#More-cardigan-than-woman masterlist
Note
Hi lovely! Your cake tasting fic was literally immaculate. I was just thinking about how r and miguel met, and how cute it would be to see a blurb where he gets all flustered when he sees her for the first time? You are amazing! Xoxo
sending u lots and lots of kisses MWAH MWAH thank u baby😚😚😚 anyHOWWWW i’m so glad someone asked for this! I’ve been waiting for it TEEHEE! now i did mention a little bit on the cake testing fic how they first met, sooo i might just have to expand from there yuhyuh!
this turned out a bit onger than i expected lol but I hope you'd enjoy it regardless!
miguel masterlist
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miguel meeting his wife for the first time
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“the laboratory is 80% damaged, miguel. we need to get it fixed or else we can no longer continue our work.”
miguel sighs deeply, pinching his eyebrows with his index finger and thumb. the ungodly amount of research papers stacked neatly in the corner of his working desk, along with bunch of scrunched papers on top.
“jessica, no ahora”
she rolls her eyes at his stubbornness, arms crossed over her chest. his eyes glued on the monitor, framed glasses perched on the bridge of his thick nose bone
“you need a break.”
“I don’t” he disagrees. if anything, he needs to put on more hours of work. “i can’t leave before everything is done. we’ll get it fixed next week.”
“that’s what you said last week, miguel” jessica points out, eyes scanning around the room. “look at this mess! the HQ haven’t got fixed in months! if you want this building to be safely secured and leave no casualties in the future, you have to do what i say.”
again, miguel disagrees. shaking his head without looking up. “and i said, no.”
but jessica refuses to be told like that, shrugging her shoulders like it’s nothing. “well too bad, because i already found someone who’s willing to work on it and you’re meeting them”
that seems to catch his attention, his pen dropping off between his finger as his head whips towards jessica’s direction.
“you—what?!”
“i’m not going to be responsible for many injured people in the future. not when we have too much enemies coming to bite our asses so i suggest you get down from there and come here”
miguel has a temper. a very short one, and it’s not easy to control it when he’s surrounded by people who’s trying to tell him what to do. it’s supposed to be the other way around.
but miguel has no energy to fight back, so instead of telling her to fuck off, he just nods his head.
“alright fine” an upset mutter falls from his lips before he makes his way down the stairs. hands on his hips. “where is he?”
jessica scoffs, “why do you always assume everyone is a he?” she chuckles lightly at miguel’s quirk eyebrow. “you can come in now, ms. y/l/n”
the sound of his office door clicks after that, and miguel seems to be less than impressed because he has no energy in him to talk to people other than himself,
yet, his jaw drops instantly soon as he sees the person who walks through it,
a woman—a very gorgeous one—who looks like to be in her mid twenties makes an entrance as her heels click against the marble floor, carrying what seems to be a tablet and folders. she’s dressed in a grey long tight fitting dress that falls down to her ankles with a cropped beige colored cardigan completing the whole look as an outer, leaving only the left shoulder exposed. a smile appears on her face as she fixes the frame of her black reading glasses.
miguel has never seen a more beautiful woman than the one he’s staring at right now,
“ms. y/l/n, this is miguel o’hara. the head of Alchemax and leader of Spider Society.” jessica smirks at the way miguel is gaping right now, as he makes no intention in hiding it away.
guess, her 70% of her plan is slowly working.
“ugh! come on, jessica you’ve known me long enough to stop saying my last name” she giggles, “mr. o’hara. my name is y/n. it is very nice to meet you. jessica had told me many things about you. i am so impressed with everything you had done”
‘fuck, even her voice is pretty’ he thinks
he regains his composure, clearing his throat before taking off his glasses. “thank you, y/n. you and jessica are close?”
with a nod, she responds, “we go way back. haven’t been off each other’s arms for a long time. hard to keep me away from this woman”
so jessica had been hiding her away from him? that’s rude.
“oh hush. always with the sweet talk” jessica waves her off with a smile. “miguel, y/n has plans on remodeling the hq for us. i’ve told her about what needs to be done and so forth. she has already inspected the lab, cafetería, training rooms. this smart woman right here came with conclusions in just five minutes.”
a blush creeping into y/n’s cheeks, shyly tucking a loose hair behind her ear which makes miguel’s heart warms at the sight,
“i’ve seen her work and i wouldn’t just bring anyone when it comes to our matter. she’s the perfect person for this. now since i have so many things to catch up on, i hope it’s okay for me to leave you two and have her explain it all—“
“yes” miguel replies a bit too quickly, causing the two women to raise their eyebrows. this makes him slightly bit embarrassed at how eager he might have come off. “i mean-yeah, of course. it’s not like i was doing anything. have a bit of a time off.”
“i though you said—“
“that’s enough jessica. thank you” he nods at her, shooting her a tight smile. “i would love to hear it.”
a giddiness blooms in his chest when y/n gives him a toothy grin. and it may become his favorite thing to look at,
“alright then. i’ll see you later. bye, sweetheart” jessica waves at her friend before walking out of miguel’s office and shutting the door behind her,
now it’s just them,
y/n’s gaze averts back to his tall figure. she had heard stories about miguel o’hara. jessica loves to spill teas about her partner and had showed pictures of him when y/n was curious on how he look like. he is indeed handsome.
but now, looking at him in person? fuck, even the greek gods are no match to him
beautiful bronze skinned, broad shoulders, high cheekbones with sharp jawlines. she glances a bit at his toned chest then down to his torso for a bit. abs rock hard enough to be seen through the working shirt he’s wearing. this man built like he contains zero body fat.
however, his mesmerizing red eyes are what got her hooked.
“it’s very nice of you to make the time for this, mr. o’hara. i know you are a very busy man and i hate to be the one who’s preventing you from your work.”
miguel’s head shakes, giving her a small genuine smile. “no apologies necessary. and please, call me miguel”
“okay then, miguel” she nods, returning his smile. “may i begin showing you what i’ve been working on?”
miguel’s arm extends towards a large wooden table, allowing her to walk first. “by all means” he folds his arms behind his back, following her from behind.
he’s very much struggling not to look at her ass while she moves,
“okay, so” she lays her things flat on the table, getting to work quickly. “i’ve planned a pre-design for your laboratory, given that the lab is one that needs extra precautions and highly detailed instructions, i’ve figured i should get that one done first. and here” she unlocks her tablet before tapping one app, showing the minimum design. “there are important keys that needs to be highlighted. i need exact measurements of how many people will be coming in and out of your lab, objects you’re thinking of storing, etc. because it will determine the amount of space i’ll be working on”
miguel doesn’t know jack shit about what she’s talking about but fuck, it sounds incredibly sexy to his ears,
“jessica had explained to me before that there will be less than fifteen people working in there. i would advise to create a fingerprint for entry. and it will require more space, more equipment and materials for me and my team to be able to carry on with our tasks. but i need you to not worry, miguel. i’ve done the trials and errors to limit the damage that might occur with the calculations.” she pushes her tablet for him to see clearly, colorful scribbles of geometry with shapes and patterns,
not only that, but she has a few mockups too. giving him a small vision on how the area would look like once it’s done.
miguel’s eyebrows raise, moving a bit closer to where she stands. “christ. this is amazing. you did that in…?”
“a week” she finishes with a smile, nails tapping against the table. watching how his eyes amazed at her small simple work “some would take more than that but, i take my work seriously, i don’t like postponing.”
his eyes move upwards to look at her, impressed by the details and efforts she had done with it. one thing about miguel, is that he is very much attracted to people who are putting their careers above anything,
and she has ticked that box,
“indeed” he lets out a breathe, nodding. “does that mean you don’t have a lot of free time?”
she thinks for a while. “not much definitely. but it’s not like i’m missing out on anything. what do people do nowadays? partying and gossiping? i rather not.”
he chuckles in amusement, “understandable. i thought that you might be into those kind of stuff.”
“and what gave you the assumption?”
he raises his shoulders. “you look young. young people like to have fun.”
“and how old do you think i am?” she asks with arms crossed,
he pinches his eyebrows. “28?”
she hums with a small laugh. “i’m 26”
miguel’a eyes widen slightly, “makes me older than you, then”
“how old are you?”
“32”
“really?” she asks in disbelief. “i thought older.”
“yeah?”
“yeah. around 40ish maybe.”
“that’s quite offensive, love” he fakes a gasp, shoving his hands into his pockets as he watches her scramble through more papers,
her heart skips a beat at the nickname, though she doesn’t think much of it. “it’s a compliment. the older the better, i’d say”
miguel smiles at that, walking around the table so now he stands across from her. “what did you and jessica talk about?”
“hm?”
“about me” he confirms. “you said that the two of you had talking about me.”
“oh, well” she begins, standing up straight to look into his eyes and miguel swears his knees almost give up. “she told me how much she admires you. your intelligence, bravery. your work ethic. told me all about the good things you had done for the people—“
“i don’t know about that”
“which” she cuts him off. “i am so, undeniably impressed by. keeping the universe intact while trying not to lose your fucking mind is hard, i could tell. I don’t know how you do it. makes me admire you too”
he stares at her as if he’s searching for a trace of doubt or a lie on her face. when he finds none, his heart softens. never in his life had someone come up to him and say how he’s doing a great job. let alone being impressed.
“thank you— i needed that actually” he laughs a bit. “wish people could say the same.”
“in my opinion, i don’t think you need to know about what other people think or say. you’re a grown man, correct?” she taps the eraser of her pencil on one of her sketchbook, eyeing any misguided lines she needs to work on. “if they don’t appreciate that, might as well kick their asses into a new universe”
a genuine chuckle escapes him, nodding in agreement. “i keep that in mind” he clears his throat, thinking about whether or not to make a small talk,
she notices the long pause between them before speaking up, “please, i hate awkward silence. you can talk to me, if you want to, miguel” her head shoots up at him with a playful tone,
“is architectural the only thing you’re doing?” he finds himself curious at her line of work,
“apart from this, i do a little bit of interior design. not too far off from architectural but not exactly the same either. i love anything that goes from there. putting ideas in my head before making it into a reality. also, it’s warming to see how i can help my clients dream come true” she responds simply, a small smile engraves on her pretty features.
“i also am studying in biochemistry at the moment. having a bit fun with molecular study.”
that perks his interest. “biochemistry?” he asks in a surprise tone. “i’m no expert in architectural but i don’t think it has anything to do with that.”
“it doesn’t” she confirms, picking a ruler before sketching out more details on the design. “i do it for fun.”
“for fun?” again, his question comes out in surprise, “why’s that?”
“i just think that learning shouldn’t be limited to one, you know? i like knowing about things. doing more things. the more knowledge, the more you have room to grow. plus, learning about molecules is interesting. might take it seriously on that one”
‘holy fuck, she’s perfect’
“that’s a— wow—“ he huffs out a heavy breath, can’t exactly tell if he’s impressed or intimidated. earning a soft giggle from her.
so, she’s gorgeous, brilliant and ambitious.
“how about you? jessica mentioned about you specializing in genetics. is that some sort of science thingy? because it sounds pretty fucking cool”
miguel scratches the back of his head. “something like that. i more focused on DNA’s, genetics pairings, human genome. all sorts of that. pretty boring if you ask me”
“doesn’t sound boring” she scoffs. “if anything, i find it very attractive when men are willing to learn about science. and i’m not just talking about the glasses, but the brains as well. you ticked every single quota, miguel”
she points at the working glasses he has on, causing his eyes to bug out at her boldness. y/n watches how he shyly takes it off, flustered at the compliment. she smirks as if she keeps trying to keep score on how many times she’s succeeded,
“okay, so” she continues, palms resting on the table before shifting the tablet. “let’s talk about your office. is there something you’re willing to change? because, not to be rude but your infrastructure is quite—shit. keep this up in two months then the apocalypse might have come early”
miguel bites back a laugh at her choice of words, scanning over his office walls, ceilings and monitors. “what do you suggest?”
she pauses, biting the end of her pencil before her eyes begin to do a 360 walkthrough. the sight is almost too perfect for miguel.
“we could do something about elevating the ceilings. make it a bit higher. and i see you have lesser—safety features? which could be quite concerning. we need to install biosafety cabinets, more detection systems and fire protection. I know you’re no ordinary man and could probably handle all the damage that might happen in the future but, it is my responsibility to ensure my client’s safety.”
miguel feels like a lovesick fool right now. and an asshole. he hadn't been listening a lot to what she had to say, merely focused on the way her pink glossed lips moving and how her fingers would occasionally fiddle against one another,
he imagines how her mouth would feel like, molding against his. there is no doubt in his mind that he would immediately be entranced with it.
"miguel? you listening?"
her sweet voice pulls him out of his train of thought, eyes blinking rapidly before meeting y/n's confused gaze,
"oh--y-yeah! yeah uhm.. that sounds great, would love that” his nervous chuckles makes her smile. “you’re really quick with it, aren’t you?”
“just doing my job, mr.o’hara” her tone is professional and prideful. “i’ll work quickly on the building designs, exploring more concepts for it and run a few test drives. however this might steal a bit of your time, from your job. weekly meetings are needed during this process. i’ll bring the mockups, sketches, models and everything. your inputs and feedbacks are required since this is your building after all. would that work?”
spending more time with her? oh, absolutely. he’d make it work,
he gives her a nod. “of course. i’ll clear my schedule off for it, just let me know when”
“excellent!” she exclaims with a bright smile, clapping her hands. “i will do my best to get it done as quickly as possible for you, miguel. i made a promise to jessica and i intend to keep that promise. it’s a long process but i need your full trust on me, okay? do you trust me?”
“yes” he answers without hesitation. “i trust you.”
“great! okay, that is all i have for you today. do you have any questions?”
miguel doesn’t like the idea of it ending here. not seeing her again until next week? that doesn’t feel right.
“you have a boyfriend?”
y/n halts at his question, looking at him with a confused yet amused expression. lip quirking in curiosity. “getting personal, aren’t we?”
“fuck, sorry, hermosa. you don’t have to answer that”
her heart skips a beat at the nickname. he just called her beautiful?
she eyes at how his gaze cast down the floor, head shaking. probably mentally kicking himself at the bold question he had thrown at her,
but she finds it adorable,
tilting her head to the side, she responds. “no. i don’t have a boyfriend. they are not quite up the standards i’m looking for.”
“yeah?” miguel takes a step forward, eyebrow raising. “and what are they?”
“my standards”
he finds it attractive at how she doesn’t like settling for less. she knows her worth without coming off too cocky nor bitchy about it,
“am i not allowed to know?”
“you can fuck around and find out” she smirks, pushing her tongue against the inside of her cheek. “i like to see them try.”
“you like seeing men on their knees begging for your time?”
she nods. “i live for it.”
he feels his cock growing hard at that,
“are you free, this friday?”
she bites down on her lower lip, watching how his biceps almost ripping his shirt off when he crossed his arms,
“i’m a busy woman, miguel”
“so am i” he responds quickly. “say dinner or a drink, anything. an hour or two tops, how about it?”
the way he’s looking at her should be illegal. he has this glint in his eyes. primal, confident. and it’s extremely charming in her own opinion,
she hates how it makes her heat rises,
with a hum, she slowly gather up her things, stacking the compiling files on the tablet. tucking them against her left breast.
“pick me up at 7. don’t be late. and i’m choosing where we should go. it was nice meeting you, mr. o’hara. i will see you then” with that she gives him a smile and a subtle wink before turning around to exit out of his office. leaving miguel completely speechless but enamored.
“fuck. i’m in love” he exhales a dreamy sigh
#miguel o’hara#miguel o’hara x reader#miguel o’hara blurbs#miguel o’hara fluff#miguel o’hara imagines
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famous last words — james potter
writing masterlist | askbox
─── summary: you and james are sworn enemies. you quite like it that way.
─── pairing: james potter x quidditch player!reader.
─── warnings: fluff, banter, swearing. if you're a reader of my cedric series oh, captain! then you might find this familiar, it's a reworked version of chapter three. this was so much fun honestly i love sassy stuff like this.
─── word count: 2.1k.
BY THE TIME THE TRAIN WHISTLES ITS ARRIVAL AT HOGSMEADE STATION, all you really want to do is go to bed. The golden glow of warmth has suffused your bones completely, lulling you into a delightfully sleepy state. You're curled up against the window when your friend Beth jostles you awake and practically carries you off the train, where you are utterly unsurprised to learn that the weather is terrible.
The downpour does a spectacular job at waking you up. Droplets of freezing rain slip past the collar of your shirt and down your spine before you manage to pull your cardigan up over your head. A disgruntled scowl tugs at your lips as you race ahead of Beth to get a space on one of the carriages. Once you are safely situated in the dry, you look out into the rain, expecting to see Beth scarpering up the platform right behind you. Instead, she's sauntering towards the carriage, a wide smirk on her face, happy and dry beneath one of the big black umbrellas Hagrid is handing out on the platform.
You frown, folding your arms over your chest, feeling distinctly soggy. Beth climbs into the carriage, giggling as she sits down beside you. You merely stick your tongue out at her.
"Hey," Beth says, folding the umbrella back up before raising her hands in defence, accidentally splashing you both with rainwater, "you're the one who ran away. Don't blame me for being more observant."
"I reject that," you reply indignantly. Beth offers up a hair tie from her wrist and you take it, still scowling, to tie your damp hair into a messy ponytail. "I am absolutely observant. Just not... all the time." Which basically means where sports isn't involved. Teachers have noted in their reports that you're easily distracted in class, with a mind that tends to wander rather than focus on the task at hand. Your mother used to call it butterfly brain. Thoughts light as air, settling down on one flower for a few moments until a prettier, more interesting flower comes into view. She didn't mean to make you feel bad about that, but it doesn't help when all your teachers are saying the same thing.
The prettier flower is usually Quidditch. With a muggle upbringing, you hadn't been exposed to the brilliance of magic until a mysterious letter appeared on your eleventh birthday (delivered, you recall, stern-faced woman in peculiar emerald robes. If you'd known then that Professor McGonagall's first impression of you would be a wide-eyed child whose front tooth had just been knocked loose by a rogue cricket bat, well, you probably would've died of embarrassment. Now she's your Head of House. And most unfortunately, that's not the only time she's seen you missing a few teeth.) When you got to Hogwarts and saw students playing Quidditch for the first time, whizzing like arrows through the air on actual broomsticks— You'd been in love with the sport ever since.
Almost every corner of your brain is taken up by Quidditch. A hundred different game plans and plays running on repeat. So Beth is totally wrong; you are very observant., and you are never more observant than when your eye is on the prize.
This time, though, the prize was shelter. Skittering off through the downpour to get to the carriage without properly checking your surroundings wasn't the smartest route, but it worked. Sort of.
Your pride hurts a little bit.
Beth's just about done laughing at you when a knock on the carriage exterior catches your attention. A familiar face appears at the door. "Is there any room in here?" James Potter's smile is crooked, and his dark hair is damp and floppy from the rain, water dripping from the strands into his face. Bright eyes dart back forth between you and Beth, and suddenly you remember that only almost every corner of your brain is occupied by Quidditch.
There's a stubborn little spot right in the middle, little more than a speck, really — but it's filled with nothing else but James fucking Potter.
"There was a mass exodus from the train as soon as it arrived," he continues as his glasses start to fog up, "and the only other carriage left is full of second-years."
Oh, you feel that one in your soul. Second-years are okay, sometimes, but usually they're excitable, too ready for the start of another year at magic school, and thus only bearable in small doses. By third year, the excitement is all about getting to choose which classes you take, and you understand this to a degree (you chose Divination, which sounded cool at the time but was an absolute fucking mistake, because you might enjoy the spooky muggle stuff but predicting the deaths of all your friends is not fucking fun, no matter how good your end-of-year grade was for it ) but the novelty quickly wears off.
You suppose that's why James has chosen to risk his life by sitting in a confined space with you, instead. The three of you are well-seasoned veterans of Hogwarts and its bullshit by this point and, as a result, are appropriate company.
The fact that both of you are his teammates is probably a nice bonus, too.
You, however, offer a merciless smirk. James Potter is, without doubt, your worst enemy, and it fills you up with glee to inconvenience him at any opportunity. "You snooze, you lose, Potter. Off to the second-years you go!" You even make a shooing motion, just for good measure.
Beth smacks your arm and rolls her eyes, offering James a pleasant smile. "There's loads of room, ignore them," she says, and while you're busy dramatically rubbing your arm and muttering expletives, James takes a seat on the bench opposite you. Rain hammers against the roof, somehow louder than it was a moment ago, and a self-satisfied grin creeps onto his face as the carriage begins its journey to the castle.
"Where are the rest of the merry morons, then?" You ask, quirking a brow at him. You're pretty sure you can count on one hand the number of times you've seen James without at least one of his comrades in mischief. Frankly, it's rarer than spotting a unicorn in the wild. You wonder if you should take a picture to commemorate the occasion.
He looks sheepish as he pulls his glasses off to wipe away the condensation. "Lost a bet."
He doesn't elaborate, and you don't care enough to ask him to. You've been at school with them long enough to know that, honestly, it's probably best not to know.
Beth reaches out and plucks a stray leaf from your hair. She waves it in your face, tickling your nose gently before letting it flutter to the ground. You slip your hand into hers, linking your fingers together. Beth is soft and sweet when she wants to be, and you're certain there's not a soul in the world who knows you this well. She has wormed her way into your heart, and you'd have to carve it out of your chest to be rid of her now.
"Does anyone know who our captain is yet?" You ask aloud, after a few seconds of silence have passed. You're tired enough to curl up on the floor of the carriage and fall asleep right then and there, lulled by its gentle rocking and pitter-patter of the rain, but you should probably be conversational. There's very little worse than awkward silence, especially with James sitting there, staring at you with that dopey half-smirk on his face.
You want to smack him. You want him to think you're extraordinary. You're not quite sure how to cope with such emotional extremes, but there they are, coexisting at the front of your mind. They war with each other, an itch you can't scratch because if you, you'll keep going until there's blood.
His, preferably.
It's not even that you hate James. Not really. You used to, only a year or so ago, because he made it so easy. With his smug little smile and the skip in his step, with his quips and jokes and way his hair curls over his brow, you'd fucking despised him. He'd set himself up as your rival back in second year, when you made the Gryffindor team at the same time. With the blurred stretch of years between then and now, you can't remember quite how it began, or what he did precisely that sparked this eternal grudge, but what followed is years of goading one another, pushing and pushing and pushing to outdo one another.
The rivalry has made you so much better than you ever could have dreamed. Quidditch is your life and honestly, without James Potter, you're not sure where you'd be with it. Still good, perhaps. But maybe not very nearly the best.
(You'll die before you tell him that, though. Or he will. You're not that picky and he does seem to have a death wish.)
The carriage jolts as one of the wheels dips into a pothole. The thought of skipping the feast entirely sneaking past Professor McGonagall to go straight to your dorm is a tempting prospect. You know Beth won't let you do it, because if she has to sit through Dumbledore's speech then she'll drag you down with her, but it might be worth a shot.
The silence persists for a few more seconds, growing steadily more awkward. When no one responds to your question, you press on. "We should've heard by now, right? Team captains get picked in the summer, and we need a new one because Hilary graduated last year." Do you sound a little bit agitated by your teammates' lack of urgency? Yes. Just a touch. But the look on Beth's face is fucking suspicious, and James... Well. He looks like he'd rather die.
You narrow your eyes. "What are you not telling me? Spit it out, the pair of you."
James coughs once, raising a hand to cover his mouth as he does so. For once the typical arrogance is gone, washed away with the rain. He looks dreadfully uncomfortable, turning bright red as he bashfully says, "Well. Uh. I am, I suppose. The new captain, that is." He has the good sense to look frightened.
You hope, suddenly, that his cough means he caught pneumonia or something. Nothing fatal, obviously, but just enough to put him out of commission for a little while. You don't really mean it (you're not quite as horrible as some people would like to think) because James is one of the best on the team. Sometimes, you'll begrudgingly admit that he's even the best on the team ━ but only if you get to be second best, obviously.
Which is why you're a little shocked, of course, but not surprised. Not surprised at all, because he is good. Even as you sit there, pondering the many ways you could kill him and make it look like an accident, you know he's good. Too fucking good.
Which is why you say, "Tell me you're kidding."
James furrows his brows. "I'm not kidding?"
You can feel Beth's shoulders shaking beside you, trying desperately to smother her amused cackles. James' expression softens a little as he realises this is a joke, sort of, and he begins to grin.
"No, really," you say, this time the hint of a smile forming on your own lips, "tell me you're kidding. I'm begrudgingly proud and all that, because it had to be one of us," you wave your free hand at him, you'll have the captaincy one day, "but also, like, tell me it's a joke."
"Why?"
"Because I'm genuinely considering pushing you out of this carriage."
James shrugs his shoulders, as if to say 'yeah, that's fair.' He gets it, he really does. You love that someone gets it. "It's not a joke, I'm afraid. Better luck next time, though!" He says it in a jolly tone of voice, and oh, you hate him.
That's the thing with the two of you. You're sworn enemies, right, but you make each other better. He tries harder because you light a fire under his arse and bloody hell, you're itching for a chance to burn him, and vice versa.
So you smirk, now. Square your shoulders. You've baited him into a competition, and you are absolutely ready to deliver. "Famous last words, Potter. Famous last words."
#the marauders#marauders era fic#james potter x reader#marauders era fanfiction#james potter#james potter fanfiction#marauders imagine#james potter imagine#* chapter update.
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the fig tree | rotten
pairing: therapist!joel x f!reader
warnings: 18+ mdni. discussion of heavy and potentially triggering topics such as sa, self-harm, infertility, various mental illnesses, self-hatred and drug use. these topics are only mentioned and do not occur in real-time.
chapter summary: a twenty-something, seemingly lost cause, meets her match in the form of psychotherapist: dr. joel miller.
dividers by @saradika-graphics
updates: @sempersirenswrites
series masterlist
Maybe it was time to accept you were never as good as you'd always thought you'd been.
For four long years, you had spent most of your waking hours dissecting epic poetry and papyrology.
Still, the most your degree had done for you was rouse a satisfying disappointment from your mother’s side of the family when they realised you weren’t actually going to be that kind of doctor.
Not to say such in a self-deprecation; you hardly suffered from any semblance of an imposter syndrome. Your mother used to frequently remind you that you were far too vain to not believe in yourself.
It was more of a philosophical framework. Platonic realism. Knowing your muted beauty could earn you a free drink from below-average men who felt their trousers tighten when you addressed them through your eyelashes.
But it wasn't an obvious enough beauty for the attention of the men you imagined exchanging bodily fluids with between stops on the underground.
Besides, you had been a student of Classical Studies; a degree that doesn’t require the intellectual strain of learning Latin or Ancient Greek. The inclusive way for people like you, having attended a run-down state-funded school, to get a glimpse into the Bullingdon boys' and grammar schoolgirls’ fallback plans.
It wasn't even that you disliked Classics; you'd borderline gotten off on reading plays written by men about wicked women; but that was because the brilliant women were always the wicked ones.
You particularly enjoyed the assumptions men made about the female condition – how women were too wet, too porous; couldn’t keep their wombs from wandering. And assumptions they were. No Greek physician ever sliced a woman from chin to cunt to confirm their hypotheses. Although, ancient men hadn't been all too familiar with the insides of a woman anyway.
Sometimes, you thought you would quite simply die if you were reduced to only understanding people through your assumptions of them.
It was just that you could never stop thinking about what people thought. It was all you could ever think about. You wanted to peel people's skulls apart and scream at their horribly grey frontal lobe:
Are you ok? Have I done something to upset you? Do you still love me? Do I look like someone that has been raped? Do you think that girl we just walked past has a firmer ass than me? Do you like my new bangs?
For a short period of time, you'd been desperate to know how your therapist felt and thought of you. There is a sick irony in baring your bones to a stranger in the reclined chair opposite you who never even takes off their cardigan.
You needed to know if your traumas made him sad, or if he saw things that made him think of you outside of your sessions. You supposed he both pitied and admired you in a twisted, surrogate-daughter kind of way.
Then again, he probably wouldn’t have been a very good therapist did he not pity his clients.
At one point you thought you might be in love with him.
You'd met weekly in his high-ceiling office on a busy street. It was a romantic setting to unload twenty-four years of trauma to a kind man wearing a knitted cardigan. The sun would peak through clouds and shine onto the both of you through two large windows, between which sat a Japanese peace lily.
You soon realised he was just the first man to let you speak uninterrupted.
You spoke at him mostly, finishing observations that had been years in the making with “Does that make sense?” Even though you knew it made sense. You were certain, actually, that everything you had articulated came from somewhere deeper inside of you than any man could reach. You just couldn't leave it hanging there like an exposed nerve.
Maybe it was because he didn't speak much that you liked him. Sometimes he would offer anecdotes or remedies for PTSD-induced panic attacks that you both knew you would never use.
In most sessions, you had simply basked in the divinity of being listened to. You wondered if this was how devout Catholics like your grandmother felt at confession, or perhaps it was how all of your ex-boyfriends had felt.
You weren't even particularly attracted to him. He had been ten years older than you, and when your sessions first began, you'd been casually fucking someone a year older than him – but he didn't need to know that.
There were a lot of things you'd decided he didn't need to know. Like the fact you snorted cocaine until your nose bled, sliced into your thighs a couple of evenings a week, and let men use your body to masturbate as a feeble attempt to reclaim your sexuality - as if it had ever been anyone's for the taking.
Had he known the dirtier parts of your life, you feared he would have crossed out the word victim in his black Moleskin notebook and replaced it with bystander.
Maybe he would think you were a pathological liar and diagnose you with a personality disorder. This was something you'd been warned about by the first friend you had made at university.
“My mother is a therapist, you know. Don’t tell them you cut yourself or that you’ve told anyone you cut yourself – they’ll diagnose you with BPD.”
