, “last time we heard from her she was in Cancun.”
“She abandoned her daughter?”
“You sound surprised,” Reggie chuckled, “we both know Tammy isn’t cut out for motherhood. She left a few months after O was born. She left a note, took eight hundred bucks and a pack of Marlboros, and left town. We ain’t seen her since.”
“Have you tried reaching out since Chet…”
“Yeah, but after a week or so of that we thought it best to just follow Chet’s wishes and give you a call instead.”
“Hm,” you hummed with a nod.
“So, what's going on with you? New movie? Red carpets? All that jazz…”
“Filming in New York right now,” you said, taking a sip of your water, “but I have a lot of meetings coming up for new projects, and of course whenever I’m not filming I’m shooting press or making appearances. Oh,” you snapped your fingers, “and I’m recording a song,” you smiled proudly.
“A song? Wow, that’s some next-level shit.”
“Well, I mean, it’s a cover for a movie I’m in so it’s not like a wrote it or anything, but it’ll be cool to have my own version out there.”
“And what about that guy you’re with? Tim or Tom or something or other.”
“Tom,” you said, “and we don’t have to talk about him. You're not my bother, Reggie.”
“Well,” Reggie shrugged, “I’m the closest thing you got, and I told Chet I’d look out for ya.”
“You don’t have to do that,” you said with a tight-lipped smile, “I look out for myself, and Octavia now.”
“Still,” Reggie slid his phone over to you, “just so we can keep in touch, and you should bring her around some time, I know you’re busy ‘n all but Jenny really loves having her around.”
“Yeah, of course,” you nodded, “I’ll do my best.” You put your number into the phone and gave it back to Reggie, “Now don’t go selling that around. I have a lawyer that will beat the shit out of you if you leak that number,” you joked.
“I don’t doubt it,” Reggie smiled.
∘₊✧──────✧₊∘
Jenny and Reggie were nice enough to offer you and Emily their spare room. So at five in the morning, bright and early, you were both ready, bags all packed and loaded into Reggie’s van as he drove you to the airport.
“What’re doing?” Octavia leaned over in her booster seat to look at your phone.
“Texting my boyfriend,” you smiled at her, “do you wanna say hi?”
“Yes, please,” she beamed, making grabby hands for the phone.
“Okay, we can facetime him,” you said, hitting the facetime call and letting it ring.
You let Octavia hold the phone but made sure you were also in frame as you leaned closer to her.
“Hi, darl—oh, hello there,” Tom smiled once he saw Octavia, “what’s your name?”
“Octavia Marie (Y/L/N),” Octavia said proudly, “but my daddy calls me O.”
“That’s such a lovely name,” Tom complimented.
“Honey, where are you?” you asked, noticing the scene behind Tom didn’t look at all like New York City or your house.
“I’m on set,” he said, panning the camera around for you to see all the stage crew people in front of him working on the set and Harry who waved excitedly at the camera, “the set crew just finished building the cafe set, so Harry and I decided to pop in a take a peek and maybe run some lines.”
“It looks great,” you nodded.
“Is that a real place?” Octavia asked, pointing at the phone.
“No, O, it’s a set. It's where people film for movies.”
“Are we going to go there?”
“Mhm,” you nodded, “when we get back to New York.”
“Speaking of,” Tom chimed in, “when will you be landing darling?”
“Around nine,” you said, “you’ll be filming by then, right?”
“Yeah, but I think Cherry will let me off for an hour or so to come get you. They have a lot of scenes to film with Margot and Brad still so I’ll see if she can work on those this morning and then you and I can film our scenes this afternoon.”
“Okay,” you nodded, “sounds good. Well, we’re about to be at the airport, so I’ll talk to you later. Love you.”
“Love you too,” Tom cooed, blowing a kiss to the camera, “Bye O!” he waved.
“Bye!” Octavia waved quickly back before you ended the call. She looked up at you with a smile on her little face, “He’s pretty,” she said, nodding in approval.
“You think?” you smiled.
“Mhm, I like his nose.”
“So do I, kid.”
∘₊✧──────✧₊∘
After some tearful goodbyes—mostly on Reggie’s part—you, Emily, and Octavia were going through security and then through the gate and were seated comfortably on the plane.
“Don’t be a stranger ‘round here anymore,” Reggie said, pulling you in for a hug, much to your surprise, “you got more family here than you realize.”
The flight was relatively painless. You and Emily were up for the whole hour trying to figure out what to do about Octavia’s schooling. Emily suggested getting her a bunch of private tutors for different subjects. You thought the idea was fine, but you were worried about how socializing her would go. She needed to be able to meet kids her own age.
Octavia slept through the whole flight. She started off coloring in her coloring book, but almost ten minutes in she fell asleep and slept soundly the rest of the way.
“She looks just like you,” Emily said with a small smile.
“You think?”
“Mhm, and you should feel lucky, doesn’t seem like she got anything from Tammy.”
“I hope not,” you chuckled, running your hand over Octavia’s head.
The issue came after the flight landed, and Emily checked her phone. “Oh no,” she sighed, “Tom’s here but some fans saw him and now he has a whole hoard of people waiting for you.”
“Fuck,” you whispered, picking Octavia up and holding her close to you, “seriously?”
“I can ask him to lead them away or we can try going out a different exit—”
“I feel like everyone’s gonna be expecting me now,” you sighed, “let’s just get our bags quick and get out the door.”
“Are we in New York now?” Octavia looked up from your chest sleepily. She rubbed her eyes and yawned.
“Mhm,” you looked down at her as you and Emily began to exit the plane, “do you wanna walk?”
She nodded and began to squirm in your arms. You set her down and held her hand as the three of you walked to baggage claim.
“Now, Octavia,” you stopped before you and Emily went past security to where you'd be meeting Tom. You got down to her level and looked at her sternly, “There are going to be a lot of people out there and some will be yelling and flashing bright lights in your face, so I want you to hold onto my hand and not let go, okay?”
“Okay,” she nodded, squeezing your hand tightly.
“I’m serious,” you said, “you can’t let go for any reason at all, and if it gets too scary just tug on my hand and I’ll pick you up.”
She nodded and bounced on her feet, her backpack flopping behind her.
“Okay, all set?” Emily said, rolling Octavia’s suitcase along with her.
The three of you got through security and the minute you got into the next room you could hear the chatting and excitement of all the fans that had gathered around Tom. He waved at you from where he was, taking a few pictures with some people, but soon it was all clouded over by the sea of people that got in the way of your path to him.
“Hi,” you waved at everyone and smiled politely as you tried to push through.
“(Y/N), can I get a picture please?”
“(Y/N), I love you! I’m your biggest fan!”
“Thank you,” you nodded, smiling the best you could, keeping your grip tight on Octavia’s hand. Before you knew it though, fans started getting pushed aside by the paparazzi, and then the lights of their cameras began flashing and the yelling started.
