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elisysd · 11 months

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Dandelions - Ruth B

Masterlist - Previously - Next Chapter

tw: mention of depression, suicid*l thoughts

And I've heard of a love that comes once in a lifetime And I'm pretty sure that you are that love of mine

Charles woke up with a tremendous headache the next morning. He fumbled for a familiar presence but found only an empty bed. He struggled to sit up and opening his eyes was agony. On his bedside table were some aspirin and a glass of fruit juice, which he drank in one gulp. He could hear noises coming from the living room and tried to get up to see what Lyanna was up to. The room was swaying dangerously and he had to try twice before he reached the door. The light dazzled him and he wondered what time it could be.

Lyanna was busy getting her things together and packing her bags. The next day she was off to New York for a photoshoot and an interview with a major magazine that she had been putting off for several months. Part of her couldn't help but laugh when she saw Charles stumble into the room. She felt sorry for him and went over to him to help him onto the sofa.

“Tough morning?” she sarcastically asked.

“Don’t laugh. I feel like my head is about to explode. I’m not drinking ever again.”

“That’s what they all say. So this is true then, once 25 years old is over your body can’t handle alcohol anymore.”

“I handle alcohol very well.”

“Sure, seems like it.”

“Laugh all you want; I'll remind you of this when you're 25.”

“Still two years to enjoy then!”

She continued to walk back and forth across the apartment, while Charles watched her, trying as best he could to recover. Once she was done, she sat beside him as he let his head rest on her shoulder.

“What do you want to do today? Since it’s my last day, I was thinking we could do something just the two of us.”

“I’m in no state to go out so maybe we can do something chill?”

“Like what? Netflix? You promised me we would watch Drive to Survive together if I remember, months ago.”

“If I promised you then, I shall keep it.”

Halfway through the last season, Charles fell asleep while Lyanna was deeply into the show. She was amazed by how Netflix managed to make it overly dramatic when it was not that deep. Still, she thought that Charles looked good on camera. As if it were made for him. A shame he was such a bad actor, Hollywood would love him.

Charles's head was now resting on the young woman's lap. Lyanna ran her hand tenderly through his hair, finding him very cute like that. Her heart ached at the thought of having to leave the next day and abandon him, even if only for a few days. She would meet him again in Austin but she knew that they would only have a short time for each other. Charles had a Grand Prix to win and apart from being there for emotional support, there was little more she could do.

She was more apprehensive about Austin than she cared to admit. Deep down, she knew there would be a before and an after. This was their first official public outing as a couple and she knew the media would have a field day. She just hoped that it wouldn't be the only topic of conversation in the media and that Charles would be able to dodge questions about their relationship.

She was happy in Monaco, away from it all and with Charles. A protective little bubble just for them, far from her daily routine and her obligations. She still had a bit of trouble with the city, but she was getting used to it. She thought back to what Kika had said to her a few weeks earlier and she finally understood what she meant. It wasn't that she was getting used to Monaco or that she was beginning to like the city, it was the presence of Charles at her side that made everything better. She knew that no matter where she was, if he was near her, everything would be fine. Then reality hit her as hard as a speeding truck. She was falling in love or maybe she already was, she didn't know. She couldn't work out when it had happened, it was just there. She had no real idea what love was or what she was supposed to feel. But this feeling of well-being, this urge to stupidly smile every time Charles broke into her thoughts, which happened far too often than she cared to admit, this desire to be close to him all the time, she knew it went far beyond simple infatuation.

The air suddenly ran out of her. She tried awkwardly to get up from the sofa without waking Charles, but failed miserably.

“Lya? What’s wrong?” he groggily asked.

She didn't seem to be listening to him, too busy analysing what she had just realised. She was in a state of panic, pacing up and down the room in front of Charles, completely lost and wondering if his girlfriend had gone mad.

“Love, are you listening to me?”

He ended up ambushing her in a corner of the room, taking her in his arms and forcing her to look at him. She looked confused and on the verge of tears, which frightened Charles.

“Lyanna, talk to me. Please baby, you are scaring me.”

“Charles… I’m so sorry, I don’t know how or when it happened…”

“What happened love? Tell me, I promise I won’t be mad, I just need you to tell me what’s wrong so I can help you.”

“Charles, I think I’m in love with you!” she blurted out, choking on her words.

Charles's heart skipped a beat. He had imagined this moment in so many ways, but never, ever, had he thought that it would be Lyanna who would say those words first, let alone that she would be in this state when she confessed them. Charles let out a small laugh, which soon turned into a full-blown laugh. A big mistake, because it only made Lyanna panic even more, as she couldn't understand what was so funny about it.

“It’s really not funny, Charles! Stop laughing out me!”

Seeing her distraught expression, Charles stopped immediately. He approached her gently, cupping her face in his hands and resting his forehead against hers.

“You think you are in love with me? My Lyanna, I’ve fallen for you a long time ago but was too stupid pour admit it. I was waiting for the perfect occasion to tell you without scaring you away but you just beat me to it. You never cease to surprise me.”

“You love me?” she asked needed to be sure of Charles’ feelings.

“So much. You have no idea to the extent.”

“Okay. It’s good.”

He giggled while capturing her lips with his.

“It’s good indeed.”

“It’s a scary feeling for me.”

“I know. For me as well, but we will work it out and everything will be fine, I promise.”

“I’m in love.” She repeated again, seeming to fully comprehend how deep her feelings ran for him.

A long smile stretched across her lips and her body relaxed as Charles traced small circles down her back. The young woman stood on her tiptoes and placed her lips gently against Charles'. This kiss conveyed much more than her feelings for him, it was a promise. A promise that she wouldn't run away and that even if admitting she loved him made her feel vulnerable in a way she hated, she wouldn't back down.

“Don’t break my heart, okay?” she told him, pulling away and resting her cheek against his chest where she could feel his heart beating loud.

“Don’t break mine either.” He responded, kissing the top of her head, and pressing her against him a little closer as if he wanted their bodies to become one.

They spent the rest of the day in the comfort of each other's arms whispering sweet I love you’s between kisses. For both Lyanna and Charles the day after would be hard to let go of each other.

And indeed it was. Lyanna never cried that much when it came to say goodbye and Charles had a hard time letting her go through the security’s doors. It was especially harder considering that her flight was long and they would not be able to talk to each other as much as they wanted.

Charles spent the day, brooding alone in the apartment where everything started to remind him of Lyanna. How cute she looked, cutting vegetables in his kitchen, how perfect she was in his bed when she was wearing nothing but one of his shirt, how ethereal she looked on his balcony during golden hour. He was so whipped, he knew that. He probably looked stupid behaving like a lost puppy, but he did not care. She loved him. She said the three little words. Her. To him. Not the other way around. And the thought of it made him feel like his feet were no longer glued to the ground.

On the other side of the Atlantic, after a long flight and a few hours' rest, it was time for Lyanna to get ready for her shoot and the interview that would follow. So it was with eyes ringed by lack of sleep and red from crying during the 10-hour flight that she greeted the hairdresser, make-up artist and stylist. Several hours later, she was barely recognisable.

The photo session went off without a hitch, Lyanna being used to it. When she had finished, she was ushered into a small room away from the hall where the photos had been taken, where a journalist was waiting for her, coffee in hand.

“Miss Michel, I’m Elena Doherty, it’s me who is going to conduct the interview today.”

“Pleasure, to meet you.”

Elena motioned for her to take a seat in one of the armchairs as an assistant came to bring her a cup of tea.

“You don’t mind it being recorder, right? So I’m sure the transcription of your words will be correct.”

Lyanna told her that everything was fine with her and Elena finished putting everything in place before settling down to face her.

"So, Lyanna. First of all, I'd like to thank you for your time and for agreeing to this interview. I know your words have been few and far between in recent years. It’s going to be an intimate interview. Imagine that as a journey inside the mind of a talented actress that some dare to call a once in a lifetime kind of prodigy.” Started the journalist.

“I don’t know if that would be accurate. It’s probably a bit too much.”

“But that’s what people said when it came to your performance in the last Steven Spielberg’s movie that owned you an Oscar nomination for best supporting actress.”

“To be honest, I don’t really read what the press says about me. I care about art and work well done, not reviews.”

“But surely you must be flattered to hear such things about you.”

“Well, of course. It’s always a pleasure to see people enjoying your work, especially when there are so many people involved in a project. I’m a team player, I’m never going to take all the credit for a movie. I’m proud of my work for this one, but what makes me even prouder is the effort the whole team put in it. A movie cannot be great if the team is not at 100% no matter how good the actors are.”

“That’s for sure. You were recently involved in Flowers and Crowns, a romcom that you shot in Monaco. Care to tell us a bit more about what made you jumped in the project? It was a bit bold, especially since everyone was expecting to see you aim for bigger and Oscar worthy type of movies.”

“I’ve always been someone who follows my guts. There is nothing interesting to say about it. I loved the script, I’ve never done a romcom before and I think after all the pressure from the Oscars, I needed to do something light where I could have fun.”

“And did you? Have fun, I mean.”

“I did yes. I think people will enjoy the movie. In terms of vibes it’s a mix between a Bridget Jones’ type of humour and Notting Hill with Julia Roberts and Hugh Grant. I can’t wait for it to be released.”

“Can you tell us a bit more about your character or is it still something you cannot say?”

“Well, I guess that I can tell you that from all the amazing characters I had the chance to portray, she is definitely the one who is least like me. I can't say any more at the risk of being told off by production.” She added while laughing.

“Shooting in Monaco must have been a dream though, it’s a dreamy location for a movie. Did you feel like you were working or was it more like holidays’ vibes? What was it like?”

“Well it was very different from what I’m used to, very sunny and hot if you compared it to London where I live. But of course, it’s beautiful. We had the chance to shoot in various places, not only in studios. And it was amazing for me to be able to speak French for once.”

“I can’t beat around the bush any longer Lyanna, you must know it, but there were some rumours about you and F1 driver Charles Leclerc while you were shooting the movie. I won’t ask if it’s true because I know that you are not one to talk about private matters in the media. I’m going to ask how you handled that?”

Lyanna gulped and looked at the window. When her agent asked her if she would like to the interview, her first question was to ask for the most trustworthy journalist to conduct it and to not ask personal questions.

“It was hard. I don’t have the greatest relationship with the medias, it’s not new, you know that. So seeing my private life once again being displayed and speculated for entertainment purposes was not a good feeling. It brought back a lot of bad memories.”

“For our readers that might not know what we are talking about, do you feel like explaining?”

“A few years ago, I was a victim of what we call revenge porn. I was in a relationship that did not end well and the person I was with at the time decided to leak intimate pictures and videos of me in the press. The worst thing is that all the videos and pictures had been taken without me knowing about it. And from there onwards, things started to go downhill.

I started to get harassed by paparazzi to the point that I could no longer leave my flat since they were always outside of my building, waiting for me to come out. I’ve been called names on social media as well as in magazines. You can imagine what kind of things were said. I was dropped by brands and projects that did not want their names to be associated with mine. I lost everything to the point that I had to fly back home to hide.

I was not eating anymore, I was spending my days in bed and I’m sad to admit it, but at some point, I started to wonder why I was still on this planet. What for? And that maybe people would be better off without me since this whole thing had repercussions on my family. My mom was shamed because of me to give an example. Later I was diagnosed with PTSD and depression. And you know, the worst in this story is that I’m the one who was blamed for everything when my ex-boyfriend was able to get away with it unscathed. More than that, he was praised for it, people were saying at the time how lucky he was to have broken up with me considering that I had no shame posing for pictures. I was the victim but everyone put the blame on me. It took months if not almost a year for the truth to be told but it was too late and up until today, I’m still blamed for this story.”

“How did you get through it?”

“With the love and support of the people around me and a lot of therapy sessions. I spend the year following the event working on myself to get back on my feet.”

“And career wise, how did you manage to come back on top?”

“I thought that I would never step on a movie set ever again. I really thought it was over for me. I had to start all over again. No important names from the industry wanted me back, so I started to shoot short movies, unpaid ones sometimes, and I started to work with independent directors on low budget movies. It was an amazing experience despite the circumstances. It really brought back my confidence. I think, somehow, it saved me, and I will be forever grateful for those projects. I thought that it would be my career from now on. And the Steven Spielberg called me and who can say no to Steven Spielberg? The rest is history.”

“I have to ask the question after hearing your story, how are you today, Lyanna?”

“I’m proud and glad to say that I’m happy. Really happy. Probably the happiest I’ve ever been. I have a good support system; I work with the most trustful people and I’m not putting pressure on myself. The projects I choose are ones I truly believe into. I don’t have special career plans; I go with the flow. And I have fun, that what is the most important.”

“I’m glad to hear that. If you could change something in the industry you work in, what would it be? If there was a message you wish to pass on, what would it be?”

“I wish Hollywood would be more supportive of women for starters. And to advocate more when it comes to mental health. So many artists struggle with it and it would be nice for us to feel supported by the industry.”

“Thank you, Lyanna, for your time. I wish you the best in your future endeavors.”

“Thank you, Elena. “

When Lyanna returned to her hotel room, she felt relieved. It was as if a weight had been lifted off her shoulders, and for the first time she was looking forward to reading the article in the press. It couldn't have been late in Monaco, she knew that Charles was due to fly out soon and that he must have been in the middle of packing his bags, so she grabbed her phone to send him a message in which she told him, without going into too much detail, how the interview had gone. She was surprised to see him answering her almost immediately.