“But I’ve told you.”
“Trust me. They’ll put you on an SSRI and you’ll never be able to orgasm again.”
You were freshly eighteen and had never had a real orgasm anyway, but this terrified you enough to reel in your catalogue of symptoms for the GP appointment you had scheduled later that day.
In the end, you'd buckled and sobbed as the doctor sat adjacent to you. You didn’t mention the self-harming or the suicidal thoughts, but did tell her that you didn’t know where to go from here.
She'd slid a leaflet from the university's self-help website across the table before pushing her chair back and motioning toward the door.
“Call 999 if things get worse," she had said. "But let’s just hope it doesn’t get to that point. A&E is very overwhelmed at the moment.”
So you got on with it. Boats against the current, or whatever. You made the hurt so small and buried it so deep within you and swore you'd never let anyone get close enough to pick at the stray thread to your undoing.
And for a little while it worked. You became what you knew you should be; you presented your face for fucking and never let the door slam on your way out.
These days, you'd felt as though you were slowly becoming rotten.
It started on the surface; a bizarre case of adult acne that no dermatologist could diagnose for love nor money. Blood tests, topical steroids, antibiotics, potentially-baby-deforming drugs. You tried them all to little avail. In the end, it was simply the passing of time that had rid you of the rot.
Next, it had been your womb. Decomposing from the inside out. Your body had made the decision for you that goodness couldn't form in your guts.
The final straw had, embarrassingly, been your heart.
You hated to say it aloud. So much so that you hadn't. But it had been a quiet promise of yours; one you'd kept quietly close to your chest - that your suffering would never turn you ugly.
But here you were, alone and swearing at the wind, the rage beneath your skin growing like a tumour.
You hated it.
You hated yourself.
You hated that you were angry but had never been taught how to be angry, because anger wasn't a pretty emotion; it was one that should be starved and kept in the corner of your wardrobe to rot like black mould.
So here you stood: before a Victorian townhouse with your scarf furiously fighting the wind, droplets of rain threatening your freshly straightened hair, scanning various names scrawled on the building's buzzer.
S. PHYSIOTHERAPY
A & R SOLICITORS
J. MILLER PSYCHOTHERAPY
You bit the inside of your cheek and ducked further into the doorway, pressing the buzzer for the last option.
A voice had answered quicker than you'd anticipated, soon followed by a harsh buzz of the intercom.
"Come on up."
Dr. Miller's office was on the third floor.
You huffed, struggling with the combination of the stairs and attempting to wrangle your wet coat from your back. Amidst your struggle, you hear a door open somewhere above you, followed by a couple of soft and slow footsteps.
Your chin instinctively lifted toward the source of the noise, feet carrying you round and round the spiral staircase.
Light poured around his silhouette from the window behind him. It was ridiculous, actually. The sight was almost holy.
Neither of you spoke as you made your way up toward him. You felt as though you were on your knees beneath him, transfixed in supplication.
The sleeves of his blue cotton shirt were haphazardly pushed up just before his elbows, arms outstretched and fingers wrapped around the wooden bannister.
You were supposed to be actually trying with this one, not fantasising about the ways the veins in his arms probably bulged with his hand around your throat.
After being politely let go by your previous therapist, you'd promised yourself that the colleague he'd recommended to you, Dr. Miller, would be the one to fix you for good.
"Hello." He nodded, not quite managing a smile.
He reached a hand toward you, which you shook with the little strength left in your body.
"Hello." You tried your best to imitate his stoic cadence, your hand still tightly in his.
You let him break the handshake first, playing a petulant, one-sided game to see how quick he would be to scare.
"After you." He gestured to the room behind him. "Take a seat wherever you feel most comfortable."
"If there is any cowboy paraphernalia in that room I am not paying for this session."
"Excuse me?" His eyebrows knitted together, no sign of humour registering on his face.
"Your accent - it was a joke. I mean, I paid already anyway." You fumbled your words awkwardly. "Jokes are always much funnier when you explain them."
He cocked his head slightly. Hesitant to embarrass yourself further, you saw yourself into his office.
The room was dim for a space endowed with Victorian-style floor-to-ceiling windows. It felt like you could get lost in it, hide away, tuck yourself into a corner and be lost for days.
"I have your notes from Dr. Hughes." He said.
"Anything juicy?" You asked, still surveying the room.
You couldn't put your finger on the specifics of his scent, but it was familiar; like passing a man in the street wearing the same aftershave as your father, or a boyfriend you hadn't seen for years.
"I'd like to figure that out myself."
You'd eventually settled on the armchair positioned opposite his own.
You had briefly wondered if this was a test, that he would be psychoanalysing whether you chose the armchair or the adjacent sofa.
Maybe you'd failed already.
For the majority of the session, you'd gone through the necessary motions of admin, confidentiality, and what you eventually wanted to get out of therapy.
"I don't have the ability to fix you, y'know that right?" His question had caught you off guard.
"I know that." You'd replied meekly.
"It's just, I don't know what kind of promises Dr. Hughes made you. We trained together, you see. He had always been more, how do I put this, hopeful than I am."
"Oh wow. Forty minutes into our first session and you're already hopeless?" You were only partly joking.
"I'm a big believer in transparency, and I can see you were meeting on and off for a few years. I'm just intrigued as to what your end goal here is."
You bit down on your cheek, swallowing the ember of rage that was burning in your throat.
"Do you think I do this for fun? Carve out an hour a week to relive my deepest, darkest traumas?"
"Not at all. I just find it interesting that after almost three years of therapy, you still can't use the word rape. You've referred to it as the thing that happened four times already."
The rot crept up your throat, threatening to pour out of your mouth and fill the room with the ugliness that grew inside of you.
"What is this, some kind of tough love therapy?" You scoffed. Was he trying to get a rise out of you?
"It can be whatever you want it to be."
He was kind of annoying, actually.
The two of you sat in silence, defiantly holding eye contact with one another to see who would be the first to break. And when he finally spoke, it was more of a statement than a question.
"That's time. I'll see you at the same time next week."
"How are you so sure I'll come back?"
He smiled for the first time that afternoon.
"I'm not."
#my fic#the last of us#joel miller x f!reader#joel tlou#joel miller x reader#tlou fanfiction#pedro pascal#joel miller x female reader#pedro pascal characters#tlou hbo#tlou#joel miller fanfic#joel x reader#the last of us hbo#the last of us fanfiction#pedro pascal fanfic#pedrohub#pedrostories
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In The Way I Need You | Part 2
Series Masterlist
➪in which you meet lilith and joey, as well as learn about clay’s heart condition, despite him not wanting you to find out and think he’s weak because of it.
PSA: strongly suggested to read the warnings before proceeding.
WC; 4.6k | Do not repost this anywhere, reblogs are fine ♡
You couldn’t believe the hottest guy you had ever met had a kid, and he wanted you to meet said kid. Look after him, even.
Oh, God. That is so not professional.
You had asked to meet up for an interview with this guy and you think he’s hot. Your potential, what, boss? You couldn’t think like that, no matter how damn near edible he is.
Stop.
It was nearing six when you finally arrived at his house, and you were happy to discover that it wasn’t too far from the apartment you were renting until you found something more permanent.
You were sweating a bit as you stepped out of the taxi you were somehow able to flag down. Clay looked like a businessman when you met him, so you knew he must have a decent paying job, but the building you were currently standing in front of was one that had to be the home of a billionaire.
This was the address he had given you, right?
You were doubting it a bit, but you weren’t able to turn back around and ask if this was the right place before the taxi pulled away and left you behind.
Debating on whether or not you should call him, you push away your doubts and walk up the steps of the building and knock on the door. After waiting for a few beats with no indication that anyone was coming, you realize that your knocks wouldn’t have been heard by someone who wasn’t on the first floor.
You look around a bit before your eyes land on a doorbell, and you wanted to smack yourself for being clueless before. You pressed it and only had to wait a couple of seconds before you saw a silhouette through the frosted glass and then the door opened. “Hey,” then there was that deep and all too attractive voice.
“Hi,” you manage to say back as you take in his tall form. The light behind him casted various shadows and made the details of his face harder to make out, but that didn’t stop you from trying. Just from the entryway you could tell this house was nicer than any place you had ever lived, and you were beginning to feel the smallest bit overwhelmed. “So, this is where you live?”
Clay laughs and scratches the back of his neck. “Yeah,” he answers, dropping his hand again and moving to the side, gesturing for you to enter the house. “I hope you didn’t have a hard time finding it.”
His tone was teasing and you playfully rolled your eyes as you shrug off your cardigan. “I think the cab driver was about three seconds away from asking me to get out and find this place myself,”
He laughed again as he took your cardigan from you and set it on a chair next to the entryway table.
You took the time to look around the space and if this was how the front hall looked, you couldn’t even begin to imagine how the rest of the house looked. You were tempted to ask what he did for a living to be able to afford a place like this, but held off as he began to lead you up the stairs. “It’s good to see you again,” he says as he walks behind you. “Sorry to hear about the interview, I hope I didn’t make you late for it and that’s why it didn’t work out.”
Shrugging, you slide your hand up the railing as you near the top. “No, I was already late, and it was nice to talk to an actual person for a while rather than the middle aged woman who didn’t give me much of a chance to begin with,”
Clay laughed as he reached the top of the stairs as well. “Now I don’t feel so bad,”
“Don’t feel bad at all,” you wave him off as you take in the various family pictures that lined the wall. There was a photo of, who you could only assume was a young Clay, and beside that one was another of a kid. He looked like Clay, his eyes and hair color the exact same, but his features were mixed with someone else’s. Since he looked a lot like how Clay did at that age, you knew that had to be his son. “It gives me an excuse to meet the coolest kid in the city.”
Clay moves to stand next to you, his eyes fixated on the picture as well.
“Is that him?” You ask, but you were pretty sure you already knew the answer. When Clay nodded with a small grin, you fought off one of your own. “He’s cute. Looks a lot like you.” You clearly were not good at getting a hold of yourself, and you quickly straightened up after you realized what you had said.
His face tints pink from your words and he clears his throat as he looks at another picture of two people; a man in a Santa suit and a woman smiling next to him. Clay’s eyes hardened a bit as he began to back away. “Yeah, he’s pretty cute,” he agreed and you were beginning to think you said something wrong.
Then it hit you.
Was Clay married? Engaged? Dating someone?
You hated how your mind immediately went to assuming he was single and that’s why he needed a sitter. You felt dumb and a bit embarrassed at how quickly you let yourself take interest in this guy, despite this being a literal interview for a possible job right now.
No more.
“So,” you say and put a bit of distance between you and him. “Where is this kid? I’m dying to meet him and see if he lives up to his reputation.”
Clay quickly lightens up at that and he nods towards a doorway. “He’s eating dinner,”
You were then led into the dining room that was attached to the kitchen, and you had soon decided that this had to be the nicest house you had ever seen in your entire life. Even the houses you saw in movies didn’t live up to this place.
There was a dining room table and a kitchen table, how much more could you want?
Upon entering the dining room, you were met with the adorable sight of a little kid messily eating spaghetti. “Hi,” you say cheerfully when the boy meets your eyes. “You must be the coolest kid in New York.”
He smiles and drops his fork onto the plate when Clay enters the room as well, raising his short arms up towards his dad. “Say hi, buddy,”
“Hi,” he said back as Clay leaned down to kiss the top of his head.
You smile and feel your heart pretty much soar at the cute sight of the father and son who looked so much alike it was almost scary. “Hi,” you say again and step closer. “Does the coolest guy ever have a name? Or should I guess?”
The kid laughed and mirrored his dads smile. “Guess,”
You purse your lips and move lean on the table next to his chair. “Hmm, Zack?” You ask and he shakes his head. You hum again and try not to pay attention to the way Clay smiled at how you interacted with his son. “Bryson?”
“No,” he shakes his head again and picks up his fork. “One more guess.”
“Uh oh,” Clay murmurs, giving you a teasing look. “Better make it count.”
You swallow a bit harshly before taking your eyes off him. “Aaron?”
He gives you a messy smile and shakes his head once again. “Nope. I’m Joey,”
“Awh, no,” you sigh dramatically. “Wasn’t even close, was I?”
Joey laughs and gives a final head shake before looking past you and into the kitchen.
You turn and see a woman standing there with a confused and guarded expression on her face. She looked a lot like both Clay and Joey, and you were beginning to believe that everyone in this family had good genes.
You weren’t able to introduce yourself before Clay was moving to stand next to you. “Mother,” he greeted, making you glance up at him before smiling back down at Joey. “This is Y/n. She might be the sitter who looks after Joey when we’re at work.”
His mom straightens up at that, a brief look of shock crossing her face before she looks back at you. “Well, it’s nice to see my son take my advice for once,” she says in a calm voice.
You smile and take a step towards her. “It’s nice to meet you, Mrs..?”
“Beresford,” she answers, giving you a half smile back. “Lilith Beresford. How did you happen to meet Clay?”
She sounded a bit hostile, but you didn’t want to make her unimpressed, so you just pushed away your worries and glanced back at Clay with an apprehensive look. The encouraging and kind grin he gave you helped only a little. “We met the other day,” you begin. “Yeah, I was actually on my way to a job interview and I got pretty lost. Clay saw me and gave me the right directions.”
Lilith nods and glances between you and Clay. “And how did that interview go?” She asked and crossed her arms.
Your smile falters a bit, not at all expecting her to ask that, and Clay didn’t expect it either. “Mother,” he laughed and it sounded a bit forced. “What does it matter how it went if she’s here now to potentially look after Joey?”
While you were glad he helped you out, you were beginning to feel a bit awkward, but then Joey gave you a crooked smile, and you realized that you actually wouldn’t mind babysitting him for a good portion of your day. “The interview went fine,” you answer her, meeting Clay’s eyes when he turns to look back at you. “But I realized pretty quickly that the job wasn’t for me. So that’s why I’m here. Your house is beautiful, Mrs. Beresford, and Joey seems like a really nice kid.”
Lilith’s face was a bit expressionless, and you thought you were about to be asked to leave, but she dropped her stiff stance and nodded. “He is quite the sweetheart,” she agrees and shares a look with Clay. It felt like they had their own wordless conversation with how intense their stares were, until she broke eye contact and looked back at you. “Like his dad.”
You nod and look down when you feel little fingers tug at your wrist. Joey had begun playing with your bracelet, his eyes flickering over each individual charm. “It’s pretty huh?” You ask and watch as he nods.
“Y/n, was it?” Lilith asks, making you quickly look back at her and nod. “Has Clay shown you the rest of the house?”
Clay moves to stand behind Joey’s chair. “I was getting to it,” he answered for you. “Just wanted to introduce her to him first.”
“I’ll take over,” she offered and left no room for a debate as she extended her arm out and gestured for you to follow her. “You look young. May I ask how old you are?”
You look back at Clay and Joey briefly before you were being escorted down the hall and back towards the stairs. “I’m twenty,”
“And you’ve graduated high school?” She asked as you and her walked past the family picture wall.
“Yes, I graduated two years ago,” you felt like this was more of an integration rather than an interview, but you were enjoying the house tour nonetheless. “High nineties.”
You weren’t sure why you wanted to impress her so badly, but here we are. You also weren’t sure why you thought telling her that you got good grades would help you get a babysitting job. She glances back at you as she stops at another archway. “And you know what to do in case of a medical emergency?”
“I’ve got my CPR certificate and took basic health classes all throughout school,”
Lilith nods. “This is the living room, where you’ll likely spend most of your time with Joey if you do end up being his sitter,” she didn’t sound too encouraging, but you were far too distracted at how nice the living room is to actually get offended. “So, you’re new to the city?”
She led you over to the second staircase. “Yes,” you say quietly as you ascend the stairs up to the third floor. “I just moved here a couple weeks ago. I’m from Hudson.”
“Wow, that’s quite the change,” this time she actually did sound a bit surprised and maybe even a little impressed, and you took that as a good sign. “You’ll get used to Brooklyn soon. There’s just a lot more people, and a lot more places.”
She stopped outside a closed door and turned back to face you. “Thanks for believing in me,” you joked and she smiled.
“This is Clay’s room, not that you’d ever be in there, unless you want to take on the task of cleaning it. My son can be a bit messy at times,” well now it felt like she was testing you.
God, you hope you can give her the response she is looking for. “I don’t mind cleaning or cooking or things like that,” you say slowly. “I learned how to take care of myself at a young age, so I’m kind of skilled in the kitchen. Trust me, Joey will be eating well whenever I’m here. If you and Clay believe I’m a good fit for it.”
She hummed, leading you further down the hall. “I don’t see why you wouldn’t be,” she says. “Smart, nice, supposedly good at cooking. I think Joey would love to have you around.”
You smile at that as she opens a door just a few feet down the hall from Clay’s room. “Thank you, Mrs. Beresford. I think Joey and I would have a lot of fun together,”
“Me too,” she agrees. “This is his room.”
Joey’s room did not look like a kid’s room at all. It was neat and tidy, with books and stuffed animals scattered about on the bed and dresser. The previous babysitting gig you had, the mom wouldn’t know how to keep the house clean if you paid her, and she was the one paying you. “How old is he?” You asked as you observed the clean room, your eyes landing on a framed picture of Clay and Joey on the wall next to the bed.
Clay looked a few years younger and Joey was just a baby, and it made you feel all warm inside as a deep blush took over your whole body. “He just turned four last month,” she answered.
“And what about his mom?”
Lilith turned to look at you, her eyes narrowing as she shut the door again. “She’s not in the picture and hasn’t been since Joey was only three months old,” was all she said as she walked further down the hall.
Yeah, you definitely asked one question too many with that one.
Still, you now felt bad at the fact that Joey hadn’t had a mother figure in his life at all. He seemed so sweet, who in their right mind would give that up? And that’s not even mentioning the fact that Clay was probably the nicest guy you had ever met, and he is a great dad from the few interactions you’ve seen between him and Joey.
While you wanted to know more, you bit your tongue and followed Lilith down the hall, not wanting to ruin the good thing you felt was brewing at the moment.
-
While his mother was one of the best people in his life, Lilith Beresford can be very overbearing at times.
Like right now.
Clay was supposed to be the one giving you the tour and getting to know more about you, but the second Lilith had seen him with a girl, she swooped in and took her away.
He wasn’t dumb, he knew what the look they shared before she whisked you away meant, and he knew she was just trying to look out for him, but it still didn’t change the fact that he had brought this upon himself, and he liked to think that he knew what he was doing.
As he watched his mother haul you down the hall, he sighed and sat down next to his son. “What do you think, Joe?” He murmured, reaching over and pushing Joey’s sand-colored hair away from his forehead. “She seems nice, huh?”
Joey nods and pushes away his plate of nearly finished spaghetti. “She’s pretty,”
Clay nodded before he could even realized that he was agreeing with his four year old kid about your looks. “She’s nice, though, bud,” he says as he grabs a napkin from off the center of the table and hands it to Joey. “Do you think you might like seeing her around here when me and grandma are away at work?”
“We can color together,” Joey nods and wipes away the sauce from his face.
“Yeah,” Clay laughs, taking the plate once Joey tossed the napkin on top of it. “You can.”
He reaches a hand out and helps Joey off the chair before heading towards the kitchen and setting the plate onto the counter next to the sink. “Can I watch a show?” Joey asks, hugging Clay’s leg as he gazes up at him.
“Sure, buddy,” he says as he turns the sink on and puts the plate in it. “I’ll come turn it on in a few minutes, okay?”
“Okay,”
Clay leans down and presses a noisy kiss to the top of his head before gently pushing him in the direction of the doorway. “Go wait in the living room. I’ll be in there soon,”
He watches as Joey runs on wobbly legs out of the kitchen, a small smile on his lips when he turns back around and begins to wash the dishes.
He wonders what part of the house you and his mom are in now. Did she show you his room? God, he hoped not. It was a mess and he really didn’t want to come off a slob.
The thought of him wanting to show you his room himself briefly flashed through his mind, but he quickly pushed it away.
As he drains the sink and sets the clean dishes aside, Clay finds himself liking the idea of having you around. He had only spoken to you a few times, but each conversation didn’t feel forced or awkward or uncomfortable. And he liked how sweet you are to his son, and how nice you are to his mom, despite her coming off as intimidating, even to him.
For the first time in a long time, he was thinking about someone else other than Sam.
As he dried his hands off and left the kitchen, he could hear the two of you walking around upstairs when he made his way to the living room. He really hoped his mother was taking it easy on you, seeing as she still wasn’t over the way his ex had completely broken his heart and left him without a second thought.
Lilith Beresford was more protective over his fragile heart than he is, and though that thought gave him comfort, he also knew it wasn’t fair to have her look out for him all the time.
But he also knew she would never stop.
He passed the staircase and entered the living room, where he found Joey sitting patiently on the couch. Clay couldn’t deny, his kid is so damn cute, he was so tempted to quit his job and stay home with him everyday until he grew old enough to think that spending time with his dad is lame.
Clay turns the TV on before sitting next to Joey, taking him in his arms and smothering his face with kisses. At that exact moment, both you and his mother descend the stairs and enter the living room just in time to see Joey laugh and try to escape his dad’s arms. “Grandma!” He calls out and Lilith smiles as she walks over to them.
“Don’t look at me for help, Joseph,” she teased as she leaned down and kissed him all over his face as well. “I’m just as bad as your father.”
Joey squealed as both Clay and Lilith smothered him with kisses. “Y/n!” He called out instead, and the way he mispronounces your name has Clay pulling away with a laugh.
He looked over and saw you with a big smile on your face, your body leaning against the frame and your arms crossed. “Sorry, Joey,” you shrug. “I think you’re outnumbered here.”
It was likely he didn’t really understand what you meant, but Joey laughed anyway and crawled over to sit on Lilith’s lap.
Clay moved to stand up, ruffling Joey’s hair as did so. “So?” He steps towards you. “Think you can handle the kid for a few hours a day?”
You purse your lips and he has to refrain from staring at them for too long. “I think I can manage,” you answer and match his grin as he closes the space between the two of you. “I should head home now, though.”
He nods and glances back at his mom and son. She gave him a look that had him quickly turning back around to you. “I’ll walk you out,” he offered and was about to leave the room when she called out to him.
“Clay, did you tell her about your-” she started but he quickly cut her off.
“No,” he answered and was about to tell her to drop it until she decided to let you know that he has a serious problem and is very slowly growing weaker by the day.
“Clay has a heart condition,” she informed you. “His heart isn’t as strong as he believes it to be. If you are to be around him a lot, you should know that.”
Clay huffed and closed his eyes as he let the feeling of embarrassment take over him. “Mother,”
Now he really looked weak in front of you. He looked incapable of taking care of both himself and his son.
“She needs to know, Clayton,” she insisted, smoothing out the mess he made of Joey’s hair before looking over his shoulder and at you. “It was nice meeting you, Y/n. I hope to see you again soon.”
“You too,” came your quiet reply, and when he finally looked over at you, your eyes were softer and held a hint of worry.
It had him sighing as he began to guide you out of the room, murmuring, “Come on,”
With his hand placed gently on the middle of your back, he led you back down the stairs and only removed it in order to hand you your cardigan.
You take it from him with a grateful smile as you make no move to leave. A silence falls over you, and it was surprisingly not as awkward as it should’ve been before you broke it. “Is it serious? Your heart condition?” You asked in a voice just above a whisper. “You don’t need to tell me, but it would be nice to know since I’ll be spending most of my nights with your kid.”
Clay’s eyes widened a bit at your words. “You still want to babysit him? Even after finding out his dad is sick and weak and an unfit parent?”
You shake your head quickly. “Having a heart condition doesn’t make you weak, Clay,” you reassure him in a whisper. “In fact, I think it makes you stronger. And as for the unfit parent thing, maybe give yourself a little credit here. Maybe it’s not my place to say this, but I think you’re doing a great job, and that kid is lucky to have you. Both of you.”
He had a hard time believing you were real.
There was just no way.
He had never been insecure about his heart until he met Sam. She made sure he was aware of how inconvenient it was to have a husband who couldn’t please her in all the ways she wanted, simply because his heart couldn’t keep up with the rest of his body half the time.
And that heart attack didn’t help his confidence, either.
And, just like that, he had managed to think about his ex before the day ended.
He needed to make it one day without thinking about her. How else will he ever move on?
“Thanks,” he said quietly and moved close to you in order to be able to pull the door open. “And thanks for coming over. Joey seems to like you already.”
“Well, that’s good,” you laugh and shrug your cardigan on. “‘Cause I like him, too.”
Clay smiles and leans against the open door. “Are you available tomorrow? I know it’s really soon, but-”
“I’m available,” you cut him off with a shake of your head. “Text me the info?”
He nods and moves over a bit as you step towards the door. “Get home safe,”
You grin at him. “I will,” you hover near the door for a few seconds as if you were having an inner debate with yourself, but before he could try to get a read on what it was about, you were moving past him. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Clay, Or should I call you Mr. Beresford?”
“Please don’t,” he begged with a laugh. “Clay is fine.”
You nod and walk out onto the front steps. “Have a good night,”
“You too,” he says back and stays leaning against the door until you are safe and in the backseat of a cab. It was only then when he sent you off with a wave before closing the door and heading upstairs. He makes his way back into the living room and finds Joey half asleep on his mom, and his stare softens just a bit. “You shouldn’t have told her that.” He muttered as he walked over and picked Joey up.
“She’s going to be here a lot, Clay,” Lilith waves off his annoyed huff and stands up. “She should know what to expect if something were to happen to you.”
With Joey pressed to his side, Clay shakes his head and turns around. “I’m fine, alright? I don’t want her worrying about both me and Joey,” he mumbled as he faced her again. “Say goodnight to grandma, bud.”
“Night, grandma,” Joey sleepily says and Lilith comes over to press a kiss to both his and Clay’s cheeks before leading the way upstairs.
After getting Joey ready for bed and sitting with him until he fell asleep, Clay wandered into his room and sat down on his bed, his mind swirling with too many thoughts to count.
He’s got a reliable sitter now, and a nice one at that, so that is one less thing he had to worry about.
And now he’s thinking about you and your sweet smile and your kindness and your cute cardigan.
He reaches into his pocket and pulls out his phone, quickly typing in a message and hitting send before he could change his mind.
Thanks again for coming over, and for what you said at the door. Are you able to pick Joey up from school tomorrow? I’ll send you the address. Let me know you got home safe, too.
And he wasn’t even able to strip out of his clothes and have a shower before you were texting him back.
Potential Sitter: Of course, I’m excited to get to know the little guy. And as for what I said, I meant every word. Yes, I’ll pick him up, and yes, I got home safe. Thanks for thinking of me.
For the second time this week, Clay was ending his day by smiling at his phone screen.
#clayton beresford#clay beresford x reader#clay beresford imagines#clayton beresford imagines#clayton beresford imagine#hayden christensen imagine#hayden christensen#hayden christensen gif#hayden christensen icons#hayden christensen edit#in the way i need you series#in the way i need you
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Talk Tonight l Part 1 (Joel Miller x OC Female Reader)
Series Masterlist
Summary: After their flight home is canceled, two complete strangers decide to spend the entire night getting lost together in one of the most beautiful cities in the world—what could go wrong?
Pairing: Pre Outbreak Joel Miller x OFC Camila Mendoza
Warnings/Tags: 18+ Only Minors DNI. NO big age gap, Joel is 35 and Reader is 29. Reader is a mixed woman of color, she is multilingual, although it is written in second person POV (I am terrible at doing third person, sorry) she does come with a name. I also do give her a physical description EXCEPT for her body type (she is shorter than Joel though). Ultimately, if you choose to read this story, you’re more than welcome to read it how you want! If you want to picture her as I write her or as your own—whatever tickles your fancy!
Chapter Warnings/Tags: preface angst (I sorry), we have our girl Sarah, Tommy is a pain in the ass but we love him, airport meet cute, Camila has a physical description, talk of her career and profession, I think that’s about it.
Word Count: 4.3k
A/N: Well, here she is. My lil passion project. It has been kind of nice to write something with zero expectations, not going to lie. No pressure, just straight vibing with this one. This chapter is quite tame, not a whole lot of action yet, but it obviously sets the story up for the good stuff. Tbh, the next chapter is my FAVORITE of the whole series and I almost wish I could skip this part and post that one because when I tell you it is cute, it is so fucking cute lmao. But anyway. I know this series might not gain a ton of traction, but I hope that the few people who DO read this enjoy my OC and grow to love her as much as I have and that you love this story as well. Also I just want to shoutout Doni @morning-star-joy for being so lovely to me and supporting my idea and letting me scream about Camila to her. 🩷
Charles De Gaulle Airport
Paris, France
September 26th, 2002
07:00 Hours
“I beg your pardon?”
Startled by the sound of that rich, deep voice, that heavy Southern drawl that had become so familiar to you over the last nine hours, you lifted your face from your hands and whipped around in your seat; you’d turned so fast that you almost gave yourself whiplash. Your lips parted slightly in surprise when you saw Joel Miller standing there in the aisle with his plane ticket clutched in his hand.
He looked at you, then his dark eyes flickered over to the man sitting next to you. “Sorry I don’t mean to be a bother, but would you mind swappin’ seats with me?” He asked, politely. “I’ve got a good seat up in business class. It’s all yours if you’re willin’ to switch with me.”
The man raised an eyebrow. “What’s the catch?”
Joel shook his head. “There ain’t no catch, sir.”
“There has to be a catch,” he said, suspiciously.
“Ain’t no catch at all. It’s all yours, no extra charge, sir,” he told him, earnestly. “It’s more comfortable; there’s plenty of legroom. There’s also free food, a better selection of movies to watch. Oh and all the complimentary drinks that you can toss back from here to Austin,” Joel added, practically shoving his ticket right under the man’s nose. He hoped it had been enough to tempt him into agreeing to switch with him. “So? What do you say? Can we swap?”