“(Y/N), over here! Look this way!”
“(Y/N), smile for the camera!”
“Who’s that with you, (Y/N)?”
You covered your eyes to keep the blinding flash away as you tried to rush past them all, but some wouldn't take no for an answer.
Octavia tugged on your arm, but soon you felt her grip slip away as she used both hands to cover her ears.
“Octavia!” you turned around, reaching for her again.
“It’s loud!” she cried, scrunching her face up.
Thankfully, Tom was by your side in an instant after seeing the panic on your face. He scooped Octavia up in one arm and wrapped the other one around you, shielding you from the paparazzi as you finally got out of the airport.
“O?” you turned to Tom the minute you were out in the clear. Octavia had her face in her hands and her eye’s shut tightly, “come here honey,” you cooed, opening your arms for her. Tom gave her to you. You immediately held her close to your chest as the four of you walked to the car, where Harry was waiting.
“That was scary,” Octavia said quietly, peeking out from behind her hands.
“Yeah,” you nodded, “it was. I’m sorry, kiddo.” You looked over at Tom and gave him an appreciative smile, “Thanks for coming to our rescue back there.”
“Of course,” Tom smiled, “anything for my girls.”
Harry was waiting outside of the car, texting on his phone when you all met up with him. “Hey,” he looked up, “I finally got the booster in,” he pointed his thumb to the back seat and smile proudly.
“Okay, good,” you nodded, taking Octavia over to the side with the seat and getting her strapped in.
“Where’re we going?” She asked.
“You and Emily are going to go back to my house to look at your new room and get all of your bags unpacked, and then she’ll take you shopping for some new toys, how does that sound?”
Octavia beamed up at you and nodded her head, “really fun! But what about you?”
“I have to go to work, kid,” you explained, “but I’ll see you later, okay?”
Tom smiled softly at how sweet you were with her. Even though you had only just met her, you treated her as if she were your own. You made sure she was safe and he could tell just from what happened in the airport that you even saw her as your own.
“Hey O,” Tom pulled something from his bag in the front seat, “I think I have something here you might like…”
“Really?” Octavia tilted her head forward to try and catch a peek.
“Mhm,” Tom nodded, holding up a stuffed bear with pink hearts on its ears and a cute purple nose.
“For me?” Octavia asked, reaching out for the toy.
“Yup,” Tom smiled, “all for you, kiddo. I heard you did really well on the plane.”
“That’s right,” you nodded, “she was so brave, even during take-off. Now, what do you say to Tom?”
“Thank you!” Octavia hugged the bear close to her chest and rubbed her face into its soft fur.
You finished strapping her in before getting in the seat next to her. Tom squeezed in next to you and held your hand in his the second the car started moving. You rested your head on his shoulder and let out a sigh.
“You okay?” he asked, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.
“Yeah, just tired. Do you think Harry can handle a few calls for me today? Until I get a nanny I’m going to need Emily watching O.”
“Yeah, I’ll see if he can help you out.”
“I think I’m gonna rest my eyes for a bit,” you mumbled, knowing the ride from JFK to your house to take at least an hour, especially with traffic.
“Okay,” Tom hummed, rubbing soothing circles over the top of your hand. Octavia was sucking on the ear of her new bear and looking out the window at all of the building while Harry and Emily were up front, working out scheduling for you and Tom and talking about nonsensical things. Your other hand was resting gently on Octavia’s car seat arm, in a protective, comforting manner.
Tom felt a warmth in his chest looking at the scene in front of him. This was his new life and he couldn’t be happier.
∘₊✧──────✧₊∘
A/N: chapter one done! what do you guys think? any predictions? it’s a little early for that but i love hearing your thoughts :)
#tom holland#tom holland x reader#tom holland x you#tom hollland smut#tom holland x y/n#tom holland fluff#tom holland angst#tom holland oneshot#tom holland series#tom holland imagine#tom holland blurb#tom holland fic#tom holland fanfic
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Fics Written In 2020 Masterlist
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Fingernails Chapter 1
Hello all, my first time posting fanfiction since 2014 (lmao!) All fics will be posted on AO3 and will be posted there 1st! Below is the link to it on AO3. Happy reading and please remember to interact and reblog!
https://archiveofourown.org/works/41220963
Fingernails
V rummaged around the cabinet underneath the sink looking for a very specific plastic tub. Between working any gig that she could get her hands on and trying to find a way to evict her brain parasite without dying, V had almost no downtime. A point she has made very clear to said parasite many times and was now regretting that.
“Jesus, V. How many times have you said ‘We don’t have time for this, we can’t stop, I gotta take this gig, blah blah fuckin’ blah.’ Now you’re painting your nails like some corpocunt”, Johnny taunted.
V rolled her eyes and placed the tub of nail goodies on the counter, accidentally spooking Nibbles from her nap in the sink bowl. “First of all, I said we had very little time to relax. So we have some,” V smirked at Johnny and continued after soothing the poor cat. “And corpocunts wouldn’t paint their own nails, they get color-changing nail implants or some shit. At the very least, they’d pay someone to do it for them. God forbid they actually lift a finger.”
Johnny snorted out a laugh at that and materialized a fake cigarette. He puffed on it for a bit while he watched V pick out a nail color and gather her tools. “You know what I’m about to ask next,” He said, moving closer to the merc and tossing out the digital cig butt.
That was the ‘fun’ part of sharing a mind. It was more than what Vik said of becoming one person, it was knowing and feeling everything about each other. Including what they were about to say to the other person. They figured out at some point that if they focused hard enough they could hide things from each other. However, it wasn’t a passive thing to do - it took actual effort and so most things passed between the two connected minds.
“It’s…hard to explain why I like taking care of my nails. After all that crap with the Voodoo Boys, you know how important my mom was to me. We used to paint our nails together all the time before…well you know,” She let out a sigh before pushing those emotions to the side. “Plus nail polish and shitty drug store makeup were stupidly easy to klep when I was with the Bakkers,” V grinned proudly.
Johnny gave V a small smile, “Ya know talking to you sometimes is more depressing than kicking a puppy with progeria. Now grab a nail color and let’s watch some shitty TV, Samurai.”
And V did just that. She grabbed a dark purple color that had flakes of slivery glitter swirling around in it and flicked on the TV. Watson Whore. Neither of them liked modern TV, the corpo propaganda wasn’t even hidden and the acting was worse than atrocious. However, V would sometimes indulge in a guilty pleasure of consuming really really awful weeknight dramas. She would only catch every other episode so she had no fucking clue what was going on. Right now the lead girl was in a really expensive-looking bikini and sobbing over some hunk of a guy with a crazy amount of stab wounds.