I’m so proud of you. I know how painful it must have been to relived that. I can’t wait to read it and to see you. I already miss you like crazy. I love you.

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author's note: SHE SAID IT. Finally. I so loved writing this chapter. I just love how cute they are. Next chapter, Austin GP... I can't wait. As usual, I'm always happy to hear your thoughts and reactions in the comments, in the ask box or through DM. Take care!

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aritamargarita · 2 years

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GOLDEN || 005

hello everyone we are backk i was too busy of dying from embarrassment and the fact tumblr was being weird. i said i was hungry then i went back to sleep then i woke up again and decided to eat cereal, yeah

this is the mirror chapter to the ecw one..things are a bit different here in this timeline by the way, for the sake of continuity we’ll say macho man did not help create wolfpac and it was scott hall instead. i do be struggling to post though.

had to rewrite this so many times it got so bad. sorry if this seems short. if you forgive me i will give y'all two attitude chapters..the calm before the storm AND VENGEANCE! if it lets me post lol. my layout is FUCKED i cant even add anything else augh i give up. i'll come back for this

People disagree on a lot of things. They can disagree on the type of music they like, they can disagree on what kind of foods they like, and they can even disagree on something as simple as their favorite colors.

However, people found it hard to disagree whether or not you deserved a spot in World Championship Wrestling. There’s people that love you, there’s people who hate your guts, there’s people that feel conflicted.

One thing was certainly true though, whenever you’re set to be on television, no one could ever take their eyes off of you. Even though you were mainly on commentary right now, it’s hard to pay attention when you’re around.

Maybe it’s your cadence. Maybe it’s the way you carry yourself. Maybe it’s just because you’re a fighter. It’s something about you that makes people wonder. It’s how you landed yourself in the New World Order in the first place.

Macho Man and Miss Elizabeth had dispersed from the group. Hogan split to try and create his own, NWO Hollywood, which left Kevin Nash and Scott Hall to deal with the damage.

After nights of debating what to do with themselves, the both of them created the NWO Wolfpac, but it wasn’t complete. There’s something missing. Some spice to the group, a wildcard….someone no one would ever expect.

They came to the conclusion that they wanted a woman in the group. It’d be something new. Something that’ll give them a hold on the steadily growing women’s division as well. As of right now, there were very limited options. Elizabeth was already with Macho Man, they were damn sure Madusa wasn’t interested, and they didn't want just anyone.

So, that leaves you. Who better than the Queen of Extreme herself?

Now, they didn’t know you entirely too well, but they’ve heard of your accolades so far. Every so often they’ll watch ECW to compare it to WCW, so they’ve seen you more than once.

You could remember meeting them like it was yesterday. You were sitting in the office of Eric Bischoff, with him telling you how “you were trying too hard” for a chance to get in the ring and compete for the title.

You’ve got a rising suspicion that people were talking around backstage and you wouldn’t stand for it.

“We gave you a spot on commentary.” Eric says, shifting through papers. You were sure your contract was somewhere in there. “Isn’t that enough for you?"

“No.” You quickly answer. While you tried to be grateful for being on commentary, it’s boring to just watch matches and not get in on the action. “There’s a women’s division here and I want to get in on that.”

It was the whole reason why you jumped ship, truth be told. It’s fun getting involved in others matches and competing with the men, but you wanted to extend your range.

Women’s wrestling doesn’t get as much attention as it deserves. Even when you were in ECW, most of the ‘matches’ weren’t matches. They were cat fights that last 6 seconds. You and Luna’s match was the only official woman’s match in the company, and even then, you two didn’t have a lot of time to do what you wanted.

A lot of your coworkers were upset you were going to jump ship. Especially Raven. He was begging you not to leave, which was rare coming from him.

He eventually stopped begging, which makes you think he’s come to terms with the fact you were leaving. Paul Heyman did his best to make you stay, but it's about time you set your sights on other things.

It wasn’t looking too hot so far, though. Eric looks up at you. “Even if you wanted to, there’s no one for you to wrestle right now. You want to become a Nitro Girl? Know how to dance?”

“No.” You repeat, shaking your head this time. “I can dance, but I don’t wanna be a Nitro Girl.”

“Well, what do you want to do?” Eric exasperatedly asks, setting down the stack of papers. “We’re not getting anywhere here.”

You quickly counter. “I’m trying to get somewhere. Are you not understanding me? What’s the issue?? There’s a whole division! And I’m not in it!”

He pauses for a moment before looking back up at you. “I do understand. It’s hard to not understand you. I told you, you were trying a bit too hard and people were starting to get concerned with your attitude.”

Your attitude? What? You’ve been kind and sweet to everyone backstage so far.

“I don’t have an attitude.” You say. “And I’m nice to everyone here.”

“Listen, don’t shoot the messenger.“ He holds his hands up in defense. “I’m sure you’re a real sweetheart. Unfortuneately, I’ve started to hear otherwise.”

“Color me intrigued. Who’s been saying those things?”

Before he could answer you, the door opens and in comes Kevin Nash and Scott Hall. At the sight of you sitting down, bright smiles grow on their faces.

“Hey, chica,” Scott says, taking a toothpick out of his mouth. “You’re just the person we’ve been looking for.”

“Glad both of you are in one place.” Kevin says. “We’ve got an offer that’ll work out for all of us…”

And it was just history after that. This storyline saved you from possibly tanking and the NWO gaining more popularity. Were they listening from outside of the door? Possibly. Would they confirm? No. Would they deny?? No.

It was easy for you to become closer with Kevin and Scott. All of your personalities just flow like water together. Eric Bischoff was glad he made the decision in the end, especially since you three were bringing him more money at the end of the day.

You three had gotten so close, that the first promotional picture you took was the three of you in matching red and black gear.

You really liked that photo. So much so, you decided to frame it and put it on your wall with the rest of them. Some would say it’s conceited to display photos of yourself, but who really cares? No one ever tells you those things.

….Actually, Kevin does. Every time he and Scott drop by your home, he always comments on your pictures, then falls asleep on your couch like the heathen he is.

Somehow he manages to hear every little thing in the house. If you turn the television off, he’d shoot up and say he’s watching it like an old man.

Scott’s always been a friendlier house guest. Sometimes he’d bring you housewarming gifts, but you can’t say he’s not like Kevin, he does immediately goes to sleep in your recliner chair. It’s his favorite spot.

Those housewarming gifts reminds you of the time he brought you the absolute ugliest glass vase you’ve ever seen. It was so bad. The colors clashed with each other, the shape was weirder than a normal vase, and you weren’t entirely sure if flowers would even look good in it.

You still accepted it though. It’s your shitty little vase. You will love and cherish it forever.

HOWEVER, even though they treated you with respect, they weren’t exactly the best at treating your house with respect.

You knew Kevin and Scott were quite the socialites. You met new people everyday thanks to them. They’d drag you to parties and bars, just about anything that was a big event. If anyone from ECW knew, they’d be incredibly jealous that you’re going out with them.

The one time you let them host something at your house was a disaster. A big disaster.

Kevin insisted you get pizza that night, so that’s exactly what you did. You were confused when he ordered like 10 of them. He said it was a small event. It must’ve been a mistake, but you’ll be damned if you pass on free pizzas. Now you don’t have to cook for a while!

You’re going to have to make two trips, which was kinda annoying but oh well. It is what is is. You’re only holding four pizzas, so it’s a little difficult to see in front of you.

Once you open the door, you’re greeted with loud music. What is happening? No one’s in here singing kumbaya right now….

You really hope your neighbors haven’t called the police. You assume it’s safe since you pulled in the driveway with no cop car sitting there, but holy shit, this is REALLY LOUD. You're not even sure what to do. All you can do is stand at the front of your door, pizzas in hand.

Your eyes dart around to some of your coworkers and people you didn’t even know. What the hell can you do?!

“Heyyy, mamacita! You saved us! We’re dyin’ from hunger here!” The voice makes you come back to Earth, turning your head to the left. It’s Eddie Guerrero strutting towards you while wearing sunglasses inside. Huh…

He grins at you before opening a pizza box. “Pepperoni, eh? Got anything else? Tastes too plain to me.”

“Just—“ You sigh, literally giving him all four boxes. “Take it all. It’s all yours. I don’t know what’s on the rest.” You’re too exasperated to even start another conversation. You need everyone to get the hell out of here first.

You leave him to walk over to a blonde woman who was chatting it up with other people. “Hey, excuse me…who are you?”

She looked familiar, but you couldn’t place a name on her.

The woman turns to you, drink in hand. There’s no animosity on her face, just a big smile. “Oh, I’m Torrie. Are you friends with Kevin too? I gotta say, when he invited me here, I was surprised. I’m having a good time! And this house is huge! Whoever is the owner really outdid themselves.”

….You really don’t care. “I see. You could say I’m a friend. I have to ask, have you seen him around anywhere? Or if you know him, have you seen Scott Hall?"

“Hmm, I saw him earlier, but I’m not sure where he went. I think I saw the other guy you were talking about over there.” She says, motioning over to the corner with her free hand. "I keep hearing his name."

You nod, thanking her quickly before letting out a sigh. "...Fun fact, I'm the owner of this house. I need all of you to get out of-"

“Catch!” You hear someone yell. You immediately snap your head over to see two people playing catch with your vase. Not just any vase, THE SHITTY VASE! Now it’s certified that everyone’s gotta get the hell out.

“Stop! Stop throwing the damn vase!” You yell at them. They listen luckily. Before you make your big announcement, you needed to find at least one of your boys. Your ears are starting to ring from this music.

You found Scott first. He was entertaining some ladies, but he immediately shoo’d them away once he got sight of you. You were fuming, so much so that Scott started to feel scared of you. The words; “what’s wrong, chica—“ had barely left his mouth before he let out a whistle at your expression.

You point a finger at him. The smile that appears on your face scares him even worse. “Scott, you know I love you, right?”

“Yeah…?” This is probably the first time you’ve heard his voice laced with uncertainty.

“Great. Everyone needs to get the hell out. You tell me where Kevin is, I’ll let you stay.”

Scott knew that snitches get stitches, but it’s every man for himself. He’s never snitched any faster in his life.

After that fiasco, Kevin very profusely apologized to you. He repeatedly told you he wouldn’t do it again, all the while the person who betrayed him stood and watch the drama unfold. Fortunately, he’s kept true to his word.

These days he and Scott just drop by for some simple hospitality and to travel together for the show.

Your mother would probably chew you out if she knew how lenient you were these days. She’d just have to understand that they’re your friends, so of course you’d help them out every now and then.

Truth be told, you actually enjoyed the company. It made your home a lot less lonelier. There was a time where you had no visitors when you were in the midst of jumping from promotion to promotion. You weren’t sure if you liked the silence or not…

Save it for another time. Thinking back on the past is fun, but the present is what truly matters.

You’re backstage, idly pacing around as you glance towards the small television screen every so often. There’s a segment with Eric Bischoff and Hulk Hogan going on, something that you found incredibly boring.

They didn’t give you any matches today. It was more than likely because the men were mostly dominating the card. You just wanted to punch the wall.

Eric had recently said you were going to get more involved, but so far it’s looking like that’s not the case...ugh.

Both Kevin and Scott were backstage with you, not ready in the slightest. Meanwhile, you were already ready and raring to go. On cue, you were supposed to interject in honor of the Wolfpac. The other two would come out later to defend you.

Kevin’s too busy on the phone to pay attention to the segment. “Yeah, man. Scary woman. She’ll kill you if you even look at her wrong.”

“What’re you talking about?” You ask, turning around. “Where’s Scott?”

He waves you off, then motions towards the bathroom. “Yeah. Nah, that’s not it. She’s a sweetheart.”

“Alright then.” You wonder who he's talking about. All you can assume is that Scott's fixing up his hair.

“That Wolfpac trio has been causing nothing but trouble lately, brother.” Hogan says. Eric’s holding the mic for him, so he’s making as many exaggerated hand movements as he can.

Hogan was running his mouth about how bad things have been lately within the company. The mention of your name makes you turn back around.

“They’re a disgrace to the New World Order’s name. NWO Hollywood is where it’s at! You lost half of your members, so now you’re nothing but wannabe superstars. If you jabroni's think you can get the best of my group, you’ve got another thing coming. I think we should fire them, fire them all. Especially that [Name] girl. She’s been poking her nose where it shouldn’t be.”

That was the straw that broke the camels back. You’re going out there. You stomp over towards the door, throwing it open and storming out.

You could hear your name being called, yet you don't stop walking.

You’ve had enough. It’s like high school all over again. People gossiping and whining for no reason. You have a rising suspicion that Hogan’s the one at fault for everything. Before you head out there, you make sure to get a mic from a staff member.

There’s no music, no nothing. You’re just here to set the record straight. For a second, the lights of the stage almost blind you, but your eyes slowly adjust.

Standing at the center of the stage, there’s a hint of a smile on your face as you hear the crowd cheer at your appearance. You haven’t even said anything yet. You hold up your hand, making the crowd quiet down so that you can actually speak.