“Well, I say you had me at complimentary drinks,” he remarked with a grin. He stood up, grabbed his carry on bag from the overhead compartment and took the ticket from Joel’s hand. Eagerly, he made his way up the aisle towards the front of the plane.
Dumbfounded, you couldn’t help but stare at Joel, your eyes widening as he slid himself into the seat beside you. “Hi baby,” he greeted you, his lips, soft and warm, brushing against your temple.
“Joel?” You sniffed, quickly dabbing at your damp, swollen eyes with the sleeve of your cardigan. “I’m confused. What in the world are you doing here? Is this even allowed?”
“It’s fine, Mila. I asked one of the flight attendants, she said it was okay so long as he agreed to it.” He put on his seatbelt and glanced over, noticing that your own seatbelt remained unfastened. Reaching over, Joel grabbed the two straps and pulled them around your hips, buckling it for you. He then gave it a firm tug to make sure it was secure. He felt the way you were looking at him and murmured, “Just wanna make sure you’re safe, baby. That’s all.”
“Joel,” You whispered his name thickly. “Seriously, what are you doing back here?”
Joel’s eyes met yours. “If I can get just a few more hours with you, I’m gonna take them. Camila, I will take every last second I can get with you, alright?”
“But—”
You stopped, clamping your mouth shut as a fresh batch of hot tears threatened to spill over.
“C’mere.” He cupped your cheek with his opposite hand and delicately tucked your face into the spot between his neck and his collarbone, soothing you softly, “I’m here, baby. It’s okay, I’m right here. I’ve got you.”
You clutched fistfuls of his denim jacket and clung to him desperately—it was almost as if you’d been clinging onto dear life itself.
“It’s gonna be okay,” Joel promised. “We’re gonna be okay, sweetheart. We’re gonna be okay.”
But that couldn’t have been father from the truth.
You and Joel weren’t going to be okay.
You knew that.
And he did too.
Charles De Gaulle Airport
Paris, France
September 25th, 2002
21:00 Hours
“You’re still in Paris?” Sarah shrieked loudly.
Wincing, Joel pulled his Nokia away from his ear.
She had nearly blown his goddamn eardrum out.
“Please tell me this is some kind of sick joke?”
He sighed heavily, tiredly rubbing at the side of his face with his opposite hand.
He should have known, expected even, that Sarah wouldn’t take the news of his current predicament all too well—she wouldn’t take it well at all.
Joel brought his phone back to his ear. “Sorry, but unfortunately this ain’t a joke, babygirl,” he replied to her after a minute, letting out another sigh. Joel glanced across the crowded airport lounge and he squinted over at the big digital sign hanging above the airline’s counter displaying all the details of his flight home to Austin, Texas. Even after about four hours, it still flashed red, signaling to everyone the flight was still very much delayed due to the harsh weather conditions on the route. Like Joel, several other passengers were growing restless. “We were supposed to take off a few hours ago, but there’s a pretty bad storm on the East Coast—”
Sarah cut him off with a dramatic groan.
“Oh, come on man! Are you fucking serious?”
“Hey now, you had best watch your language!” He chastised his teenaged daughter. “Don’t you think for one second that I ain’t gonna ground your little behind from halfway across the world, missy. I will ground you right from this airport.” He reached up and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Christ, I leave you alone with Uncle Tommy for one weekend—”
“Tell me you’ll be home by tomorrow night, dad.”
He could hear the disappointment in her tone.
As if she already knew she would be let down.
Joel couldn’t blame her.
“I’m not sure when I’ll be home,” he admitted. “It’s lookin’ like the flight might get even canceled.”
“But tomorrow’s your birthday!” Sarah cried. “You have to be home for your birthday.” There’s a long, silent pause on her end of the line, but just as Joel was about to ask her if she was still there, she said in a sad, devastated voice, “It was supposed to be a surprise, but Nana and Grandpa are coming into town tomorrow. We planned a big birthday dinner, even ordered a special cake and everything. You’re always working on your birthday, we haven’t had a chance to properly celebrate it together in years.”
Joel’s heart sank, the guilt creeping in. “Sarah, I’m sorry, babygirl—”
“You just can’t be stuck in Paris, dad. You can’t—”
Suddenly, he heard Tommy in the background.
“Wait a damn minute, what did you just say? He’s stuck where, now? You’ve gotta be—here, give me the phone, kiddo.” There’s another long pause and then his younger brother’s voice came on the line. “What the hell do you mean you’re stuck in Paris?”
“Exactly what it sounds like,” Joel replied, flatly.
“You better be fuckin’ talkin’ about Paris, Texas.”
“Christ, Tommy! Watch your fuckin’ mouth around my daughter,” he hissed, knowing damn good and well that Sarah was standing beside him, listening to him. “I’m stranded at the goddamn airport here in France. I’ve been sittin’ on my ass for hours now just waitin’ around. My flight’s delayed due to that big storm over on the East Coast,” he explained. “I don’t know how long I’m gonna be here since they grounded all air traffic to the States. Nothin’s flyin’ out in that direction right now.”
“Oh c’mon, that can’t be true! Somethin’s gotta be flyin’ out of that airport to the United States. Have you tried switchin’ airlines?”
Annoyed, Joel snorted and rolled his eyes. “Jesus, Tommy, that ain’t how it fuckin’ works, you moron. Nothin’ is flyin’ out in that direction right now,” his voice was firm as he repeated himself. “That really so goddamn fuckin’ hard to understand?”
“Those Europeans put somethin’ in your water?”
“The hell you fuckin’ talkin’ about?”
“‘Cause your ass is crankier than usual, brother.”
Joel pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to keep his composure.
Even in his late twenties, Tommy refused to grow the fuck up and it often drove him to his wits end.
“Look, this long distance call is costin’ me a damn fortune, so listen and listen good, ‘cause I ain’t got a whole lot of time left,” Joel snapped. “I need you to do me a real big favor, alright?” Without waiting for a response from his brother, he continued, “It’s Sunday, so I need you to make sure that Sarah got all of her homework done this weekend. But check it for yourself—and don’t let her lie to you, Tommy. She’ll swear to you she did it, even if she didn’t. I’ll also need you to take her to school tomorrow. She can’t be late again. Her homeroom teacher already chewed me out for droppin’ her off after first bell. I need you to get her there before eight o’ clock. Do you think you can handle that for me?”
Tommy clicked his tongue. “Sorry I wasn’t listenin’ to you, what did you just say?”
Joel’s jaw clenched. “Tommy, I swear to Christ—”
He laughed. “I’m just fuckin’ with you, Joel. I got it all handled, okay? Uncle Tommy to the rescue.”
“Uncle Tommy’s a fuckin’ idiot,” Joel mumbled. “It ain’t a joke. Can I trust you to do this for me or do I need to call Mrs Adler and ask her for her help?”
“I’m a little offended,” Tommy scoffed out. “I think I’ve been takin’ real good care of Sarah on my own over these last few days since you’ve been gone. I mean, she’s alive and she’s breathin’ ain’t she?”
“Tommy—”
“Relax, Joel. I’ll check out her homework tonight, I promise. And I’ll get her to school tomorrow, make sure she ain’t late. You can trust me. Alright?”
“Not like I’ve got much of a choice,” he muttered.
“That’s the spirit.”
Joel rolled his eyes. “I’ve gotta go. Tell Sarah I love her and I’ll do my best to make it home on time for that not so surprise special birthday dinner Mama and Pop are comin’ into town for tomorrow night.”
“You got it, big brother.”
Joel ended the call and then shoved his Nokia into the pocket of his faded, black denim jacket.
He had to get back home by tomorrow night.
If he didn’t, Sarah would be absolutely crushed.
He’d spent his last three birthdays working double shifts just to help make ends meet—but ever since he finally got his construction business going with Tommy, the hours had been even more brutal now that it was just the two of them doing big jobs. He swore both to himself and to Sarah he would try to take more time off—for birthdays, holidays, soccer tournaments, dance recitals. To spend more of his time with her.
So far, he hadn’t been able to keep his word.
He felt like a jackass for it, but what could he do?
It wasn’t just about paying the bills anymore.
Sarah would be turning fourteen next year.
In a few years, he’d be putting her through college.
He needed to work to secure her future for her.
Joel sank back into his chair, taking a look around; his dark eyes scanned the lounge with disinterest.
That’s when you caught his attention.
Caught it and held onto it with a vice like grip.
Joel’s throat went dry.
Christ, you were so fucking beautiful.
Dark brown curls, soft skin the color of deep sand.
Your white sundress only accentuated the warmth of your smooth complexion, giving you a glow that was so radiant it knocked the wind from his lungs, making it hard for him to catch an even breath.
You were sitting in the row of chairs opposite his, a couple chairs down. He couldn’t be too sure, but it seemed like you were traveling alone—the chair on your left was empty and the one on your right held your tan leather satchel bag. Your nose was buried deep into a worn out, paperback book and he took notice of the way you would take the ballpoint pen that you had tucked behind your ear, using it to jot down notes on the crinkled, yellowing pages every so often. Then you would put the pen back behind your ear with a the tiniest, satisfied little grin.
Joel swallowed, his throat bobbing harshly.
He couldn’t take his eyes off of you.
You must have felt his stare because you suddenly looked up from your book, meeting his gaze. You’d seemed a bit startled at first, but then flashed him a pleasant, friendly smile.
Embarrassed, Joel quickly turned away from you.
Way to go you fuckin’ idiot, he thought to himself, silently. She probably thinks you’re a damn creep.
He feigned a sudden interest in the airplane that is parked right outside the gate, the very same plane he was supposed to have boarded four hours ago.
“Êtes-vous coincé ici aussi?”
The sweet, feminine voice came from beside him.
Startled, Joel looked to see you’d moved, and now occupied the once empty seat next to him.
“Uh, sorry. I don’t speak French,” he sputtered out nervously.
“Oh, I’m so sorry about that,” You said, making the effortless transition from French to English. “I just assumed, but I shouldn’t have.” Tossing him a soft and apologetic smile, you asked, “So then, you are an American too?” Of course, there was no reason to ask such a question when the answer was quite obvious, but you were trying to get a conversation with him going.
“Yeah.” Joel winced, mentally kicking himself over how curt he’d sounded. “I’m from Texas.”
Your hazel green eyes glimmered with amusement and you flashed him a brilliant smile that made his heart skip a beat or two inside his chest.
“I thought I detected a hint of a Southern drawl.”
“Oh trust me, it ain’t just a hint, darlin’.”
You threw your head back slightly, laughing. “Well, hello there cowboy,” You teased him, playfully. You were even more stunning up close and all he could do was hope that you couldn’t tell how nervous he was underneath the surface—eager to be chatting up a stunning woman like you, but still nervous.
“So what did you ask me just a minute ago?”
“I asked if you’ve been stuck here like me.”
Joel grinned, feeling a little more courageous.
“Ain’t it obvious what flight I’m waitin’ on, angel?”
“Oh very much so, cowboy.” Grinning back at him, you leaned back into your chair and made yourself comfortable. “I’m waiting on that same flight too.”
Joel chuckled. “At this rate we’d get to Austin a lot faster by swimmin’ across the Atlantic.”
“It’s too bad I don’t know how to swim. Otherwise, I’d say let’s get paddling,” You kidded, causing him to laugh again. “How long were you here in Paris?”
“Few days,” he answered. “Buddy of mine married his longtime girlfriend here. I was his best man.”
You wrinkled your nose at him. “Really?”
Amused, he asked, “Somethin’ wrong with that?”
“I mean, getting married in the most romantic city in the entire world? Don’t you think that’s just a bit cliché?”
Joel shrugged. “I suppose it is,” he agreed. “Come to think of it, can’t get more cliché than that. But I couldn’t say no to Wyatt. He’s been my best friend since we were in diapers,” he explained. “He asked me to be his best man. I couldn’t say no to him, no matter how fuckin’ cliché the whole thing was—”
He suddenly stopped, face burning.
“Sorry darlin’,” he apologized, sheepishly. “I should mind my manners. It ain’t polite to curse when I’m in the presence of a lovely lady.”
Your laugh sent a pleasant shiver down his spine.
Waving a hand, you assured him, “It’s totally fine. I don’t it mind at all.”
Joel smiled, angling his body towards you.
His nerves hadn’t disappeared, not completely.
But as the seconds ticked by, he felt more at ease.
Talking to you felt as natural as breathing.
Joel decided to turn the tables. “What about you? How long were you here for?”
“Oh, I wasn’t. I’m actually just here on a layover.”
“From where?”
“Somalia.”
Joel frowned. “I damn near failed geography when I was in high school. You’re gonna have to help me out a little here, darlin’. Where’s Somalia?”
“East Africa.”
“Africa?” His eyebrows shot up in surprise. He had never been into traveling—he preferred to stay put in his bubble in Texas. Flying out to Paris for Wyatt and the wedding had been Joel’s first time leaving the United States. He never had a desire to go and see the world, nor the interest. But he would have been lying if he said you hadn’t piqued his interest with such an unexpected answer. “What were you doin’ down there?”
“Working. I’m a traveling physician.”
Joel’s mouth fell open slightly. “You’re a doctor?”
You quirked an eyebrow. “Is that such a surprise?”
“How old are you?”
“It’s not polite to ask a lady her age,” You smacked his arm playfully. “Don’t you know that?”
He flushed. “Sorry, it’s just—you seem a bit young to be a doctor, that’s all. I wouldn’t have thought.”
Tilting your head to the side, you asked, “Well how old do you think I am, cowboy? And don’t lie to me just to stay in my good graces. I won’t be offended by your guess, I promise.”
“Twenty five?” Joel guessed, honestly. “Or twenty six?”
“You flatter me, but no. I’ll be thirty in December.”
“So tell me, doc. How long were you in Africa?”
“About a month,” You replied. “I was there with my team to visit some of the villages in Somalia to see families in need of basic healthcare. We offer them medicine and supplies, we offer vaccines. I tend to the children, mostly. I specialize in pediatrics.”
Joel couldn’t help but stare at you in awe.
“What?”
“That’s just really impressive,” he admitted. After a minute, he found himself asking, “Now that you’re done workin’ down there, are you goin’ back home to Austin for a while? That where you’re from?”
You shook your head, and he hoped he didn’t look as disappointed as he felt.
“I’m from Laredo,” You said. “But then I moved for college. I did pre-med at The University of Texas in Austin.”
“You visitin’ your old stompin’ grounds?” he joked.
“Something like that.” You giggled. “One of my old professors, he invited me to give a lecture to some of his students who are interested in medicine and might want to pursue careers in the field—I’ll only be in Austin for a day, then it’s off to my next work assignment.”
Joel shot you another incredulous look.
“What? Why do you keep looking at me like that?”
“I just figured you’d have to be some old geezer to give a lecture to college students.”
“Nope. You just have to be really good at what you do,” You winked at him. “That’s all.”
Before Joel could say another word, an attendant at the airline counter picked up their radio to make an announcement over the intercom—the flight to Austin had been canceled and all passengers were required to book a new one for the following day.
There was a collective groan in the lounge.
“Well, that’s a bummer,” You let out a tiny sigh and stood up, slinging the long, thick strap of your bag over your shoulder. Turning towards him, you gave him a warm smile. “Thank you for talking to me. It was nice having some company.” Lightly touching his shoulder, you said, “Good luck in getting home tomorrow, cowboy.”
Retracting your hand, you whirled around.
Joel jumped to his feet, ready to stop you.
But it was too late.
With the hustle and bustle of everyone scrambling towards the airline ticket counter, he’d quickly lost you in the massive crowd of people.
Joel craned his neck, searching around for you.
“C’mon,” he muttered. “Where’d you go?”
Finally, after a couple of minutes, Joel spotted you walking away from one of the counters with a new plane ticket in hand.
He didn’t even have to think twice about it.
Making his way through the crowd, Joel rushed to the counter and up to the same blond woman who had assisted you. “That girl who was just here, the one with the dark curly hair,” he said. “Can you tell me which flight she booked?”
The attendant gave him a strange look. “Yes she is on the first flight available to Austin,” she stated in a thick, French accent. “Seven in the morning.”
“I need to be on that flight,” Joel told her. Noticing the hint of annoyance on her face, he added in the most polite tone he could muster, “Please. And I’d like the seat next to hers, if it’s possible.”
She shot him another odd look, but typed away at her keyboard and checked the computer screen.
“My apologies, Monsieur. But the seat next to her has already been booked by another passenger.”
“What ‘bout one close to her, then?” He tried.
“I am afraid the only seats left available are at the very back of the plane or business class.”
Joel sighed. He pulled his wallet out from the back pocket of his jeans and handed her his credit card.
“Fine. I’ll just upgrade to a business class seat.”
The attendant nodded. “Of course, Monsieur.”
Once he was all set, he thanked her and started to make his way through the lounge and towards the exit. He walked outside and took a look around the terminal, his eyebrows pulling together.
He knew the chances of finding you were slim, but he took comfort in knowing that he would see you in the morning on the flight back to Austin.
Until then, he had about nine hours to kill.
“Suppose there’s worse cities to be stuck in,” Joel muttered to himself. Most places had translations, and he figured he could get by on his own alright. The hotel he’d stayed at with the wedding party, it wasn’t too far from the airport—after a drink and a bite to eat, he could book a room for the night and crash until the morning.
He started down the sidewalk, but then stopped—out of the corner of his eye he caught sight of your curls and his stomach fluttered eagerly.
You were standing in line waiting for a cab holding what appeared to be a map in your hands.
Before his mind and body could even try making a connection, he found himself walking over to you.
“Hey there,” Joel greeted as he approached you.
You looked up from your map and beamed at him.
“Hey! Did you manage to get a new flight home?”
He nodded. “Yeah, I did. I’m on the first one out to Austin at seven o’ clock in the mornin’.”
Your smile widened. “I’m on that one too!”
“You don’t say,” Joel said in a nonchalant tone. He didn’t want to admit he already knew that. “Well, if that just ain’t a funny coincidence.” His eyes fell to the map in your hands. “What’cha got there?”
“A map to the city.”
He laughed. “Gonna go sightseein’ or what?”
“I am indeed going sightseeing, actually.”
Joel’s smile faltered. “You serious? At this time?”
“I’ve been to Paris a couple of times before. I have always wanted to see it at night, but never had the guts to do it,” You confessed. “But here I am stuck for the next nine hours, so I suppose tonight is the night I finally do it.”
“You’re crazy.”
“I prefer the term adventurous.” Folding your map, you looked at him. “What about you, cowboy? You have anything planned for your night?”
Joel shrugged, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jacket. “Was gonna go grab a bite to eat and then get a hotel room to crash in.”
He was tempted, oh so tempted, to ask you to join him for a late dinner and drinks—just when he had worked up the courage to go for it, you spoke.
“Did you get to see the city while you were here?”
“I didn’t see much of anythin’,” he admitted. “With the weddin’ and all, I didn’t have the time. It ain’t a big deal, though. I ain’t a big sightseein’ kinda guy to begin with, you know?”
You raised your eyebrows at him. “Wait a minute, I just want to make sure I have this straight—you’ve got an entire commitment free night in Paris, and you’re going to spend it cooped up in some hotel room?”
Joel shrugged. “I reckon I am.”
“No way.” You grabbed his arm and started to pull him over towards an available cab. “You’re coming with me tonight.”
“Wait just a minute, darlin’—”
Ignoring him, you continued to drag him along. “It would a crime if you didn’t see this city before you go back home,” You stated, opening the back door to the car. You tried shoving him into the backseat but he caught himself on the roof of the vehicle.
“Whoa, whoa. Hold on there a second, angel,” he said with a chortle. “You’re really just gonna spend a whole night in a foreign city with a complete and total stranger you just met half an hour ago? What if I’m some kinda serial killer?”
You blinked. “Are you a serial killer?”
“Well no I ain’t a serial killer, but my point is—”
“Then we’re fine,” You chirped. “Come on, let’s go. There’s no time to waste.”
Pushing past him, you climbed into the backseat.
“You coming?” You asked over your shoulder.
Joel chuckled, sliding in next to you.
“Guess I am.”
He shut the door behind him—this was happening and yet somehow it didn’t even feel real.
A chance to spend the entire night with you?
It just didn’t feel real to him.
“I’m Camila,” You introduced yourself, extending a hand towards him.
He took your hand, holding it in his.
“Camila,” Joel repeated with a smile. “That’s a real pretty name for a real pretty girl.”
You grinned.
“How about you, cowboy? You got a name?”
“Joel. Joel Miller.”
You gave his hand a squeeze.
“Well Joel Miller, it seems like we aren’t complete and total strangers anymore, are we now?”
His own grin widened. “No, darlin’ I suppose we ain’t.”
#queued to post#fic: talk tonight#joel miller x ofc#joel miller x original character#Joel miller x original female character#joel miller fluff#joel miller angst#joel miller story#joel miller series#pedro pascal characters
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LAST KNIGHT IN SOHO | Steven Grant/Marc Spector x Reader [7]
description: Marc, his ex-wife and his supposed mistress head to Mogart’s to find Senfu’s sarcophagus, whatever could go wrong when the god of Chaos wants to be involved?
word count: 14.4k
trigger warnings: blood, gore, violence. Knives, stabbing. Small description of a drug overdose (accidental) and it doesn’t happen to reader. Themes of domestic abuse/grooming/prostitution. minors dni. [Based on Last Night in Soho dir. Edgar Wright]
main masterlist | series masterlist
Sipping her carton of juice, Dove’s eyes scanned the busy bazaar for any signs of recognition in the shoppers eyes as they bustled past her loudly. This exact square that had been a blood bath, a hunting ground, for her yesterday seemed to barely blink an eye at the primped and preened woman, thick sunglasses resting on top of her head.
“Anything?” She asked, the sweet taste exploding in her mouth as Marc returned from questioning one of his leads on Senfu’s whereabouts. It was surprising to her just how many people seemed to know something about the black market, then again it didn’t cross her mind that she knew how deceiving looks could be. She knew that the average person on the street likely had a dark secret, so twisted and vile they searched for their equal in maleficent places like the backstreets of Soho, or a normal town square in Cairo.
Marc shook his head, handing her a new cup of something saccharine for her to try.
“I hope you like attention,” The woman nearly choked on the liquid as a chirpy voice snuck up behind them. She spun, wiping the back of her spluttering lips with the cuff of her cardigan, to meet two honey eyes peering down at her amused.
“Right guy, right place, but you’re not Egyptian,” Layla teased, sipping on her own cool drink.
Marc huffed, his ex-wife’s eyes looking at him in smirking satisfaction. Dove couldn’t deny the sun clearly agreed with the older woman, her skin bursting with sweet freckles that were hidden in England’s cold grey, her hair just that bit more luscious. Her stomach twisted with a mix of jealousy and captivation as she watched the woman who made being beautiful look so easy.
“Layla, what the hell are you doing here? You shouldn’t be here,” Marc clipped, making the woman roll her eyes and Dove turn away from their catfight, chewing her cheeks nervously.
“Why? Because my name pisses off a few people in Cairo? Who cares?” She snapped, only just then taking in where the other woman bit the end of her straw.
“It’s not the locals I’m worried about,” Marc muttered, his eyes catching sight of Khonshu and his hauntingly smug partner that stared down at the three of them, watching the chaos unfold.
Dove followed his eye line, her blood running cold at the way he vultured around her, waiting for another chance to slip up, to take her body as his. Would he even need to? Now she realised she could conjure the suit herself, would he even need to puppeteer her anymore or would he simply put some sick whims in her head and let her have at it?
Would she be able to fight back? Would she be able to say ‘no’ and have it mean ‘no’ to him?
“Come on. I’ll help you find what it is you need,” Layla sighed, taking a hand to the top of the woman’s back to direct her away from the crowd. “And for the love of gods, girl, you need sunscreen on, you’re burning up,”
The three of them, smothered in cream, had spent the best part of the afternoon in the hotel room while Layla worked her magic and contacted her own informants. She knew the black market perhaps even better than Marc did, and it took her no more than a couple of hours to find Senfu’s sarcophagus from a source she said she trusted with her life, though Dove caught the split second of fear in her eyes when she’d said it.
It was fair to say she was not filled with confidence as they sat on the small boat taking them to the place the informant said they’d find it. Layla seemed ever more stunning in her make up, loose hair and with the purple tinged string lights the boat had weaved over its canopy. Dove felt selfishly glad she could barely look at Marc without gritting her teeth, she had no idea how she would feel if their marriage stood a chance at rekindling, then she really would be the other woman. Except not at all. It wasn’t like Marc looked at her in any way other than a nuisance, a thing he had to take care of for Steven’s sake. A stray to feel bad for, to have a vet euthanize out of duty, not out of care.
It wasn’t like Marc liked her any more than he disliked her, she was sure he felt near enough indifferent to her.
His kiss still burned a hole in her temple, his hands still phantoms at her cheeks, holding her gently, cleaning her, sewing her hurt back together. He had no idea the way his touch seemed to mend the tiniest parts of her together yet shatter her all the same. So desperate to be touched by him, so disgusted with herself she wanted to curl into a ball of solitude and never recover.
“So what exactly are we gonna do here? What’s the plan?” Marc asked in a hush, avoiding the ears of the few other passengers. A group of older women chatted animatedly on the other end of the boat, laughing to themselves wildly. The entire opposite of what she felt between the feuding exes, the salt river lapping behind her, knocking her to and fro in her seat.
“Oh,” Layla bit, her face twisting into a grim smile, “It’s not pleasant being left in the dark is it?”
It had been like this all day, Dove staying silent as they hashed it out. Well, moreso Layla ripped into Marc who simply laid there and took it willingly, knowing he had immorally screwed her over by disappearing into thin air. His feelings for her may have dwindled over the past year he had been away from his wife, but he at least owed it to her to suffer the consequences. It seemed to be all he was doing now, taking on the repercussions of his actions, ever since she lay dying in his bloodied hands begging for Steven to save her.
She tuned them out, much too occupied by her own dilemma; the water. The tiniest movement of the boat, the slightest of rock in the waves, had her twitching to grab his arm out of nerves, settling on gripping the wooden seat beneath her instead. Her leg jumped, eyes darting to where the moonlight reflected off the dark ripples under them, visualising how it would feel if she were to go tipping off the edge, head plunging under the surface, sinking, thrashing, succumbing.
“Would you please just cut that out?” Layla snapped, and Dove’s head whirled from checking over her shoulder to meet the woman’s fired gaze. It had been all of four hours and whatever civility the two had the evening with Harrow’s men was gone. Following her orders, Dove forced her leg to relax, picking at her thumbnail almost instantly only to have Layla roll her eyes, “For fuck sake,” She cussed in Arabic, “Is something the matter?”
“Sorry, I’m sorry,” She responded, releasing her fingernail despite the itching feeling to pick at it once more, “It’s just the uh, water’s a bit choppy,”
Layla nearly glared at her, “Well, we were a little short on time, princess. This was the only option we had,”
“No-no not like that, it’s fine, this is perfect,” She stopped, feeling her face heat in embarrassment as the woman seemed only more annoyed at her skittishness. Plastering a smile that was clearly tinted with a veil of fear, whether it was of the woman who looked like she could wring her neck or the water itself she wasn’t so sure anymore, “This is fine. I’m fine,”
“Are you fine?” Layla asked, annoyance leaking in her tone though Marc, who had known the woman the best part of five years, heard the amusement behind it.
“Yep, I’m fine,” She nodded, clutching for dear life onto the seat. Flashing the pair an unconvincing smile, she stilled herself, waiting for them to continue their quarrel.
“So this Mogart guy, he’s really gonna have the sarcophagus?” Marc asked, wishing he could grab her shredded fingers in his, if only to comfort her in the slightest. He caught the way they twitched even after her scolding, how her eyes flicked every time water licked up the side of the wood.
“Yes, I asked around,” Layla said, relaxing against the side, her chocolate ringlets kissing her cheeks tenderly. “Mogart’s collection is prime gossip for those of us who deal in antiquities,”
“So like Indiana Jones?” Dove asked, the naivety in her eyes brightening as she looked to Layla for approval. The woman held back the scoff from passing her lips, knowing she was trying her best to win her over, and couldn’t help but stop herself from rebuking the otherwise dumb statement.
Layla was more like Marc than she gave herself credit for, burying kindness in a cold expression.
“Abit like that, yes,” Layla murmured, tugging her hair up into a low ponytail to keep it out of her face, better yet to busy herself from the guilt of snapping at the innocent girl.
The girl who had no clue how Marc looked at her, the way Layla caught onto immediately. She’d thought maybe it was just Steven besotted with her, but it took one glance at the man she knew like the back of her hand to see straight through whatever bullshit front he put up against her. And it wasn’t like he’d acted on it either, it was always whenever she wasn’t looking, always secret, always hidden.
It was what Marc did best, Layla thought bitterly. Hide his feelings when it mattered most.
The sour taste in her mouth hadn’t come from an open wound, no. Their relationship had since scarred over, healed, bled dry for Layla El-Faouly. It was the doe like girl that he strung behind him, that got entangled in the mess he left behind in his wake that angered her. It was the way she couldn’t help care for the girl and what would come of her when hurricane Marc blew over her, cattle flying, houses crumbling on his way the way he always did.
“Need one?” Layla held out a hair tie to the girl, her own hair messy from where she’d let it dry naturally. With no product, Marc’s fingers as a hairbrush and a need for a hair drier, it was obvious the girl had tried her best to fix it on the way, attempted to look her best for the evening.
Dove felt the lump grow in her throat.
“Sit still,” Grace hissed, running the wide toothed comb through her hair, her companion squished between her legs, squirming in pain.
“It feels like you’re trying to suck my brains through my hair follicles,” Dove murmured, face wincing in pain as the brush scraped its way through her locks once more.