“I swear if Maxtec or some other corpo comes bursting in to save her night, I’m taking over and changing the channel,” Johnny grumbled as he popped up next to V.
“If I smoke a cig or two will you shut up?”
“Yes.”
V lit one up and started puffing on it. She started by cleaning the old polish off and clipping her nails as the nicotine entered her bloodstream. Johnny finally seemed to settle down. A weird sense of peace also settled in - or peace as much as Night City would allow. It was funny in a way. Just a few hours ago, V was dodging bullets and separating Tyger heads from their bodies. The scratch she made was disappointing, to say the least, only a little over 6K eddies for all that work. Enough for rent and some food at least but not much else. So a nail day was much needed to say the least.
She lifted up a nail file and inspected it. It was an old metal one that was starting to dull on one side. V was too comfy to get up a grab a new one, plus Nibbles decided her lap made a much better bed. She flipped it over to the other side and started filing away. While she enjoyed taking care of her nails, she wasn’t creative and just shaped them into the standard oval shape. Being a merc doesn’t allow for nail creativity anyway.
V ashed the cig as she grabbed the cuticle oil next. She poured a generous amount on each nail bed and massaged it in. She rubbed the oil in slowly, both to actually let it absorb into the nail bed but the act also released the soreness from her overworked digits. V paused and briefly wondered if the oil could smooth out the callouses on her hands. Her trigger finger was…bad. That didn’t even start describing some of her scars. Hell, the road rash down her leg was horrific when she wiped out on a sketchy-ass bike when she was 17.
“Oh come on it's not that bad!”
“Jesus fuck!” V jumped hard, no longer relaxed and neither was the cat. The oil bottle swiped across her knuckles (she’d find out if cuticle oil would help after all) and landed on the coffee table, “I thought you said you shut up?” V leveled a look at him and stamped out the dying cigarette. Even Nibbles seemed to give the digital ghost a look before deciding her food bowl was much more interesting.
He smirked, bastard enjoys messing with her. “Pipe down, I got bored. Plus when did you get so concerned about looks?”
“Johnny, I think it’s fair to say anyone in NC is obsessed with looks. Kinda the first part of the battle when it comes to decent street cred.”
“Heh, I guess not everyone is blessed being able to look this good this easily,” With his signature grin, he leaned back and folded his hands behind his head. The only thing V could think of is that if Johnny is going to be in the passenger seat much longer, Vik would have to give her some blood pressure meds along with those blockers.
Instead, V just shook her head and lit a 2nd cigarette. She briefly considered fixing herself a drink, they were taking time to relax for once, but as much as the digital brain parasite annoyed her… He’s definitely grown on her. A part of her wonders if that was the relic rewiring her brain or if they were actually getting along. Rouge and Johnny never shared a brain (Thank God, even if that would be the most entertaining thing of the century.) and they meshed well in their own way. Sort of.
‘Nope…’ V thought to herself. Tonight is supposed to be relaxing and following that line of thought is the opposite. To remedy that, she grabbed the chosen nail polish color and unscrewed the cap. The familiar chemical smell that comes with any bottle of nail polish flooded her senses. Most hate the smell or at least think it’s too strong, but V loved it. Could it be because that smell was present during a time of her life when things were safe and ok? Probably, but right now it was as effective as synth-lavender.
V is no nail tech but she knows a few tips and tricks from years of nail care. She dipped the brush in the swirling liquid and pressed it on the bottom of her thumbnail. Not all the way down though, don’t want to flood the cuticle. She then smoothly and gently pulled the brush up to the tip and angled it so it would cover the edge of the nail. Always wrap the tip.
“That’s what I’ve said for years,” said Johnny. V at first wanted to berate him but couldn’t help but laugh.
V repeated the motions until the thumbnail was covered. The purple and silver glitter complimented each other nicely. She held it to the light. It made it sparkle brilliantly and the purple shimmer with an iridescent flare. She hummed to herself in approval and continued on to the next fingernail. V entered almost a meditative state as she focused on covering each nail, not noticing her parasite was watching intently as she went along. The two minds were finally relaxed and contented for once.
The episode of Watson Whore ended as V finished the last stroke on her pinky finger. There were a few mistakes where she accidentally got some paint on the skin around the nail but overall, her fingernails gleamed. Besides those bits would wash off in the shower. She grinned and looked over at Johnny. Much to V’s surprise, he was also admiring her nails. She expected a joke or a comment but instead…
“Ok damn. I’ll admit it V, I’m impressed,” He said while gesturing for her to show off her other hand.
V was flabbergasted for a second before composing herself, “Too bad you’re a ghost or I could make you look so pretty,” She joked.
“Tell ya what, we both somehow make it out of this… You can paint my nails, V.”
“Wait, what? Really?!”
“I’d cross my heart but I’m fuckin’ dead.”
“Even the gaudiest, loudest shade of neon green?”
“V, I know I’m an asshole but be reasonable.”
She laughed a true and deep laugh, feeling in a great mood for a rare time, “Fine. I think a nice shade of blue would look hella nice on you.”
“I’ll hold you to it, Samurai,” Johnny said as he dematerialized for the night to some dark corner of her mind.
For a moment, V almost missed the presence of Silverhand until she realized it was almost 1 in the morning. She placed all her nail goodies back in the tub and then under the sink. Nibbles was already a step ahead of her and was curled up asleep next to V’s pillow. Still feeling relaxed and just in a good mood for once, V slid under the covers and sunk into the bed. V drifted off to the sound of Nibbles purring up a storm. Of course, there would always be the lingering stress of what tomorrow would bring in Night City that any resident has but tonight things are ok. In fact, they were so ok that the nightmares left them alone as well.
#fanfic#cyberpunk 2077#cp2077#johnny silverhand#v#fem!V#f!v#Johnny silverhand/V#johnny silverhand x v#v x johnny#tw smoking#fluff#tw mentions of violence#tw gun mention#mercuryposts#nomad!v#nomad v
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finally safe for me to fall - chapter 3
hi! sorry this update is a little later in the day than usual, I've had a rough weekend! Enjoy the chapter!
read on ao3
Summary: Eddie settles into his new home with the Harringtons.
Warnings for this chapter: Swearing
Words: 6k
It doesn’t take Eddie long to unpack his duffel bag. He hangs his shirts up with care, and folds his jeans and sticks them neatly into the top drawer of the dresser. He puts his socks and underwear in the next one over, and by then the duffel bag only holds a few cassettes, a sketchbook, and a lame gag gift a friend back home had given him. How embarrassing.
Eddie sits on the bed for a little while, trying to wrap his head around everything he’ll need to learn to be good at this job. All the ways he could fuck up taunt him somewhere in the dark corners of his mind, and he kindly tells those little voices to take a goddamn hike. He can do this. He doesn’t really have a choice.