“Hulk Hogan, you are FOURTY-FOUR YEARS OLD. You’re waaaay too old to be acting like this. Newsflash, it’s not the 80’s anymore. It’s time for you to retire.”

The crowd is still surprised that you even had the gall to come out here.

“And you talk about me,” You say, making your way down the ramp. “I think we should start talking about you. No one wants to hear the saaame oldddd jarrgoonnn.” The moment you get to the ring, you hop on the apron, not getting inside just yet. “Eric Bischoff goes on and on about how amazing Hogan is and he literally does absolutely nothing! I’m tired of it!”

Hogan takes the mic away from Eric, adjusting his title on his shoulder. “No one’s tired of HOLLYWOOD! All my NWOites love to see me on TV. They don’t want to see a woman here, let alone one that’s not a champion.”

“What they don’t want to see is a wrestler who should’ve retired about seven years ago. And for your information, I’d be a wonderful champion.“ You finally go under the ropes to get in the ring.

“I wouldn’t desecrate the championship like you did." The spray painted 'NWO' on the title was completely noticeable. Out of line, too. "In fact, why fire me? I’m a rising star. Once I get my hands on the Women’s Championship, your daughter can finally have a real role model to look up to.”

Hogan is surprised you’d go that far, bringing his own daughter into this. “You take that back.”

“Or what?” You’re not scared of him or Bischoff, and you kept the smug look on your face, which pisses him off even further.

Eric comes in between you two. “Hey now, this is pretty unfair. It’s obvious Hogan’s winning this fight. I mean, what can a woman like you do to the Heavyweight Champion?! I think you need to take a step back, [Name].”

It’s a warning you don’t heed. Instead, you kick you boss right in his shin, the crowd cheering you on. As he’s kneeling down in pain, you take the opportunity to hook your leg over his head and the other around his leg, bringing him right into the Black Widow.

You don’t need to get the heavyweight champion first, you’ll go for his best buddy!

You pull his arm back as humanly possible. Any further and you were sure you’d dislocate it. He wanted to know what a “woman like you” could do? He’ll get the answer.

Just as you see him about to tap, Hogan saves his buddy from getting a broken arm. He pulls you off, making you wrangle in his grasp. Eric falls down to the ground, holding his aching arm in pain. Once Hogan lets you go, you turn around and slap him as hard as you can.

“What’re you gonna do, huh?! Huh?!” You didn’t have your mic, so the crowd couldn’t hear you too well. You’re still talking trash though. “Hit me! I dare you!”

The crowd begins to cheer. You didn’t see why until you saw a man was ascending from the rafters. Once his feet hit the ring, you look at him in surprise. Hogan hadn’t noticed him yet, but he’s looming right behind him.

It’s Sting, the man who’s been watching you for the past few weeks. He made you crazy and not in the good way. You repeatedly told Kevin and Scott the walls had eyes, which made them glance at each other as if you were actually insane.

You’re swear you’re not. You knew he was watching you everywhere. Whether it be backstage or in the ring, Sting’s always just….there. Even when you’re in the same room, he never says anything. Just stares and walks away.

It’s not surprising he came out here. More than likely he wanted to try and save you. You didn’t need saving. You were just about to beat the shit out of Hogan for even interrupting your submission hold.

With that black metal bat, he lifts it up and pokes it right in his back. Hogan freezes in place and the crowd is losing their mind. Rearing his bat back, Sting quickly strikes him.

Hogan falls down in pain and you back up. Even if Sting wanted to “save you” the man was definitely unpredictable. You can see Eric scrambling out of the ring in the corner of your eye.

Sting lifts Hogan back up and Death Drop’s him right back down with ease. You flinch at the sound of them colliding with the mat. He gets up and turns his head towards you.

You point a finger toward him, almost warning him that if he comes any closer, he’ll get what’s coming to him. Where the hell was Kevin and Scott?! They completely abandoned you out here. They were supposed to run out and say a few things, but there’s no sign of them.

Sting starts walking closer to you. You feel your back hit the turnbuckle and you change your finger into your palm, waving it at him. Even if you feel your hand slowly start to shake as it grips onto the ropes, you don’t back down.

You didn’t want him to notice you’re freaked out. It’s the last thing you wanted him to notice.

With every step he takes, the more you think he’s going to do something. He doesn’t lift his bat, instead letting it drag on the canvas as he comes towards you. The crowd’s on their feet in anticipation. Would you get the same fate as Hogan or would he let you go?

He drops the bat. You can barely hear the sound of it hitting the mat due to the crowd yelling.

“I’ve got a knife in my pocket!” You say. He doesn’t say anything as he still corners you. “I’ve got mace too!” Nothing deters him, he just stares at you while you’re in the corner.

You were already starting to think of an escape plan. Something that’ll catch him off guard and hopefully give you enough time to escape. Maybe even give enough time for Kevin and Scott to get out here.

Drastic times means desperate measures. You grab his face and pull him closer to kiss him. The crowd erupts in cheers and you don’t feel Sting make any moves. It’s almost like he’s never kissed anyone before, but it’s hard to function when you’re busy trying to shove your tongue in his mouth.

Just in time, Kevin and Scott come rushing down the ramp, with the latter sliding into the ring with a chair and slamming Sting in the back with it. He slumps over, shifting most of his weight onto you.

Scott comes over and pulls him off, taking one glance at you to see if you’re alright. There’s a mix of your own red lipstick and Sting’s black lipstick smudged on your lips, and there’s a few spots of white paint on your face. Yeah, you’re fine. And he’s not talking about your looks.

Hey, at least he can proceed to beat the shit out of Sting! He’s glad he has a reason to straighten him out, especially since it had to deal with you. Kevin on the outside of the ring opens his arms, telling you to come over.

You hop under the ring ropes happily and he takes it upon himself to throw you over his shoulders in a fireman’s carry. “Off we go.” He chimed. It literally felt like you were on a skyscraper, god damn.

“Where the hell were you guys?! I’m pretty sure you missed your cue.”

“We got distracted. You were the one who stormed outta there first, so we thought you could handle it.” Kevin explains. He roughly changes the way he carries you, bringing you down into bridal style. At least you could hear him a bit better now. "Had to hang up my phone call and everything.”

Got distracted by what exactly?! They could see the television, what were they waiting for! You roll your eyes. “Whatever.”

“Don’t be mad.” He says with a grin. “We’re here now, princess." For a moment, he turns around to the ring, holding up a strange symbol with his free hand.

Scott finishes the job, sliding out of the ring and tossing the chair to god knows where. Kevin finally puts you down, so you shuffle over to be in the middle of them and raise their hands in victory.

You hope this was a message for Sting to stop following you all over the place and messing with your head. But you're also hoping Eric and Hogan understand that you're not one to be fucked with.

Being here was strange. It's a new world. Certain fans knew who you were, but many others did not. All you can wish for is that this run comes with peace and a LOT of luck.

didn't even save it as a draft this time i just hoped for the best. i still hope you guys enjoy, i will try and make the next flashbacks longer, and the next one after this will prob be a timeskip because there's not much for reader to do that night, if it makes sense. im gonna eat more cereal

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bluestripedspeedo · 2 years

Text

Indiscreet - 03. Last Night in... Pairing: Writer/Producer!Javi Gutierrez x you (Hollywood AU) SERIES MASTERLIST

Chapter summary: Finding a moment alone together is hard. Chapter warning: Vomiting, excessive drinking, fluff, and dirty flirting. 18+, as usual. New OCs introduced. Word count: 7k

Playlist: Rainy South Kensington

✧✧✧

JANUARY

You watch the party going at full swing downstairs from the second floor balcony, perfectly content with sitting alone with a glass of champagne, away from the action. Óscar brought you here, to his friend’s birthday party at his mansion just outside of London. Guy’s a major rockstar in the 90s so the crowd skews older and their children already found their cliques, so you end up alone after finding this quiet corner in the guest bedroom. You’ve decided to ditch the party until whenever Óscar would come looking for you to leave.

The door to the room opens again - the nth person going in and out to use the bathroom. But this time you don’t hear it open for the second time to signal their exit.

“Hey,” says a familiar deep voice. It makes you look up. “Why aren’t you downstairs?”

You try to hide your surprise (and dismay) from him. “It’s been a long day.”

“I was looking for you.” Javi approaches you, smile getting bigger with each step towards.

“Were you really?” You counter curtly, not believing the audacity of this man.

On your last day in Tokyo over a month ago, you were functioning on autopilot, sleep deprived from listening to your friend Anya all night about her not-quite-boyfriend that she had been on and off with. You tried to be pleasant, you really did, but after essentially being cockblocked you couldn’t even find the effort to do beyond barely listening to her. It didn’t help that you woke up with more messages from her asking why you were laughing with Javi in the background of Óscar’s costar’s Instagram reels. You explained that you didn’t even know the guy that well (not that you owed her any explanation), and of course everyone involved in the Forces franchise went to the premiere, so of course everyone hung out, duh. She didn’t need to know that you were spending all of your time with him in the past week and that you’d be spending more time with him for work.

Then upon landing in New York you were faced with a new barrage of messages from her about that last day. You, Javi, Óscar, and some of his co-stars went for lunch served by a famed sushi chef - very private and exclusive, but everything’s possible with Javi. You didn’t expect a casual group picture would cause such a reaction from her. You couldn’t be bothered to read all of her texts, but you got the gist of it: it was because Javi’s arm was around you. It was as if she didn’t see his other arm was around Óscar. And she demanded to know why you were wearing his gloves in your picture from the other day, which she had noticed from… you honestly didn’t remember. You just thought it was creepy that she’d notice. You couldn’t understand why she cared about Javi so much. You didn’t even have time to think about what her thought process was because you were faced with a new filming schedule Óscar gave you.

Then it kept piling up. You barely spent a day sorting and packing to leave for London when your parents called you to spend the holidays with them. Which you obliged, but that meant not having time off for yourself at all before you were needed on set… and that meant canceling your plans to spend time with Javi road tripping in England after Christmas.

You haven’t seen him since the day you left for the island you spent your holidays at. That was almost a month ago. He didn’t seem to miss your presence much though, in contrast to what he said in his messages. “Looks beautiful, wish I was there” meant “I’m only saying this to keep the conversation going”. “I’ll show you around the set, don’t worry” meant not showing up at all for weeks because he’d decided to stay in LA until it’s time for the actual shoot. “I have to stay a few more days” meant bringing someone who looked around your age to an award show that he never even mentioned until you saw it all over social media.

“Yeah, c’mon, let’s go get some drinks. Let’s catch up…” Javi doesn’t have to ask you to know what you’ve been up to. He obsessively checked your Instagram while you were apart, careful not to let it show whenever he texted you. He wanted so badly to make a comment about the white dress you wore on New Year’s Eve, or the red swimsuit that has been occupying his mind at all hours…

“I’m good.” You make no eye contact with him, eyes occupied with the half empty champagne glass in your hand.

Javi moves closer to you and leans on the wall. “Let’s go anyway, I’ll introduce you around.”

“Óscar beats you to it, don’t worry. And he showed me around on my first day too.”

“I’m sorry about that…” So that’s why you’re not enthusiastically greeting him after all this time apart. “I had to stay behind for awards season.”

“Looks like you had fun.”

“Would’ve been more fun with you,” Javi winks, the corner of his mouth forming a half smirk.

“Seriously, Javi? What would your girlfriend say?” You stand up to your full height and look at him right in his eyes.

“Hm?”

“Don’t ‘huh’ me. We were texting almost everyday, the least you could do was mention it once.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Your date!”

He looks at you confused. “...Emma?”

“I don’t know, the one in the blue dress, whatev–” Who kissed and hugged you in front of cameras.

“She’s just a friend. From another movie, a long time ago.” Yeah, how comforting, after what he said about dating his actresses.

“A long time ago? She looks my age.”

“A couple of years older, but yeah. What about her?”

“You should’ve told me.”

“Why?”

“I don’t wanna step on any boundaries,” you firmly say. “Would be nice to know if you’re… with someone.”

“Is that all?” His eyebrow quirks up. Now, why do you care if he’s with anyone? Javi feels a sense of pride blooming at your admission. “I have no relationship with her whatsoever – never had – and she actually got married over the holidays.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, very private, normal guy. They don’t want to announce yet. She needed a date, and that’s where I came in. Happy?” Javi lays it all out with a pleased smirk. Seeing you flustered and so, so bothered at the prospect of him being with someone else satisfies something in him.

He stares at you as you stand, thinking it over, with your arms crossed. After a few moments you finally take a deep breath and hang your head. Now you feel foolish about the weeks you spent being frustrated over your theories and your feelings. “I guess.”

Relief is obvious on your face and Javi thinks: you care. You care. He comes closer to you and touches your arm, his own opening in invitation for a hug. “I’ve missed you.”

✧

A couple of days later you find yourself in a small coffee shop in Soho with him, waiting for the rain to stop over your hot chocolate and his triple shot espresso when an hour turns to two and you decide to brave the weather. He tries to shield you from the worst of it with his height at first and warms your hands with his as you shiver from the cold. The both of you cackling in glee as you run towards the first vacant cab to get to his place all the way in South Kensington.