“Brains? You’re giving yourself way too much credit there, baby,” Grace teased, only to receive a firm smack on her calf for the comment.
“Bitch,” She cursed back, her head being yanked back one final time by the honey haired girl and her damned brush, Dove grimacing and yelling “BITCH,”
“Quit your whining, now how do you want it?” Dove pouted, crossing her arms over her tummy, only to be toed in the ribs by Grace’s blossom pink socks, “Don’t take a stand of silence with me, how do you want it? Dutch braids?”
Dove nodded quietly, only for a rogue piece of hair to be tickled under her nostrils. Quickly realising the culprit being a small, pale hand holding the split ends and her an amused face leaning over her shoulder to see her reaction, she scrunched her nose batting away the hand with a growl, though she couldn’t help the way her mouth tugged into a giggle.
“Grow up, will you?” The girl scolded through a laugh, her head resting back onto Grace’s lap, eyes closing in bliss as the girl ran her fingers over her scalp, parting the hair into two sections.
“Why on earth would I do that?” Grace mused, giving her nose a quick peck as she split the right side of her tresses off with a claw clip, “You’re gonna be the prettiest princess by the time I’m done,”
—
“Thanks,” Dove replied forlornly, Layla’s skin burning as the woman dropped the tie into her palm. She was never good at braiding her own hair, it was always Grace who liked to do it for her. Anything fancier than her normal, low maintenance styles and she’d go to a cheap stylist. She’d loved doing Billie’s hair too, but for whatever reason her sore fingers had no perception awareness when they were behind her own head.
Settling for a low bun, she rubbed her hands on her thighs to calm her nerves, not missing the way the two of them seemed to watch her meticulously.
“What?” She asked, looking between them with the same nervous smile as before, “I’m fine,”
Layla huffed, shaking her head at the girl who looked between the two expectantly. She reminded her of a docile mouse searching for a cracker, fidgeting with her hands, so trusting yet meek, ready to be squished under Marc’s clumsy boot.
She couldn’t stand to watch this Greek tragedy anymore.
“Come on,” Layla hauled herself up, the movement rocking the boat the smallest amount, enough to make Dove latch onto Marc’s arm with wide eyes, “We’re almost there,”
The younger woman felt her face blaze with embarrassment, meeting her companions umber eyes that looked down at her with a cocktail of amusement and worry.
“You’re alright,” Marc whispered, Layla going to stand with the driver to confirm they were almost at Mogart’s. The two of them spoke calmly, the Arabic being foreign to Dove’s ears despite having spoken it clearly when Seth had control, though she noticed when Layla slipped him a few notes for his intel.
“I know, I’m just not a huge fan of boats,” She stopped, looking guiltily at the floor, “I didn’t mean to piss her off though, I just can’t stop thinking about what would happen if I fell in-”
“Then I’d be coming in right behind you and dragging you out,” Marc stopped her with a gentle hand atop her own, feeling her shake under his touch.
Her head whipped up to his, eyes staring up at him with the sugary glaze of trust in them, the same way she’d seen him the first night he’d met her. Perhaps that was why he felt so responsible, like she was his to take care of. While he’d loved Layla, loved her enough to marry her, loved her enough to let her go, she had always been fine on her own. She was independent, never let him forget it. The selfish part of him revelled in the way Dove needed him. Needed him of all people.
They shared a little smile between the two of them, heads shooting up as the boat stopped and the captain hopped off to dock the boat properly. Layla stepped up onto the planks, turning to hold her hand out to Dove who rose to her feet steadily.
“There we go, back on dry land, princess. You can put your big girl undies back on now,” Layla snarked, though Dove caught the way her almond eyes washed over the younger girl, checking she was okay, not too roughed around by the journey.
“I think I forgot to pack those,” Dove responded quickly, wiping her clammy palms on her tummy, looking around her at the estate. This was not what she’d pictured at all when Layla had said they were going to have to be stealthy. The place was filled with people chatting, enjoying themselves, as if they’d just docked in the middle of a party scene, interrupting the entertainment for the evening.
“This guy’s got a lot of friends,” Marc said cautiously, Dove feeling his presence at her back closer than her own shadow, as if he was watching over her shoulder for any signs of trouble despite only just showing up to the place.
“With a lot of guns,” Dove murmured, catching where the string lights glinted against the noir black of an assault rifle. Feeling her stomach churn with fear, she stuck herself in between the two of the more seasoned adventurers, not wanting to stray too far from their sides.
Layla shoved the bags with their own weapons under a step in the dock, avoiding where the waves lapped at the wood. Dove’s eyes trailed over the inky froth, the briny smell in the air still lingering around her nose, taking in the starry specks of Alexandria that reflected over the shore. She could almost appreciate it from here, on land, where there was no danger of sinking; that is until her eyes fell on the dinghy that lurked around the dock, three men aboard that stared her down with a predatory gaze.
She suddenly felt just as scrutinised now as she had in the pyramid.
“What is it?” Marc asked, sensing the way he body had stilled like a deer in headlights. He followed her line of sight to the men, his jaw feathering as he bit back a curse. “Harrow’s men keeping tabs?”
“Probably,” She replied, Layla watching the men with a cautionary gaze, her lush eyebrows turning down into a frown.
“Let’s go,” The woman said, tugging at Dove’s wrist gently to ward her away from the men’s smarmy smiles. The trios faces lit up with a warm glow under the lamp’s beams cutting through the night air, small stalls like a market flanking either side of the pasture they walked across. “Remember, your name is Rufino Estrada.”
“Right,” Marc said, the three of them taking off in between the partiers towards where the stately home, likely belonging to this Mogart guy, was. “And yours is-”
“Nadia Estrada. We just got back from our honeymoon in the Maldives,” Layla replied, her eyes wandering over the various stalls, intrigued as to what had brought the elated guests here. There was only little food, very few cups of alcohol like she’d expect from a party, so what were these people buying? “Figured we may as well use our old code names, save the confusion,”
Her eyes zeroed in on a fossilised tablet, an ancient painting etched into the slab. Relics. He was selling relics; ancient, irreplaceable pieces of history and he was just casually selling them out of his yard like they were friendship bracelets, or a pitcher of lemonade.
“You guys had code names, that’s so cool,” Dove piped up, leaning up on the tips of her toes to peek at the merchandise also. “What’s mine?”
Layla stayed quiet for a second, “Truthfully, I had only accounted for it being the two of us. I assumed Marc would have left you at home to keep you out of harm’s way,”
Dove’s energy wilted, slammed with the feeling of taking up too much space in their world of adventures, “Oh, okay,”
“I guess it just means you get to choose your own name and alibi, then,” Layla cut in, trying to save the moment. She’d never intended on causing the girl upset despite the short fuse she’d had with her the moment they’d met. If anything, she’d prefer her to be back in the hotel, not to make any moves on fixing her marriage but for her own peace of mind that the girl was safe. Seeing the interest spark in her eyes again as she peered at Layla, the woman pointed in a warning way at her, “But make it believable enough that you can lie on command,”
“Right, gotcha,” She replied, her eyes falling in front of her where they were heading towards, trailing after Layla’s assertive footsteps. “So what role will I be playing then? Your assistant? A distant relative?”
“No and no,” Marc protested with a wince, his stomach turning at the idea of pretending to be her cousin, no matter how fake it was, “You can just be our friend,”
“Friend that comes on our honeymoon? That’s not a friend, that’s a third,” Layla interjected, a doubtful look on her face as they neared the manor. From what she could see, Dove caught sight of a wide sand pit, spotlights lighting up the square as a dozen men on horseback circled one another in some kind of sport. Some of the partiers, not seemingly interested in buying the goods, walked over to spectate, surrounded by a lot of security guards donned in all black, matched only by the guns cradled readily in their arms.
Dove was already feeling the panic rising in her gut.
Steven’s voice blared clear in her head, yet another of one of his stories he loved to entertain her with when they had a long night of inventory ahead of them. Or on the underground, or even when he would walk her to her door and stay for a hot cuppa on the cold Winter evenings.
“Did your father tell you about Horus and Seth’s challenge for the throne?” She asked, turning to Layla and taking a shot in the dark at the woman who hated her guts.
She rolled her eyes, “Which one?”
“When Seth had killed Osiris and taken Isis and Nephthys as his wives and attempted to take the throne over Horus by claiming it was his blood right,” Dove explained under her breath as not to draw attention to them.
Layla was intrigued now, her eyes flicking to the woman, Marc doing the same with an identical lost expression.
“What’s your point?”
“Well, when Nephthys and Isis escaped Seth’s imprisonment together, Isis led rebellion against Seth by turning herself into a beautiful, young woman to trick Seth into admitting he was not the rightful king, outwitting him because he couldn’t hold himself back from some batting eyelashes and a pretty face,” She went on to say, looking between the pair. Marc seemed to catch on quickly, raising his hands in protest to cut her off.
“Absolutely no-”
“Perfect, that’s perfect. That’s just the distraction we need. He’d never believe I’d go for him right in front of my own husband, that’s brilliant,” Layla babbled, giving a supportive nudge to the young girl’s shoulder.
Marc just rolled his eyes in defeat, fists already clenched by his side as the women smiled between one another in pride.
“Did Horus win at least?” He asked, a semi sneer on his face at the idea of her making herself a pawn in their game of facades. Dove’s head shot up to meet his bitter gaze, feeling a twinge of guilt at the way she’d so readily put herself forward for the task of bait. But why? She was no more his than he was hers.
She tried to lie to herself and pretend the idea of him alluring a woman in front of her wouldn’t stab at her chest, just thinking how she’d almost jumped for Hathor’s throat when she’d so much as spoken to him. It wasn’t so strange, she had been smitten for Steven since the moment she’d met him, falling hard and fast for his gentle hands and even gentler words. It wasn’t far of a stretch to say some of it had transferred to Marc, even with his cloudy attitude and stormy expression that never seemed to weather.
It was probably the doppelganger effect and all that, she reasoned with herself. Probably just her idle brain confusing care with love, grasping at straws for any reason to be wanted.
She smirked at his question, shrugging her shoulders, “Well, supposedly, the Gods involved couldn’t come to a decision as to who the throne went to as both Seth and Horus were part of Osiris’s bloodline. So, in order to show superiority and a challenge of manhood, Horus, uh-”
Layla chortled, obviously having heard this story from her father.
“What? What did he do?” Marc asked with a huff, though he beat down the smile that threatened to tweak at his lips when he saw the two women chuckling together.
“The story goes that Seth, uh, ejaculated over Horus to show dominance, but Isis figured out his plan to make Horus seem unworthy for the throne, and sprinkled Horus’ semen over Seth’s garden so when he came to eat from the crops he was impregnated.” Dove said, her eyes turning away bashfully at the explicit nature of the story, though he heard her giggle on her final few words.
Marc’s jaw hung open in a mixture of disgust and horror, “That did not- Wow,” He spluttered, head shaking with disbelief, “Remind me never to take Horus’ throne,”
“Do you think Gods get morning sickness?” Layla asked, Dove smirking at her statement. Figuring since the god that trailed after her had remained so quiet after the meeting with the Ennead, she felt the opportunity too good to pass up to throw punches back at the one that had caused so much havoc.
“I can see it now, the horror that is the God of Chaos with swollen ankles and a midnight craving for pickles,” The younger of the trio snarked, and for the first time since she met the El-Faouly woman, she heard a real cackle of laughter out of her.
“He definitely got trapped wind and acne when he was carrying,” She added, making Dove crease into herself with suppressed giggles.
“Alright, that’s enough,” Marc tried to quell their hysterics, yet found himself joining in quietly, secretly, because he would never let her know how contagious her laugh was to him.
“Do you reckon his breasts got sensitive?” She asked, feeling Layla nudge her with a snigger.
Their little jokes all came barreling down around her as she felt a large, cold presence linger over her shoulder, swallowing the street light completely. Any and all laughter died in her throat within a hair's width of a second, her mouth going dry almost immediately when she realised just what was behind her.
Seth. Seth, the beast she was poking with a stick. Seth, who she would bend in any which way for were he to so much as snap his fingers, if even that. Seth, whose rage she could feel blowing out of him like steam out of a train flute as his snout breathed over her spine.
“You dare mock me, insolent mortal,” He growled, a clap of thunder running through her bones, shaking them beneath her flesh.
Marc grabbed her shoulder, attempting to pull her away from the creature, knowing her words had practically waved red at a charging bull. Turning to see the terrifying creature, leering just that bit closer, snarling just that bit louder, his breath pungent with wrath.
“I- We were- I didn’t mean-” Dove’s voice was small, childlike. A kid caught with their hand in the candy jar, caught smearing lipstick over the mirror. Tiny. Guilty. Punishable.
“You wish to behave as their little seductress that you so taunt me of bedding, then that is what you will become, mutt,” Seth snarled, his upper lip twisting to reveal his sharp canines that dripped with anger. He waved his staff, the hieroglyphs rippling with dark hum, singing with glee that they were being helpful to their master.
Before she could so much as gasp, so much as apologise, fall to her knees and beg him to see she was simply fooling with the woman she had been so deeply loathed by, she felt her clothes fall away into embers around her feet, the cold night air ravaging her skin despite the heat that rose to her chest.
What was left of the cloth robbed every single speck of her dignity; made her look like some prized mare, the same kind those men rode, the same kind she used to be. A body. A doll. A whore.
Her top half was nearly entirely exposed, save for a black wrap top that just about covered her tits, though they teased enough to turn heads nearly instantly as if they’d sounded an alarm of look at me, stare at me! Gawk all you like! I am nothing but whatever you see me as!
Her arms, neck and head was wrapped in spindling pieces of gold jewellery, the headdress, as she could have guessed, bowing down her brow and to her nose like a metallic pointed snout, only making her look more like Seth himself. Egotistical bastard.
The long, onyx skirt was the only part that gave her any sort of privacy, yet that didn’t help much since there were two enormous splits in the side, a slim gold chain resting over her curved hips, the material dragging over her crotch and buttocks. A single breeze could have her exposing herself, and she realised with a blazing face that the bastard had taken away her underwear in the process.
This was the first, last and only time she was going to make fun of the God of Chaos. Chaos indeed.
“SETH, Oh holy fuck-” She hissed, hands reaching to tuck the fabric inbetween her legs frantically, covering her breasts with the other.
“Woah, what did you do?” Layla asked, eyes wide as she scanned the girl’s, womanly, body from head to toe, “I thought he was the God of Chaos not God of Leia in Jabba’s palace-”
“Give me my clothes back, NOW,” She hissed, seething with a heat that could challenge the sun god Ra, “This is not funny, I will have you turned into fossils I swear-”
She heard a dark chuckle, malicious and vengeful as he was, and felt instantly a wave of stupidity had washed over her. Of course he would punish her, what a fool she was to think he wasn’t watching at all times. What an imbecile to have thought she would be able to live a single moment as a normal woman, a normal girl laughing with a friend, her mother always warned her of men and their damaged egos. She knew this lesson well enough. She knew this story. Why was she so stupid? So naive? Marc nor Steven would ever want such an ignorant girl, not when they had women as brilliant as Layla willing to marry them. Willing to re-marry them even.
She felt like a gullible child. Always falling into the wrong hands, into the snares laid out for her, a lame doe traipsing through a hunters meadow. Wandering down the garden path as a lamb led to slaughter.
The heat caught to her cheeks, burning her ears with embarrassment at her predicament.
“What the fuck do I do?” She spun to Marc’s eyes, though she seemed to catch his coffee gaze staring right at her. Flicking over her chest, flitting down to where the chain hugged her waist, her soft, supple waist he wanted to bury his fingertips in, and her thighs, her thighs-
His gaze snapped back to her after a second of weakness, seeing the fear waiting for him there slapping him out of his reverie. How disgusting he felt to have taken such a cheap look at her, art is supposed to be enjoyed not glanced at he chided himself, though the sick feeling in his stomach that she were such a divinity beneath her everyday wear, that she wasn’t just a pure soul but an angel woman outside as well.
She made every breath for him difficult.
“Huh?” He asked with a scratchy voice after a beat of silence. Blinking as if to drag himself from a daze, he looked away from her altogether to give her some privacy, though his chest never faltered from battering away at his ribcage, “I-”
“Bek,” Layla cut him off, and god he could have thanked her. Words seemed lost on him, stuck in a purgatory between enjoying the view and hating himself and everyone around him for besmirching her body with his worthless eyes.
A man had approached in the time it had taken for Marc to have his crisis; tall, broad, handsome the two strangers noticed quickly. Sticking out her hand for a friendly handshake, ‘Bek’ pulled the slender woman in gently, raising an eyebrow as he saw the woman to her right.
“Nadia, it’s been a while,” He said cooly, shaking her hand firmly, clasping her fingers in his familiarly in a way that told Dove they were friends. Not trusted enough to know their real identities but enough to not kill them on sight. It was what they had to work with, the younger woman told herself as she clasped her hands under her armpits to hide her exposed gooseflesh, “And who is this bewitching creature?”
Dove’s face tightened as his attention was entirely on her then. She saw it immediately, the lust in his eyes; the way they hooded with want, as if they saw through her whilst simultaneously seeing too much of her.
Just like those men, the horrid part of her brain whispered, Just like those who paid for you, just like those ones that would come in the night. The ones that used you, saw you as a thing to have, to conquer. Just like the one man who put you there.
If this was a dance she’d have to perform again, then that she would. She knew every step, every turn. She knew how to puppeteer these stupid men just as easily as Seth controlled her. Perhaps that was why they were such a clean match.
“Sandie,” She said coolly, a hint of a smile twitching at her lips. Enough to make him want more, enough to make him think he could be the one to give it to her. Men and their saviour complexes, “Me and Nadia are old friends,”
Holding out her hand for him to take, she tilted her head in discontent, watching as he took her own fingers as he had Layla’s, pressing a tender kiss to her knuckles, a Cheshire cat grin on his face when she seemed to watch him boredly.
They liked it when she was mean to them. She wished they would just see a therapist instead of seeking her body as a deposit.
“Right this way,” His voice was smooth in the buzzing atmosphere, the lamps suddenly too bright, the chatter too loud as they neared the ring. “After Madripoor, I’m sure you two have a lot to talk about, and perhaps something new to add,” His satin timbre stuck deep in her skin as he peered over his shoulder, trailing his eyes down her exposed legs.
Taking Layla’s hand in his own, if only to keep up appearances while they were supposedly married, Marc and Layla were but a step behind where Dove took the lead, her false confidence surprisingly convincing for a woman usually so quiet.
“Excuse me one moment, Mr. Mogart will be with you shortly,” Bek said, leaving the trio at the edge of the huge sand pit, the riders slowing their mounts at the approach of the burly man entering their training ring.
Leaning against the rail, Marc and Layla stood either side of Dove, the three of them watching as one man dismounted to talk to Bek, his shirtless body toned and lightly sweaty from what Dove could tell in the spotlights surrounding the place.
From what the girl understood, they were playing some sort of fencing sport, something similar to jousting she supposed only with less charging and more arm strength. The long wooden poles in each of their arms smacked against one another loudly, a whip like crack echoing around the open space. The sand sprayed out under the horses hooves, flicking towards where they stood in amazed silence.
“So what? This joker just puts on El-Mermah games in his backyard for fun?” Marc snarked, glaring down at every single one of the vain motherfuckers that seemed to all leer in their direction once they caught a sight of her. Yet, he simply let it happen, let her run her mouth with the new attitude she’d assumed, her new alias not at all his anymore.
“No, he gets private lessons by the best in his backyard for fun,” Layla replied, her eyes trained on the man that Bek had approached, a fine silk robe being slipped on over his arms as if he were too delicate to do it himself despite the size of his hulking arm muscles.
“I would love to get me one of those bad boys,” The youngest woman blurted, looking around the enclosure at where the rest of the men, equally as toned and attractive slid off their saddles, strutting around in their glory alongside their well groomed geldings.
The ‘married couple’ flicked a look at her, both their eyebrows raised at her statement, shock evident by their slackened jaws.
“Didn’t know you had it in you, princess,” Layla commented, eyes scanning each of the men that seemed to be waking up to the godly woman watching them ride, “I’m sure you could get any man you wanted looking like that,”
“I meant the horses…” Dove trailed off, her voice a song of innocence, perhaps even more embarrassed.
Marc was warm inside then, the four words alone reminding him she was still the same girl with the change of clothes, with the added seduction. It was still the girl sweeter than a honey pot that had trapped him like a fly and had yet to let go.
The man Bek had garnered attention from looked over at the three of them, his easy smile spreading when he saw the familiar face accompanied by two new ones. He, ofcourse, was quick to note the bare flesh the woman to her right flashed, the intricate gold spidering over her skin like a lovers touch.
“Nadia. Come in,” The man, who Dove guessed was Mogart from the way the staff scurried around him obediently. He gestured them forward, his eyes flitting over Marc who looked about as cheerful as a headache. “Such a delight to see you.”
But he was barely looking at ‘Nadia’, his dark eyes venturing over from Marc’s tight lipped smile to Dove’s exposed collarbones, flicking over her soft stomach, down over the curves of her bare thighs, even her calves got his attention. He was enraptured, taking the bait easier than she would have ever thought.
“You too,” Layla responded, shooting a glance in Marc’s direction, only to see his brow twitching. Gods had she seen that expression many times, normally before he would have stormed out of the house after one of their fights or gone to sleep on the couch. He was close to losing it already.
“How have you been?” He asked, finally ripping his eyes away from where Dove batted her lashes up at him shyly, a slight smirk to her lips that teased as he couldn’t help but glance at her face once more. Men were all the same in every country, it seemed.
“Good. Thankyou for having us over on such short notice,” Layla thanked gently, her own expression somewhere between wary and polite.
“Oh, please. I hope you realise you need no excuse to drop by,” Mogart said with his playboy smile twitching, looking cheekily at Layla, “So who are your friends?”
Layla nodded, reaching out an arm to gesture to Marc, “This is my husband, Rufino."
The women felt him tense up, holding his arm out much too forcefully for a handshake, “Nice to meet you,” Marc said, though nothing in his tone was nice by any means. Dove would have elbowed him in the side hard had Mogart and his men been watching them closely.
Dove couldn’t lie, the man was attractive. Not nearly as easy on the eyes as Marc and Steven, but he was attractive in the rich, bad boy kind of way. His scruff of a beard was dark, yet brushed neatly, not a single hair looking out of place. His nose was broad, making his face all the more masculine, bringing her attention to his mysterious dark eyes.
“Pleasure,” The millionaire looked down at Marc through disinterest, barely acknowledging his outstretched arm until he had taken a long look at ‘Rufino’. Seeming to brush Marc away almost instantly after they had shared a stiff handshake, he turned his mesmerising eyes back to Dove who leaned into his gaze, “And who is this?”
“Sandie,” She smiled at him, her eyes sparkling under the spotlights, holding out a jewelled hand for him to take. As predictable as they come, Mogart took her fingers gently and kissed them, just as Bek had, just as any other man being stared at with such allurance would want to, “Do you not get scared playing those games without a helmet on?”
The purity was clear in her voice, and it had Mogart’s eyes latching onto her mouth that seemed to call to him like a siren song.
“You are too sweet,” He said, yet to let go of her fingertips as she stepped towards him, his chiselled body turning to lead the trio towards his private collection, “You see, these horses are some of the finest Arabian thoroughbreds, mine has yet to throw me even once-”
The two of them took the lead, Dove making sure her shoulder brushed against his just enough for him to understand she wanted to invade his space, let him see her as closely as possible. She looked at him with the right amount of naivety, the rest seduction. Tilted her body towards his so he could see the way her hips curved, her breasts rounded.
“She’s good,” Layla whispered to Marc, seeing Anton’s face take her in for her entirety. It was as though she had him under a spell, even she as a woman mostly interested in men couldn’t help but appreciate the way the shadowy night seemed to preen under her glow. She wondered if it was Seth’s doing, yet he didn’t seem the type to deploy love potions. “I see why you like her,”
Marc’s chest froze. In the midst of glaring down the man’s hand that lingered at her lower back, guiding her towards his mansion of a house, he had barely even registered that Layla had been speaking until he’d heard that.
“I don’t- What the hell are you talking about, I can barely stand her,” He snapped, Layla’s short snort making his ears turn red. “I’m only keeping her around because she’d important to Steven,”
“Riiiight, for Steven’s sake, yep?” She drawled, the knowing look in her eye at how he squirmed under her gaze, “You know, we weren’t strangers once. I know what that look means,”
“What look?” Marc glanced back at his ex-wife, his eyes softening with the familiarity he found in her. He had loved her, he had loved her at one point with everything he’d had. But with her it was like trying to make two puzzle pieces go together when they were from opposite ends of the picture. They just wouldn’t fit. He’d loved her, she’d love him, but not enough to show her all of him; show her the full artwork.
She grinned at him smugly, reaching out to grab his hand as if to keep up the pretence they were still married, “Try not to ruin this one, will you? I’m starting to tolerate her,”
Marc scoffed to himself, “No, you like her. You just don’t want her to see past your big, cold independent badass thing you’ve got going on,”
“If that isn’t the pot calling the kettle black, Spector,” She nudged him, her eyes trailing back to where the girl now had Anton pointing out his horses by name, hanging onto his every word as if she gave a shit. Then again, Layla didn’t doubt she was planning on talking the wealthy man into giving her one at this rate. Sighing, she leaned away from Marc, looking at the outfit that showed her off just as well as one of his livestock. “Just promise me something?”
Marc looked at her troubled expression but said nothing. He had learnt from Khonshu quickly not to promise anything before he knew what he was getting himself into.
“Get her away from Seth as soon as this is over,” Layla pleaded, quickly seeing the guilt that washed over his face as she’d said it, “Now he has a body weak enough for him to control at his whim, he won’t want to let go so quickly. Who knows what he would make her do? She’s not cut out for this life, Marc,”
How would you know, you’ve barely said two normal words to her, Marc wanted to snap, You don’t know her, she is so much stronger than I ever gave her credit for, she could do anything if you just gave her a chance.
But he knew that was selfish. He knew that was his own mind wanting to keep her needing him, the twisted part of him that craved to be needed wanted her for as long as he could. Yes he kept her safe for Steven, for her own sake, but the bitter part of him that hated the world loved every second of the euphoria that came with her desperation for him. He craved that high like the hardest drug off the Madripoor market, like he had forgotten what living and not just surviving this awful life felt like until that day she’d brought him the dead bird. She was good, she was the best thing he’d ever seen in his miserable life. She was a beacon in his dark mind.
But Layla was right, she wasn’t cut out for his life. She didn’t deserve a wretched man like him, she deserved Steven. He couldn’t get too attached, he knew he’d have to leave her as soon as they’d figured out how to get rid of Khonshu and Seth from their lives.
Maybe that's why he pushed Layla away with a bitter frown, dropping her hand. Sometimes the truth pill hurts to swallow, and Layla had just served him up an overdose.
“I hope you understand this is more than a collection to me,” Anton said, peeking over his shoulder at the couple that seemed to be all eyes on the younger woman. “Preserving history is a responsibility I take very seriously,”
“That’s a lot of responsibility for one man, surely you must get lonely,” ‘Sandie’ dared a sweet smile at the man who was on her like a moth to a street lamp.
He gave her a boyish smirk back, but she could still tell he held his walls high, kept his cards close after seeing Marc’s gloomy attitude. Trust it to be the masculinity competition the two had going on to ruin her bait.
“I prefer to see it as a philanthropic effort at preservation.” He replied, leading the way to a quieter courtyard where a few of the larger items seemed to be held under glass mimics of the pyramids, not a single fingerprint or speck of dust on the clear surfaces. The first one held what seemed to be a collection of effigies of the gods, similar to the one she had been thrown into that night at the museum only much smaller, most likely found in temples or the homes of wealthy members of Ancient Egyptian society.
Yet Anton led them to a halt outside the second one, opposite the statues, where thin pillars held up a collection of golden masks she recognised from Dylan’s tours as funerary masks, used to preserve the dignity of the deceased. They circled an even wider stand in the middle, a sarcophagus propped wide open for viewing pleasure in the centre, highly detailed from what she could see under the beaming lamps being stood so far away.
“Now, if I may ask, why such an interest in Senfu in particular?” Mogart questioned and the trio felt the air tighten around them, the silent accusation lingering close. Anton’s face was not amused, interested in the woman to his right as he may be, he was still smart and kept his wits about anyone attempting to pull wool over his dark eyes. Dove opened her mouth to pipe up with an entirely innocent excuse, something along the lines of Layla had told her all about Medjay and their burial practices and wanted to see what the fuss was about. But before she had so much as began her fabricated tale, Mogart flashed her a dimmed smile and held up his hand, “I’m sorry, I’d like to hear from the husband if you don’t mind, sweetling,”
Dove felt her breath hitch, covering it with a pleasant nod, turning to watch Marc meticulously, the pressing look of ‘don’t fuck this up’ in her eyes.
Marc seemed to get stuck on his words for just a second too long as he looked between Anton's unimpressed glare and Dove’s masked panic, feeling his mouth go dry as he had not prepared himself for improv.
Laughing humorlessly through his nose, he turned to look past the group and at the sarcophagus, gesturing with his open hand to fill time, “I think that- But I just think that we’d love to take a look,” He choked out, and a deadly silence befell the group.
That was perhaps the least convincing lie Dove had ever heard. They were so fucked.
Layla and Marc seemed to jump as she let out a loud laugh, her hand coming to clap on the man’s shoulder. “Ah, Rufino, you’re so funny,” She said, squeezing his muscles, turning to him with a bright grin. Shaking her head ditsily, she looked to Layla as if to warn her to play along before returning to Anton’s suspicious look, “This was all my idea. Nadia and Rufino were kind enough to let me crash their holiday so I could see some artefacts- a silly hobby of mine I rarely indulge in. They spoil me too much, I think,” She giggled, turning towards the glass pyramid with a hopeful look on her younger face, “You won’t mind if they look first?”