He emerges from his room eventually, leaving his leather jacket and his boots behind. He feels a little awkward walking down the hall in such casual attire, in someone else’s house, but he forces himself into his fake-it-to-make-it persona. Technically, it’s his house too, now. He’s got every right to be here.
The little pep talk does nothing for him when he reaches the kitchen and finds Steve standing at the bar, his head bowed as he writes something. He’s got on a pair of glasses now, and Eddie’s throat closes a little bit at the sight. God, he’s gorgeous.
The twins spot him before Steve does, Ivy perking up from her spot on the floor across the room. “Eddie, can I show you my coloring page?” she asks excitedly, jumping up and waving a paper around above her head.
At the commotion, Steve glances up, smiling at Eddie. His eyes dart down, and Eddie isn’t sure if he’s imagining the subtle once-over he gives him. “Hey. Everything unpacked?” Steve asks.
Eddie nods, but turns around to answer the patient little girl first. “Sure, Ivy, let me see,” he meets her halfway, crouching down again and letting her explain why she chose this particular pink for the mermaid’s tail, but this particular pink for her hair.
When he glances up, Steve has a soft look on his face. He’s not quite smiling, but it’s close. “Alright, Ive,” he says gently. “Daddy needs to tell Eddie a few more things, so save your coloring sheet to show him later, okay?”
Ivy looks disappointed, but nods, going back to the coffee table. Eddie watches her poke at Jasmine’s paper, suggesting a color or something, and he can’t help how full his heart feels at the sight.
“They’re so excited to have someone else to show their things to,” Steve says, interrupting Eddie’s train of thought. Steve shrugs at him. “Rule one of children, they want to share everything with you.”
Eddie laughs. “Yeah, I see that.” He walks around the counter to peer down at whatever Steve was working on. “You said you had some more things to tell me?” he asks.
Steve nods, picking his pen back up. “Right. I’m jotting down some things so you’ll have like, a cheat sheet. School at seven-fifteen, pick them up at three, dance lessons on Thursdays, that sort of thing.”
Eddie nods. He leans forward, propping himself up on the counter with his arms as he watches Steve write. They’re close enough that he can smell that same, distinct Alpha smell, the bourbon-touched vanilla, and Eddie almost has to breathe through his mouth to look less like a sniffing freak.
“I’m leaving important phone numbers too- myself, Robin, their primary doctor, all that stuff.” Steve seems to think for a moment, chewing on the end of the pen absently. Eddie has to look away. “Oh, allergies. Neither of them can have strawberries, okay? They’ll break out in the worst way, and Jasmine even stopped breathing the last time she accidentally had one.”
That’s good to know, Eddie thinks. He never would’ve thought to ask about their allergies.
Steve glances at the list, seems to be pleased with it after a minute, and goes to pin it to the fridge using a magnet. “I’ll leave it here so it’s easier to refer to, okay?”
Eddie nods. He glances at the clock, sees that it’s almost time for dinner. “What time do you guys usually eat dinner?”
“Usually about six, since I like to try and get them in bed early.” Steve hesitates then. “There will probably be days where I’m not home by then, though, so you’ll have to go ahead and make their dinner. I’ll just eat later those nights, or grab something on my way home.”
Eddie isn’t sure why, but that makes him sad. The stupid omega part of his brain says that it’s not right for an alpha to not come home to a home-cooked meal to be shared with their family. He has to snap himself out of that train of thought quickly though, reminding himself firmly that he is not Steve’s omega, never will be.
“Alright,” Eddie says quietly.
“Girls? What are we feeling for dinner tonight?” Steve calls, glancing over at his daughters as he crosses his arms. He smiles when they both come bounding over, holding an arm out as Jasmine sidles up beside him, leaning against his leg.
“Can we have soup? And grilled cheese?” Ivy asks, climbing onto one of the barstools on the other side of the island. She’s not sitting on her bottom, and Eddie bites back the urge to correct her.
Luckily, he doesn’t have to. “Put your butt in that seat, missy, we don’t sit like wild animals in this house,” Steve says, pointing a finger at her.
She obeys, but grins, like she was just testing him. “Can we? Grilled cheese? Please?” She repeats, her voice getting higher and higher with each word.
Steve sighs, runs his fingers through Jasmine’s hair. “Does that sound okay with you, Jazz?”
Jasmine nods. “I guess so.”
“You have to eat the crusts if I make grilled cheese,” Steve adds, glancing between the two of them. “We’re not going to waste the bread just for you to nibble out of the middle and leave the best part.”
Ivy whines. Eddie has to bite his lip to hide his smile. “But Daddy,” she whines. “The crust is nasty!”
Eddie interjects then, shaking his head like he’d just heard something crazy. “I’m sorry, what? The crust is delicious! It’s got all the magic!”
Jasmine peeks up at him, looking intrigued. “Magic bread?” She asks.
Eddie grins. “Uh, yeah? Didn’t you know that eating the crust will make you grow big and strong?”
Ivy makes a disgusted noise. “I don’t wanna be big and strong,” she complains. “I wanna have mermaid hair.”
Steve rolls his eyes. “You’re not dyeing your hair, so let’s drop that one, okay?”
Ivy pouts. “Fine,” she said. She looks at Eddie then, squinting. “Is that your real hair?” She asks, sounding skeptical.
Eddie can’t help the snort that comes out of him. “Uh, yeah, as far as I’m aware.”
“Is it very long?” Jasmine asks, stepping away from Steve to look up at Eddie.
Shrugging, Eddie reaches up and tugs the hair tie out, his curls falling around his shoulders like they normally do. “It’s a little long,” he admits with a smirk when both of the girls look at him with dumbfounded expressions. Even Steve looks a little speechless.
“Wow,” Jasmine says. “It’s so curly,” she says, reaching her hand out like she wants to touch it.
Eddie crouches down and lets her do just that. “You wanna know why?” he asks, in a conspiratorial whisper. When the girl nods, he leans in and says, “it’s because I ate my crusts!”
Jasmine nods, like he’s already won her over, but Ivy still protests from the bar. “Daddy, is that true?” she demands.
Steve’s smiling when Eddie glances up at him. “Well, yeah. Eddie wouldn’t lie to you over something so serious, guys.” He glances down at him, and winks, the bastard. Eddie tries not to blush.
“Yup,” Eddie agrees. He stands, and feels his heart squeeze a little bit when Jasmine looks disappointed. He’s quick to come up with a compromise. “Do you guys know how to braid?” he asks the twins.
Ivy nods, but looks unsure. “Well… sorta. Daddy tried to teach us.” She gestures at her messy hair, and Eddie can’t help but laugh. “That’s how we end up with disasters like this.”
“Hey,” Steve protests weakly. His face is definitely a little pinker. “I tried my best.”