The brutal shooting hours finally takes a toll on you and you fall asleep on the way, later on woken up by him gently nudging you while he overpays and apologizes to the driver for wetting the seats. He leaves a spare old band T-shirt and shorts outside the bathroom while you change out of your dripping clothes. One movie-and-cocktails night turns into a routine for the following weeks – sometimes at his house, sometimes in your hotel room, sometimes in quiet, independent movie theaters that you’ve made a mission to try each one of. He happily tags along every time.

✧✧

FEBRUARY

“We’re out of gin!” You sit back up on the sofa, legs close to your chest, the cutest pleading look you could manage in your half-drunk state. “Can we have some wine, please?”

“That’s the second bottle this week… take it easy.” Javi says with raised eyebrows. It’s barely the middle of the week.

“Pleeeeeeease?”

“One glass, alright?” He gets up off the floor to go to his open kitchen. Observing his stacked wine fridge, he starts listing them off to you and checking on your reaction each time. “I have Chardonnay, merlot, Malbec, Shiraz…”

You make a face. “No rosé?”

He gives you a small shake no. “There’s a Carmenere… cava…”

“What is that? Don’t think I ever had it.”

“Sparkling Spanish wine. Never?” He takes it along with a couple of new glasses. He pours yours first and sits on the opposite end of the sofa. “Didn’t try it in Spain? I thought you drank a lot.”

“I always go with sangria, and uh, not that much.” You start to sip yours, not meeting his eyes. You don’t care for his snarky tone but decide to let it slide for now. “I wasn’t always like this.”

“Late rebel phase?” Javi prompts curiously. Not that late, perfectly normal for your age, but your amount is quite concerning for him.

“More like I just acquired my taste for it.” You make a show of raising and extending your glass to him. “This is really good, Javi.”

“Of course, it’s Spanish.” He winks and refills yours, and the both of you sit in silence while you drink. After finishing his, Javi rolls his neck with a crack and you let out a chuckle.

“You sleepy?”

“Hate to admit it, but yes. Do you wanna go over the script one more time?”

“I think I got it,” you gulp. “Thanks, Jav.”

“Want me to drive you home…” Javi starts to move closer to you.

“Maybe after–”

“…or stay here?” He asks carefully, looking deep into your eyes.

“I have an early call tomorrow…”

“It’s late, though.”

“Yeah, it is.”

You finish your drink and hold it between your hands, your fingers intertwined on your stomach. You study his profile: strong nose, wavy long-ish hair that curls over his ears, facial hair with a little gray here and there, and a mustache that’d look comical on anyone else, the corners of it damp from the wine. Your eyes travel down to his broad shoulders, to his big arms, to his large hands and long fingers… Months after seeing him for the first time, you’re even more positive this man was made for you – physically, at least. He’s your type to a T. He’s not far off from the dream man you used to make up in your daydreams. It’s not the liquor talking, either…

You never thought you’d have the hots for someone twice your age and you have to admit: it’s sexy. If only he could feel the same. You clear your throat, bringing him out of his reverie too, and nod towards the bottle. “Look, we’re halfway there.”

“Might as well finish it, huh?”

“”One glass,”” you tease him, lifting your legs to sit up straight. The alcohol finally gets to your head and you miscalculate your move… as you’re supposed to plant your feet on the floor, you kick the wine bottle in Javi’s hand and also his glass, causing the gold liquid to spill all over the table, the carpet, the marble floor, and his lap.

“Fuck!” You gape in horror at the mess you made. You see some of the wine has splashed onto the sofa too. You attempt to stand up to go to the kitchen to get a paper towel, a rag, anything, before you realize there are shards of glass around Javi’s feet. Losing your balance, you awkwardly fall to the floor on your side. “FUCK! Ow!”

Javi is still sitting there shocked for a few seconds before the situation sets in. “Are you okay?!”

“Are you okay?” You ask him back in a defeated voice, still trying to refocus your eyes and endure the throbbing pain in your head.

Javi pulls you up quickly to a sitting position and it makes you feel even more nauseated than before. You cradle your head between your legs and feel a familiar feeling in your gut. Oh, no… Luckily you grab the empty paper bag of the tacos takeout quickly before you throw up the contents of your stomach into it. Javi doesn’t hesitate to pull your hair out of your face and rub circles on your back. When you’re done, he takes the bag of mess from your hand.

“I’ll clean this up. You use the bathroom, there’s a spare toot–”

You cut him off in embarrassment. “Got it.”

You hobble into the guest bathroom, absentmindedly slamming the door shut and leaning against it. You catch yourself in the mirror: face in disbelief and covered in cold sweat, red and misty eyes, disheveled hair. A mess.

Great. Now he’s gonna think you’re just some silly girl who drinks too much and can’t even handle it. What grown man would want anything to do with someone who still acts like a teenager? Making a mess of yourself and his house. Oh fuck, he mentioned it’s an expensive, custom made sofa… and he had his carpet shipped all the way from Turkey. You stupid, fucking, idi–

A sudden knock on the door makes you jump. “Hey, are you alright in there?”

“Um, I’m just about done here, I’ll be back out in a sec.” You hear your own voice raspy from the dryness in your throat and your nerves.

“It’s okay. Take your time.”

This is it. He’s gonna call me a cab and that’s it. No more of these night ins. Defeated, you clean yourself up and swallow your pride.

Javi is on all fours in the living room, wiping the liquid from the floor and furniture, occasionally wringing the cloth into a champagne bucket. What the hell just happened?! It still hasn’t fully registered to him how you managed to kick everything that was in his hands. She should stop drinking so much, he thinks. From what he could recall, there hasn’t been a single day that you spent together where you didn’t drink throughout or ended up drinking by the end of the night, be it going out or at his house or your hotel room. He’d expected you to be insulted by his question earlier, but your answer just leaves him curious. More than anything, it makes him feel protective. He’s emptying a tray of broken glasses and wine-stained paper towels into a trash can when you reemerge and approach him.

“Javi,” you begin. “I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have had so much.”

“It’s okay. It happens,” he says, still busy with the task at hand, not quite looking at you.

“Is there anything I could help you with?”

“Just sit there. I got you some water,” he gestures to the kitchen island and your untouched share of tacos. “And eat your food. It’ll help you.”

You sit on the bar stool and slowly sip your first non-alcoholic drink of the night. Your fingers lightly wipe over the dews on the glass as you close your eyes and feel every pounding in your head.

“I’ll go get you some aspirin.” You look up to see him staring intently at you. “And I think it’s better if you stay. Just in case you need anything in the middle of the night. You could email me and Óscar tomorrow morning–”

“Jav–”

“–and say you’re not feeling well.” Javi says with finality in his tone.

“I can’t hold up production, Javi. I appreciate it but I can’t. I owe him too much.”

“He’ll understand. He could shoot something else, one day won’t hurt. Wait here – and eat, please.”

Javi comes back with the pills, an old band t-shirt of his that you’ve worn before, and a pair of pajama pants for you to change into. Looks like you’re staying in after all.

✧✧

You wake up the next morning to soft knocks on the door, followed by gentle footsteps approaching the too comfortable bed you’re in.

“Did you sleep well?” Javi sets down a tray on the nightstand. You mumble a yes, head still heavy from sleep and hangover. “I made you tea and avocado toast.”

“You didn’t have to.” You sit up quickly and immediately regret it because the room starts spinning and you feel like you’re about to turn inside out.

“Yeah, I did,” he chuckles. “I’ve called Óscar and told him you’re taking the day off.”

“Noooooooooo.” You groan.

“It’s done. I told him you texted me this morning that you came down with something and couldn’t get out of bed. It’s fine.”

“Does he know I’m here?”

“No, I told him you texted me,” he smiles amusingly to himself. You haven’t fully woken up yet. “As far as he’s concerned, you’re just sick in your own room.”

You don’t like that he lied on your behalf without your approval and to his own best friend that easily, but you decide to let it slide for now. It’s still morning and you’re not about to start an argument, especially when that toast looks exceptionally tasty.

“Okay,” you take a sighing breath. “I’m really, really sorry about last night... I promise you, I’ll pay for the rug.”

“Don’t worry about it. Cleaners already picked it up this morning.”

“This morning? What time is it?”

“Twelve.”

Your mouth pops open. “SHIT!”

“Yeah… well,” he chuckles. “Your clothes are still in the dryer, do you want me to bring them here?”

The thought of him folding your clothes would sound sexy any other time but right now, you’re just embarrassed. “No, I… I’ll get them myself.”

“Okay. Towels are in the bottom drawer. I’ll leave you to it.”

✧

“Rome. By all means, Rome. I will cherish my visit here for as long as I live.”

Javi watches your eyes glisten in the dark as Gregory Peck walks across the hall all alone, never to see Audrey Hepburn again.

“I want a love like that.” You look at him while scooping the last bits of your gelato.

Javi turns on the lights of his home theater to see your face better. “It’s a sad ending.”

“Sure, but their love is everlasting. Like Mia and Sebastian’s too.”

“Hmm, don’t think theirs is either.”

“No?”

“She’s married. They’ve moved on.”

“They still love each other! And, they could get back together, off-screen.”

Javi raises his eyebrows and starts to laugh.

“Even if they didn’t, they’re still each other’s greatest love! They’ll long after each other, forever.”

He continues laughing at you. “What’s wrong with you?!”

“It’s romantic!”

“They didn’t end up together! Would not!”

“Doesn’t make it any less so!”

Javi is now throwing his head back and clutching his stomach. “I think you need to date more often, if that’s your idea of romance.”

“So why haven’t you asked me out?” You blurt out before you could think twice.

Javi’s laughter stops and he sits straight up. Silence falls between you both. All the humor is gone in his now darkened eyes. “What do you mean?” Panic and anxiety start to bubble in you. “Are you drunk?”

“No?”

“Ugh,” he groans into his hands. “What is this…”

“Oh, okay,” you say shakily, your heart beating out of your chest. “Sorry that I assu–”

Javi raises a hand to interrupt you. “Do you remember that night, the afterparty?” You nod. “What do you remember?”

You look at him in confusion. “We drank and danced on the balcony?”

“After that.”

You shrug. “I went home.”

“Between that, then.”

You stare at him blankly. You can’t say that you remember what happened between being at that party and waking up in your bed the morning after. Not even how you got home - you’d assumed Óscar drove you back, of course. You remember having a massive headache, worse than the one you just had this morning. You remember Javi looking devastatingly handsome, looking every inch the billionaire heartthrob that he is. You faintly remember his scent when he stood close to you and you remember him murmuring in your ear and you remember tugging off his jacket and you remember your lips on–

“Javi…” you gasp. “Did we– did we, um…?”

“No,” he says quickly and clears his throat. “No, no.”

“We didn’t… kiss?”

“Oh. Well… not quite. You did, but–”

“Oh my God.”

“No, no, it’s fine,” Javi clears his throat again and looks you straight in the eyes. “I took you home, but you weren’t walking straight at that point… you kept touching me and kissing my neck… I tucked you into bed… and I took off your dress because you said you didn’t want to sleep in it.”

You bury your face in your hands in embarrassment, and he continues.

“I didn’t look – at all – and then you asked me to stay but I left. It wouldn’t feel right. Next day you texted me for coffee, but I was on set, so we went to Grind the day after, right? And we went back here? And, nothing. You acted like nothing happened. You never mentioned it. I thought you thought it was a drunken mistake or I was someone else and you just didn’t want to talk about it.”

“I don’t know what to say.” You breathe out after a few moments. It’s true that you weren’t aware of what you did, but you had been thinking night after night that maybe he’s just not interested in you, that it’s all you being too hopeful. He is kind and personable to everyone and it crossed your mind that you might have been overestimating your interactions. Or maybe the novelty of flirting with you had worn off and being back in LA surrounded by beautiful people made him forget about you. Some nights when you were alone and feeling particularly shitty, you thought that maybe he was going abroad to see someone else, not for business meetings. But never did it occur to you that it was you who embarrassed yourself and made him uncomfortable that night… and last night too. “I… have no recollection of any of that. I’m so sorry, Javi, if I made you uncomfortable and if you don’t feel the same, it’s fine.”

Javi shakes his head. “If you weren’t drunk, I would’ve stayed,” he says sheepishly. “You need to black out less often, though.”

“I know, I’m trying.”

“I’ll help you with that,” he takes your hand in his and interlaces your fingers. A smirk forms on his lips. “So, any suggestions for our first date?”

You pull your hand away. “Oh, no, you don’t have to. Let’s just forget I even said anything about that.”

“So you don’t want to? Because I do.” Javi says earnestly.

“You’re just trying to be nice.”

“You don’t believe me?”

“I don’t, no.”

“I would’ve stayed. I mean it. You don’t know how long I’ve wanted to… be with you. Been thinking about you since that first day. I’ve gone back and forth about this…” Javi clears his throat, finding his next words. “I thought I’d wait until we wrap this to bring it up, but... no better time than now.”

You want to believe him. You really do. “I’ll be fine, Javi.”

For all you know, this is just his thing… hooking up with whoever he’s working with at the time, but after. He’s told you as much all those months ago. Why would you be any different from them? If anything, this makes you feel even worse.

Javi sees your internal conflict and brushes your hair out of your face, his fingers trailing down until he softly caresses your chin. “I’m serious. I thought you could tell all this time.”

Maybe? You were happily already in the mindset that he was just naturally flirty and not interested in you in any way at all. Sure, you were hopeful, but you also knew it wasn’t possible. “I don’t know.”