Anton seemed to bite his cheek, calculating the girl’s motives, yet even Layla would admit the words were smooth, believable. Had she not known the actual plan herself, she’d think she was crashing a couples post honeymoon glow with her mollycoddled, airhead act.
“By all means,” Mogart seemed in slightly better terms, though still slightly bitter as Layla and Marc headed straight towards the casket with a slight flash of relief on their faces. “So, sweetling, what is it about our history that intrigues you so?”
She leaned in towards him, her face smoothing out into young innocence, watching his reaction carefully. This job was like a mechanic tuning an old car, watching for every tiny movement in their body, waiting for that hum of enamourance where she knew she had them wrapped around her finger.
Men were the same in every country, in every part of history, in every facet of life. Every one of them except Steven. And Marc, she’d now realised.
“I don’t know,” She said, playing with her rings absently, head cocked like a placid dog waiting for a pet, “Perhaps I like the idea that people one day could be holding my things up in museums or paying hundreds to see what my life looked like. I like the idea that they were all once the same as me, you know? All just humans doing human things,” She hadn’t meant to be so honest, had never expected to speak from her heart, but her airy voice seemed to conceal her raw emotion well enough. Mogart seemed to warm under her answer, no doubt finding her cute, a little woman with a little brain having such big thoughts about life.
She knew Steven would have taken her answer as gospel.
“So about these Arabian Thoroughbreds, how much would one of those set a sweet girl back?” She asked, trailing her golden fingertips over his shoulder when Anton’s eyes cut over her shoulder, straightening a touch when he saw Layla there. She met the woman’s eyes, trying not to seem so thrown off by her appearance, her interruption in the plan.
“Rufino would like to show you something before we consider making any purchases,” Layla said, the push in her voice for her to not ask questions and to just head inside the pyramid telling her everything she needed. Their plan was not going so smoothly after all.
“Ofcourse,” Dove smiled back, beaming at Anton with a cheeky glint in her eyes. “I’ll be just a moment,” She promised, watching his eyes dilate as she ran her finger down his arm. Take the bait, take the bait and don’t ask questions.
“Don’t take too long,” He replied, meeting her eyes over her shoulder as she slinked into the glass structure, feeling his eyes dropping over her hips, over her bare thighs.
She entered the faux tomb, feeling hot under the blazing sets of eyes on her back as she came to a stop at Marc’s side.
“I’m starting to think I would make a great super-spy,” She whispered, leaning into him to keep up the pretence of two old friends on a relaxing holiday, “Maybe I should be Bond and you can be the sexy femme fatale I can save,”
Marc rolled his eyes, frowning and nudging her back, “Concentrate. These guys won’t hesitate to drop you no matter how pretty you look, princess,” It was a sneer, it was a bark of an order for her to quit messing around, that their lives were very much on the line here, and yet she couldn’t help look at him bashfully for his choice of words. He caught the girlish grin and the slight softness in her eyes, realising what he’d said to make her so coy. Fighting the heat that threatened to meet the apples of his cheeks, he turned away from her, staring hard down at the scrawl of writing inscribed in the stone, “Just read the damn sarcophagus, would you? Layla couldn’t get anything from it,”
Fighting the urge to snicker, she scanned over the funerary rites, her mind unravelling the translations she’d spent three years studying.
“It’s Hieratics,” She whispered, skimming the cursive writing, “Different to Hieroglyphics, it's known as the priestly script, the kind usually found on respected members of royalty, their blessings to carry them to the afterlife.” Marc gawked at her, the words sounding gibberish to him despite Layla drilling this stuff into him for years. He was sure if it were Steven in his place he would have been teetering on an orgasm by now, seeing her brows furrowed in concentration as she spurted knowledge about the writing styles. Taking a moment to skim the texts, the words became tales and spells, guidance for the deceased, wishes of good health in his next journey. But nothing about Ammit or his allegiance to her. Her brows furrowed as she flickered over the symbols, wondering if there was anything she was missing.
“What? What does it say?” Marc asked, chancing a glance over his shoulder to where Anton and Layla seemed to be watching them with hawk eyes now, though his ex-wife looked more nervous than anything.
“It speaks of how to cross through the gates at the Hall of Double Justice once you get to the other side of the Duat. It warns him of traps the gods may have set up; nets that will swallow him whole.” She leaning a little closer, some of the lettering worn away by its age, “There’s spells for repelling apshai-beetles-”
“Huh?”
“Apshai was the God of insects, said to be able to summon a horde of them that could block out the sun and devour men,” She brushed him off, searching further in the coffin for anything else, “It speaks of how to deflect them in the duat- all I’m seeing is how to guide the dead, no location indicated anywhere.”
She huffed leaning away from the relic with a defeated look on her face, giving the whole thing another read over.
“That’s because the information needs to be unlocked,” Marc’s head whipped up to the ceiling, where his reflection glared clearly back at him in front of the night sky. “It’s coded,”
Marc sighed, grabbing the girl’s attention. “What is it?” She asked, her eyes wide, worried their plan was entirely fucked.
“It’s Steven,” He said grumpily, watching her eyes light up in hope.
“Does he know the answer? Just let me talk to him, I’m sure we could figure it out,” She interrupted, flashing a quick and casual smile to Anton who had seemed to tense up at their rushed whispering, despite the fact her stomach was in knots.
“No, he’s not ready for- He said it’s coded, it needs to be deciphered,” He murmured back, watching her face smooth out into realisation.
“Ofcourse, priests did this all the time. Grave robbing was so common they had to hide their valuables, or in this case their information,” Dove smiled up at him, the accomplishment clear on her face, “So? Let Steven out, he’s great at puzzles and stuff like this-”
“Absolutely not, he won’t last two seconds if this starts getting ugly,” Marc snapped, gesturing to the sarcophagus despite the way her face fell, “Can’t you just do it? You guys solve stuff like this for fun,”
It was true, another of their weekly routines to pull out a board game of some sort and have a crack at it together. Or race to see who could put together a jigsaw the fastest. Ofcourse, they always wrote each other new rules for the games in other languages to add to the fun, she’d once thrown him completely off by writing out her best sanskrit. He’d been lost the entire hour. Yet even when they’d done an escape room together, Steven had been ten steps ahead of her at all times while she just stared after him, finding his intelligence dreamy.
“Yeah, and he almost always wins because he’s like the cleverest person I know,” She cut back, frowning at his stubbornness, “And incase you hadn’t noticed, Marc, this is an ancient encrypted casket not fucking UNO,”
Steven snorted, the sound only pissing Marc off even more as his gaze snapped to the ceiling, confronting his alter head on.
“Do you want a blood bath? Do you want her hurt? Because that’s the way it’s heading if you don’t start talking,” Marc cursed bitterly, throwing his hands out to the woman who glared at the sarcophagus like it owed her money. Soft eyes flicking to where Marc’s forehead creased, the worry was evident behind his mask of anger. He wasn’t worried about Harrow right now, or about the tomb, he was worried about her.
“Alright, have it your way,” Steven conceded, his own brown hues dropping to watch her from his place in the glass, a sad longing on his reflected face, “But this isn’t for you, I hope you know that,”
“Loud and clear,” Marc nodded, callused hands resting over the remains that sat inside the coffin, “Alright, what do I do?
“Check the cartonage,” Steven instructed, “Now, take that first piece and fold it over the middle piece,”
“This one?” Marc pointed to the smaller piece of fabric on the right, Dove’s eyes watching his military smooth expression carefully.
“Yes, that one,” Steven replied, exasperated as Marc did what he said. Dove followed his movements, the pattern quickly forming in front of them. Jumping at the chance to help, she grabbed the middle piece of the map folding it in half in order to create the correct shape, handing it to Marc so he could tuck it into place-
“Hey, what are you doing?” A hand grabbed Dove’s shoulder, yanking her away from the sarcophagus with a gasp, her own fingers reactively reaching to grab onto Marc. For Marc it was like clockwork, him snatching the gun from Bek’s hands, him taking a step in front of Dove, her hands gripping the tail of his jacket tightly, peaking over his shoulder with guilty eyes.
“Marc!” The pair of them turned their attention to Layla, her hands raised in surrender, two of Anton’s men pointing pistols at her closely. Even if they were to miraculously get one of them away from the El-Faouly woman, the second would pull the trigger without thinking, “Don’t,”
They were caught.
A breath passed between the trio, defeat written in bold ink on the two women’s faces, before Marc’s nose scrunched in annoyance. “Shit!”
He shoved the gun back at Bek, who grabbed it before they had any chance to get out of his grasp, his lip curling into a sneer at the pair in front of him, the barrel of his weapon staring straight at them. His flirty nature was long gone as he glared at the woman who wished for the ground to swallow them up.
Anton stepped past his guards, entering the glass room with a grave look on his handsome face, dark eyes looking between Marc and the woman that shadowed him, afraid to move so much as an inch were she to get Marc or Layla hurt.
“Do you really think I’m an idiot?” Anton scoffed, Marc’s jaw flickered with tension as he watched Anton’s eyes slide past him to the woman who looked back at him meekly, “And you? I won’t deny I would have enjoyed a night spent with you, sweetling. But you have been a sly creature,”
He reached out to pinch her chin gently, eyes roaming her lips that parted with a held breath, Marc tensing at her side. He envisioned himself breaking every one of the man’s fingers, of blinding him for daring to look at her so longingly, so perversely, as if seeing her was an enrichment he wanted to keep all to himself.
Then, as if to dial Marc’s already hot temper to a thousand, Anton smirked at her.
“Ofcourse, you could always just tell me what it was your little friends wanted, and I can let the three of you go unharmed?” He proposed, his umber gaze meeting hers with a flick of fervour, “For an added expense, of course,”
“You piece of-” Marc began, the heat of Ra in his glare, his veins running hot under his sepia skin. She cut him off, without a second of hesitation, without so much as a glance at him or his ex-wife.
“Anything,” She practically heard Layla’s laboured breath, the way every heart in the room seemed to stop at her word. Anton’s grin grew on his boyish face, this brows raising in surprise, “You let them both go, and you can have anything you want,”
Marc’s jaw slackened as he looked at her incredulously. What was she doing? How could she throw herself to the wolves like that?
“And if I wanted you? If I wanted to keep you?” Anton asked, his white teeth a glint behind his full lips that seemed to purse at the sight of her. She nodded, ignoring the feeling of Marc’s vicious glare burning a crater in the side of her skull. How could she do this to Steven, how could she stoop so low?
If they got out of here alive, if she got Layla out safe, she would go as low as it took. Layla who hated her, Layla who wished her hung, drawn and quartered, Layla who was human and had no god to save her, to repair her wounds.
“Anything,” She confirmed, a distant look glazing over her eyes as she signed her name on the invisible dotted line, threw herself in with the dogs once more.
Just as Anton’s grin was about to spread just that bit wider, victory ringing clear in his chocolate gaze that swept over her fact. He’d always had an eye for the valuable things in life, and he felt as if he’d just hit the jackpot. Bek leaned in towards his boss, speaking in hushed tones that even Dove struggled to hear until she realised it was because he was speaking French.
Anton’s head whipped towards his manor, where three figures stalked forward towards them, the armed men nudging the trio to exit the glass sculpture and follow the millionaire to meet the newcomers.
But Dove already had a pit in her stomach that told her exactly who it was waiting for them.
“It appears we have a concerned third party here,” The handsome man said, traipsing over to where Harrow and two of his followers approached, not batting a single eyelash to the shit show they’d stumbled upon, his telltale walking stick thumping against the sand pathway.
She felt her blood simultaneously freeze and boil in her capillaries, terrified of just how well he seemed to know her as if he understood anything about the things she’d seen, the things that had led her to here, yet angered from it all the same. Of what he’d called her the last time they’d met. Of how he’d spoken about Marc.
This time there were no gods to save his throat if she were to rip it out.
“Whatever they’ve proposed, I’m sure I can offer you something much more tangible,” Harrow declared, unveiling his hand from his pocket to show off the scarab. The scarab they had lost, the same one that seemed to levitate in the palm of his weathered hand and point in the direction of the tomb. A compass, a navigator, she realised, “Why settle for anything less when you could have a god's share of treasure?” The little bug hummed in his hands, its golden wings glinting in the moonlight.
“Anton, don’t listen to this man, he’s trying to stop us-” Layla started, her hands waving between surrender and gesturing wildly, watching Anton become enamoured with a new valuable, something better than a woman for the night.
“Please, stop,” Anton brushed her off, scowling at her with disinterest.
“She’s telling the truth. He’s planning to kill millions, trust me,” Dove jumped in, her eyes avoiding Harrow’s all knowing gaze, the wealthy man’s frown diverting to her.
“Are the two of you seriously talking about trust?” Anton snapped, his eyes finding their way back to the solid gold figure Harrow held out to him with the promise of more. If there was one thing men wanted more than women, Dove had learned quickly, learned the hard way, it was money.
“Anything! I told you I’d give you anything, get you anything if you just listen to us, please Anton,” Dove begged, feeling the but of the gun pressing into her skull as she took a step towards him. Tossing her a look over his shoulder, Anton seemed to boredly take her in, as if his reverie of having her to himself had worn off, the promise of more wealth than he could dream of, an inheritance for a goddess herself, outweighing any sort of sexual or physical favour she could give him. “He’s planning to slaughter children,”
“Please, there’s no need to descend into violent accusations,” Harrow started, his calm voice only making her seem all the more hysterical as she finally braved a look at him. Just as she suspected, his cold blue hues were already staring through her body in amusement, as if her worry and wildness was all but a game to him. A tally on his leaderboard. Harrow: 2 - Dove: Nil. “Each one of you has so much more in common than you know,”
His gaze shifted to the woman next to her, his eyes filling with false pity, the smirk on his lips telling her otherwise, “Layla, you keep thinking that distance will prevent the wounds from your father’s murder from reopening, but something stands in your way. You know that Marc never told you the truth, you know he hid things from you, maybe that’s why you can’t bring yourself to love him anymore, because he could never be honest,”
Tears glinted in the woman’s lash line as she looked at Marc, every word of his conviction true. She could never love Marc as she had once, never love him anything past nostalgia, an old memory she was learning to shake. But she’d had her suspicions, that he knew more about what had happened to her father than he’d told her, she saw it in the way he tensed every time she brought Abdallah up, he was a worse liar than he thought, or perhaps she had just known him that well.
“And Marc, you never told her because you knew that if you did, she’d see you exactly as you see yourself, as unworthy of the love she could have given you,” Marc’s glare could have melted Harrow to the bone as the older man approached, the glass in his shoes clinking wetly with his every footstep, seeming to enjoy this game of cat and mice he had with the trio already at odds with one another. It was like he was setting a fox into the hen house just to see them scramble.
“You piece of shit,” Marc hissed, his lip curled in anger as Harrow set his gaze slowly back to where Dove stood frozen in place, all too aware of how much he knew, of what he’d seen in her.
“Which brings us to the little pup,” He smiled, a chill running over her spine the moment it grew on his features, a lump balling in her throat, “She cowers in guilt every waking moment knowing if the two of you, if Steven heavens forbid, saw the real her, if you knew what she’d done before she was the meek little bird that worked at a gift shop, you’d be truly horrified. Dare I say, you’d hate her,”
She felt their eyes on her in an instant. Yet she couldn’t drag her horrified stare away from Harrow, who only watched her victoriously. She felt her legs shaking under her weight, weak and numbed from his revelation. There would be questions, there would be answers she couldn’t give. People she only ever visited in her sleep, others she ran from every second of the day.
“You have no idea what you’re talking about,” She croaked, her face tightening with the lump in her throat, eyes hot, lip trembling. Harrow just scoffed.
“Don’t I?” He leered closer to her, slipping the scarab back into his pocket, “Why don’t you tell your new beau what you did to the last man who had you?” He gestured to Anton who seemed to look her up and down, not with lust anymore. No, with caution. Wariness. Worry. He was scared of her. Disgusted. Her eyes chanced a glance at Marc and Layla who looked equally as perplexed, watching for her reaction. They couldn’t see, they weren’t allowed to see. They saw too much, saw right through her. They would hate her, they would leave her for dead.
She’d have to tell them what she’d done to him, to the man who’d put her there. How she’d made him pay for what he’d done to Grace, for taking her away from her family. How he was unrecognisable by the time she was finished with him.
She was back in that room, the window empty, the curtains shut. Grace was… she couldn’t even stomach the thought of it. Of her lying in that room alone, choking on air because of the white pills he’d given her as a reward, as if they were in need of a reward for their good behaviour. In need of anything to satiate them, keep them quiet long enough he would be able to keep them just a little longer.
She wished she’d never taken his number that first night, wished she’d stayed balancing her three jobs to make rent money instead of running after him ‘down the yellow brick road’ as he’d said. She had been in love at first, then she had been scared, terrified when she realised the monsters that lay in wait for her chomping at the bit, empty when she found out Grace had…
But now, now all she felt was anger.
The letters, the damn letters she asked Oz to send to her brothers, the ones where she poured her heart out with apologies, ‘I love you’s and ‘I want to come home’. The ones where she sent the money back to them, the money she’d earned, the whole reason she’d left them, went with Oz on blind faith, the money she stuck around for knowing she was keeping them afloat back home. The same damn letters she’d found stuffed into a duffel bag at the bottom of his wardrobe.
She had been looking for Grace’s things, he’d had her room cleaned by his men who seemed to know exactly what they were doing when moving a body out. She’d wanted just her cardigan, the lilac ones that made Grace’s eyes look like a bed of bluebells, that brought out the buttermilk tones of her blonde hair. She’d missed her more than usual this week.
Yet all she found was the letters, each one addressed to her brothers, money still inside the envelopes, never sent, never opened like he’d promised.
She was angrier than she even knew was possible to feel.
The past two years had meant nothing. She had let those men, those bastards do whatever they liked to her. Had crawled into Grace’s arms when they’d left, when the nights were longer. Had been his dog, his mutt, his puppet for two years; left her brothers, left Billie, with no explanation hoping the letters and the money would be enough to see them through, enough to keep the house and have their bellies filled, their feet warm. She had watched Grace get drained just as she was, had cried every tear, laughed every laugh, danced every step with her just to see her wither under his cruel hand, just to see her take a bad cocktail of painkillers and see herself out of the savage life they lived.
Grace, her sweet saving grace, gone. And it was because of him.
She remembered him coming home, remembered hearing his footsteps beating against the wooden stairs, hearing the second one from the top that squeaked under anyone's weight. She’d learned quickly how to get around this house where no one could hear her the way a doe steers clear from a hunting ground. It was nature, survival of the fittest.
She heard him huff, scratch his thick black hair as if the weight of the world was on his shoulders. Oz, as known by his friends. Frank Osbourne, as known by his government. A dead man walking, as known by Dove.
He stepped into her room, the biggest bunch of flowers in his hands she’d ever seen. Red roses, cliche, the kind every man assumes his girlfriend wants. Oz plastered on a wide smile, too forced for her to appreciate, the coldness still in his eyes. She saw through his mask, his act. She saw how he seemed bored every second he pretended to care.
“Hey there, doll,” He leaned down to kiss her brow, shoving the roses into her lap as if he wanted rid of them already, “I got you these, you know just to cheer you up a bit after all this mess the past few weeks,”
“Mess?” She croaked, her dead eyes watching as he paced around her bed to open the curtains onto the night air. The abandoned hotel opposite had still yet to realise their Welcome sign was still blaring its neon red light after ten years of disuse. The ‘C’ and the final ‘E’ flickered every now and then, but other than that, the red poured into her dark room as if it were sat on her own bedside table.
Mess. As if Grace hadn’t been ripped from her arms whilst she screamed and wept and begged for her to stay. Don’t leave me, don’t leave me alone, you’re all I have left.
But now it was just the two of them.
Oz scoffed, her eyes following his figure that slumped on the bed, leaning down to undo his shoe laces. “Well, I was thinking,” He continued, “Since I let you have a few weeks off to pick yourself back up, I was thinking I could start taking you dancing again the way we did before? Find a new club? Get you another VIP lounge like at the Emerald so you could earn your keep,”
Before this house, when she’d met him. When he’d offered her a job as a barmaid. Given her his number on a little yellow slip, the red words “Follow the yellow brick road,” glittering back at her from his lapel pocket. True to his name, his club had been something out of a wonderland. The “Over the Rainbow” Gentleman’s club was tucked away below the streets of the town, away from prying eyes that would see through the glamour of the girls sold in red slippers. The VIP lounge, a room called The Emerald City, where the most expensive girls were expected to live up to their prices, where she’d served the parties alcohol, tidied when the girls were done, made sure they were all ready for their next show. That was how it had started.
Then his plans changed. Then he’d forced her into the ruby red heels, put her to work for him. Sold her to the highest bidder of the night. And worst of all, he’d convinced her it was a good idea, made her think it was all her own purpose.
She smiled emptily at him, reaching under the bed to grab the straps on the duffel bag. In one swift movement, she chucked the bag onto the duvet in front of him, the weight of her letters, her words that carried her every apology she’d uttered in the last two years, the weight of a girl missing home.
“Earn my keep?” She sneered, watching his handsome face stare down at the bag with a calculating coldness. “Why have you not sent these? That money was for my brothers- you said-”
“Now let’s not get hysterical, doll.” He held his hands up to stop her in her angered state, “I didn’t send those letters because I knew people would come after you. And I couldn’t risk losing my most prized possession because of some high school dropouts and that pill popping little brother of yours-”
That was when she had lost it. Her brothers had been through shit and back, and Mikey had picked up the same awful habit their mother had, but he was her brother. She would let him do what he liked with her, but she drew a line in the sand at her littlest boy.
Before she’d even known she had it in her, she’d thrown a fist at his face, hit him square across his cheekbone. Sammy always told her to aim for the nose or the chin, that boy was always getting into scraps, but she didn’t care. She felt the adrenaline coursing through her veins as she grunted with the effort.
“I would choose all of them a million times over if it meant being away from you,” She yelled, her breaths coming out in rattled gasps, “I don’t care about the money, I don’t care about you, everything I ever loved is gone and it’s because of you-”
She wished she’d been more prepared for the retaliation, but she still felt the vitriol wave of shock as his hand came across her face in a loud slapping sound.
“Because of you, my girl,” Oz spat, launching himself to grab her by her top, dragging her towards him as if she was a ragdoll, “I have only ever been good to you. You were nothing when I found you, remember?” She felt the tears brewing as his voice roared in her face, her brows furrowed in vicious anger, “Nothing, you were a street rat. You could barely afford to eat with that lot dog piling on you for your wages,”
“You say that like you’re any better, Oz,” She spat back. There was a single second where she saw the expressionless face turn, turn into something dark, something hateful.
It was all a blur from then, a harder hit striking her face, shoving her into the huge vanity mirror, her temple colliding with the glass. It smashed on its impact, shards spraying around her, littering her messy desk with tiny glints that looked like red stars in the light of the hotel sign.
She felt the dribble of blood from her hairline, the thickness of it rolling down her cheek like a cardinal honey, though the bitter metallic smell hit her faster than the pain. She was sure she was in shock, she felt numb to the prickling pain of the gash, though she doubted she’d ever feel anything deeper than the torment of knowing her life was gone. Knowing Grace was never coming back, that she could never go back home. It was gone, irreplaceably gone. No amount of rough hands or vile words could cut so deep as the aloneness she felt.
They stared at one another for a moment, her slumped over her desk, just about able to lean herself on her hands, meeting his abhorrent gaze in the mirror.
“I suggest you quit acting up, girl, or next time I won’t be so forgiving,” He spat, turning his back to her to begin unbuttoning his jacket, a huff passing his lips as if she had worn his patience thin, “Take of your clothes and make yourself useful, why don’t you?”
Her lip curled in anger, her reflection looking back at her as she tore her gaze away from his muscled back, ignoring the way he worked on unbuckling his belt, knowing what he wanted.
He wanted her to forget, to pretend as though she wasn’t torturing herself every moment of the day thinking about what she had lost. Looking at herself then in the mirror of the vanity, truly seeing what she’d become, the glass that seemed about as broken as her spirit distorting her view. It was no longer just Grace or her brothers or her job or her life that was gone. She had lost herself. She was not a person anymore but a shell, a phantom. A dead girl walking. She and Grace had always been two sides of the same coin.
She was nothing. He was right. She was nothing.
Her eyes were sunken, cold, dead. She wondered if it had been her who had overdosed in the next room with how ill she looked, smaller than normal. Weaker. Stony. Her skin was lifeless, her hair thinning. Her lips were dry, her eyes glassy. She looked like a corpse. A doll. A mannequin.
She was nothing.
She watched the blood trickle down to her jaw, tinier cuts from the glass shrapnel beginning to pucker and weep their own fresh redness, looking like crimson freckles.
She was nothing.
He lay back on the bed, his trousers slid down to his ankles to reveal a plain pair of grey boxers, his manhood barely concealed as he reached into her bedside cabinet and grabbed himself a cigarette and a lighter.
She was nothing.
“Well then?” He prompted, the white stick waggling between his pink lips as he spoke, “You gonna do as you’re told, my girl, or do you need another smack of the face to knock sense into ya’?”
And then she thought of every one of Grace’s laughs. She thought of the girl's heartbeat against her own whenever they hugged. She thought of the way she was so kind, so sweet on her. She thought of how Grace always had a way of fixing her bruises inside and out. She thought of every one of her freckles, how her eyes always seemed to be watching her with adoration. And then it was taking her brothers to school, the nights she stayed up with Joey to do homework, even though he was the smartest kid she’d ever known. It was Christmas, oh how she loved Christmas once, when they’d each scrimp to get each other something decent, it was the way her brothers pitched in to get her a bike she didn’t have the heart to tell them she couldn’t ride. It was the socks Mikey tried to knit her, that her pinky toe stuck out of on both sides. It was cooking them all breakfast before she went to work at her cleaning job, making sure not a child left her house on an empty stomach like she had when she was their age. It was her and Sammy dragging Dad in from the porch chair when he’d had one too many. It was Matty bringing home Billie the first time, the feeling of holding the tiniest little girl with the thickest hair. A child bringing her a child. It was dancing with the toddler in the kitchen, her soft feet stood on her own as she hummed Billy Joel’s Vienna. It was Mum and Dad when they were young and happy, when the boys had been small and Mum had been to rehab and seemed to stick to her promises for a few years at least. It was the day they went on their first and last family holiday, the day her and the boys had played on the beach until their little legs were sore and their tummies aching from laughing. The ice cream that stuck to their face, the salt that dried on their skin.
She was nothing anymore.
She was nothing but angry.
Vengeful.
She was a savage let loose.
Reaching over her desk, her dead eyes looking back at themselves, her fingers wrapped around a long shard of glass that had split off, toppling onto the wooden surface with a delicate clink, ignoring the way it cut into her own skin painfully.
She was nothing but chaos.
–
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Protecting (my heart)
Idol! Minji X bodyguard! Reader
Description: getting a new job as NewJeans bodyguard isn't really something Y/n thought would happen to her. What exactly happens when she suddenly felt attracted to one of the NewJeans members? Can Y/n stay professional or are her feelings for Minji too much to handle?
Warnings: stalking; harassment; kys jokes; suggestive language; death threats; mention of abuse; mention of murder;
Chapter: Top or bottom? (Half-written)
Masterlist
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Nervously, I stood in front of the door after ringing the bell, holding two cups of coffee in my hands—one from Starbucks and the other from the bakery down the street. My hands were starting to ache from the heat of the coffee burning them.
I looked up at Minji, who was smiling as she opened the door. "H-hey. Sorry. The coffee is hot," I quickly said, and Minji's eyes immediately moved to the coffee, which she took from me. I let out a relieved sigh.
Minji gestured for me to follow her, which I did after taking off my shoes. With the Starbucks cup in hand, I followed Minji into the living room and watched as she placed the coffee on the coffee table.
"So... I wasn't sure if you boycott Starbucks or uh... that's why I got one from Starbucks and the other from the bakery," I said, feeling embarrassed as I noticed my cheeks heating up. "You decide which one you want," I muttered quietly as an addition.
Minji chuckled, visibly amused, shaking her head. "Well... that's not exactly the point of boycotting if you still end up buying something," Minji said as she came closer to me. "But it's already bought," she added as she took the Starbucks cup from my hand and took a sip.
"Thank you, baby," she whispered with a smile on her face, giving me a brief kiss on the lips. My body relaxed automatically as I just nodded and watched her sit on the couch. With a smile on her face, she patted the spot next to her several times, and I immediately sat where she indicated.
Nervously, I rubbed my hands together as I looked around. This was now the third time I had entered this apartment, but it was the first time I was here in my free time. And, Minji was now my girlfriend...
"Are... uh... are the others not here?" I asked, prompting Minji to look at me immediately. Her eyebrows raised as she scrutinized my entire face. "Oh... they're probably in their rooms," Minji murmured, and I nodded in response.
Somehow... knowing that relaxed me.
"Ah, okay," I murmured softly. Minji watched me intently until she handed me the hot coffee, which I accepted and bowed slightly. Minji looked at me with wide eyes. Suddenly, the younger woman laughed, "Are you as nervous as I am?" she asked, her cheeks visibly flushed.
With wide eyes, I immediately looked at my girlfriend and started nodding frantically. "Yes, I'm pretty nervous," I replied, starting to laugh a bit. Minji laughed along with me, and you could almost feel the nervousness in the air.
Minji glanced away from me before looking back at me again. "Um... don't you want to... take off your jacket?" the taller woman said, tilting her head slightly to the side. My eyes immediately fell on the thin cardigan I was wearing over my sweater, and I laughed as well.