Eddie gives him a reassuring smile. “I’ll teach you guys how to braid later, and you can practice on my hair, okay?”
The twins nod excitedly, both of them chorusing their agreement. Eddie’s proud of himself for the easy bonding idea, reaching up to tie his hair back again before turning to Steve. Steve’s already looking right back at him. “So, soup?” he asks lightly, pretending having Steve’s eyes on him doesn’t make him nervous.
Steve seems to shake himself, but nods. “Yeah. Um… I’ll do soup if you’ll do the grilled cheese?” he asks.
Eddie smiles. He loves the idea of cooking together, a lot. “Sure,” he agrees. He goes over to the sink to wash his hands, pushing up the sleeves of his long-sleeve tee. He hears a gasp from across the bar, and glances up, a little startled. “What?” he asks, staring at Ivy, who is in turn, staring at Eddie’s arms.
“You have drawings!” the child squeals excitedly, practically climbing onto the counter to get a better look.
“Ivy Bryn, sit down,” Steve’s voice says from behind him. When Eddie glances back, he finds that Steve also looks slightly curious, but glances back to his daughter and gives her a look. “I mean it, get off the counter, missy.”
Ivy sighs, and sort of listens, crawling from one bar stool to another until she’s sitting in the one directly across from where Eddie is standing. “Where did you get them?” Ivy asks, studying the tattoos on Eddie’s arm.
“Oh, um…” He says, glancing down at them himself. “Just tattoo places.”
Jasmine tugs on his sleeve from beside him, so he moves his arm so she can see. “Wow,” she says softly, poking at the bats next to his elbow. “Pretty,” she observes sweetly.
Eddie smiles at her, rubs his hand over her hair. “Thanks, sweetheart,” he says. He turns his arm over so she can see the other one.
“What’s that one?” Ivy asks, leaning over the counter to look.
“Oh, it’s…” He glances at Steve, wondering if he should even bother explaining it. Steve shrugs, but nods like it’s okay. “It’s a puppet master’s hand, and his puppet is a demon.”
“Cool,” Jasmine whispers, her voice full of awe.
Eddie grins. “I know, right?” He dries his hands off on the towel beside the sink before turning to look for the bread.
“Here,” Steve says, handing it over. “Pan’s in the bottom drawer of the stove,” he says, gesturing to it as he goes to the fridge and starts pulling out butter and cheese. “Why’d you get those tattoos?” He asks, glancing at him over the fridge door.
It’s a simple enough question, but Eddie’s a little embarrassed of the answer. “Well, um… bats are my favorite animal,” he starts slowly. “And, um… I really like Metallica.”
Steve stares at him like he doesn’t understand the correlation. Dear god. “Oh,” he says, vaguely.
Eddie has to smile, shaking his head subtly as he takes the items out of Steve’s hands. “‘Master of Puppets’? Ever heard of it?” Eddie asks, thinking that it’ll for sure ring a bell.
Steve shakes his head, grinning sheepishly. “Sorry, no. Not really my wheelhouse.”
Eddie feigns a dramatic sigh. “It’s okay, not everyone can be cultured,” he teases.
It has the intended effect, and Steve’s head drops back in a loud laugh. “Right, of course,” he says, very obviously pretending to agree. He goes over to a cabinet and pulls two cans of tomato soup out, and Eddie tries not to show his surprise. He would’ve thought for sure that rich people made all their stuff from scratch, so he’s a little surprised to see the familiar Campbell’s can.
“Good choice,” Eddie says, nodding at it.
Steve smiles. “Thanks. It’s their favorite kind. I’m not a huge fan, but it’s edible enough.”
Eddie nods, watching butter sizzle in the pan he’s working with. “You know milk makes it taste better,” he offers.
“No shit?” Steve says, sounding surprised. “I don’t think I’ve ever put milk in it before.”
“Oh yeah, you’ve gotta put milk,” Eddie tells him emphatically. “Or even heavy cream, that makes it even better. Otherwise you’re just drinking ketchup, right?”
Steve wrinkles his nose, but laughs. “Yeah, you’re right. We’ll try that this time, then.”
It’s mostly quiet after that, the two of them moving around the kitchen, preparing dinner while the twins chat aimlessly at the counter behind them. Every now and then, Steve steps too close, brushes his arm against Eddies, does something that makes Eddie hold his breath. He knows none of it is intentional, of course, but that doesn’t make it feel any less electric. Eddie’s just glad he remembered to spritz himself with scent blockers that morning, or else this would probably be very embarrassing indeed.
When everything is finished, Steve goes through and pours soup into four bowls while Eddie cuts each grilled cheese sandwich diagonally, which personally, he thinks is the tastiest shape. They put the food in front of the girls, and Eddie smiles when they immediately say “thank you.” They’re such good kids.
“We’ve got coke, water, or wine,” Steve informs Eddie from where he stands at the fridge. He glances at him, his glasses shoved up into his hair, and Eddie can’t help but think how soft he looks.
“Oh, um. Water is fine,” Eddie finally says after just staring at him for a moment too long.
Steve nods and goes about making drinks for the girls. Eddie watches him poor little travel-sized Kool-aid pouches into their glasses, and he smiles. Steve must catch him, because he says, “I would’ve offered you this but I didn’t want to insult you with my child-based selection,” he jokes.
Eddie laughs, shakes his head. “Right. Yeah, I think I’ll just stick to water.” He walks around the kitchen island with his own bowl, taking the seat next to Jasmine. “Is it pretty good?” He asks, glancing at each of them in turn.
Jasmine gives him a thumbs-up, slurping her soup loudly. Ivy is dunking the edge of her grilled cheese into the soup, looking at the crust like she’s not sure it can be trusted. It makes Eddie giggle. “It’s not gonna bite you, love,” he tells her.
Ivy gives him a sheepish look. “I know,” she says. She bites into it, and apparently it’s not as bad as she expects, because she continues eating, half of her grilled cheese gone just like that.
Eddie smiles, catching Steve’s eye for a moment. “Not so bad, was it?” Steve asks, setting drinks down in front of the twins and going back for his and Eddie’s. He takes the seat at the opposite end of the bar, on the seat next to Ivy.
“I guess not,” Ivy shrugs, but sounds like she doesn’t want to admit that they were right. Eddie can relate to that.
They eat in relative silence, the twins asking Eddie questions every now and then.
“Where are you from?”
“How old are you?”
“Do you like princesses?”
“Do you have kids?”
“Why not?”
By the time those types of questions roll around, Eddie is a bit frazzled.
“That’s enough,” Steve interrupts when Ivy innocently asks Eddie why he doesn’t have children of his own. “It’s not appropriate to ask someone those kinds of questions, girls.”
“But, Daddy - “ Ivy tries to interrupt.