“So you wanted to kiss me for nothing?” Heat creeps up on you in response. “There’s gotta be something here, right?”

You shake your head, preparing for the worst. There’s only one way to know for sure. “Is there? How do I know this isn’t just… one of your things? I’ll admit that I find you attractive, obviously, but we can just not do anything about it. Besides, you’re a lot older… you know that.”

Well, Javi didn’t expect the age jab but he refuses to let up, especially when you’re so wrong from where he stands. “This isn’t. I swear. When I told you I never wanted to pursue anything unless I’m really sure… I meant that. And come on, who cares? I don’t think you actually do.”

No, you actually don’t. Not when it comes to him.

“If you give me a chance, I’ll prove it to you.” Javi takes your hands again, his eyes pleading. Please believe me.

And you want to. This is right out of your daydreams. You should be elated, you should feel proud of yourself that he wants you back, you should be jumping up and down and into his arms, but something bugs you. Not just his past habits, or the embarrassment you feel from the way you came on strong to him, or your doubt that he’s just asking this out of pity, but…

You squeeze his hand, and nod your head yes.

“Yeah?” Javi’s smile could blind you.

“Yeah.” You confirm. “But Javi…” you look at your joined hands, his almost comically bigger than yours. “What about Óscar?”

“Oh, baby… we’ll cross that bridge when we get there.”

Next thing you know, this man of your dreams inches closer and closer and closer, your back hits the plush velvet seat, his lips asking for your invitation… which you give him without hesitation.

✧✧

The fireplace must have been put out long ago. You wake up with a shiver, despite being wrapped like a burrito with the blanket that you shared with…

Javi. You slept with him – in the literal sense – and it was your idea. You know you have a tendency of draping yourself over someone else while you’re sleeping… Is that why he wrapped you up? You only hope that no one in the house saw anything incriminating.

You undo yourself from the folds and reach for your phone to check the time, and the first thing you see is a message from Javi, received hours ago: “Didn’t want to wake you. See you tonight at 8? Daphne’s, as promised.”

You type out a kissing emoji and start to put on your pants when you notice a plate of toast with marmalade and an already cold cup of tea on the coffee table. You carry them outside where you find Ava watching over her son kicking a ball around by himself.

“Hey, how was your sleep?”

“Too good. I didn’t realize I got up so late. Thank you for these.”

“Thank Javi. He was up before us making breakfast.” You look down to hide your smile. “What are you doing today?”

“I have a fitting at 2. I probably should get going pretty soon.” You sit in silence while eating your breakfast. Ava turns to you pointedly.

“This morning… you and Javi seemed cozy.”

Oh, fuck. “Yeah, I couldn’t let him sleep on the floor, it was really cold.”

“I meant you were snuggling on him, but it’s okay, Óscar didn’t see it.”

Oh, fuck, you knew it. You open your mouth to say something, anything, but nothing comes out.

“Don’t worry about it. But, woman to woman,” she starts and you can’t help but to meet her eyes this time. “Don’t start anything while you’re still working. I didn’t say anything to Óscar, but this could be difficult for all of us.”

“Uh,” you clear your throat and decide to play it dumb. “It was probably an accident, it’s nothing like that.”

“Óscar doesn’t even see the possibility because he still sees you like a kid, but I’ve noticed.”

“Hm…?” You try to focus on your food, your heart pounding in the back of your throat making it hard to swallow or even taste anything.

“You and Javi.” You hold your breath, ready to deny anything she throws at you. “I don’t care. You’re old enough to know what you’re doing. All I’m saying is please don’t risk anything while you’re still on his set. This is really, really important to him. He’s not gonna react well. All he needs is to be focused on this film, right now.”

You sip on the cold, bitter tea in a futile attempt to warm yourself. “Why do you think–”

“I’ve known him for a long time, as long as I’ve known Óscar. I just had to see how he reacts to you.”

You sniffle. “That doesn’t mean a–”

“I saw him kiss you before he left.”

You feel your blood draining from your entire body.

“Like I said, I don’t care if you’re both happy. Do what you two want. But wait. Just for a little more time. You have, what, a month left?” You shrug in defeat and she nods. “There you go, no time at all.”

You cross your arms and bury your shaking hands in your side pockets, the cold increasing tenfold with each passing second, although you’re not sure if it’s from the weather or your shock.

✧✧

Your mind is everywhere else but in the showroom as the seamstresses fuss over the beautiful dress hanging on your figure. The designer, who’s known for dressing A-listers and supermodels on the red carpet, was brought in to create custom pieces for key scenes. He’s also decided to make you the new face of his brand next year as a joint promotion for the movie and his involvement in it. Normally you would’ve fawned over the clothes and made small talks with everyone but today you’d rather fast forward time so you could be with Javi.

“Done.” The senior seamstress announces and you snap out of your thoughts.

“Turn around,” the designer orders you. “Perfect. Now the other one, thank you.”

As they fix the hem and who knows what else of another dress on you, your mind drifts to his thicker and longer fingers trailing up your thighs that one movie night. How his hands parted you as you keen and arch under his touch. It’s funny, how one moment you were doubting him, and the next you thought nothing has ever made as much sense as you two together. His lips peppering you with kisses in return, and you beckoning him closer and closer with each one. You grabbing his hair at one particular ravenous kiss, him involuntarily bucking between your legs at your gasp. He told you he wanted to do this since that very first day but he wanted to do right by you and take you out properly first. You were right about one thing - he’s a generous lover, and you haven’t even gone past second base yet. He took his time getting you all hot and bothered, “proving” that he wasn’t just bullshitting you.

But you know men. You’ve been hurt before. They’d say anything to get what they want, and you’re a bit inclined to believe Javi is not that different, as much as you desperately need him too. You know it’s best to not rush into things, as skillful as he and his hands are… and his voice…

And before all that you have to talk to him. On the way from the cottage you thought about what Ava said. All things considered, and as much as you hate to admit it, she’s right, and you shared that concern too that night. Óscar brought you here and to do this behind his back would hurt him. Technically, nothing serious happened, but if Óscar found out about that night or even the night of his friend’s party… you don’t even dare imagine it.

✧✧

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine,” you tell him with a sigh, but it’s more for you trying to convince yourself. Two hours have been spent on choosing the right outfit and even better underwear when he calls to tell you about a sudden meeting he has to have with some studio executives.

“It could be huge. I’m talking about a major deal for me and Óscar.”

“Yeah, I said it’s fine.”

“You don’t sound fine, baby.”

“I’m a little sad about it and I’m already dressed, so I’m just gonna find some friends to go out with. What time will you be done?”

“What are you wearing?” His voice drops an octave.

“Something pretty.” You haven’t actually put on the dress you’ve chosen but you have a feeling he’s more interested in what you’re wearing underneath it.

“Tease,” he tsk’s.

“You deserve it.” You say as a matter-of-fact.

“Agree. I promise to make it up to you. Tomorrow.”

“Promises, promises…” you tut.

“I’ll make it worth it.”

“Yeah? What do you have in mind?”

“Something dirty.”

You laugh. “Tease!”

✧✧

It’s already past midnight when the meeting is finally over. It didn’t go as well as he’d hoped. He had risked disappointing you to woo other people instead to expand his production company. He was hoping to bring in a few experienced people in the industry to help him, but alas, their creative differences are too vast. Óscar immediately leaves to go home to his family but Javi decides to stay for something a little stronger than the vintage wines he bought for the table. He glances at the crowded outdoor area to find an empty seat when he sees you in the middle of the room. What are the odds? He wants to make a straight line to you, but decides against it... you deserve a nice night out he robbed you of. He’s not going to interrupt you lest you think he wants you available to him at all times at his convenience. He’s about to turn around and find a place inside when he feels long acrylic nails gripping his arm.

“Heyyyy,” a slurred voice greets him as her pointed edges dig into his bicep.

“Hi.” He replies curtly, shrugging her touch off of him. He hates to sound like a douchebag, but doesn’t this place have a rule against bothering other guests?

✧

You see your friend Anya walking – no, stomping – towards you, almost slamming straight into a waiter.

“Bitch, Javi fucking Gutierrez is here!” she screams. “Shouldn’t you know?” She challenges you smugly.

You’re too confused to come up with a snarky response. Javi? He’s not in a meeting?

“Where?!” One of her friends asks.

“Inside! Anyway, he was sooooo flirty and he asked me for my number. He was looking down at my dress too. I told you my tits look nice.”

You roll your eyes discreetly at her obvious attempt at fishing for compliments – you’re used to it. While her friends start bombarding her with questions, you excuse yourself from the table to find him. If he was really here. Javi didn’t say anything about being here. Is he here for you? Impossible, you didn’t tell him where you were going. You walk past the numerous themed rooms and finally find him at the quieter bar upstairs.

He’s already looking at you walking towards him, the mischievous glint in his eyes more apparent the closer you get to him, as if he sensed your presence before you even made yourself seen. His hair is slicked back messily and he’s taken off his suit jacket, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, a fresh glass of top shelf whiskey halfway done between his fingers.

“You look familiar,” you say once you seat yourself next to him.

“Mmm. You too, gorgeous. Reminds me of my girlfriend,” he plays along. Girlfriend? Oh, he’s bold.

“Girlfriend? Let’s hope she won’t hear about you asking another girl out.”

“You?” He winks.

“White dress, heavy eye makeup? That was my friend. I didn’t buy for one second that you asked for her number. Did you?”

“No,” he says, pointing to a damp ball of tissue he’d used to wipe the dew off his fingers. “She wrote hers down and shoved it to me. And I think I have scratches on my arms.”

“And I take it you didn’t look down her top either?”

“No,” he puts his hands up. “Her necklace looks familiar, though. Yours?”

“Good eye.”

“It looked better on you,” he smiles. “Honestly, I didn’t even think about looking at hers. There’s a better pair waiting for me at home.”

“Uh huh. How would you know?”

“‘Cause every inch of you I’ve seen already turns me on,” he whispers in your ear. “Fuck babe, what are you wearing?”

You slightly turn your back to face him and get your hair out of the way, giving him a full view of the elaborate thin straps of your almost backless silk dress. He reaches and takes one in between his fingers.

“Think if I tug this it’ll take the whole thing off? Fuck me.”

“Better keep your promise tomorrow then,” you purr.

“Let’s go now. You didn’t drink, right?”

“No, just water.”

“That’s great. Proud of you, baby.”

“I can’t bail, though. They think I’m in the bathroom and if I don’t come back they’re gonna wonder and Anya’s gonna ask questions. I don’t want that drama right now. And, they’re not even my friends for me to trust.”

“When you said you were going out with friends I thought you meant with… what do you call them? Belgravia Blondes?”

“Yeah.” You like that he remembers the name you gave for the three very blonde and bougie group of friends that includes Elise, your co-star. “I was going shopping with them. Then as we were leaving, Anya called me to say that she was in Harrods too, and–”

“Harrods?!” He balks. You’re usually the one to avoid huge crowds.

“Poppy needed something! To be fair she took us to the private rooms but anyway, I shouldn’t have posted anything, because Anya saw my story and demanded that we meet up, and… here we are.”

Javi thought that you didn’t look like you were fully enjoying yourself and now it’s obvious why. “And where are the blondes?”

“Left as soon as they got us in.” There were too many of Anya’s friends to get in only by your membership. It wasn’t even your idea to bring them here, it was hers and she put you on the spot in front of them. Elise, the actual famous person in the group, had a ‘nice girl’ reputation to uphold too, so she had to go along with it lest being called a rude snob. They bailed as soon as they finished their first round of drinks but not without swarming your texts with apologies.

“We should leave too. You make up some excuse for them while I finish my drink. Driver’s outside.”

“Oh, did you know I was here?”

“No. I had the meeting upstairs, at Matteo’s. I thought I’d pick you up first thing tomorrow morning and then we’d spend the day eating and sleeping.” He winks at you, his innuendo clear.

You bite your lip. “How did it go?

Javi shrugs. “It didn’t work out. Doesn’t matter.”

“Javi, I’m sorry…” You put your hand over his, and he takes yours to grasp it in comfort. It doesn’t last long because you drop his hand, cautious of the people around you. Nothing would leak anywhere because privacy is prioritized here, but being careful is never wrong.

“You never mentioned your friend was in town.” Javi changes the subject.

“I didn’t know.”

“It doesn’t look like you want her to be here either.”

“I mean… yeah, not really.” You feel bad saying it, but it’s true. You’re not a very social person to begin with, and being with Anya and her massive personality and her equally loud friends takes a toll on you fast. You’ve been friends with her for years because most of it is long distance, through text, and you could live with that. Great in small amounts, you once told Javi about several people you know. Plus, her friends are strangers to you, so you’re a lone wolf. You don’t quite vibe with their show off-ness either.

“Alright, so, let’s go.” Javi finishes his drink in one swift gulp. “Make your excuses, I’ll text you when to come out.”

“Okay,” you nod. “Wait for me.”

✧

You wait and wait and wait back at your table and you find out that Anya had promised her friends that you’d give them a tour of Óscar’s set. You never even brought that up. Fueled by annoyance, you promptly announce that you’re going to the bathroom again and that you’re leaving soon and they couldn’t stay if you’re not with them – club rules. Fifteen minutes pass and you come back to everyone gone, only Anya returning from smoking outside. Before you know it, another 15 minutes has passed and there’s still nothing from Javi. Twenty minutes later when she’s left too, you’re still waiting for him by the entryway.