"Oh. Yeah. Of course," I said softly as I placed the coffee in my hand on the table and moved to take off the cardigan. My eyes met Minji's as I smiled again. "God, sorry... I guess I'm more nervous than I expected," I said with a light laugh, which seemed to relax Minji a bit, who was also nervous.
"How about... we have a drink?" my girlfriend asked with a small smile. I chuckled as I took my coffee back into my hand. "Honestly... no," I replied, which made Minji look at me questioningly.
"Even though I'm nervous, I'd like to experience my time here with you sober," I said as my hand rested on her thigh, and my eyes simply gazed into hers. "Don't you?" I asked, feeling a bit nervous as I started to smile lightly.
Minji huffed as she nodded her head. She placed her coffee on the table and made sure mine was next to hers. Almost immediately, she connected our lips, which made me exhale contentedly.
"Minji," I murmured softly between kisses as my hand wandered up her thigh. I noticed the idol tensing slightly, but despite that, her hand gripped my neck to pull me even closer to her.
A hum escaped my lips as I pulled away from her. I swallowed as I looked into her left eye and then her right. Our faces were only centimeters apart. I could feel her breath, now smelling of coffee, on my skin.
"I... like you so much," I whispered softly as my hand brushed a strand of her hair behind her ear. With half-open eyes, I leaned in closer to her again. "I'm still a virgin!" the taller woman shouted in my face, causing me to flinch slightly.
Confused, I blinked several times. "What?" I asked, somewhat surprised by Minji's sudden revelation. Almost immediately, my eyes widened, and I recoiled. "Did... did I get too close? Oh God. I didn't mean to— I mean— uh," I said nervously, waving my hands defensively in the air.
Minji laughed at my reaction and seemingly also at my panicked expression. She held her hand up to her mouth as she gently tapped my arm, letting out a loud giggle.
"No, no. You did everything right. I just... thought you should know," Minji replied, now looking quite nervous herself. Her hands were on her legs as she started playing with her fingers, and she had already bitten her lip.
Smiling, I relaxed and placed my hands on hers. "Okay. Thank you for telling me," I said gently as I saw Minji looking at me. "We'll go at your pace, okay?" I added with a small smile as I noticed how red her ears had become.
I cleared my throat. "How about watching a movie?" I asked, clearly trying to change the subject. The younger woman understood, of course, and nodded her head. She immediately grabbed the remote.
"Yeah... let's watch a movie," the younger one said as she turned on the TV and quickly opened the Netflix app. I smiled and leaned back. "Minji?"
"Hm?"
"You can tell me anything. Every little thought. Even if it seems unimportant to you."
"Okay," Minji replied as her eyes briefly glanced at the ground, probably to hide her blush. But I noticed it with a smile on my face.
Minji is so darn cute.
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#newjeans minji#newjeans hanni#hanni pham#newjeans#danielle#haerin#newjeans hyein#minji x reader#newjeans x reader#newjeans smau
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♡ . . .⠀ ⠀ ⠀ BOYFRiEND!NiCOLAS! ❜
NICOLAS BROWN x FEM READER ✶ .ᐟ
❝ nicolas brown as your boyfriend. ❞
⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀˖ ࣪⭑
❪⠀ᥫ᭡⠀❫ featuring : nicolas , worick , alex , & nina !
❪⠀ᥫ᭡⠀❫ contents : just basic fluff for my beloved !
❪⠀ᥫ᭡⠀❫ requested by : @xxelfmamaxx !
❪⠀ᥫ᭡⠀❫ song playing : lovefool — the cardigans !
♡♥ BOYFRIEND!NICOLAS who teaches you more asl than you already know because you want to communicate with him better.
♡♥ BOYFRIEND!NICOLAS who enjoys laying between your thighs as you two watch your favorite show, you playing with his hair all the while.
♡♥ BOYFRIEND!NICOLAS that loves watching your little fashion shows that you put on for him any time you two go shopping, enjoying how amazing you look in the clothes you pick out.
♡♥ BOYFRIEND!NICOLAS is everything a person could want in a partner. he adores everything about you and all that you do.
♡♥ BOYFRIEND!NICOLAS is a HUGE cuddler, he’ll snuggle his head into the crevice of your neck any chance he gets, making sure to wrap his arms around you at the same time.
♡♥ BOYFRIEND!NICOLAS who adores how you tower over him, enjoying it every time you use your fingers to lift his chin so he would look up at you.
♡♥ BOYFRIEND!NICOLAS that doesn’t like sharing. not even the thought of it. whenever worick teases him about sharing you, the man becomes an enraged mess.
♡♥ BOYFRIEND!NICOLAS who, when first introducing you to alex, thought you two would hate each other. unbeknownst to the fact that you would absolutely adore the woman and treated her like a sister.
♡♥ BOYFRIEND!NICOLAS that loves seeing how you act with nina. the man loves the both of you with his whole heart, so seeing the two most important women in his life get along made his heart do cart wheels.
♡♥ BOYFRIEND!NICOLAS who willingly wanted to learn your native language, loving how your eyes lit up when he signed to you asking to teach him it.
♡♥ BOYFRIEND!NICOLAS that—regardless of being a grown man—enjoys being the little spoon when you two cuddle, the warmth of your body putting him to sleep instantly.
♡♥ BOYFRIEND!NICOLAS who allows you to test your art skills on him, whether it be tattoos, or nails, he’s there and willing to let you try on him.
♡♥ BOYFRIEND!NICOLAS that has a whole list written down of all your favorite things so when he goes shopping for you, he has them on hand.
♡♥ BOYFRIEND!NICOLAS who’s favorite thing about you is your face. since he can’t necessarily hear your voice, he loves staring at you whenever you speak, even though you get embarrassed easily thinking something’s on your face.
♡♥ BOYFRIEND!NICOLAS that would do anything for you, making sure everyone knew you were his and to not even think about messing with you or he’d have their head.
97IFY :: if you would like a part two, please do not be shy to ask through my inbox! i'm always happy to accept requests !!
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$$. 000 ll header edit creds. @//lutzvx on tt.
← back to gangsta masterlist — 97IFY. do not steal my work. all rights reserved. likes and reblogs appreciated !!
#✶ .ᐟ gangsta workz#✶ .ᐟ boyfriend!nicolas#gangsta : nicolas#gangsta nicolas#nicolas brown#nicolas brown headcanons#gangsta anime#nicolas brown x you#nicolas brown x reader#nicolas brown hcs#♡ . . .⠀safety zone
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Golden Hour || Ch. 4 [Bob Floyd x Bradley Bradshaw x OC]
A Bob Floyd & Bradley Bradshaw AU [Hart of Dixie inspired]
Synopsis: Willow, Georgia. Barely even a town, just a speck on a map that you tried to wipe off, mistaking it for a crumb. You’re the outsider: a fancy New York doctor, fresh out of a failed engagement, with zero primary care experience. You’re also the new town doctor, taking over for a recent retiree who was beloved. His son, Bob Floyd, is the other physician at the practice, and takes an immediate dislike to you. But you were looking for a fresh start, and Willow doesn’t seem all that bad if you can get past the fact that there's only one restaurant in town. It helps that you've caught the eye of Bradley Bradshaw, the town attorney, despite the fact that you vowed to take a break from dating. How long until you start to make friends in a town where social circles have been set in stone since elementary school? And what will it take to make Bob Floyd see you’re not as bad as he wants to believe you are?
Pairing: Bob Floyd x OC; Bradley Bradshaw x OC
Tropes: Love triangle, enemies to lovers
Warnings: Cursing, alcohol
Chapter summary: Bob's former fiancé moves back to town; Bradley finally gets Olive to go on a date with him
WC: 3.3K
Masterlist here; previous chapter here; next chapter here
You were sitting on a stool at Breakers picking at their breakfast of champions — grits, eggs fried in butter, a biscuit soaked in gravy, a doctor’s nightmare — when Phoenix’s head snapped up.
“Charlotte,” she said, eyes wide. Something in her voice made you look up. A beautiful woman, late twenties or early thirties, stepped through the doorway. She had blonde hair in soft waves, perfect white teeth, legs that went on for miles beneath her short dress. But somehow it came off much more prim and proper than the skirt you were wearing, and you crossed your legs self consciously.
“Natasha,” she said and you bristled. Who was this girl and why was she calling Phoenix Natasha?
“Back home visiting your mom?” Phoenix asked, refilling the coffee machine and then turning around, placing both hands on the slightly sticky bar top.
Charlotte shook her head. “No. I’m home for good.”
You watched Phoenix’s mouth turn into a fine line. There was a density in the air that hadn’t been there a moment before. She caught your eye and then added, “Charlotte, this is Dr. Olive James. She’s taking over Dr. Robert’s patients.”
Charlotte smiled. It was frigid and tense. Fuck, she was stunning. But she had the aura of someone who would cut you down immediately if you stood between her and winning. You knew her type well.
You were her. In another life. The life that ended a month ago on a perfectly sunny day in New York. Not that you had been able to see the sunlight from inside the frigid OR as Peter confessed.
You held out a hand. “Nice to meet you.”
Charlotte stepped forward, sticking one thin, pale hand in yours. It was limp. “You too.”
“So you grew up here?” you asked, taking a sip of coffee.
She looked at Phoenix. “Yeah. Something like that. Listen, I should probably head out. I’m meeting Mrs. Flannery at nine.” Charlotte looked you up and down. “Nice to meet you, Olive. Nat, I’ll see you around.”
She was gone in a moment, just a cloud of Byredo perfume left in her wake. You turned to Phoenix. “Who was that?”
“That was Charlotte,” she said. “Local pageant queen. Complete nightmare. And Bob Floyd’s ex-fiancé.”
***
You had thought you were getting somewhere with Bob. After the way the two of you had left things at his father’s house. But the moment you stepped in the office there was a chill. Literally and figuratively. Molly sat at the front desk shivering in a cardigan.
“Dr. James,” she said, teeth chattering. “Mr. Flannery is in your office. Unscheduled appointment. Oh and the HVAC guy is coming this afternoon. Something’s wrong with the air conditioning!”
“I can tell,” you muttered, swinging open the heavy wood door to your office and smiling. “Mr. Flannery, I’m Dr. James. How can I help you today?”
He looked up. “It’s my throat. Feels all scratchy. Like I can’t swallow.”
“If you can sit up on this table over here, sir, I can help you out.” You maneuvered Mr. Flannery onto the paper-covered examination bed and pulled on a pair of gloves. “Open wide for me.” Swollen, red tonsils with white spots and an inflamed throat. You nodded, sitting back. “Sorry to say you have strep throat.”
He closed his mouth. “Well fuck.”
You laughed. “I’m sorry. I’ll write you a prescription for azithromycin. It’s a five-day course, make sure you take it about an hour before having any food. And even if you feel better, take the full course or it could come back and that would be a worse case.”
“Is it contagious?” he asked.
“Very.”
“So I should send my wife in for treatment?” Mr. Flannery asked.
“That would be a good precaution,” you said, writing down the prescription and ripping it off the pad. “Here you go. Take this to Molly up front and she’ll get everything squared away.”
He nodded, standing up. “Thanks Doc.”
“Oh, Mr. Flannery?” He turned. “What does your wife do?”
“Why do you ask, Doctor?”
“I, um, I knew someone had a meeting with her this morning. Was just curious. Still trying to keep everyone in town straight.” You flashed him what was hopefully a convincing smile.
He nodded. “She’s a real estate agent. Are you looking?”
“Maybe.”
“I’ll have her come by and give you a card,” he said. “And for a check up.”
“Feel better.”
He closed the door behind him and you leaned back. Charlotte was looking for a house. That was serious. You had met the woman for all of three minutes and somehow were annoyed by her presence and the fact that she was in Willow to stay.
Three patients later, you thought your limbs might fall off. “Molly,” you cried, tossing open the door to your office. “It’s freezing, when is the HVAC guy coming?”
“Dr. James.” Bob’s voice was hard. You spotted the empty desk, as well as the sparse waiting room, just one older woman on the phone in the corner. “My office. Please.”
You rolled your eyes, following Bob into his office. He looked toasty in a pair of slacks and a button down, sleeves still rolled up enough to show off his firm forearms. Meanwhile you shivered in a short skirt and sleeveless top. “It’s cold as fuck,” you moaned.
Bob had his back to you, not even bothering to respond as he moved across the room, opening an old wooden cabinet that you assumed held medical supplies, emerging a minute later with a lab coat and a sweater. The sweater was a vintage cable knit, navy blue and slightly frayed at the collar and cuffs. He held them out. “Here.”
You took them wordlessly. Was Bob Floyd being nice to you? “Um, thank you,” you replied, putting the lab coat down and sliding on the sweater. It was slightly long, ending just above the hem of your skirt, and much too wide, but you sighed in relief as the warmth enveloped your body. Bob picked up the lab coat, holding it out and you pivoted slightly, placing one arm in and then the other. The jacket brushed against your knees and you hugged your arms close.
He nodded. “Molly’s at lunch but when she’s back I’ll have her call Ed again about the A/C.”
“Human popsicle,” you replied and to your surprise Bob’s lips twitched upward. You grinned. “Well, um, thanks again.”
“No problem.”
He seemed in no rush to have you leave, one hand propped against the wall casually. “I met Charlotte today,” you said. It spilled out of your mouth before you could stop yourself.
Bob’s face went pale. An almost ashen color. Similar to watching someone hemorrhage blood after a birth. You regretted it the moment the words left your lips, but you just kept word vomiting into the abyss.
“She’s pretty. Cold. Not quite a human popsicle, we might freeze here and it’ll be like the Day After Tomorrow without Dennis Quaid to rescue us cold. Just, distant.”
“Charlotte is cold,” Bob said. His response was crisp. Calm. He would make an excellent surgeon. Collected and even tempered. You wondered briefly if he had ever thought of a specialty outside of general medicine.
“I’m sorry,” you blurted. “I shouldn’t have said anything.”
“It’s fine.” He pushed off of the arm that had been leaning against the wall, running one hand through his hair. “I’m guessing Phoenix told you about our history.”
“That she was your fiancé,” you replied. “That’s all.”
“That’s all,” he repeated. “Yeah, that’s about all there is.”
“When was the last time you saw her?”
“When she left,” Bob said. “Five years ago.”
“Wow.” Five years was a lifetime. “I’m sorry.”
“I’m sorry she’s back,” he replied. “Charlotte is a tornado. Everywhere, all at once. Destruction and chaos and excitement. And then gone in an instant. She loves to leave piles of shit in her wake.” It was the first time you had heard so many sentences come out of Bob’s mouth. And with such vitriol.
“Maybe it was time Willow had some excitement.”
Bob looked at you. There was something different in his gaze but you couldn’t place it. “Dr. James,” he said, silky voice grazing your skin gently. “We’ve only just started to adjust to having you here. That was exciting enough.”
“I’m not that bad,” you protested.
Bob shook his head. “Sure, Olive.”
There it was again. Your name on his tongue. There was something so sexy about the reserved way he said it. You smiled, stepping closer to the door. If possible, it was colder when you tugged it open. From next to his desk, Bob smirked. You grabbed the chart next to your door and turned toward the waiting room. “Mrs. Okane?”
***
When Bradley showed up at the end of your shift, you didn’t even think twice. It had been almost a week since he had been in the clinic. That was five times longer than he had gone without walking through the front doors the week before.
You smirked when he popped his head into your office. “Dr. James?”
“Mr. Bradshaw.” You put your hands on your desk and stood up. “What is it this time? Let me guess. Yellow fever.”
“See, Doc, I think it’s more serious than that.” He ambled through the doorway, wearing a suit. That alone took your breath away. No one as handsome as Bradley Bradshaw should be allowed to wear a suit, it was practically a crime how good he looked. He would have to try himself in a court of law for that. “I think I have stress cardiomyopathy.”
You laughed, head tipped back. “A broken heart? Really Bradshaw?”
“But you’re lucky,” Bradley said, stepping closer. “I’m a master at Googling and WebMD and I think I found a cure.”
“Oh? And what would that be?”
“You go on a date with me. Tonight.”
You let out a sigh. “Bradley.”
“I know, I know, you’re not here to date,” he said. “But one dinner? Doctors have to eat, too. Have to practice what you preach, right?”
“You’re wearing me down, Bradshaw.”
“That’s the point.” He flashed a brilliant smile which turned into a frown. One of Bradley’s hands came out, fingering the pocket of your lab coat. “Is this Bob’s jacket?”
You hadn’t even realized that it was embroidered with his name. You had been seeing patients in it all day as Dr. Floyd. The fact that some of the patients may have thought that made you his wife made you blush. “Um, yeah. The AC was broken and it was freezing, so I borrowed something from him.”
Bradley nodded but the relief didn’t reach his eyes.
Against your better judgment, you reached out, taking Bradley’s hand in yours. His face warmed instantly. “OK. Dinner.”
“I’m guessing not Breakers.”
“You know what I would love?”
“A salt bagel from H&H?”
“Well yes. And the crispy tuna from Koi on Bryant Park and dim sum from Flushing.” Bradley laughed. “But no. I just want a good, healthy meal. Something that isn’t drowned in butter and doesn’t have five different types of pig products on it. And a glass of wine that isn’t from a box.” You shuddered.
“I can make that happen, Doc.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Red or white?”
“Surprise me.”
“I’ll pick you up at seven,” he said, dropping your hand. “Oh and Doc? Do me a favor. Lose Floyd’s coat. Makes you look like his.”
“And that bothers you?” you called out as Bradley walked through the doorway.
He turned back. “Yeah, Liv, it does. I’d like to pretend that on tonight’s date you’re all mine. Even if I’m still winning you over.”
***
What the hell does one wear on a date in Willow, Georgia?
All of your jeans were designer and too tight for the occasion. A dress felt too fancy. You kicked a slinky black Reformation dress into the corner of the room in frustration, standing in the middle of the chaos wearing a La Perla lingerie set and a pair of Jimmy Choos. Maybe you should just answer the door wearing that. Bradley might have a heart attack. It would go hand-in-hand with his fictional cardiomyopathy, you thought.
Finally you picked up a black silky tank top and a short matching skirt, tugging them on just as there was a knock on the door. “Coming!” you shouted, grabbing your purse, a YSL Manhattan that was, no shocker, better suited in Manhattan than Willow, and spritzing a dose of Maison Margiela perfume on before rushing for the door. “Hi,” you said, letting out a quick sigh.
Bradley had on a pair of jeans and a tight polo that showed off his muscular arms and broad chest. He grinned. “You look amazing.”
You slipped the purse onto your shoulder. “It’s nice to have an excuse to dress up again.”
“Willow fashion scene isn’t cutting it for you?”
“The dress barn isn’t exactly my vibe,” you replied, locking the door. Bradley chuckled. “What?”
“That,” he said, pointing to the door handle. “You locking the door. No one locks their doors around here. It’s Willow.” He placed an emphasis on Willow.
“That’s insane.”
He shrugged. “Again, that’s Willow. Here, watch your step.” Bradley held out his arm, guiding you down the steps toward his truck.
“So, where are we going?”
“It’s a surprise, Doc,” he replied, pulling the truck into reverse.
Bradley’s surprise was dinner on his wraparound porch. He lived in a charming house one block from the town center, white with blue shutters and pots of mums outside the front door. He had set up a table and candles on one side of the house and even from outside you could smell something delicious. “What is that?” you asked, sniffing the air like a Doberman.
He smiled. “Well you said healthy, but this is the South. So it’s chicken and dumplings. But I promise I made a salad.”
“Smells divine.”
“Want to come inside and grab some wine while I check on dinner?”
“Sure.” The inside of Bradley’s house was just as charming as the outside. A crisp white linen sofa facing a marble top coffee table, a six-person dining room set and a small kitchen with a little kitchen island. Down the hall you spotted an olive green mudroom with built-in shelves. “Your house is gorgeous.”
“My mother decorated,” he replied, stepping up to the stove and pulling off a lid from the pot, the smell of rich chicken and veggies hitting your nose. “I let her because it was that or death.”
“God, I feel that,” you replied. “My mother is the same.”
“Probably why I went to New York,” he added. “Cut the umbilical cord.”
“Do you miss it?”
“All the time.” Bradley put the lid back on the dutch oven and reached up in the cabinet for two wine glasses. “Red or white?”
“Red.”
He produced a bottle of pinot noir from a wine cabinet and set it on the counter. “What do you miss the most?”
“Everything,” you replied automatically. “The sounds. It’s too quiet here to sleep at night.”
“Yeah, I get that.” Bradley swirled a knife around the seam of the bottle, loosening the cover over the cork. “I miss the food.”
“Obviously. And the nightlife. And the Met. Saturdays in Central Park and then walking over to Bloomingdales. Taking the Metro North on weekends up the Hudson. Christmas on Fifth Ave. Getting blackout drunk in the West Village and running into celebrities.”
Bradley chuckled. “You might have had more fun than I did.”
“Maybe,” you replied, taking a sip of wine. “In medical school for sure. But residency? God, I was lucky if I was able to shower and order takeout before falling asleep.”
“You know what I wonder?” Bradley asked.
“Hmm?”
“Did we ever meet in the city? How could we have spent all those years within the same twenty mile radius and never met?”
“Chance, Bradley,” you said. “It’s not like I was hanging out at Columbia Law.”
“I like to think we were in the same place at the same time before, but didn’t meet until now.”
“Oh yeah? And why is that?”
He smiled. “Because that’s a better love story, Doc. Two people, fated to meet. It’s every Hallmark movie rolled into one.”
“So I’m the big city girl who leaves her fiancé and goes to the small town and falls in love with the local baker or farmer or pumpkin stand owner?”
“Exactly.” He grinned.
You sighed, shaking your head. “Yeah. Except I didn’t leave him. He left me. And I didn’t leave. I ran. They’re different.”
“You’re here now,” Bradley whispered. “Maybe that’s the fate part.”
“So what you’re telling me,” you said, leaning in closer, hip brushing against the kitchen island, dangerously close to where Bradley was standing, “is that you’re a hopeless romantic at heart.”
“That’s exactly what I’m saying.”
After dinner, which was excellent and you confirmed was cooked entirely by Bradley, he cut thick slices of local peach pie and carried them out to where you sat on the porch. You shivered and Bradley found a blanket, laying it gingerly over your shoulders. You smiled up at him as he took a seat across the small table from you. The candles were melting down into their holders. You looked around. “This is a cute street. Feel like I’ve been here before.”
Bradley hooked one thumb over his shoulder. “That’s Bob’s house.” He pointed to the house directly next door. You grimaced. That’s where you recognized it from, the day you had shown up to yell at him only to realize he had the flu.
How was it possible that the only two men you spoke to in the entire town lived next to each other?
“Olive.” Your name was sweet on his tongue. “Can I ask you a question?”
“Go ahead.”
“How long do you plan on staying in Willow?”
“I’m not sure. Why?”
He leaned back and shook his head. “Just wondering how bad my cardiomyopathy is going to be. If I should make an appointment at Atlanta General for next month or sometime next year.” It was October but the leaves were still firmly stuck on the trees.
“Bradley,” you whispered. “Trust me when I say, you don’t want me.”
“Patently false.”
You shook your head. “Trust me. You’re better off. Find a nice girl, like Phoenix. Someone who belongs here.”
“That’s the thing,” he replied. “I don’t exactly belong here anymore either.”
“So why stay?”
“Problem is that I don’t belong anywhere. Not here, not New York. I’m not entirely dedicated to a single place.”
“Maybe it’s somewhere else,” you countered. “Somewhere you haven’t been yet.”
“I know what I’m missing, Olive, and it’s not a house or a job or a favorite restaurant.”
“Then what is it?”
“A partner,” he said and your breath caught in your throat. “When you find that one person you can’t live without, you can live anywhere. Because it’s not about being tied to a place. It’s being tied to another person.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“I can’t,” he said softly. “Not until I find her.”
“Maybe she’s back in New York,” you replied. “Or Atlanta. Or San Diego.”
“Or maybe, she’s sitting in front of me pretending to eat a piece of peach pie.”
“Oh, Bradley.” At that moment, a light flickered on in Bob’s house. You turned just as Bob approached the window of his living room, one hand on each side of the drapes. Your eyes caught his for a moment.
And then he pulled the drapes together, shutting you out.
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Building Harry's House: Music For A Sushi Restaurant
A/N: a itty bitty baby chapter for you lovies 💚 oh and...TYSM FOR 1500+ FOLLOWERS??
SUMMARY: With the world knowing of their once secret relationship, Harry and YN navigate life together as an official couple and everything that comes with it. (1.5k)
GENRE: 1dbandmember!yn
Previous Song Here! 🧦 // Building Harry's House masterlist // SINCE 2010 masterlist
SIDE-NOTE: italicized is voice over commentary (I wrote this kind of like the Behind the Album documentary) bold are things Harry actually said irl
Harry pulls open the glass door of the small sushi restaurant and steps aside for YN enter in first.
As the world is still trying to progress through the pandemic, businesses were slowly but surely opening up their doors again. As much as the couple missed interacting with other people and found some comfort in a crowded area to blend into, it was nice to be in a public place again. Plus with the added protection from their masks (both from the virus and privacy from paparazzi) it puts them at ease to think they look a little less recognizable. Especially when they trade in their colorful trousers, cardigans, and jewelry for hoodies and sweatpants.
So after being escorted to a booth and handed paper menus, they discard their masks and Harry sees his girlfriend’s beautiful smile once again.
YN leans over the table a bit and whispers, “It’s kinda like m’undercover with these on.” She giggles, waving her pink mask between them. “Feel every ninja-like.”
When she goes to put her mask on the table beside her, her hand accidentally knocks against one of the glass sauce bottles. Harry reaches for it just before it hits the table, no harm was done but it did make a rattling noise that caught the attention of an older couple sitting at a table across from them at the tiny restaurant.
YN quickly looks away and stares at the wall as she tries to hold back her laughter while Harry gives an apologetic smile to the on-lookers before they go back to their meals.
If he were out with other people, he probably would have decided right then and there to try to quickly but politely make the dinner go a little bit faster since they’ve been spotted, probably text Jeff to give him a ring with a fake excuse to go home.
But how can he even think to leave when she puts her hands beside her face to hide her cheeky smile? A faint blush to her cheeks and her eyes sparkling with amusement? It’s a pleasant change of pace to have the urge to stay at the restaurant for as long as possible rather than flee the scene.
“Excuse me? Can I have more green tea please?”
Right as the waitress nods, her eyes squinting in a smile under her mask and walks away, the couple give each other an amused but confused look when they hear an all too familiar “cou cou!” sound through the speakers of the restaurant.
“Ah nothing like a depressing song about our past to get me in the mood to eat some raw fish.” YN snickers.
“S’very romantic.” Harry agrees with a playful smile on his lips.
“Just makes me wanna get up and dance. Oh wait, hold up—” YN hovers a hand over her chest, pumping her chest up and down to the beat of the song like she’s about to break dance. Her stanky face crumbles into a smile as she joins Harry as he laughs.
He really can't believe how far they've come since that song was created. They were both in a place of confusement and horrible communication, both never expressing to each other their true feelings for one another which lead to their inevitable heart break. But as Harry sits across from the woman he loves, he knows that he's the only one who she calls him 'baby,' that he gets to hear her beautiful accent every day—from either phone or person—thanks to the fact that they actually talk with one another about anything and everything. In a way, Cherry still remains a 'pathetic' song of their past but oh what a great reminder it serves in times like these that tells them they are nowhere near where they used to be.
“This is really strange music for a sushi restaurant.” He says through a mouth full of rice. “Wouldn’t that be a cool name for an album though? Music For A Sushi Restaurant.”
YN nods, giggling when she reaches over to thumb away some sauce away from the corners of his lips. “That does sound pretty wicked. But then I feel like you’d be stuck to a certain theme though. Maybe for a song?”
“Yeah. I like that.” Harry nods.
“How do yeh think it’d sound like?” YN asks, mindlessly pushing some leftover rice together with her chopsticks. And that’s yet another thing he loves about her. The way that they both share a keen interest in music, constantly hearing new melodies in their heads before they even get a chance to write down their previous one.
“Mhm, maybe something funky. Like, you could be walkin’ down the street to it.” Harry softly begins to adlib a slow bass line, his hand gently patting against the table to make a beat. YN moves her head along to the beat before she experiments with a line:
“Green eyes, fried rice. I could cook an egg on you. Bum bum, bum bum, coffee on the stove.”
“Wait, did yeh just call me hot?” Harry playfully gasps before he leans in close and asks in a whisper, “Is this you telling me you fancy me?” He giggles and shields his chest with his arm as she throws her balled up napkin at him.
“I tend to do so much writing in the studio, but with this one, I did a little bit here and then I went home and added a little bit there, and then kind of left it, and then went into the studio to put it all together. That was a theme across the whole album, actually.” Harry explains and a soft smile inches its way onto his lips. “This record was recorded in a couple different places in different parts of the world. One of my personal favorite places that we made a song was at YN’s home studio in LA.”
It's 'cause I love you, babe
In every kind of way
Just a little taste
You know I love you, babe
"Dunno. M'kinda stuck on what rhythm I should do for that." Harry says from behind the glass window, putting his hands on his hips.
The production team has been over at YN’s LA home for a couple of hours now and they all migrated towards her guest house that she converted into a home studio. The place was spacious enough for a little recording room in front of the huge console panel, racks of guitars and a seating area. Along with some other fun decor, the walls were covered in various silver, gold, and platinum framed record plaques of either her own records for other artists’ songs she worked on.
YN pouts in contemplation. One thing that she loves about this team, about the atmosphere Harry created for everyone, is that she feels comfortable enough to throw out ideas for songs and everything it entails without judgment. Add her confident, strong headed personality to the mix and she doesn't feel a bit bashful when she says, "You can make it sound like an orgasm?"