Steve cuts her off with a sharp look. “No. Finish your dinner quietly. I don’t want to hear you two asking Eddie that question again, got it?”
“Mr. Harrington…” Eddie starts, a little hurt on the twins’ behalf. They couldn’t help being curious.
Steve glances at him. “Steve,” he corrects.
Eddie feels his face flush. He will not be calling him that. “They’re not hurting anything,” he says quietly. “I don’t mind them asking.”
“Well, I do,” Steve says, giving Eddie a deadpan look. “It’s none of our business,” he says, glancing at each of the twins pointedly.
Eddie thinks maybe he’s missing something, but he’s not sure what it is.
“Sorry,” Jasmine says quietly from beside Eddie.
“Yeah, sorry,” Ivy repeats, poking at the last bit of grilled cheese on her plate.
Steve sighs. “Are you guys finished eating?” he asks. When they nod, he gestures to the hall. “Alright. Go put your pajamas on. We’ll watch a movie before bed, yeah?”
That perks them right back up, much to Eddie’s relief. He didn’t think he could stand to see them so disappointed for long. As soon as the room is empty once more, he stands, collecting dishes and sparing glances at Steve. Steve’s got his head in his hand, and looks the picture of exhaustion.
“Everything okay?” Eddie asks, timidly.
Steve glances up at him, and looks briefly embarrassed. “Oh, yeah. Just… tired, I guess.” Eddie can feel his eyes on him as he piles their dishes into the sink, but he pretends that he doesn’t. After a few minutes of comfortable silence, Steve clears his throat. “So, your days off. We need to discuss that.”
“Oh… okay,” Eddie says.
“Since I work during the week, it’d be easier if I just let you have Saturday and Sunday, if that’s alright with you,” Steve says.
Eddie nods, glancing up at him as he starts running water into the sink. Steve hasn’t tried to stop him yet, so Eddie gives himself a mental high five, since clearly he’s doing something right. “That’s fine with me,” he says. “And honestly, just one day would be enough. Not like I’ve got anything else to do, anyway.”
Steve gives him an odd look. “No, I want you to have a life outside of this, Eddie. I know you’re new to the city, but I can recommend places for you to check out, and you could meet new people, make friends.” Steve shrugs, like it’s that easy.
Eddie bites his lip, but doesn’t correct him. “Okay,” he replies softly, scrubbing the bowls under the hot dishwater.
“And one more thing,” Steve says. His voice sounds a bit different, and Eddie is confused when he looks up and finds a sort of embarrassed expression on his face. “Um, your heat.”
Ah. That explains the embarrassment.
“Oh,” Eddie says. He feels awkward talking about it so casually with the man who is going to be paying his salary, but he supposes it’s inevitable. “I’m on suppressants. I haven’t had a heat in over a year.” He hopes that’s not too much oversharing, but surely given the scope of the question, it’s alright.
Steve nods. “Alright. And you think you’ll be on suppressants for the foreseeable future?” he asks.
“Um,” Eddie starts, unsure how to answer. “Probably?” He’s not sure why Steve is asking that. Typically, omegas are on heat suppressants until their alpha decides it’s time to have pups, although in that scenario, the suppressants are probably more of a precaution so there are no pre-mating accidents. Steve already knows Eddie’s certainty that he won’t be having children, and he has no alpha, so to him, it’s a silly question.
Steve only nods again, looking satisfied enough with the answer. “Well, if that changes, please let me know so I know what days I’ll have to make other arrangements for, okay?”
That sounds like a sensible request. Heats typically take up to a few days to pass, and it would certainly put Steve in a bind if he didn’t have childcare for that long.
“Sure,” Eddie says neutrally when he does finally answer.
Luckily they’re spared any more embarrassing heat talk by the sound of the twins returning, both of them dressed in Hello Kitty pajamas. They look adorable, of course.
“Did you brush your teeth?” Steve asks, turning to look at them. They nod, and his eyes narrow. Eddie smirks down at the dishes he’s almost finished washing. “Did you brush your hair?” He asks, glancing pointedly at Ivy, whose hair very obviously hasn’t been touched.
“Um…” She says, hesitating.
“If you give me a couple minutes, I’ll brush it,” Eddie says from the sink, smiling over at the girls. He glances at Steve then, a little sheepish. “If that’s okay?”
Steve smiles and nods at him. “Yeah, that’s fine with me. Go get your brushes, girls.”
They scurry out of the room once more, and Steve turns to look at Eddie. “I know they can do it on their own,” Eddie offers, feeling a little silly. He rinses the last cup, places it in the drainboard, and grabs the hand towel next to the sink. “I just like doing that sort of thing.”
“That’s okay,” Steve says, his voice soft. “I think it’s sweet. I usually insist that they take good care of their hair, and I can buy all the good products, but actually styling their hair? Forget it. It’s long and curly, and I’ve got no idea what to do with that.”
Eddie grins. “Well, as it turns out, I know a guy, so you’re in luck.”
Steve smiles at him, that same vague, soft thing that makes Eddie’s heart race a little. “Good,” he says. “They’ll be thrilled to have someone who knows what the hell they’re doing.”
The girls come bouncing back in then, and Eddie notices that each of them now have hair ties on their wrists, too. “Can you braid it?” Ivy asks excitedly, holding out her hairbrush first.
Eddie laughs at their enthusiasm, but nods. “Sure. Come on, let’s go sit down. Jasmine, you can watch me braid Ivy’s and she can watch me braid yours, and then you guys can practice on my hair, okay?”
The twins very vocally agree with that, and Eddie gives Steve a little grin as the twins lead him into the living room. Steve follows behind, turning the tv on and searching for a movie while Eddie gets situated on one end of the plush sofa, patting the spot in front of him for Ivy to come sit. They’re on the long sofa against the window, and this way, they’re actually fully facing the tv, not just the coffee table and kitchen, which Eddie thinks works out quite nicely.
“Alright, c’mere, Jazz. You’ve gotta stand over here to see what I’m doing,” Eddie instructs.
Jasmine dutifully comes to his side, and he scooches over as far as he can so she can sit right next to his hip. He talks quietly to them as he takes Ivy’s hair out of the bun, explaining to them that curly hair should be combed while it’s wet, but never brushed while it’s dry unless it’s being braided or something. “You don’t want it to be frizzy, okay?”
They both nod, and Eddie smiles at how raptly they seem to be paying attention. He pretends he doesn’t feel Steve watching them from the armchair next to the sofa, but his presence is there, loud in the silence that radiates from where he sits. He’s turned on some film that Eddie can’t remember the name of, and he’s pretty positive none of them are paying attention to it.
He brushes Ivy’s hair softly, starting at the ends and detangling upwards slowly. At one point he brushes through a hidden tangle, and she yelps. “Oh, I’m sorry, honey,” Eddie says, immediately leaning in and kissing the spot on her head where he’d yanked her hair, petting over it like that’ll ease the sting. “I didn’t even see that tangle. I’m so sorry.”