“May I help you, Miss? Are you looking for a cab?” The doorman who’s been watching you pace around asks.

“No, I’m waiting for a friend. Actually, have you seen him? Tall, curly hair, mustache, green-ish suit?”

“If you’re referring to Mr. Gutierrez, I’m afraid he already left, Miss.”

“Yeah, are you sure? That was him?”

“Yes, Miss.”

“When?”

“Around thirty minutes ago.”

You barely register your surroundings as your ears ring and your breathing picks up. “Okay. Thank you.”

“Anytime, Miss. Have a good night. Do you need the cab?”

He stood you up.

How silly of you to think he takes you seriously.

✧✧✧

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handsomelyhiddleston · 3 years

Text

Smitten - Tom Hiddleston x Curvy Reader

Filming sex scenes wasn’t the easiest task. There are weird nude undergarments or socks or tape or sometimes just a nude co-star…With Tom, though? There were nerves and feelings and a deep down hope that he couldn’t tell that you were incredibly turned on as he mimed fucking you twelve ways to Sunday.

“Cut! That’s a wrap on today. Great work guys!” the director called.

Tom collapsed onto your chest, laughing as the tension left his body. “These never get easier.”

“I don’t know” you teased, playing with his hair as everyone left the set so you two could leave the bed with some of your dignity. “It’s a lot easier with you.”

Tom held himself up on his elbows. “Don’t tell me your past romantic co-stars have been less than gentlemanly.”

“Not all of them.” You shrugged. Being a ‘larger than the Hollywood standard’ actress had put you in some…not very flattering roles in the start of your career. Sure, now you were the romantic lead with a conventionally attractive male actor, but lets just say you’ve dealt with a lot to get here.

“Well, I hope you know you deserved better.” Tom kissed the back of one of your hands, rolling off of you.

“Coming from you, I may actually believe it.” You laughed, gathering the sheet around you as you left the bed, grabbed your robe, and started walking towards your trailer.

The two of you filmed the movie…Where you’d usually fall asleep in one of your two trailers watching other movies…

The two of you attended interviews…Where Tom would almost always defer to you and even stuck up for you when a few interviewers were borderline sexist or would comment on your appearance…

The two of you even walked a few red carpets together…Tom’s hand always placed at your middle or on your hip or in one of your hands...

He invited you out to eat with him before or after any shindig the two of you went to…

He’d walk you to your hotel rooms with kisses left on your cheeks…

He’d even tried to convince you to spend the week before the premiere in London with him…

In your mind, Tom was just too nice. He was nice to everybody. It all seemed very friendly…Until…

You hadn’t been watching the interviews as they’d been posted. Some interviews you did together with Tom and others you’d been split up and put with other actors from the movie.

Your phone pinged…

*best friend* - HAVE YOU SEEN TOM ON FALLON?!?

Before you could reply, your phone started blowing up.

You scrolled through the texts until you saw Tom’s

Tom – Darling, I hope you know how much you mean to me. Regardless of what your answer is, I’d never want to lose your friendship. It’s not every day you get to work with one so incredibly kind and thoughtful and talented and beautiful and…every moment I’ve spent with you has been a privilege. Please put me out of my misery and let me know you’ll at least let me see you again.

“What the fuck?” you asked yourself, opening your laptop and googling “Tom Hiddleston and Jimmy Fallon”

You saw that the Fallon YouTube channel had just posted Tom’s segment of tonight’s episode…

“How are you doing, buddy?” Fallon asked, pulling Tom into a tight hug.

“I’m doing incredibly well at the moment, actually.” Tom answered, sharing that the movie you two had filmed together had done extremely well on its opening weekend just a few days earlier.

“I know! It was amazing. I’ve seen it twice!” Fallon replied, always enthusiastic.

“I’m so glad you liked it. Y/n is incredible, right?” Tom turned to the audience, loving that they cheered when he brought you up.

“Oh my god, you two are so good together. I kind of thought maybe you two were…you know…” Fallon waggled his eyebrows suggestively.

Tom threw his head back laughing, fidgeting with his tie and avoiding looking into the audience.

“Come on, you can’t tell me you two don’t have SOME sort of real chemistry. I saw the movie.” Fallon gave Tom a look like *Don’t lie*

“Well, perhaps we’re just incredible actors and you’re simply complimenting our craft.” Tom shrugged, trying to look anywhere but at Jimmy.

“Well, yes. The acting in the movie is amazing, but I don’t think that accounts for this.” Jimmy turned and pointed to the screen. It was a series of clips pulled from Tom’s interviews where all he did was gush about you.

“I missed being home, but it’s hard for anyone to stay upset when they’re around Y/n. She just lifts the mood in any room she’s in. You could say she makes anywhere feel a bit like home.” Tom had answered when a woman asked him if it was hard being on site away from home for 5 months.

When another interviewer asked Tom what his favorite line in the movie was, he answered, quoting one of your lines. “When she delivered it for the first time, it kind of took my breath away. I felt very unprofessional. I had to apologize and ask to start over. I couldn’t remember what I was supposed to say next. She tends to have that effect on me.” Tom laughed, a slight blush on his cheeks.

The final clip was one of an interviewer simply asking Tom how his day had gone. “I feel all out of sorts, if I’m being honest. Y/n isn’t here today because she woke up not feeling the best and with Covid still being an issue, she didn’t want to risk getting anyone else sick.” Tom answered with a sad smile on his face. When the interviewer shared that they hoped you would be okay and feel better soon, Tom answered with “I’ll make sure to pass on your sentiments when I bring her food later on.”

“COME ON!” Fallon laughed, throwing his arms up.

“I know, I know. I’m not very good at hiding how I feel, I guess.” Tom admitted, leaning back against the couch and laying his arm across the top. The crowd went wild.

“So, you admit it! Are you two together?!” Fallon asked, sitting on the edge of his seat.

“Unfortunately, not.” Tom answered, ducking his head as his cheeks flushed.

“Why?!” Jimmy asked. “You’re clearly smitten!”

“Hey, it’s not my fault!” Tom rebutted, looking to the audience for support. “I’ve tried!”

“Aww, now I feel bad for bringing it up.” Fallon chuckled and looked at the audience as they collectively ‘aww’ed. “How could anyone turn down this?!” He gestured towards Tom as the audience cheered.

“Well, if I’m to be completely honest I guess I haven’t actually TOLD her how I feel.” Tom confessed.

“Wait, what do you mean?” Jimmy paused.

“Well, I thought she’d catch on. I assume she has.” Tom laughed, fidgeting in his seat. “I’m pretty sure everyone else that knows the two of us can tell I’ve fallen completely head over heels for her.”

“Tom, Tom, Tom.” Jimmy shook his head.

“What?” Tom asked, nervous about what the answer would be.

“I’m sorry to have to tell you this, but I think you may just be horrible at flirting.” Fallon said with a straight face, the audience busting up laughing after.

“Do you think?” Tom replied, eyes gone wide in exaggerated surprise.

“I mean, I think you’re just so nice.” Jimmy laughed, trying to stay serious…“that everyone thinks you’re flirting with them…Which means, when you’re trying to flirt it just blends in.”

“Well, how would you suggest I stand out then?” Tom asked, putting his elbow on his knee and leaning his chin on his fist like he was really paying attention.

“I mean…” Fallon slowly pointed towards the camera. “You gotta shoot your shot, right?”

The audience went wild at the suggestion. “Oh, dear.”

“I can scrap this and we can just talk about the movie.” Jimmy offered, making sure Tom knew that none of this had to go on the air.

“I mean, if it’s truly that obvious to everyone what have I got to lose, right?” Tom answered.

“That’s what we like to hear!” Jimmy cheered with the audience.

“Well…Y/n.” Tom paused, a soft smile on his face. “I don’t quite know where to start. I feel as though I may have been remiss by not just telling you how I feel. The consequence of such is that now I’m doing it in front of all of these people *gestures to the audience*…and I’m sure you’re laughing at how red I’ve gone and how flustered I am so I’m going to get to the point. Darling, you’re an incredible woman. I could list a million reasons why, but hopefully later you’ll give me the time to tell you them in person. What I really want to tell you now is that you make me happy. You inspire me. You make me want to be the best version of myself and you even make me believe I can achieve it. I’d be honored if you’d give me a chance.”

Fallon had tears in his eyes and most of the audience did, as well. “I…That was so beautiful. I think we need to go to a commercial break.” He was all choked up and stood to give Tom a hug.

You pulled up Tom’s text, your fingers hovering over the keyboard. “Are you still in New York?” you text him. The two of you were there for interviews. You were even staying in the same hotel.

“I am.” He text back, but the ‘typing’ bubble stayed. “Did you watch it?”

“I did.” You answered. “Come over?”

You saw the ‘typing’ bubble pop up and then disappear a few times. Instead of a text, you heard a knock at your hotel door.

“So?” Tom asked when you opened the door. He looked nervous, a look you didn’t often see from him. He had his glasses on and his hair was an adorable mess. He was even already dressed in his night clothes.

You didn’t answer. Instead, you stepped forward and placed your hands on each side of his face, pulling his lips gently to yours. He quickly reciprocated, his hands finding your hips as he walked you backwards into your hotel room.

“And to think, I could have been doing that for a whole year already.” You teased him, connecting your lips again.

“Don’t worry, my sweet.” Tom answered, pressing kisses across your cheek and down your neck. His lips paused at the shell of your ear and his voice dropped. “It just means we’ve got a lot of catching up to do.”

#Tom hiddleston #Tom Hiddleston x reader #Tom Hiddleston imagine #curvy #loki

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ptergwen · 3 years

Text

from one kid to another

w/c: 6.0k

warnings: mentions of drinking, lots of swearing, implied smut, and angst at times

summary: it was a mistake, a beautiful one that you didn’t make on your own

a/n: this genuinely is my favorite thing i’ve ever written :,) i say that a lot but this time i mean it, it’s really special i think and i so so so hope y’all do too <3 enjoy my loves

there’s only one thing in life that testing positive for is actually positive.

depending on the situation, obviously. yours isn’t ideal, or planned or a blessing or whatever people say. it’s a gigantic mistake that you didn’t realize you made until a minute ago.

you’d noticed something was wrong when your time of the month came and all you experienced was the symptoms. cramps, cravings, everything except your actual period. as everyone is pretty much taught to do, you ran to the closest drug store for a pregnancy test. what the hell else could it be? you messed around a few weeks ago, so there’s a possibility.

your heart felt like it was going to explode out of your chest the whole time you waited for the results. you’d thought of calling tom over for support, but there are a couple of reasons why you couldn’t do that. you realized you made the right decision when your timer for the test went off.

two red lines. you’re pregnant. you’re pregnant, and your best fucking friend is the father.

where do you go from here?

the test falls from your hand and hits the floor with a mocking clank. you slide down until your back is against the bathtub. well, you’re fucked. what an ironic word choice.

the fact that you aren’t ready in the slightest to be a parent when you’re still growing up yourself is one thing. it’s another that this could ruin the most important relationship you’ve ever had.

no, tom won’t be mad. he’s never once fought with or even raised his voice at you. in your times of need, he’s been the one to uplift you and kiss your puffy cheeks dry. no matter how he takes this, you know it won’t be out on you. he is half responsible.

but, with how you left things the last time you spoke, you’re not sure you’ll be able to get past it.

tom is alarmingly good at hiding how he truly feels. you always tease him that it’s because he’s a gemini. he’ll come back with shut up, i’m an actor and stick his nose in the air to give you the full image. in all seriousness, it does take a toll on how well he can communicate.

you’ve seen it in small ways, like when he brings you along for press days and uses unenthusiastic smiles to cover up his yawns. how he’ll be polite in a conversation with people he’d rather not speak to, then mumble about it once you’re home. he tries to put forward the “appealing” parts of himself even though he’s more than them.

tom’s biggest communication issue is that he’s been in love with you since year nine and hasn’t said a word about it. you’ve yet to figure that one out.

you two became friends while tom was starring in billy elliot. his schedule was so scattered between shows and school, so he struggled to balance both. he often had to stay late for extra help on the lessons. you’d also been there a few times. you worked better in the classroom, and he was grateful he didn’t have to be alone with the teacher.

most kids made fun of tom for his interest in theater, to his face and behind his back. not you. you thought it was just incredible that someone in your own classes worked at the west end. you’d told him on your way home one night.

he’d heard you before he saw you. “you’re tom, right?” you asked from behind him, the two of you making your way through the hall. the question sounded friendly, and it wasn’t every day kids were nice to him. tom stopped walking so you could catch up. “yes, and you are?” you gave him a small smile, books clutched to your chest. he instantly returned it.