All the men in the room, including their videographer Mike, raise their eyebrows at the unexpected suggestion. It certainly isn't the craziest suggestion they've ever heard, tried, and kept, but it does still catch them all by surprise.
Harry loves that she's able to throw in fresh ideas and on various occasions, keeping everyone on their toes.
"So like scale it upwards, yeah?" Harry adds, throwing her a nod through the glass window.
"And make ‘em a bit whiny at the ends? Oh, and gimme one of yeh scream-growl thingies.” She gives him a thumbs up before playing the track again. When she leans back in her chair, she does a double take at the group still staring at her. "Whot?"
“This song is right up my alley: the harmonies, the funky bass and guitars, the horns—ugh!” YN throws her head back with a slap to the armrest of her interview chair. “He has a little Pentatonix moment in this song, too—who am I kidding? He has many, which I am absolutely livin’ for."
If the stars were edible
And our hearts were never full
Could we live with just a taste?
Just a taste
"Give us somethin' sexy, Mitch." YN says into the recording booth speaker before spinning herself around in her swiveling studio chair. The production team has been on a roll with the making of the song for the past three days, everyone coming into her home studio with an eagerness to create something fun.
Mitch just shakes his head with a barely there smile before he hears Harry’s interlude again. His fingers quickly press on the wired strings to create the guitar melody YN came up with earlier. Everyone waits in anticipation to hear what he’s going to bring to the table and like always, he never disappoints.
With very little body movement, Mitch moves his hand down the neck of his guitar, the new riff lowering in scale and it has everyone’s jaws on the floor. Harry has his hands frozen in his hair in disbelief while YN literally gets up out of her chair and pretends to leave the room.
“I think that since we kinda made it very causal-like, just staying at me house for a couple of days, it made the production process really fun.” YN beams at the camera. “I fookin’ love this song, mate, I can't get over it. Like how can you just sit down and listen to this song?”
Then there’s a video compilation moment of the production team through the making of the song:
YN in the recording booth sliding her hand up and down her bass guitar as she grooves to the music through her big studio headphones.
A clip of Mitch sitting on the velvet couch in YN’s studio with her standing on the cushion next to him as she dramatically plays the air guitar to his solo.
Another clip of Kid, YN, and Tyler working at the huge console panel all the while Harry dances behind them. He bounces from foot to foot, his hands moving close to his chest with his palms facing outwards.
“After Fine Line, I had an idea of how I thought the next album would open. But there’s something about ‘Sushi’ that felt like, ‘Nah, that’s how I want to start.’" Harry chuckles, sliding his fingers down the corners of his mouth as he smiles."It becomes really obvious what the first song should be based on what you play for people when they’re like, ‘Oh, can I hear a bit of the music?’ It’s like, how do you want to set the tone?”
Next Song Here! 🍷
Taglist:
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#harry x 1dbandmember!reader#since 2010 series#building harry's house series#harry styles#harry styles blurb#harry styles x y/n#harry styles x you#harry styles fanfiction#harry styles x reader#one direction fanfiction#one direction#harry styles imagine#harry styles fanfic#harry styles writing#harry styles one shot#harry styles masterlist#harry styles fic#harry styles and y/n#harry styles and reader#harry styles fluff#famous!reader#famous!yn
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{Pictures of You, The Cure}
Program: Moving on is so much fucking harder than everyone lets on. Even you do try to work through your feelings and still hang out with your best friend, the new addition to his life can't let you truly feel like you have a place in his life anymore. It's just another night crying in the arms of the one person you stayed with you through it all.
Pairing: Best friend! Eddie Munson x GN, Heartbroken! Reader, Platonic(ish)! Steve Harrington x GN, Platonic(ish)! Reader
Genre: Angst, Heartbreak, Learning to move on
Warnings: couple of swears, pet name (babe, dove, missus referring to Chrissy), references to weed, allusions to sex (nothing graphic), heartbreak, trying to move on, slight jealousy, angst, unrequited love
Length: 2316w
Series Program | Camp Upside Down Masterlist
Counselor Notes: Again, thank you so much for the love on the last two parts! <3 I think there's going to be one more part as the finale, and it's probably going to hurt.
Camper List: @girlsvvish @darklingbrekksov @couseland @thoughtfulsweetsharmony
The familiar engine hum and musky scent of lingering THC and nicotine should have welcomed you as you sank into the beat-in passenger seat. Instead, the cacophony of wistful scents now clash with an unbearable ring that vibrates through your skull. Swallowing deep breaths to hold yourself together, the heavy aromas sneak into your system and longing squeezes your airway.
Your lost home on the road, once littered with cigarette buds and cassette cases, now proudly brandishes a green ribbon tied on the rear view window. A varsity cardigan hastily thrown into the back seat when Eddie picked you up that afternoon.
You fidget and sink deeper into the seat, wishing it would swallow you whole and spit you back into the safety of your home, as you take in the new addition to the van. Eyes focusing on your fingers wringing together in your lap, bouncing to his knuckles rapping on the steering wheel, and landing on a polaroid of the future you pined for.
A photo of a young woman, wearing the iconic devil baseball tee, lays on Eddie’s bed and holds his Warlock guitar. You used to dream for the day he would use it to serenade you. Securely tucked onto the main dashboard, it solidifies your place in Eddie’s life.
You pull your gaze away to watch the blurring tree line outside the side window and rapidly bat the runaway tears trying to escape their confinement. He really didn’t have a clue, did he? Or maybe he’s just cruel enough to ignore your pain to hold onto the fading memories of a best friend.
Scoffing at the sudden remembrance of all the promises to hang out, you quickly cover up your contempt with a cough.
“You okay? Got some water in the back seat if you need it,” Eddie reaches behind your seat with one hand on the wheel.
You roll your eyes and grasp his arm with little emotion to stop him. “I’m fine, Eddie. Just some dust,” you pause and send him a slight shit eating grin, “Or maybe it’s the fact you never air out this goddamn van. Nearly got hit with a wall of your stench.”
He barks out a laugh and moves his arm out of your grasp to point at you, “Don’t talk about her like that. You know you love her just as much as I do- hell, I even remember saving you from close calls with curfew when you lost track of time at parties.” Eddie playfully slaps your thigh, leaving a faded fuzz in its spot when he puts his hand back to the wheel.
“Yeah, sure,” you wince at how hoarse your voice sounds. Gulping, you try to even out your speech, “I swear I’m being fucking hot boxed from just the accumulated smell of weed.”
Pulling into the turn off for Lovers Lake and parking the van so the back faces the water, Eddie squints at you in dramatic thought. Comically sniffing the air and then pulling his jacket up to his nose, he pauses and slowly turns to look at you. Eddie moves slightly out of his seat and over the center console to invade your space. Tucking his head against the base of your neck, everything stops for a moment.
His curls burn with their soft tickles against the column of your throat. The long missed proximity jumps your heart into a frenzy. Oxygen stops as it concentrates in your lungs to feed the fire rushing in your veins. His deep, warm gaze connects with your wide eyes.
“I think it’s just your rank attitude, dove,” he jokes.
The light headed buzz bursts with the flick of his finger hitting your forehead.
Your jaw drops as you watch Eddie climb out of the van and close the door without a second glance. Fumbling with the latch, hot waves of anger wash over your body. He better have something to numb every ounce of pain he’s caused, whether unintentional or not. Nearly falling out of the van, you march to the back and open your mouth ready to unleash hell.
Whirling the corner, all words dissolve on your tongue and leave a melancholy taste.
Eddie sits on the back ledge, bundled in the blanket the two of you used to build sleepover forts. Next to him, a cooler packed with each of your favorite drinks and snacks.
Eddie watches in giddy excitement as you recognize each piece of his surprise. The polaroid camera you gifted him after Corroded Coffin’s first gig sits in his lap. Opening the blanket bundle, Eddie invites you to join him, “We got a lot to catch up on, huh?”
A searing nervous glee stings as it concentrates on your lash line. You stumble into the embrace you long yearned for and shake your head. “I’ll let your little attitude comment slide. But, only because you got the watermelon ring pops.”
With ease, the two of you settle into lost routine and share stories of the past few months. The scowl scarring your face slowly smoothes into a sincere smile.
Your grin grows as Eddie animatedly recalls how Gareth managed to get stuck on top of a wire fence when they were on the run from a busted house party.
Laughter dances with the descending sun. A staged gasp slips past your aching lips as Eddie reenacts the final moments of the club member’s characters against Vecna.
The tension locked across your shoulders snaps when you throw a nerd for your friend to catch. With the dull collision of his head against the van’s wall, watching as the candy bounce off Eddie’s chuckling form, your heart fills with childlike joy.
Searing flashes blind you from noticing darkening sky and the pom poms tucked behind the back seat. The whirligig gears grind along with shared giggles. Terrible selfie attempts with half a face missing and secret candids piles between the reunited friends.
Whispers sing with the cricket symphony as you and Eddie point out the constellations hanging above. His arm outstretched behind you, so he can hold himself up and direct you to the new one he learned. The scent of worn leather and cinnamon cloud your mind.
You can’t help that Eddie holds your attention better than the unforgiving night sky. The deep hum of his sleepy voice depicts far more happy stories than what the stars have in store for you.
Stopping mid sentence, Eddie looks to the owner of the fervent gaze bruning into the side of his face. Catching you mid-stare, an amused smile forms across his expression as you jump a little. If he can distract you from whatever is causing you so much turmoil, then he’s happy to steal you away from reality for a bit. Pushing onto the forest ground, he stretches to release the growing ache settling in his arms and ruffle his hair to help him wake up.
Unable to stop your eyes from following the rise of Eddie’s band tee, you can’t look away from the faded scratch marks spanning the expanse of his lower muscles. Written declarations of commitment and adoration to a lover that would never be you.
Breaking your gaze and shuffling through the photos laying in your lap, tears silently stream down the side of your face and slip onto the smiling Eddie staring up at you.
“Ready to head back, dove? I gotta get back to the missus- promised we would watch a movie tonight,” Eddie calls from the front seat. The sappy tone of admiration slaps you back to reality.
You slowly push away the lukewarm blanket and place the polaroids on top. Not taking a single one. “Yeah, just making sure we got everything,” your airy response wavers.
Lumbering into the passenger seat, the engine’s hum comes to life as well as the numbness resting in your bones as Eddie shares his date night plans. His rambling, that you once adored, now scratches the back of your mind like nails on a chalkboard. Originally feeling slightly guilty, you now feel grateful for making your own movie night plans.
As he pulls into your driveway, the distinct pang of jealousy flares in Eddie’s chest as the sight of a well known burgundy BMW. Swallowing the bile lump solidifying in his throat, he turns to face you to inquire why Harrington’s car is here. A cold freeze halts his actions when Eddie witnesses you wiping your eyes and withholding sniffles.
The coolness of hard, metal rings sizzles against your flaming cheeks. Softly, your watery, defeated expression is forced to meet the concerned gaze of your best friend. Eddie gently rubs his thumb against your puffy face, “Hey, what happened, dove? I thought we had a good time. A nice walk down memory lane.”
A sob racks through your crumbling form, and you weakly push Eddie’s hand away. You can catch your own tears. He doesn’t get to wipe away the tears he caused.
With a wobbling smile, you release a wispy chuckle, “That’s exactly it, Munson. I just really miss you.”
Eddie leans his forehead against your own, constricting your lungs at the closeness. “Dove,” he calmly cooes, “I’ve missed you too. So much- you have no idea.”
Another broken sob escapes from your sealed lips, and you force out a light laugh to follow. If he really doesn’t know what he’s doing to you, then you won’t let him in. As Eddie reaches out to hold you again, you turn away noticing the porch light flash before the van. Like a moth to a flame, a relieved breath frees itself from your aching lungs. Steve’s tense stance leans against the porch pillar.
Meeting Eddie’s strained expression, “Thanks for today. I miss hearing from you.” You wrap your trembling arms around his neck for a quick hug.
Eddie tightly holds you as close as he can. An unnerving sense of anxiety shoots through him. Every shaky breath that slips from you hits hard against him. The trembling fingers pressing into his neck pierce through his heart. What happened to you? When did the inseparable duo refer to you and Harrington rather than the pair of you?
“We have all the time in the world now. We’ll get through this together, yeah? It’s you and me, dove. Whatever you need, I’m just a phone call away, and I’ll be on my way in a heartbeat,” Eddie promises.
“Thanks, Munson,” you whimper, “You have no idea what that means to hear you say that.”
With a final hug of the evening, you clamber out of the van and hurriedly walk to your awaiting home.
Dragging yourself up the porch stairs and tripping on the slightly shorter one than the rest, Steve catches and pulls you into his safe hold. He waves back to Eddie’s van, not sparing a glance at the still parked vehicle, and tucks you under his arm. The scent of warm vanilla mixed with Earthy undertones clears the lingering hold on your mind from the uncomfortable smell of cinnamon and leather.
As Steve guides you into your house and up to your room, he lists off the movies he brought and what take out places still deliver this late. His voice desperately tries to sound collected as he watches you visibly shrink and curl into yourself.
“Babe, I’m right here,” he holds you in a tender embrace, “Please, don’t lock me out again. I’m here to catch you. I will always be here for you to come back to.”
Dazed, you nod slowly. Processing his words. Memories of identical, past situations flood your mind. Steve held you as sobs choked you after the night out at the roller rink. He’s never left. He’s still here. He’s here now.
You deeply inhale through your nose, the stinging in your chest fizzing out as you push it out your mouth. It’s just you and Steve.
“Can we get pasta and cake from Enzo’s? And watch The Lost Boys?,” you whisper.
Your voice so quiet, Steve has to lean closer to make sure he doesn’t miss your pleading request. “Yeah, of course,” he softly promises. “Want to start it now or wait for when the food gets here?”
You wade past Steve to your desk area and search for a particular cassette. “Can we listen to The Cure while we wait? I’m sorry- I haven’t asked you about your day. How was it? Any particular bad movie picks from customers? Or was it mostly just love-sick Robin rambling about Vickie?” you weakly joke.
Popping the cassette tape in the player, you turn to see Steve already laying relaxed on top of your bed comforter. Mirroring his posture, you lean against the foot rail of your bed, to be able to face him, and clutch a pillow to your chest. The warm scent of vanilla mixes with the remnants of your signature scent that you sprayed on earlier in the day.
Steve sends you a sympathetic look that turns into a weak smile as he chuckles. “Sounds perfect. I was wondering when you would hit this phase of heartbreak- I was worried I’d have to force you to listen to them when I drive you around,” he jokes. The sympathetic look shifts to a soft smile of pride when you allow for your tears to freely fall and let out a watery laugh. “Oh,” he exclaims, throwing his hands into the air. “You will not believe the argument this group had over their movie night,” his voice returning to a lively volume, “It had me and Robin in stitches by the time they left. Christsake, it was a mess. I’ll tell you about it after I call in for food.”
Reaching for the phone on the bedside table, he gently grunts, “What’s the song of the night then, DJ?”
“‘Pictures of you’,” you weakly hum.
#eddie munson#eddie munson imagine#eddie munson fic#eddie munson x reader#eddie munson x you#steve harrington imagine#steve harrington imagines#steve harrington x reader#steve harrington x you#best friend eddie munson#platonicish!steve harrington x platonicish!reader#stranger things#stranger things imagine#stranger things imagines#stranger things fic#stranger things angst#eddie munson angst#camp halfwit bulletin post#counselor mythos post#counselor mythos notice#steve harrington#steve harrington x gn!reader#eddie munson x gn!reader#reader insert
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Always On My Mind
Pairing: Austin!Elvis x Plus sized!reader (can also be the real Elvis as well if you want)
Word Count: 1469
Warning/Notes: TEETH ROTTING FLUFFY SHIT, reader is self conscious of their body, use of the word ‘fatty’ and ‘miss piggy’, Gladys being mama of the year
Author’s Note: This was a request from @lilacprincessofrecovery. I hope you like it darlin’! I had a great time writing this because I love seeing Elvis love on plus sized women cause we need love too! I’m a representation type of girl, if you haven’t noticed. But anywho, I hope y’all enjoy! Mwah! My requests are still open!
masterlist.
read part two here.
“Come on, Y/N, we’re about to be late!”
Your friend Nancy grabbed her jacket, placing the matching material over her shoulder. She took a lot of pride in looking presentable, even though she didn’t have to do much for her body size. You both were going to the Louisiana Hayride for the first time. Nancy was mostly excited because the Elvis Presley boy was going to be there to perform. Ever since his song, That’s Alright Mama came out, Nancy was looking for any reason to see him in person. You did too, but you didn’t think he would be interested in you, mostly because of your body size. You were a little thicker than most women your age and they made sure that they let you know that. Nancy was the only girl that remained friends with you when you were in school. You were pretty sure that Nancy was the only reason why people wanted to hang out with you because they wanted to be friends with her. She made it clear that she wouldn’t be friends with anyone who made you feel different because of your body.
You grabbed your cardigan, looking one more time in the mirror at your appearance before following Nancy out of the door. It didn’t take long for you two to make it to the Hayride, seeing people from all over the south pull in. You noticed that every woman there was nicely dressed for their body size and you could barely stand the grandma dress that you were wearing. You and Nancy walked inside, grabbing the closest seat to the stage. Nancy made sure that you both had seats by the stage so that she could see Elvis with her own eyes. You scoffed, not understanding what her deal was with him. You both didn’t know what he looked like, only what he sounded like. The show started shortly after you two were seated, multiple acts performing their numbers. The announcer announced that Elvis was up next. You looked over at her and she looked like she would pass out at any minute.
A handsome boy walked out on stage with two other men carrying a guitar in his hands. His pink and black suit was nicely pressed and his outfit was topped off with black and white shoes. He answered the announcer’s questions for a while and then asked if he had any more questions for him. The announcer said no and allowed him to have the attention of everyone in the room. He strummed his guitar and started to sing, but you could tell that his nervousness was beginning to get the best of him. “Get a haircut, fairy!” Someone shouted at him and you felt bad for him. You were used to people making fun of you because of your weight so you could understand what he was dealing with. He didn’t respond though, but you could tell that the man’s comment gave him the momentum to sing.
Weeeeeelllll you may go to college
You may go to school
You may drive a pink Cadillac
But don’t you be nobody’s fool
Now baby, come back baby, come
Come back baby, come
Come back baby, I wanna play house with you
Elvis started dancing around, moving his hips along to the music. Girls around you and Nancy started screaming at the movements that Elvis was doing. Even Nancy started screaming beside you at the male on stage. You, however, were too stunned to scream. He looked amazing performing on that stage. He moved closer to where you and Nancy were sitting, locking eyes with you. He winked at you before moving over to the side of the stage where girls were pulling him to them. You were appalled at how they were acting, but your face still held the blush at the fact that he winked at you. You had to look around to make sure he really looked at you. He moved back over to where you were, wiggling his hips right in front of you. You couldn’t help yourself but to squeal at him being so close. Then the song was over and he was gone. For the rest of the show, you were in your own world, re-living Elvis Presley winking at you. Once the show was over, you pulled Nancy out of there fast so that you could at least catch a glimpse of Elvis before you never crossed paths again.
Nancy told you that she had to go use the restroom so she left you alone at the side of the building. You didn’t realize that there was someone who was walking up to you. “Didya enjoy the show, doll?” A deep voice came from behind. You turned quickly and your breath caught in your throat at the sight of Elvis standing there behind you. “Y-yeah, I did!” You said, holding your hands together. “You did amazing out there!” He smiled and leaned against the wall, smiling at you. “I’m glad, I was a bit nervous performing. It was my first time.” He said, opening the Pepsi bottle that he was holding. You nodded and smiled again before opening your mouth. “What that guy said to you was rude, I could tell you were nervous.” “Yeah, I didn’t pay any attention to the fella, he didn’t know how hard it was for me to get to this point.” Elvis shrugged, seemingly not feeling down about the unnecessary comment that was heard earlier.
“I wish I could let stuff like that run off my back, but as you can see, I’ve been called Fatty and Miss Piggy since I could remember.” You sighed. Elvis’s eyebrows raised before he frowned at your comment before taking your hand. “You’re beautiful, mama. I don’t see anything wrong with you.” He said. “The reason that I winked at you and stayed closer to where you were was because you caught my attention to begin with. None of those other girls could hold a candle to your beauty.” He said. To say that you were caught off guard would be an understatement because you had never had the attention of a man besides your late father. You blushed and lightly hit his shoulder. “You lie.” You giggled at him. Elvis could swear that his heart leaped in his throat at the sound of your beautiful laugh. You two were sadly interrupted at Nancy coming back out but she stopped in her tracks seeing Elvis talking with you.
“Oh my goodness, you’re Elvis Presley!” She squealed, coming over to grab at your arm. You sighed and looked over at him with an apologetic look. “Yes I am! Do you want an autograph?” He laughed. She nodded and handed him a little paper and pen that she carried with her for this very reason. He signed an autograph for her, handing it back to her with a smile. “Booby!” A woman’s voice came from behind him. It was his mother, Gladys. “We are all packed baby, we gotta go!” “Alright mama, give me a second!” He yelled back. Nancy looked over at you and then him before looking back at you. “I’ll be in the car, Y/N! Thank you Mister Presley! You did great tonight!” She said as she ran off to the car. He yelled thanks to her before turning to you. “So your name is Y/N. It’s a beautiful name. Tell you what, lil mama.. I’ll give you my number and maybe we can talk sometime. I would love to get to know you better.” He said as he pulled out a piece of paper out of his pocket, writing down his number before handing it to you. When you reached to take the paper from him, he grabbed your hand and kissed the knuckles. “See you around, Y/N.” He said as he turned and walked away. You stood there shocked.
It was a couple of days later that you finally had the courage to pick up the phone and dial his number. “Hello, Presley Household.” A woman’s voice answered. “Hello, this is Y/N. Is Elvis there by chance?” You said nervously. “Oh Y/N! I’ve heard so much about you, sweetie. Yes, he’s right here! Booby! It’s Y/N!” She screamed. You knew that it was his mother. “Mama, I told you not to call me that around her.” You heard his voice muffled in the background. Gladys laughed and walked out of the room. “Hello? Y/N?” His deep southern drawl came through the phone. “I’m glad you didn’t forget about me, Mister Presley.” You joked as you wrapped the phone cord around your fingers. “How could I ever forget you. You are always on my mind..” he said and you smiled.
#elvis x plus size!reader#austin!elvis x plus size!reader#baz luhrmann elvis#Elvis 2022#daisy writes#elvis presley x reader#elvis x reader#elvis presley fanfiction
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full despair.
pairings | natasha romanoff x reader
summary | you come home one day and bring natasha a divorce paper, knowing what your intentions are.
warnings | heavy angst, fighting, miscarriage, divorce, and more angst.
notes | i was listening to cardigan and now look what brought me writing this idk why it was cardigan though
navigation | one-shot masterlist | masterlist
When you walked through the office inside your home with her, everything felt different. Objects were thrown at the wall, and her other table was untidy. You gulped and held onto the folder on the side of your waist, feeling intimidated by your wife’s presence. She looked haggard and rough, her soft silk dark blonde hair that used to be red was ruffled–making her look sick and tired. You tried to feel awful for her, but you can’t. Only to feel the anxiety up in your chest as soon as you give the papers.
Natasha notices your movements and gives you a weary smile, a glass of whiskey in her hand. “Hello, my love.”
Hello, my love. It never gets old every time you hear those three words, but now it just feels like nothing. As if those words don’t mean anything to you, and you help yourself to think that they don’t matter. You gave her a small smile and placed the brown folder on her table, pushing it closer to the woman. Her eyes looked down at the rectangular folder and asked, “What is that?”
You tighten your throat, letting out a sigh. She must know.
“I think you know what I’m giving you, Nat.”
She inhales through her nose roughly and places her fingers down on her nose bridge, holding the folder with her other hand. You saw how agitated she looked, how nervous she was since you could see her body ragging with each breath she took. But then not a minute later, she slips a thick paper out and knows what was inside.
“I’m not signing this.”
“Natasha, we talked about this–”
Before you could even finish your sentence, her hand slams onto the table that flinches your body. She yelled, “I said I’m not signing this! What–you’re going to leave me? Just like that? We had one single argument–”
“That you’ve been doing for a year, Natasha!” your voice is now stern, as well as hers, but her voice was broader with vulnerability in it. You gulped and crossed your arms, tapping your foot down impatiently. You just want this to be over, to get it done with. You’re sick of seeing her face every day, you’re sick of all the drinking and the lack of affection that you are receiving from her. It's all because of you. You can’t do it.
The redhead shakes her head, laughing to herself quietly. She whispers, “I’m sorry. I know I have been an asshole and been so selfish, I know that. But you can’t blame me as well, Y/N.”
“But I needed you,” you responded with a crack in your voice, suddenly reaching your hand to hold your throat to keep it mending. Keep yourself strong. You look at her watering eyes–trying not to break. “I need you as well, Natasha. And you weren’t there. You kept drinking and left me all alone to mourn when you should be part of it as well.”
“I know I’ve missed out on that,” she explained, her hands on the desk to keep her steady. Because at any minute, she’s about to fall to the ground with a heart attack. You could see tears dripping on the wood from her eyes, keep yourself together. “I was mourning too. I know I was, I didn’t know what else to do other than drinking. I was just so heartbroken, baby. I was so damn hurt.”
You were trying to hold it together, but within any second you could fall apart from the memory that she was pointing out. Natasha’s drinking habit wasn’t the problem of the situation, it's how she wasn’t there when you mourned when you lost your baby. Yours and Natasha’s baby. You were only six months pregnant when you bled out and were rushed to the hospital, only to find out that you had a miscarriage. You could only remember holding Natasha’s hand hearing the news, and how much she cried during the times you and her were at the hospital. You felt numb at that time, completely wrecked. You didn’t know how you were supposed to react or when to do it, you just didn’t know how.
And eventually, you break. You break so much that everything collapses on you. You lost your baby. You thought that you were heavily healthy, that you were taking care of Daisy while being in your stomach. You and Natasha were so happy to even witness a miracle like her, she was your miracle. She was your happiness. Once the baby was gone, Natasha became distant and started drinking.
She never came back to the Avengers Compound after the news.
You weren’t there for her either since you were so coped up in your Daisy’s room, touching every cloth and toy that only reminded you of her. The room was fairly yellow which didn’t hurt your eyes, and there was a wooden crib in the middle of the room. Above that, there were these small toy stars that made beautiful sounds when you spin them, she would’ve loved that. She would’ve loved the room dearly.
Most of all, she would’ve loved Natasha. That’s why you fell in love with the redhead, it’s because of her love of kids. There was one time you visited the Barton’s and you watched as Natasha carried Nathaniel in her arms, kissing his head while giving him funny faces. She absolutely loved that kid, and that’s why you and her had a baby together–with Tony’s help. God, you could remember her face when you showed her your pregnancy test. She was happy, she kept kissing your navel and whispered to the baby as if it was there. She loved talking to Daisy, even when you were asleep.
And that stopped because it’s all your fault.
You take a deep breath while holding your throat, but you know you’re about to break again. So you just did it.
“I loved you, Natasha. I think I’ve always loved you. But I fell out of love because you stood away from me, you didn’t let me in anymore. With the lack of your presence, I was all alone. And every day, I thought about the good memories that we have. And our beautiful daughter Daisy that we never saw what she looked like. You would’ve been an amazing mother, Natasha–”
“Shut up,” she mumbled, itching her face with her calloused hand; you closed your mouth immediately. “I’m not a good mother. If I’m not a good mother then I can’t be a good partner. I left you, and it’s all my fault! I could’ve been there, I could’ve stopped. And I’m sorry, I’m so sorry angel. I know you could never forgive me but you can’t say you loved me. You love me!”
“I don’t.”
"Stop this, can you stop? You love me!" her voice is now high and demeaning, leaning closer to her table as her eyes form with more tears. Her voice cracks, "You love me. You can't just say you don't, we have been married for five years."
"And those five years are great, Nat," you responded while nodding, tucking your lower lip through your teeth. "But I've fallen out of love with you, I'm sorry. I don't love you anymore."
She shakes her head but only for you to nod, she whispers: "You can't fall out of love with me. We vowed to love each other through sickness and health–"
"Through sickness and health," you repeated her words with a mock, scoffing to yourself quietly as you pinch your nose bridge with the stress and heartbreak you are receiving. "You weren't even there when I needed you."
"That's because I was also grieving!"
"Can you just accept that I don't love you anymore?" you desperately let out more tears coming out of your eyes. Your voice felt hoarse and lighter, but that didn't stop you from it. "I don't love you anymore, Natasha."
“You do,” she responded desperately, holding your hand out and kissing it with her dry lips. You could feel her teeth raking on your skin. “You do, baby, you do. Please don’t leave me. I can’t live without you, you’re all I have.”
She never lets go of your hand but has gotten to her knees, you refused to look at her but your heart disagrees with you. Her eyes are now puffed red and still trickling with tears, she’s broken just like you. Natasha lifts up the hem of your shirt and kisses your stomach once more, trying to see if your baby is still there. If her baby was still in her mommy’s stomach.
“Daisy, baby? Please tell mommy that she can’t go–”
“Natasha, stop acting like this!” you cried, trying to stop her from talking, but she wouldn’t. It’s like word vomit, but with her kindest voice. She holds you closer and never lets go, still kissing your stomach with her face smothered on your skin.
“Tell mommy that she can’t leave mamma, please? Daisy, I know you’re still there. Please just–I love you so much, detka. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry…”
You tried pushing her shoulder away until you lost all your strength to do so, you’re tired. And maybe she was as well, but you can’t stay for a woman that you fell out of love for. As much as we want to try to understand if you are still in love with Natasha, you can’t. With all the burdens in your life and all the unexpected occasions, you can’t seem to understand why you fell out of love with her. Maybe because of the lack of communication you both had. Or maybe it’s also because she has been absent for almost two years. She never held back and made love to you again after everything you both went through. You went through the grieving alone, as well as she did.