“‘S okay,” Ivy says, shrugging like it didn’t bother her at all.
“They’re not tender-headed, are they?” Eddie asks, turning to glance at Steve.
Steve waves his hand in a noncommittal “sort-of” gesture. “Eh, not too bad. Jazz is a little more touchy about it, though.”
Eddie nods. He finishes brushing Ivy’s hair, handing her the brush to hold as he starts the braid. “Okay, this is just a regular braid, okay? I’ll show you how to French braid when we get good at the regular one, alright?”
Jasmine nods, watching Eddie section the hair before he starts twisting it. “So you start with three… and you’re just going over the middle, over the middle, over the middle…” Eddie says as he slowly demonstrates. “You just keep doing that all the way down, okay?”
“Okay,” Jasmine says. She leans against Eddie’s side as she watches, and his heart grows warm at the gentle affection. He can already tell he’s getting attached to these kids. God, and it’s only day one.
He finishes Ivy’s hair within a few minutes, letting Jasmine help with the last couple of plaits before tying it off. “Good job, honey. Now, swap places so Ivy can see how to do it.”
Jasmine agrees quickly, and Ivy slides off the sofa, pulling her braid around to look at it with a big smile. “Daddy, look at my braid!” she says excitedly, turning her back to Steve so he can admire it.
“It’s really nice, lovebug. Make sure you tell Eddie thank you, yeah?” Steve says. Eddie glances at him, and his heart skips a beat at the sight of him leaning back in his chair, his ankle crossed over his knee as he watches them. They share a smile, and Eddie pats the space in front of him for Jasmine to occupy.
“Thanks,” Ivy says as she comes to sit beside Eddie, taking Jasmine’s spot. She leans her head against Eddie’s arm, and he can’t help the smile on his face.
“You’re so welcome, sweetness. Now let me show you how you do it.” He brushes Jasmine’s hair very carefully, and luckily this time, there are no accidental tugs. He separates the hair out, just like he did with Ivy’s, and explains the process to her, slowly plaiting it as he talks.
A movement out of the corner of his eye startles him and he glances back to see Steve leaning closer, watching Eddie’s hands to see what he’s doing. When Eddie smiles at him, Steve shrugs sheepishly. “I kind of want to learn, too,” he admits.
Eddie grins. “C’mere, it’s pretty easy.”
To his surprise, Steve does move closer, coming to sit on the arm of the sofa Eddie’s back is up against. He can feel the heat of his thigh pressing against his back, and he pretends that he feels very normal about that.
“So, uh,” he says, stuttering a bit. “You just start with the three sections, and take one on either side and go over the one in the middle.”
“Does it matter which side you start on?” Steve asks.
Eddie shakes his head. “No, I usually start on the right out of habit, but it doesn’t really make a difference.”
He thinks he feels a hand touch his hair briefly, but the pressure is so fleeting that he could have very well imagined it. He imagines Steve taking the hair tie out, running his hands through Eddie’s curls, and it almost makes him squirm. God, he’d love that.
He finishes up Jasmine’s braid the same way he did Ivy’s, letting Ivy take over the last couple of plaits before tying it off.
“Alright, are we ready to practice on our real-life mannequin?” Eddie asks with a grin, shaking Jasmine’s shoulders playfully as he glances over at Ivy. They both nod, and Eddie smiles, patting Jasmine’s back so she’ll scoot down the sofa so he can resettle. “Alright, one on each side, I’ll part my hair and you guys can just freaking - go to town,” he says playfully, reaching up and pulling his hair tie out. He does a rough middle part with his fingers, and then, almost as an afterthought, he parts a small section out of the front, almost like he’s pulling his hair to cut more bangs, and holds it in his hand.
“Remember, three sections, over the middle,” Eddie reminds them as he settles. “Go for it.”
As soon as he gives the go-ahead, he feels them grab for his hair, dividing it the best they can. He peeks up at Steve, who’s still watching him from his perch on the arm of the sofa. He’s got the softest smile on his face, and all Eddie can think is cute, cute, cute.
He waves his little handful of hair at Steve. “C’mere, I saved some for you too.”
Steve looks a little surprised at that. “Oh,” he says, his voice sort of high and light. Eddie halfway expects him to decline, but instead, he moves to sit on the low coffee table, scooting forward so that they’re almost touching knees. He grins at Eddie, or at least Eddie thinks that’s what he’s doing, from what little he can see of him through the forest of hair. “You look a bit like Cousin It,” Steve teases.
Eddie snorts. “You do too, from this side,” he jokes.
Steve is definitely smiling as he reaches out, taking the hair gently out of Eddie’s hand, his fingers brushing his knuckles lightly, accidentally.
“Three sections,” Eddie says softly. His voice sounds sort of funny, and he realizes that he can sort of hear his blood rushing to his head, his heart beating incredibly too fast for the situation they’re in. This is so embarrassing, he thinks vaguely, trying to focus on the twins on either side of him rather than their father, who’s practically staring into his soul not a foot away from his face.
“Over the middle,” Steve says quietly, almost to himself. “Am I doing this right?” He asks, sounding skeptical.
Eddie nearly has to cross his eyes to see. “It looks fine to me,” he says with a little shrug. He glances at his left, then his right. “How are we doing, kiddos?”
“Mine looks funny,” Ivy announces, her voice full of glee, like the idea of making Eddie look ridiculous pleases her greatly.
Eddie rolls his eyes, and Steve has a matching look of fond exasperation. “Then you’re probably not doing something right,” Steve chastises her gently.
“I think mine is right,” Jasmine offers on Eddie’s right side. He tries to glance at the braid she’s creating, but he can’t see much of anything with his hair pulled into all these different directions.
“I’m sure it’s fine, hon. I’m sure they all are.” He smirks underneath his curtain of hair covering his face. “Well, except your dad’s. I don’t know how he’s doing,” he says in a stage whisper.
The girls giggle, but the jibe earns him a little tug from the man in question. And of course, because Eddie is some kind of degenerate heathen, it nearly makes him moan. Good god. “Hey, I’m trying, here,” Steve protests. “And they have more hair than I do, at least I’ve only got a little bit I can mess up.”
Eddie laughs, and hopes it doesn’t sound hoarse. “That just means it should be easier for you!” he taunts.
Steve just shakes his head, tsking, but when he finishes, it actually doesn’t look half bad. He lifts the little plait up so he can see Eddie’s face, grinning at him widely. “Oh, there you are,” he jokes.
“Here I am,” Eddie chirps back. He couldn’t stop smiling if he fucking tried. God this little family is the cutest. He’s so fucking screwed.