“y/n. i heard you’re in billy elliot?” you laughed at your understatement, then corrected yourself. “that you are billy elliot, i mean. that’s so cool.” “oh, i am. thank you,” he chuckled back, a full grin taking over his face. you were both walking again, you by tom’s side. “i was hoping to come see you soon.” your voice got quieter as you told him, like you were nervous.

tom never had much luck with girls, not at this point in his life. this was an opportunity to change that. at the very least, to make a new friend. he offered something you said yes to without a beat of hesitation. “what if i got you the tickets?”

from then on, you began talking during class and not only when it ended. tom really knew how to keep the conversation going, telling story after story that left you laughing so much your teacher would shush you. you’d eventually moved to hangouts at either of your houses. harrison came into the mix at some point, the three of you forming your own group.

the difference between tom and harrison was that while harrison linked with other girls, tom was only interested in you. he’d gotten a crush on you pretty fast, if he was being honest. it might have been your shared sense of humor or the way you said his name.

thomas, when he was being cheeky. tommy, which took the place of a pet name. even regular tom. that might have been his favorite. he loved how it rolled off your tongue. he loved, and still loves, you.

you’d gone to all of tom’s performances you possibly could, the ones for school theater included. you also gave him the push to take his talents to hollywood. tom was afraid he wasn’t cut out for the big screen, that he needed more practice and experience first. you told him that if this was what he wanted to do, he had to start somewhere. why wait?

tom then landed his first movie role in the impossible at the age of fifteen. he’d received tons of praise and almost gotten nominated for an academy award, all because you convinced him to audition. you played a huge part in keeping him grounded when he was between films, and caught him up on whatever schoolwork he’d missed.

you practically zoomed to tom’s house when he was announced as the next spider-man. you’d been constantly refreshing every social media platform marvel was on since tom became a finalist for the part. that process was probably the most difficult experience he’s ever gone through. you’d know, having heard all about it from tom.

the two of you celebrated along with the rest of tom’s family that night. you kept giving him little proud of you squeezes on his shoulder or knee. tom is eternally indebted to you for being the most supportive of everything he does.

he of course sends the support right back. although he went down the movie star path, acting wasn’t for you. you’d gone off to university and studied hard as hell and aced all your shit. tom quizzed you on material whenever you needed. he wanted to help you somehow, and this was all you’d let him do.

he’d offered to pay off your loans and any other expenses necessary because he had the money to do that now. you refused every single time, not trying to become dependent on him. he admired your drive, yet hated it at the same time. everything you’d done for him, it was his turn to be the caretaker. it should’ve been.

whenever tom wrapped filming for the holidays and came back home, you were always preparing for final exams. he kept you company, content with simply being in your presence. you typed away on your keyboard and read over notes until your eyes burned. tom occasionally brought you snacks, tea, asked how you were and what he could do.

sometimes, he would have to cut your study time short. he’d say it wasn’t healthy or you were overdoing it and to come relax with him for a bit. other times, tom let you be. he didn’t want to get in the way of your already stressful assignments. those were the nights you’d fall asleep in front of your laptop. drool on your chin, hunched over at your desk.

tom made sure to tuck you in, press a light kiss to whatever part of your face wasn’t covered in spit, then let himself out. he knew where your spare key was, so he used that. you’d wake up to a “Fell asleep studying again. Rest today x” text the next morning.

when it came time for you to graduate, tom was on the first flight there. it was during another round of reshoots for chaos walking. he respectfully told doug that he’d have to work around his schedule or replace him, which couldn’t be done so late into filming. tom didn’t care that it made him seem like a prick. he was getting to you no matter what he had to do.

he’d earned plenty of stares and whispers from people as he took his seat in the crowd. he was a proper celebrity now, so he expected it. his solution was to ignore everything and chat with your family about how proud they were of you, tom the most. he saw you go from a kid attempting algebra equations to an adult at her uni graduation. you’ve really grown up together.

it was why he teared up hearing them call your name, seeing you beam as you walked across the stage. your mom grabbed his hand and nodded at him, like she could tell exactly what was going through his head.

you ran right up to tom after the ceremony was over, leaping into his arms. he let out a couple of chuckles as he spun you around. “i didn’t think you’d make it,” you’d admitted, happy yet sad tears in your eyes. tom put you down so he could pull you in for a real hug. “i’ll always be wherever you are, y/n,” he said into your ear, rocking you while you gripped at his suit collar.

flash forward to a year later, your career is finally taking off, tom’s is flourishing like it has been for years, and you’re pregnant with his child. you’re trying to recall the series of events that led you to this moment.

you were both drunk, blackout drunk because the only reason you remember sleeping together is that you woke up naked in the same bed. harrison’s bed.

he threw a housewarming party for himself, having recently moved out of tom’s and the other boys’ place. the three of them, sam, and you were all in attendance, along with a lot of others you hadn’t met.

neither you nor tom could figure out where he knew all those people from. he’d clinged to you two for the most part, more so you now with tom usually away. they could have been from work. harrison is breaking into the business himself, small roles here and there. tom actually met him in your school’s theater program, then he introduced him to you, ten years ago already.

sam entertained himself by making concoctions with the snacks harrison set out. harry got together a playlist for the party. harrison and tuwaine struck up a conversation with some of harrison’s actor friends. that left you and tom alone, out of stuff to do, and with one way to fix it.

“drink?” tom had asked you, a smirk playing on his lips. “love one,” you hummed back and set off for the kitchen. the two of you raided harrison’s liquor cabinet, grabbing his biggest bottle of wine. he’d dumbly pointed it out during the house tour he gave you before the other guests arrived.

you were about to search for glasses, but tom’s fingers threaded through yours. he gently tugged you away and nodded behind him. “let’s bring this upstairs. seems much more fun there,” he’d murmured over the music, a grin breaking across your face.

tom is big on clubbing and socializing, however, you aren’t. he comes up with ways to get you out of these events, just in case.

“we can break in harrison’s bed for him,” you said as a completely harmless joke, no intentions of that becoming your reality later on. spoiler alert: it did. “and how are we gonna do that?” tom quirked a suggestive eyebrow and breathed out a laugh as you dragged him towards the stairs. despite yourself, you’d giggled at his words.

not one drink in either of you yet, and you were stumbling and cracking up as you ran upstairs. you’d pulled tom by your still attached hands into what you remembered as harrison’s room. tom shut the door, locked it, saying under his breath that would be a “convenient investment” for him to make as well.

he took out a bottle opener that he must have put in his pocket at some point and got to work on your wine, you getting comfortable on the new mattress. the two of you passed it to the other after every sip, tom licking the taste of your lip gloss off his own lips every so often.

the equivalent of three drinks in, you were making out. both of you were just tipsy at this point, tom holding you by your hips as you lied down, your legs around his waist. god, he could’ve done this sober. he’d dreamed about kissing you, really kissing you since he was fourteen. you’d always felt like you two had something more. ah, there it was.

halfway through the bottle got you past the next two bases, and you were ready for the fourth and ultimate one by the time you shook the last few drops onto the tip of your tongue. tom groaned at the sight of that, drawing your half naked body in closer to his.

you two had forgotten to use protection in each of your drunken states. without a doubt, you both would’ve agreed to a condom had your minds not been everywhere but where they should have.

you’d woken up first the morning after, panic immediately coursing through your veins thicker than blood. a fully nude and sleeping tom had you in his embrace, arms secured around your middle, facing you. you gasped when you made the connection, loudly enough to wake tom up. his long eyelashes tickled your face, a confused pout on his lips. uh... um...

“did we fucking...” you trailed off, no words to describe whatever unfolded. “fuck?” tom finished for you. a very blunt explanation, but true nevertheless. “looks like it,” he rasped, pout changing into a smile. your face fell at the vague memories of how you spent your night.

you definitely wanted to do it. just, he’s your best friend, who’s seen you at your least sexy moments over the years. when you were sick, had breakdowns from stress, you name literally anything, tom was there. it took one bottle of cheap wine for him to forget that?

the real answer was no. tom is entirely in love with you, for a decade at that. you were beginning to discover you feel the same, only you had no idea he already loves you. you’d assumed this was meant to be merely a hookup. from the frown your face held, he’d thought you were regretting it. oh, were you both so wrong.

“um... we don’t have to talk about it,” tom told you halfheartedly, under the impression that’s what you preferred. you physically felt yourself get weaker in tom’s strong arms. he’s not interested. “yeah, that’s probably for the best. i...” you were lying. his heart shrunk, shriveled up inside his chest. she doesn’t love me like that.

“you have to go. aren’t you behind on some emails?” tom hoped you didn’t hear his voice strain from the tears pushing at his eyes. “right. almost forgot, thanks.” you’d plastered on a smile, slipping out of his grasp. a tear rolled down his cheek, so he wiped it away before you noticed. you’d already gotten out of the bed and begun picking your clothes up off the floor.

“i’ll drive you home, then.” he rolled on to his other side, you thought so he could give you privacy to change. it was that, and also because he was crying. he couldn’t hold it in. tom is naturally an emotional person. imagine finding out the love you’ve had almost half your life is unreciprocated. it’s soul crushing.

you two found harrison snoring and on top of tuwaine as you left the house. no silly remarks or shared glances for the first time in ten years. tom couldn’t muster anything up, and you felt numb.

the drive was painful. you’d said your goodbyes after tom pulled up to the curb, which held an odd weight to them. once you were out of the car, a sob wracked through him, banging on the steering wheel and not giving a shit about the loud horn going off. you collapsed face first onto your bed. hours passed by while you stared at nothing and contemplated everything.

since it happened, you haven’t spoken much. small talk over text every few days or so, both of you pretending things are normal for the other’s sake. about a month later, today, is when you found out you’re pregnant.

there’s no use wallowing in any of this. you need to figure out your next move, one that should probably involve tom. first, you want to talk to someone else. you want other opinions and a voice in your head that isn’t your own. harrison gets a text from you saying to come over now, the now in all caps. he does.

you let him in after the second knock, his eyebrows furrowing in concern. however torn you are, you must look it. shirt balled in your fists, lip quivering. he keeps his eyes on yours as he steps inside, pushing the door shut behind him. this is all becoming too real. “y/n, are you okay?”

you’re about to cry in three, two...

“haz, i fucked up,” you choke out, tears unable to stay at bay. he takes you into his arms for a hug. half your face is hidden in his shoulder, hands clutching at his back. he lets you cry it out, holding you until your heavy breathing steadies. “what’s happened?” harrison asks quietly, both of you leaving the hug.

“if- if i tell you, you can’t freak out. you can’t tell anyone else, either,” you instruct, searching his eyes for certainty that he won’t under any circumstances. “i won’t, y/n/n,” he assures you and puts an encouraging hand on your arm. your heart pounding abnormally fast, you spit it out. your first time saying it aloud. “i’m pregnant.”

harrison flinches and doesn’t even try to conceal it. he takes his hand off of you, worry swimming across his features. he blinks at you, unsure of what to say. you’d react the same way, maybe worse, so you don’t blame him. a discussion you, him, and tom had a couple years back replays in his mind.

the three of you were talking about your futures, seeing as you were close to living them. when tom asked you two where you stood on having your own families, you didn’t hesitate to answer. “nope, the factory is closed for a long ass time.” until you were in your thirties, you aimed to focus on yourself. harrison distinctly remembered because of how you phrased it.

“you’re... you... wow,” is all he replies with. you head over to the couch, more tears welling up in your eyes. do the pregnancy hormones act up this early? harrison follows you over and sits down next to you with an awkward clearing of his throat. “do you want to be pregnant?” he has to ask because he’s not sure if he should congratulate you or what.

“i don’t know,” you answer honestly, voice airy. your eyes are fixed on the wall in front of you. you haven’t given yourself time to think about it. there are so many reasons you don’t, and a single one you do. “do you, um, know who the dad is?” harrison glances over at you. “yeah.” your voice cracks. you’re both afraid for him to ask what he does next.

he shifts so he’s sitting up. “can i know?” a sniffle passing through you, you finally look at him. “it’s tom,” you say it before you lose the nerve to. harrison’s face doesn’t change this time. he isn’t surprised you and tom went there. he’d seen your friendship growing into more the older you all got. what he can’t believe is where it took you.

his best friend pregnant, and his other best friend responsible for it.

“when did you...” “at your party,” you explain, bringing your legs up so they’re criss cross on the couch. “i thought you were gone a little too long.” he says that to try cheering you up. you appreciate the effort, but it doesn’t work. you’re not in a joking mood. he’ll stick to the main issue. “so, have you told him?”

“clearly not,” you scoff, not at him but at what you two have gotten yourselves into. “y/n... i think you should tell him,” harrison sighs out, then adds, “whether you keep it or not.” “why? that would ruin everything, it already has.” you’re getting angry now, which plunges you into angry crying, voice unsteady as you go on.

“the last time i saw tom was that night, and i guess it meant more to me than it did to him because we haven’t talked about it at all. he didn’t want to.” you swipe the back of your hand across your eyes, gaze stern compared to harrison’s soft one.

he drapes an arm around your shoulders, you curling into him with another sniffle. he doesn’t say anything for a minute, then he tries again. “i know you, y/n, and i know tom. you’ll kill yourselves not talking about this.” he’s right, no shit he is. avoiding telling tom how you feel, and your pregnancy on top of that, it’s eating you up inside. it’s swallowing you whole.

“what if he doesn’t want to be a dad? or- or i’m a shit mum?” you croak out, your doubts getting the best of you. “i can barely take care of myself. what am i supposed to do with a baby?” you’re leaning forward with your hands pressing into your temples. harrison’s hand moves to your upper back. “i- i don’t think i should have them. i... we can’t,” you conclude.