The woman stands up with her crumpled shirt, she wipes her face and covers it for a minute–screaming into her hands. You wanted to hug her and give her the last kiss that she deserves, and maybe she does deserve that. So, you slowly took her hands away from her face and smiled at her gently. You leaned and kissed her upper lip shortly, trying to say your last goodbye to her. You both kissed each other and Natasha was getting carried away with it since she was bringing her hands to your cheeks, but you pulled away and wiped your mouth with the back of your hand.
“Sign those papers,” you say with a voice, but feel rasped. “I’ve packed my bags. They’re already at my mom’s house, I just need you to sign them. And I’m not saying this as a command, it’s already a demand. If you want me to get better, want me to be happier, then sign that divorce paper. Please, Natasha. I’m begging you to sign them.”
She looks at you for a minute and gets back to her seat, still sobbing quietly to herself. Then she looks at you again but this time, she was taking it in. She was looking at you for one last time before she grabbed her pen and signed her signature on the paper.
She watches you leave and has another life again without her.
i am sorry.
#natasha romanoff x reader#natasha romanoff x you#natasha angst#natasha romanoff angst#black widow x reader#black widow x you#a's oneshots!
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ok-boke's Recommendation Masterlist pt. 2
Time for pt. 2. I've read more stories written by these amazing people but on my original masterlist it wont let me add anymore stories. So I decided to make another Recommendation Masterlist to acknowledge and spread these stories ♥︎
Avatar
Jake Sully
FOOL'S GOLD by @emissaire
jake didn't expect that he'd open his heart again for someone else. after all, you were only meant to fill the space left by neytiri after she died. who's to blame him though? behind the vacant gleam in your eyes and the lack of brightness in your smiles, you're still good to him and his kids despite only marrying him out of convenience.
sᴇᴄᴏɴᴅ ᴛᴏ ɴᴏɴᴇ by @eywa-eveng
CELLOPHANE by @cyberfreaky
in which your taboo infatuation with your olo’eyktan begins to cause problems.
Miles Quaritch
I SEE YOU by @soulntes
that fateful day on pandora, the baby boy was sought out by the young navi woman has become the talk and whisper among the humans and village.
One of us~ by @numarusworld
the reader is General Ardmore’s daughter, and she is kind of a brat, she has her reasons for it tho. But she needs to be put in her place. Enemies to lovers. Poly relationships.
My Little scientist by @imliketheiceifreeze
Gaia Ambros is a botanist on Pandora in the year 2169 Who's fixation on a certain, notorious recombinant soldier gets her into more than a few troubling situations. Never able to pluck up the courage to bring her desires into fruition, a few 'helpful' lab techs decide to take matters into their own hands much to their amusement. However, no-one expected the romance that begins to blossom between the fearsome Colonel and a shy 20-something scientist, will this end in jeopardy for general Ardmoure's mission and will recombinant Miles Quaritch make the same mistakes as his predecessor?
Tsu'tey te Rongloa Ateyo'itan
The dream walkers sister by @gayfornatasharomanoff
I can be a better father by @byunpum
Follow tsu'tey in his new life as a single father of two human children. A compilation of moments and adventures of their lives.
Neteyam te Suli Tsyeyk'itan
hale by @psycholuvrgirl
someone from jake’s past helps the sully family navigate their stay with the metkayina clan. one of the sully boys takes a particular interest in the strange girl.
Lost and found by @justasimps-blog
Neteyam hates humans. One day, he finds you all alone and lost in the forest, but quickly decides against killing you. What might be the odd reason for that?
High Infidelity by @andraga12
Cruel Summer by @andraga12
You and Neteyam have been friends since you were children, and you taught each other everything, from English and Na'vi, to movie references and hunting, to everything about your own and the other's bodies. It was the perfect friendship-with-benefits, on paper. But how long can it last in the face of all that stands to tear it apart?
Of Duty and Desire by @bookworm551
You are the tsakarem of the Metkayina, promised to Aonung, and you have settled into your role nicely. Everything is as it should be until a family of Omatikaya refugees arrives, and the eldest son causes you to reconsider everything
The Cardigan Saga by @andraga12
You and Neteyam have been bound to the hip ever since you were born until your 17th birthday, when Neteyam leaves you without saying goodbye. Everything changes as soon as you get a gift that will bring you back together, for better or for worse.
Part I: Illicit Affairs: You were one of two kids stuck on Pandora after the war took all the Sky People back to Earth. After a series of events left deep scars behind, you are now forced to deal with your trauma - and your lingering resentment towards your once-best-friend Neteyam - head-on.
Part II: The Archer: Your traumatic human life ended, making room for a new one amongst the Na'vi. You were a stone-cold areal hunter, death from above, but when your dad comes back from the dead with a mission that will endanger your life, what lengths would you go to to protect Neteyam and your new family?
Void by @nelissecrectplace
EXPERIMENT 56 (Book One & Two) by @byunpum
(Book One) Y/N is surprised that she is an indispensable part of the human race, being a perfect blend of Navi and humans. Her family will do everything possible to keep her hidden and safe.
(Book Two) Y/N thinks she has a peaceful life with her new family. But a sudden visitor is about to change her life and her family’s life.
Neteyam x Human reader by @justtryingtobecreative
Neteyam and Y/n have been best friends since childhood, but lately your big blue guy has been acting strange. It all comes to a head when the both of you have a bit too much to drink... and have to deal with the repercusions in the morning.
Lo'ak te Suli Tsyeyk'itan
STAR GIRL by @lovemyavatar
they say curiosity killed the cat, but what about an Avatar?
Promise by @p0w3rzz
you were promised to neteyam, after his death you are now promised to lo’ak.
Take Me With Her by @normspellsman
~You Bare Your Soul to Me, so I Show You Mine~ by @ghoul-bonez
As the Tsakarem of the Txinua Clan you have to be responsible, you have to follow the rules, and do what you’re told, but you have always been adventurous, had a love for exploring the world around you. When the Sullys arrived you felt a shift, they were different, but a good different. Maybe this was your chance to get out of the village, to explore.
Ao’nung
But he's a lot younger than you by @cinetrix
Ao'nung has spent the last few weeks trying so hard to catch your attention, make an impression on the older, foreign girl. It made him feel like a lion catching its prey. He was completely oblivious to the fact that he was the innocent baby deer about to get corrupted so badly.
ʟɪʟʏ ᴘᴀᴅ by @smoothielenny
(Y/n) is adopted by the Sullys after her mother’s sudden death. They had to flee the forest and move to Awa’atulu for safety. Everyone are hostile to your family, but they’re more hostile to since you’re a human. Even with these situation you always held your head high and don’t let them get into your head.
Forever by @normspellsman
DREAMING OF HER by @wingedsirens
You’re the girl of Ao’nung’s dreams. Literally, you’re the girl from his dreams.
Stargirl by @star-girl69
In the safety of the reef, you know no war. You spend your days running around with Tsireya and learning from her mother, the tsahìk, Ronal. You tease Ao’nung and Rotxo, failing to notice the lingering touches and the stolen looks. Ao’nung has always been one of your best friends. It was the four of you, Tsireya, Rotxo, Ao’nung and you. There has always been something between the two of you, something you were too young to notice. Maybe you were blinded by the stars, and Ao’nung was certainly blinded by you. His star, his best friend, his everything. You’re a stargirl, and Ao’nung wants to spend the rest of his life bathing in your light. When the threat of war comes and the Sully family comes with it, Ao’nung is forced to accept his feelings and win you over. There is no other choice, really, because what is he without his guiding star?
Refuge by @nelissecrectplace
Your family seeks refuge with the Metkayina clan. You are met with a boy that takes your breath away but you did not know the sadist that lived under those eyes. He was cruel and mean too your sibling and you so why did your heart still beat for him? Why is he more gentle when it comes too you?
Spider Socorro
𝐣𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐨𝐮𝐬? 𝐢 𝐝𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐣𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐨𝐮𝐬! ♥ by @insidethepalemoonlight
you and spider have been friends since birth so when he decides to bring you with him on the sully's family trip how could you refuse? only problem? spider wants to confess before the other sully boy does
Spider x Human/Reader by @spiderlvr06
After spider gets kidnapped he’s locked away into the interrogation room. That’s where he meets you.
Scream
Ethan Landry
Karma by @corpsebasil
“AM I GONNA DIE A VIRGIN?!” by @ghostfacd
in which ethan landry and you are happily dating until a girl manages to squeeze herself in between the two of you, causing major problems in the relationship. oh, and that’s not the worst part. ghostface is back, and he’s coming for your entire friend group.
Tag, You’re It by @perlelune
Stu Macher
My Boyfriend's Back by @final-girl96
YN is Sidney’s younger sister. She’s smart, beautiful, outgoing, and popular. She will be 17 in scream 1 and Sidney will be 18. She will also be in the same grade because she skipped a grade just to make it easier and she can go off to college with Randy and Sidney. When the events of scream happen and Billy is shot by Sidney at the end they also assumed Stu was dead as well seeing as he had a tv fall on him. But months later just school was coming to a close and they were getting ready to graduate and go off to college yn gets this feeling that someone is always watching her. The feeling followers her everywhere she goes. And the boy she thought was dead keeps coming back. She can’t tell anyone because she’s afraid no one will believe her. She doesn’t even know if she believes her own eyes.
Billy & Stu
Until We Found You by @slasherbvnnie
Tell Me All About The Dark Places You Hide by @pumpk1n-writes
in which the reader figures out that their best friends are the infamous Woodsboro Killers and decides to help them rather than turn them in.
Ghostface’s fan#1 by @loveandmurders
Basically it’s female reader being obsessed over Ghostface and they decide to not kill her because of that.
Harry Potter
James Potter
No Longer Yours by @singmyaubade
James had disregarded you for multiple years, but when you have an epiphany in your final year, how does it feel to taste his own medicine?
Sebastian Sallow
How could I ever forget you? by @sallowfae
Somehow it had taken until your final day at Hogwarts to finally show Sebastian how you felt, and by then it was too late. Years pass and your distance grows stronger, despite your many efforts for him. A surprise encounter at a new job could change things forever. Finding each other once again at the very place you first met, Hogwarts.
Stranger Things
Eddie Munson
Operation: Henderson by @ali-r3n
Eddie asks forces Dustin to set him up with Dustin’s older sister
Steve can’t know by @talaok
Steve is your overly-protective older brother that is very opposed to you frequenting the wrong crowd, and especially to you dating Eddie Munson.Still, when you meet each other one day at lunch,it seems there is very little he can do to stop the inevitable.
The Hunger Games
Finnick Odair
in our next life by @asterias-record-shop
Peeta and Katniss weren’t the first to fall in love after the games. That title went to you and Finnick, your mentor after you were Reaped at the age of fifteen two years after Finnick. After being dragged back into the Games with the Quarter Quell, you both are determined to stop it, no matter what- especially if one of you would gladly sacrifice themselves for the other.
Marvel
Bucky Barnes
My little love by @crazyunsexycool
For two years Bucky had enjoyed his new found freedom. He could go out whenever he wanted. No one was forcing him to do things he didn’t want to do. For the first time in a long time Bucky enjoying was falling in love. You had been the one to capture his heart. He was painfully oblivious that you returned his affections but he’d rather be your friend than nothing at all. You had been new to the Avengers team when Bucky was found. At first you had volunteered to help bring him in but you worried that your abilities to manipulate metal would make him keep his distance. You had been pleasantly surprised when that wasn’t the case. Now with every day that passed you fell more in love with Bucky, you were also unaware of his feeling for you. After a raid to a hydra detention center and the discovery of hydra’s new test subject, Bucky will have to confront abuse he didn’t know about. He feels like hydra still has control over him and he’s not sure what to do. When Bucky fell from the train hydra took away his chance at love and a family, now they’ve basically forced it on him. The new revelation with force him make choices he never knew he would have to make, he only hopes he can do the right thing.
Miles Morales
Right Person,Wrong Time by @littyhoney
you have always been there for Miles, will your long time crush ever pay attention to you…or not?
EARTH-42 MILES MORALES X Reader by @spyder-junkie
I just cant stop thinking of Earth-42! miles with a reader that falls for prowler first.
his girl by @redstarwriting
You and Miles met when you were toddlers. The two of you were neighbors, and would frequently draw in an alleyway just outside of Miles’ room with sidewalk chalk. The two of you got along better than you’ve gotten along with anyone else, remaining best friends throughout the years. If he wasn’t at your place, you were at his. You even managed to get into Brooklyn Visions Academy with him. You were a staple in the life of Miles Morales. Until Gwen came along. And now? It might be too late for him to ever remedy that. At least, in his dimension, that is...
Miguel O’hara
EL TRATO (THE DEAL) by @messylustt
— miguel o’hara has never liked you—a human—joining the team as the ‘person in the chair’. he’s made his distaste for you clear. but when he speaks certain spanish words you don’t understand, he reveals that his annoyance of you is by the fact that you make him feel ‘hot’. soon, a deal surfaces, his promotion benefitting you both.
𝐀𝐍𝐍𝐎𝐘𝐈𝐍𝐆 by @sillyblues
you overhear a couple of spider-people talking about you and miguel
what the f-!? by @carpecaelo
Peter B. Parker thought he'd never see the day Miguel could actually more than tolerate someone.
─ you're the sunflower ੈ✩‧₊˚ by @fxllfaiiry
everyone on the team loves you, expect miguel who seems to hate you more than anyone.
You? by @mcu-coworkers
What you thought was your love story ended up being one cruel summer.
#stranger things#harry potter#marauders era#avatar#avatar 2#atwow#hellfire club#hellfire stranger things#stranger things 4#stranger things imagine#marauders#marauders imagine#avatar imagine#stranger things fanfiction#mcu#marauders fanfiction#avatar fanfiction#scream 6#scream#scream 1996#scream franchise#scream imagine#scream fanfiction#across the spiderverse#into the spider verse#marvel#marvel imagine#the hunger games#hunger games#hunger games imagine
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dirty dancing.
pairing: austin!elvis x black!fem!oc (cynthia)
warning: sensuality. talks of segregation. use of the terms “colored” but before anyone flips, i am a black woman. again, this is MY version of elvis cause, i’m not necessarily a fan of him irl and won’t portray that. saw this in the theater again and wrote while sitting there. it was mesmerizing. ps posting on this account to see if it'll show up in the tags lol.
song: that’s all right mama by big boy crudop. meant to be the slow sensual version seen in the movie.
wc: 1,285
masterlist.
pic creds to @enchantinglyjade <3 divider creds to @firefly-graphics
Bodies packed in like sardines. Sweat dripping from foreheads, backs, and forearms onto the slick floor beneath them. Heavy breaths and sighs of pleasure as bodies bumped against one another sensually.
Lustful eyes from the men. Adulterous touches from the women. Sweet whispers of the things they’d love to do behind closed doors.
It was a sight unlike that she’d ever seen before. She was a good girl. She went to church on Sundays and revivals during the weekday, wearing knee length dresses and long-sleeved cardigans, singing praises to the Lord and thanking Him for His goodness. She’d experienced the Holy Spirit in many ways—the shaking of hands, the stomping of feet, the warmth of her body.
However, what she experienced was nothing close. Her mother would be so disappointed. She exchanged her modest clothes for a short red dress that she’d only been caught dead in. Her coarse hair that was typically pinned up rested beneath her chin and framed her face beautifully.
Her back was cold against the wall. Out of the way she stayed. The woman she came with had found herself dancing with another man in the corner. She knew they’d be fornicating real good that night. She fought off a smile.
The song changed. A familiar tune that she’d heard only twice before. Her father forbade the “new-age” music, sighting that it promoted bad behavior and would influence her in the worst way. He was nowhere to be found, however, and she found herself humming along to the smooth guitar of Cordup.
“That’s all right, mama.”
“What’s a pretty lady doin’ huggin’ the wall?” a gasp fell from her lips. Her movement was restricted, as a strong body was in front of hers. Her head encased by a strong arm. The arm of a white boy, the only white boy comfortable enough to be in the presence of dozens of Black people. Elvis Presley, he was called. The white boy with the moves of a Black man. She’d only heard him on the radio and seen pictures on newspapers while passing stores on the way to school. They couldn’t afford televisions. Not that they’d sell one to a colored family, anyway.
“Uh-I—It’s my first time here. Not much into dancin’, sir,” she replied. Her voice trembled and wavered. He oozed sex appeal and it made her nervous. He wore a pink lace shirt tucked into loose fitting blue pants. His greasy black hair was slicked back with a few fallen pieces. Smudged liner and full lips, he was a beautiful man.
“Sir? Makes me sound as old as my daddy. Elvis Presley, darlin’, nice to meet ya. What’s your name?” His voice stirred unknown feelings within her. She found herself releasing a breath she didn’t know she held.
Colored people were expected to address all people, especially white people as “sir” and “ma’am” no matter what. Even a child. It was a haughty condition. “Cynthia. Shouldn’t you be elsewhere, Mr. Presley?” The way his name rolled off her tongue hand his fingers clenching against the wall. “Not talkin’ to a colored girl in a colored club. You could get in trouble. I could get in trouble.”
“Them laws don’t apply here.”
She scoffed. “They don’t apply to you, Mr. Presley. They will always apply to me and my folks. You should be dancin’ an’ prancin’ with one of them pretty white girls.”
A laugh fell from his lips. She was right, and he knew it. The segregation laws in the south were strict, that he understood. More than willing he was, however, to challenge them from a night with the shy, brown girl perched against the wall.
“That’s all right for you.”
“You’re prettier than them. Pretty eyes, pretty lips, pretty little shape.” His left hand cupped her hip gently. Cynthia jumped at his touch. She lifted her eyes and finally met his. A lump forcibly traveled down her throat. He stared her down like a lion at his prey. He was enchanted by her brown eyes, thin eyebrows, plump lips coated in red lipstick, and curvy shape. She was gonna be his by the end of the night. “Dance with me.”
“I don’t dance, Mr. Presley. Hence why the wall been my best friend all night.”
His lips grazed her ear. “I’ll teach ya. Jus’ move to the music.” He turned her around, pressing her back against his chest. His arm found her waist, his palm resting against her inner thigh. The short dress hiked up at the movement and his fingertips massaged her skin.
All of her mama’s teachings went out the window in the blink of an eye. From shouting praises to smiling at the sweet nothings from a man who was the devil himself. Her knees felt weak as their bodies pressed against each other. Her hand fingered through his dark locks as his lips kissed at her neck.
“That’s all right, mama.”
His grip on her thigh intensified and she felt his name trying to creep from behind her lips. It fumbled from her mouth without her consent. With the newfound pressure against her bottom, she knew he didn’t mind.
“Just like that, baby.”
Cynthia smiled at the pet-name. She never would’ve guess a man, let alone a white boy, would have her feeling warm and fuzzy in the middle of a hot, sweaty night club in the heart of Memphis.
“…just anyway you do.”
“Come with me.” He grabbed her hand and led her to the back of the club. They brushed passed waiters, dancers, singers, and fellows with limited self control. They wound up in an empty room in the back.
“Elvis—“ she was silenced by his mouth on hers. She was outdone, she’d never kissed a boy in her life. Their lips moved together messily and the sound of heavy breaths and teeth clashing filled the air.
She was pressed against the wall, her leg hiked against his hip, his body slotted between her lush thighs. There was an unfamiliar pounding between her legs that ached to be soothed. She found herself pressing against him, whimpering as her sensitivity brushed against his belt buckle. A chuckle fell from his lips.
His large hand cupped her neck, turning her head to the side as he nipped along her sweaty skin. Her small hands gripped his shirt as their bodies came as close as they could with their clothes on. Teasing fingers threatened to sneak into her garments. Her warmth was captivating.
“Mr. Presley,” Cynthia whimpered. “this isn’t right. We can’t.”
“We can. A little dirty dancin’ never hurt nobody, mama,” he said lowly, searching for her eyes in the dimly lit room. “Here—I want you to call me.” He let her leg fall as he dug in his pocket for a crinkled sheet of of paper and a pen.
“How many women do you gift your number to?” Cynthia questioned, crossing her arms over her chest. “I may be a colored girl but I’m not a fool like y’all think I am. You not gon’ fool me, Mr. Presley. I’m already risking a lot being in this damn closet, let alone lookin’ like a fool waiting for you to pick up the phone while you live like a rollin’ stone. Don’t give me this paper if you’re not gon’ pick up.”
She was shy, reserved, but she was smart. She’d never let someone make a fool of her, and that he could tell. He couldn’t do it if he tried, there was something about her that wouldn’t let him be the typical playboy he was.
“I won’t, darlin’, hand to God,” he raised his right hand, which he used to tilt her chin up. He kissed her gently. “then maybe we can have another night of dirty dancin’.”
i’m posting this on this acc cus it won’t come up in the tags on my other acc (saturnville). i usually do poetry on this acc but hey, gotta switch it up sometimes lol
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Toxic | kth [m]
Toxic Masterlist | Chapter 11
Twelve.
“I have a surprise for you,” you whispered in Taehyung’s ear after everyone had cleared from the conference room.
He raised an eyebrow, “oh? What is it?
“I can’t tell you! It’s a surprise. You work until 6 tonight, right?”
“Yeah, why?”
“Can I borrow your apartment key?”
“Oh, I’ve been meaning to get one made for you anyway. I’ll do it this weekend. But for now…” he fished the key off of his key ring and handed it to you with a smile.
“Thank you, baby,” you whispered and looked around to make sure no one was watching before you placed a kiss on his cheek and skipped out of the conference room, leaving your flustered boyfriend behind.
You left work and bolted home to grab your supplies before driving over to Taehyung’s apartment and letting yourself inside. You slipped into the bathroom and set your shopping bag on the counter, pulling out the risqué outfit you’d bought for tonight and held it in front of your body to admire it. You hoped Taehyung would like it… You put on a long button up cardigan over the lingerie to hide it and make sure it was a surprise.
It was almost time for him to be home, so you waited anxiously on the couch, nearly holding your breath as you listened for him to approach.
You heard a knock at the door and your heart skipped a beat as you jogged over to answer it, opening it to reveal your gorgeous boyfriend smiling down at you excitedly.
“Hey there gorgeous.”
“Hello, handsome. Come on,” you grabbed his hand and led him to his bedroom, too nervous and excited to delay any longer. Taehyung followed, a curious but amused smile on his face. You pushed him to sit on the edge of his bed and he looked up at you curiously. You reached over and started a playlist on your phone that was hooked up to a Bluetooth speaker. Deep, slow beats filled your ears as you began swaying your hips in time with the music.
Taehyug’s eyebrow raised as he realized what you were doing. He leaned back on his elbows and licked his lips, his eyes following your every move with the hungriest gaze you’d ever seen. Taehyung was equal parts turned on an amazed how he’d ever earned a chance with a woman like you. All his hard work had paid off, he was the happiest he’d ever been in his life. You were perfect, amazing, and he couldn’t believe he was lucky enough to be the one you chose. He couldn’t believe his plan had worked.
He watched your sultry movements, watched your body ebb and flow in perfect synchronization with the music. You unbuttoned and slipped your cardigan off your shoulder teasingly and Taehyung bit his lip in anticipation. He could see black lace peeking out from under the garment and wanted nothing more that to just rip it off of you, but good things come to those who wait.
You teased him for several minutes and he was starting to go crazy until you finally took one of the ties from your cardigan and placed it in his hand. Taehyung smirked and tugged the fabric, taking your cardigain with it and leaving you exposed in your lacy ensemble you’d chosen for the night. Taheyung’s eyes widened at the sexy garment, barely covering any of your skin, but somehow covering far too much. You gently took his hand and placed it on your hips as you took a seat in his lap, beginning to slowly grind your ass into his crotch, already feeling his erection poking you through his slacks.
You leaned down and essentially bounced your ass on his lap, grinding and moving your hips to the beat and torturing your poor boyfriend with the most delicious view of you. His fingers dug into your sides as he attempted to hold himself back from tossing you on the bed and destroying you. Finally, you turned to face him, now straddling his lap and grinding your barely covered pussy against him. Taehyung groaned as if he were in pain. Your breasts were bouncing right in his face and he wanted nothing more than to bury his face in them and suffocate. He opted instead to begin kissing along your soft mounds, his lips gently grazing your nipples through the thin lace.
You whimpered at the feeling and Taehyung smirked, using his hot breath to moisten the cloth around them before his tongue darted out to tease. Your rythym against his hips faltered, but you didn’t stop. Instead, you took one strap of your lingerie and slid it off your shoulder, then the other, allowing your breasts to break free from their fabric confines and Taehyung’s mouth watered.
“You’ve got the prettiest tits I have ever seen, baby girl,” he muttered, mostly to himself, before he took one nipple in his mouth and began to suckle on it, causing you to lean your head back and let out noises that made him wonder if you were his own personal siren.
He would gladly give into you, drown in you, even if it killed him.
In a flash, Taehyung had your positions flipped, you now on your back beneath him on his bed, him hovering over you and smirking down at you, his legs caging your own in as he unbuttoned his dress shirt. You ran your fingers up his skin the moment you were able to see it, letting your fingers drag over his nipples, teasingly flicking your nail against one to see his reaction and he didn’t disappoint. He wasn’t expecting that and nearly toppled on top of you at the stimulation. He quickly undid his belt and slipped out of his slacks and briefs, revealing his thick member that was hard and leaking.
“Look what you do to me, princess…”
You bit your lip if only to keep the drool from escaping and leaned up to kiss him passionately. He kissed you back with fervor and ground his hips into yours, the only layer between you being that pesky lingerie. He reached down and with a display of brute force, ripped the garment right off your body, the sound of the lace tearing making your heart skip.
“Tae! That was expensive,” you whined.
“I’ll buy you another. Besides, you look delicious without it,” he smirked, leaning down to lick a stripe between your folds, “mmm… baby is absolutely drenched, you’re already making a mess of the sheets and we’ve barely started.”
You felt heat in your cheeks and looked away, but Taehyung knew you too well, immediately capturing your chin in his large hand and forcing you to look into his eyes.
“I love it. I…” his confidence faltered for a moment, his eyes searching yours before he took a shaky breath and his hand slid to caress the side of your face in the tenderest touch you’d ever felt, “I love you, Y/N.”
Your heart nearly stopped.
“I love you too, Taehyung. I love you so much.”
Taehyung felt like he could cry, like he’d won the lottery, like he was flying. He kissed you in a frenzy, hot tears slipping from his eyes and landing on your own skin without him noticing, the kiss growing needier and deeper. You wrapped your arms around him and pulled him impossibly closer to you. He kissed you over and over and over until you could barely breathe, whispering “I love you” between each kiss with the biggest smile on his face, his eyes twinkling with moisture and happiness. He stopped and just stared into your eyes, and you felt your heart melting.
“ I love you,” you whispered, holding his face in your hand and he nuzzled into your touch.
You reached up and kisssed him once more, and soon the kiss turned fiery, both of you needing to be closer to each other.
“Baby I need you,” he groaned, lining his shaft up with your soaking entrance and glancing at you to make sure you were okay. You nodded and he pushed inside, both of you moaning in pleasure and relief.
This time felt different than the others. Taehyung was going slower, but his thrusts were deep and full of passion. He lifted your legs over his shoulders and reached new depths inside of you that had you nearly screaming out. While his thrusts were slower, the power behind them was so intense, it had your body being shoved up the bed and the headboard knocking against the wall.
“Love you so much, wanna make you feel good…” he trailed off, his lips marking up your neck and chest while he flew you to another world with his slow, calculated strokes.
His cock dragged deliciously along your walls and hit the perfect spot inside of you every single time. Taehyung knew your body like the back of his hand and knew your tells, so he knew you were getting close.
“Wanna fill you up gorgeous; don’t you think you’d look beautiful, round with my baby?”
Your eyes shot open and met his, your pussy fluttering around his length at his words. You never thought you’d be into something like that, but the way he was looking down at you with so much adoration and the thought of him filling you up, claiming you as his and leaving a part of him inside of you… it did something to you. You gushed around his cock at his dirty, yet sentimental words.
“You like that? Wanna have my baby? Show everyone you’re mine and only mine…”
“Fuck, Tae, please. Fill me up. Make me yours.”
His hips stuttered and he groaned, “fuck baby I’m close. Are you close?”
“Yes!”
His hand reached down to play with your clit, his hoarse voice vibrating in your ear as he commanded, “cum for me.”
Your orgasm had your body shaking and your pussy spasming around his cock was the last thing Taehyung needed to blow, his hot cum shooting deep inside of you with a low groan. He pulled out but quickly replaced his cock with his fingers, pushing his seed back inside you before any could spill out, which made you shiver. He smirked before falling beside you with a heavy exhale.
You were both breathless and sweaty laying next to each other in Taehyung’s bed, your chests rising and falling in sync with each other’s labored breathing.
“That was… wow.”
“That may have been the best sex we’ve had, and that’s saying something,” Taehyung chuckled, leaning over onto his side to look at you.
You smiled and mirrored his position, a sweet, quiet moment passing between the two of you, until your stomach growled obnoxiously, making Taehyung laugh out loud, “Guess we worked up an appetite. Takeout?”
“God, I love you so much.”
Taglist: @telepathytae @sugaflake @ana-rose1 @missxmarisa @azula-karai-27 @turnthepageandbeburnt @appachicken @whipwhoops @bangsterz @calyumlukesgood @m00li55a @chanbitt <3
#bts#bts smut#smut#kim taehyung#taehyung smut#taehyung#bts v#bts taehyung#kim taehyung smut#bts kim taehyung#yandere#tw yandere#taehyung yandere#kim taehyung yandere
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