The twins finish theirs, showing them off proudly. Jasmine’s looks the best, but Ivy’s attempt definitely has… character. They have a good laugh over it all, and eventually, Steve announces it’s time for bed. The twins complain that they haven’t gotten to watch a movie, but Steve scoffs.
“Sure you did. You got to watch, and star in, Barbie Makeover: Eddie Edition. That’s more than enough entertainment for a night,” he says.
Eddie giggles at that.
“Alright, come on. Time for bed, sleepyheads. School tomorrow, so we’re not staying up late. Let’s go,” Steve says, standing up after giving his attempted braid one last friendly tug. Eddie’s glad his face is partially hidden.
“Can Eddie tuck us in too?” Jasmine asks as she follows Steve down the hall. Eddie follows a bit slower, trying to undo the braids and put his hair back in a more manageable state. Ivy is somewhere in front of him, humming and playing with her own braid.
“Sure,” Steve says. He glances back at Eddie, grinning at the madness of him still untangling that final braid. “It’s a good look, Eddie,” he says with a shit-eating grin.
Eddie tries to return it with something vaguely sarcastic. “Sure,” he mocks. He finally manages to shove all his hair out of his face and back onto his shoulders, but he knows it’s probably frizzy as hell now. Oh well.
Steve flicks the light in the twins’ room on, going over to flick on a night light and grab a book from the short bookcase next to the window. “Alright, let’s read Amelia Bedelia tonight, sound good?”
Ivy and Jasmine agree easily enough, and Eddie sort of hangs back, watching as they each climb into a bed, both of them pulling a stuffed animal close to them. It’s sweet.
“Eddie, come read too,” Ivy says, patting her bed on the other side of where Steve has just sat.
Steve glances at him with a smile, nodding his head to indicate he should do just that. So he does, going to sit down on the opposite side, but then he glances over at Jasmine, her bed close, but still looking alone. Luckily, he doesn’t have to feel bad for long, because then Steve is saying, “C’mere, sweetheart, come sit with us while we read our book.”
Jasmine smiles, sliding out from under her covers and joining them on Ivy’s bed immediately, snuggling in for a bedtime story.
Eddie listens as Steve begins reading, and his eyes flicker between the three of them, cataloging every single shift in their voices and expressions, watching as the twins grow sleepier and sleepier, Steve’s voice becoming lower and lower. It’s almost making Eddie sleepy, and he has to stop himself from leaning against Steve’s back.
Eventually, the twins are asleep, the book is put away, a sleeping Jasmine is returned to her own bed, and the door is pulled almost-shut behind them as they leave the room.
“So, first day?” Steve says quietly as they hesitate in the corridor. “Do you think you’ll be okay to be with them on your own tomorrow, when they get out of school?”
Eddie nods, an easy smile on his face. “Yeah, I think we’re going to be just fine.”
Steve smiles, and Eddie notices some tension visibly leaving his shoulders. “Great. They really like you, Eddie. You really hit it off with them.”
Eddie preens at the praise. “Good. I think they’re great, I can’t imagine having any better kids to nanny for, honestly.” He hesitates before reaching out and touching Steve’s wrist, saying softly, “I think you’re doing a great job with them.”
Steve’s smile twitches, and an emotion deeper than just joy flashes across his face for a split second. He presses his wrist into the touch for a second before pulling away. “Thank you. That… that means a lot.”
“Of course,” Eddie nods. He realizes this is where their conversation needs to end. “Um, goodnight, I guess. I’ll see you in the morning?”
Steve nods. “Yep, bright and early. Get some rest, Eddie.”
“Yeah. Goodnight.”
“Night.”
Eddie sleeps easy that night, easier than he has in years, probably.
#steddie#steve harrington and eddie munson#alpha steve harrington#omega eddie munson#alpha beta omega dynamics#omegaverse#babysitter eddie munson#single dad steve harrington#original Harrington children#finally safe for me to fall#eddie munson#steve harrington
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Favorite line/passage I wrote this year
@fandomnerdworld sent me an ask for the AO3 wrapped ask game I was doing, and I felt like this answer deserved its own separate post, so here's my favorite passage I wrote this year:
“Fucking fuck this fucking small town and it’s fucking useless fucking grocery stores and the fucking winter and the fucking snow, fuck!” Riley muttered as he pulled his sweatshirt and T-shirt over his head to reveal his pale skin, reddened with cold. “I swear to fuck, my nipples could cut diamonds right now, Sam. Why the fuck do my parents have to live where the air hurts my goddamn face? I never thought I’d miss the fucking desert so much,” he continued while he pulled off his boots, socks, pants, and underwear, tossing them all into a heaping, wet pile in the corner of the room with the hoodie and T-shirt.
“Babe, you’re frozen,” Sam said, pulling Riley close and rubbing at his back with his free hand, the other still holding the drink carrier aloft.
“Yeah, no shit,” Riley complained, shivering against Sam’s chest. He pressed his icy fingers up the back of Sam’s shirt. “God, you’re so warm. Fuck me.”
“Maybe after you warm up some,” Sam teased, making Riley roll his eyes. Sam tried hard not to shiver as he wrapped his arm tight around Riley and pressed a kiss to his cold cheek. “Why did you do this, you idiot? It’s below zero out there.”
“I did it because I wanted you to have good coffee. Don’t be ungrateful,” Riley said plaintively, pouting that way that never failed to make Sam smile and roll his eyes. “Now come shower with me,” Riley demanded. “I need you to turn the water lukewarm so I don’t go into shock trying to heat up too fast.”
Sam set the carrier full of coffees on the kitchenette countertop and then followed Riley into the bathroom, stripping out of his own clothes on the way. Riley waited impatiently while Sam turned the water on. As soon as Sam declared the temperature was okay, Riley got in, immediately cursing the water for being too damn hot. Sam took a moment to school the amusement from his face and then slid into the shower behind Riley, trying to avoid the cool spray.
“So, do you want to hear about my ordeal, or are you just going to call me an idiot again?” Riley asked, stuttering slightly through his chattering teeth.
“Aw, baby, tell me your woes,” Sam said with exaggerated sympathy as he rubbed Riley’s hands between his own, trying to get some heat back into them.
Riley glared without much heat. “You’re being so mean to the guy who braved this weather in no more than a hoodie to go to not one, but two, grocery stores in search of your fancy cinnamon-brown sugar coffee creamer, so you wouldn’t have to drink the slop with the commoners, only to find that neither of the stores in this godforsaken town carry your special coffee creamer,” Riley whined dramatically.
“Commoners, huh?” Sam deadpanned.
Riley gave him that crooked grin that Sam was so fond of. “What, you don’t realize you’re a king among men, sweetheart?”
From Cinnamon-Brown Sugar Coffee Creamer (6k, T, SamBucky; past Sam/Riley, past Sam/Natasha)
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