“tom loves kids,” he gives you a gentle reminder. “why would his own be the exception?” another good point, yet you still have rebuttles. “right, he’s a godfather and he’s really good with them and all that, but i’m not the right person, and it’s a terrible time,” you tell him all at once, in a rush to get your words out before harrison’s sway you.

“he’s never around, i’m doing my own stuff. we’re not meant for this.” you lift your head out of your hands and sit back on the couch. harrison returns his hands to his lap. he’s frowning at you, which you see from the corner of your eye. “i’m not going to force you to have the baby. just saying you have options.”

yeah, really shitty ones.

“either way, talk to tom.” harrison says this more like a demand so you’ll take his advice into actual consideration. “at least about the hookup.” your teeth sink into your lower lip, eyes watering for the nth time already.

you have no choice because he’s right again. you’ll never move on from what happened unless you and tom address it.

the next morning, you do what harrison told you to and invite tom over. he replied saying he was on his way maybe a minute later. he’s nervous to see you because yeah, but more so looking forward since it’s been so long. you’re so nauseous you barely have room for nerves. it’s morning sickness with a hint anxiety.

it feels almost normal when he first gets here, no how’ve you been and what are you up to these days? being as close as you and tom are, you’re not capable of such a dry conversation. personally, you still feel uneasy while he recounts a golfing incident him and harry got into the other day. you know something he doesn’t.

“when i tell you we flew, we flew,” tom makes a pushing forward motion with both hands. “right into the tree. i think harry, like, dented part of his face.” he lets out a breathy laugh, you forcing out one of your own. you’d be more interested without the fact that you’re expecting a child, his child, at the back of your mind.

tom exhales, shifting to face you on your couch. it’s funny how different things were when you and harrison sat in these same spots yesterday. so much has and is about to change.

“they had to send another golf cart to come get us. it was wild.” “it sounds wild,” you hollowly agree. he can tell you’re not too invested in hearing about harry’s terrible driving skills, so he changes the subject. “anyway, harrison told me he came over last night?” your stomach drops, heat coming over your whole body.

“did... did he say why?” you murmur with a look of urgency in your eyes. tom shrugs a shoulder, and casually. there’s no way he knows. “no, was he supposed to?” his tone stays playful, which you can thankfully tell. that puts you more at ease. “no. no, never mind. i would’ve asked you to come, but...” you’re searching through your catalog of excuses.

thank god tom says something else because you can’t find a good one. “it’s alright. i actually, um, had a work call.” a small smile spreads across his face, a proud one. intrigued, you raise both eyebrows. “what’d you talk about?” tom twiddles with his fingers in his lap. “i’ve been offered an audition for this really amazing film. everything works out, it’ll be huge for me.”

you’re smiling back this time, putting a hand over one of his. “woah, that’s incredible. i’m so happy for you, tom.” you lock your fingers with his from the back of his hand. he looks down at them, humbly shaking his head. “when is it?” “a few weeks from today. it films in brazil...”

oh. you can’t tell him now. it’s not worth him missing out on a milestone in his career for a baby you’re not sure you should have. that would be so unfair of you to ask. what are you going to do, not support his dreams for the first time in a literal decade? and, you’d call yourself his best friend through it all?

you guess this also means the way you feel about tom is one sided. he’s okay with leaving you after the most intimate moment you two have ever shared. you’ll dance around it the rest of your lives. better yet, act like the night never even happened. that’s not so easy to do when you’ve got a permanent reminder of it.

the thought makes you sick to your stomach. so sick, you could...

while tom is talking more about what the audition entails, you suddenly bolt up from the couch. you run for the bathroom, a hand cupped over your mouth. his face twists up in confusion from your disappearance. tom calls, “y/n/n?” out to you, but you can’t respond because your head is in the toilet. he rushes in when he hears you retching.

he gets onto the floor with you. you’re bent over, puking your guts out, back in another place where your life changed forever less than twenty four hours ago. tom pulls your hair out of your face and into a makeshift ponytail with one hand, his other on your back. that’s all you have in you. you stay over the toilet just to be sure.

saliva drips from your mouth, making you cough roughly, the sound echoing. tom moves so he’s next to you, keeping his hand in your hair and not caring one bit about the smell because he loves you and he’s utterly concerned about what he witnessed.

“love, are you sick?” he coos, searching for your eyes. they water from the intensity of everything. “morning sickness,” you answer without thinking first. shit. shit, shit, shit. it came out of you like more vomit, word vomit. there’s no going back now.

tom lets go of your hair with his eyes still on yours. his hand on your back then leaves you, fingers trailing down your body as they go. “morning sickness,” he repeats, putting it together. “you’re pregnant?” guilt taking over your features, you sit across from tom. you’re once again leaning against the bathtub, him against the counter.

“this isn’t how i wanted you to find out,” you admit and bring your knees up to your chest. “i took a test yesterday. it was positive.” your arms wrap around your legs, you now tearing up because tom figured it out. a shaky breath passes his lips. “i haven’t gone to my doctor or anything yet, but i-“

“are you keeping the baby?” tom cuts in. not to judge you for your choice, to find out what the fuck is going on before he travels across the world. you tighten your arms around yourself, grabbing your wrist. “i haven’t decided.” he gives you an understanding nod and reaches out for you. you dodge him. he might not want to do that after what you say next.

“tom, i... there’s more,” you whimper out. “yeah. i’m... i’m listening,” tom croaks, unable to hold in his infinite amount of emotions for a multitude of reasons. he’s losing you a second time. more tears spill from your eyes as you break the news, the news that will destroy what he’s been working towards his entire life.

“the baby is yours.” his face relaxes, looking almost relieved when you confess it. “when we slept together, uh,” you’re sure it’s obvious enough that you don’t have to go over the details. he’s tearing up himself. you reluctantly continue. “if you still want to audition, i get it. we don’t have to do this.”

“fuck the audition. fuck the whole movie. all of my movies, really,” tom surprises you by blurting out. he moves in until your legs are touching. “i’m staying. even if you don’t have the baby, i have to be here.” you watch in disbelief as he wipes away what are actually happy tears. “really? i was scared you’d resent me for it, or hate me even,” you mumble to him.

“y/n, what? why would i ever do that?” tom places a hand on your cheek, touch gentle and filled with love. you part your legs so he can be closer to you. he takes the space between them, thumb brushing over your skin. “i didn’t think you’d want to deal with all of this. i thought that night was only a hookup for you.” your voice wobbles under his gaze.

“no, are you kidding? i thought that’s what you thought.” he’s smiling now, eyes twinkling along with it. what he’s been meaning to tell you since you were only kids finally comes out. “i’ve loved you as long as i’ve known you, y/n. i always imagined myself doing this with you.” his words draw a quiet laugh from you, a happy one. “i know we were drunk, but i meant it all.”

the sincerity in his voice, the warmth in his eyes, they make you cry all over again. you’re getting used to it.

“i love you, tom,” you lean into him with a sniffle and a grin, his forehead now resting on yours, using his thumb to catch one of your tears. “i really do.” “i love you forever. i always have,” tom speaks lowly, breath fanning across your face. your hands grab at his shoulders. “so, you’ll stay? you’ll do this with me?” he reminds you of what he said before, this time a promise.

“forever.”

you ended up having the baby, and tom held your hand through the entire labor. nikki was holding his other hand, your mom holding your other hand. harrison had originally been in the room as well. when you started to push, he got freaked out and had to leave. your support system remained strong either way.

despite his repulsion of your daughter’s birth, you and tom decided to make harrison her godfather. he eventually became the godfather of your other two children also, which you had a few years later.

tom took a paternity leave from the industry so he could be with you and jamie. he’d also used his time off to propose to you, something else he fantasized about since year eleven in school. it wasn’t anything too grand because the whole world was already buzzing about you two, and a big gesture felt too impersonal with everything you’d been through together.

he did it in the form of passing a note, something you often did in class to avoid being scolded by your teacher for talking. the note came with a pencil to check off either the yes or no box, “will you marry me?” written above them. anyone else would have found it so unromantic, but you giggled as you checked off yes before your lips crashed into his smiling ones.

you were married shortly after the proposal, jamie as your flower girl and all your friends and family in attendance.

to do what he loved and stay with the people he loved, tom created his own version of hollywood in london. he took it upon himself to assemble a team and make a production company. harry behind the camera, harrison and tuwaine in the films, and tom either starring alongside them or directing. they give so many young actors tons of opportunities.

you eventually went back to work, too. it was like you’d never left, coworkers offering endless hugs and going over what you missed, not that you struggled getting into it. tom was there to celebrate every promotion, every compliment from your boss, every part of your life. jamie was also there, then liam and lucy.

all three of them are running around the house right now, putting on shoes and collecting their supplies for school. you take a sip of the orange juice liam didn’t finish with a lighthearted eye roll. tom chuckles as he passes you in the kitchen, getting the kids’ lunchboxes for them to minimize the chaos.

“you have that pitch meeting today, right?” he slips his hands through the lunchbox handles and walks over to you. “mhm,” you hum, mouth full with juice. his lips press to your temple, giving your waist a one handed squeeze. “you’ll smash it. always do.” “thanks, tommy.” putting down the cup, you reach up to button whatever parts of his shirt he didn’t have time to.

“aren’t you doing a casting? for the new script they sent?” you wonder aloud and smooth down the cotton material. “me and harry. should be interesting,” he remarks, you giving him a quick kiss back on his chin. they tend to have their artistic differences. “good luck with that. you do drop off, i’ll do pick up?” you pat one of the lunchboxes around his arms.

“deal.” tom goes in for a kiss on your lips, then a chorus of dad, we have to go led by jamie rings through the house. with a knowing smile, you push at his chest. “see you later. love you.” “love you, holland,” he bites back a grin of his own. his last name, now yours, suits you perfectly.

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theolsentimes · 3 years

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Mary-Kate Olsen's Singular Style

She came to fame as a twin, but the actress's cultish look is entirely her own. Here, with Lauren Hutton, she pays homage to another fashion inspiration, Grey Gardens. Written by Laura Brown, with photography by Peter Lindbergh (Harper's Bazaar, 2007)

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Mary-Kate Olsen may be the only young actress who breezes into her local Starbucks wearing towering, fashion-fierce Balenciaga boots, who arrives at her latest premiere (in Mary-Kate's case, for the new season of Showtime's Weeds, in which she plays a devout Christian with a pot fetish) sporting an oversize cross, and whose favorite band is Led Zeppelin. She may, in fact, be the only young actress who knows who Led Zeppelin is. MK, as she is known to her friends and family, is also a punctual and professional sort. She arrives for a poolside tea in Los Angeles 10 minutes early, ordering a hot chocolate while explaining her fetish for all things sweet — "I'm a candy girl, like Tootsie Rolls and Swedish Fish" — and objecting when the waiter tries to take the sugar bowl away. She is wearing a nautical striped T-shirt (her mom's, from the '70s), tucked into two black Wolford slips rolled down and turned into a tight, Robert-Palmer-video-style mini, and multicolored sparkly Christian Louboutin stilettos. She's just had her hair colored, returning to a sunnier shade after some experiments with both peroxide ("I woke up one morning and was like, I want white-trash hair today") and the dark side (an auburn-haired near-Goth moment last year). She's carrying a large black fringed leather Prada tote — she doesn't do small bags — and her fingers are covered with rings, most notably two vintage coiled gold snakes stacked on top of each other. ("They remind me of twins, sort of double headed.") Altogether, the effect is less her famed "bag-lady chic" than an edgy, body-conscious, and, yes, sexy silhouette. If she weren't 21, she could be 40. And French.

Few people need reminding that Mary-Kate — with her twin sister, Ashley — literally crawled into celebrity aged nine months (courtesy of Full House) and has not been out of the spotlight ever since. She has been a celebrity for more than two decades. Perhaps that's one reason she seems as if she came out of the womb worldly, the textbook old soul. "Yeah," she says with a small shrug. "I get that a lot." With all of that attention and all of the money (her and Ashley's company, Dualstar, has famously become a "billion-dollar business"), Mary-Kate could easily have ended up the type who wears pink terry cloth and carries a variety of small dogs. "Could you imagine?" she says with the politest version of a snort. "No way." She credits her exceptionally close-knit family (she has five siblings) and, interestingly, early stardom with helping her keep her perspective. "I think it helped that I started in front of the camera, so it didn't come as a shock. If I was a teenager and was thrown into the spotlight, I don't know how I would react, to be honest." Though the tabloids are all too keen to brand her a skinny, nervous deer in the headlights, in person Mary-Kate is easy in her skin, confident and surprisingly tactile, curling up in her seat and touching you on the arm to make a point. She laments the generic style of most actresses and cites only men as style inspirations: "Heath Ledger, Johnny Depp. Men, they just dress the way they want, and they don't think about Who Wore It Best." She doesn't much care for Who Wore It Best, noting she avoids those pages by "wearing vintage so often. I just dress the way I feel instead of looking for what's the new handbag." If Mary-Kate and Ashley have their way, more people will be wearing clothes and carrying bags the way they do. They have just shown the fifth collection of their ready-to-wear line, the Row, and recently launched a contemporary label, Elizabeth and James, named after a sister and a brother. The Row's holiday collection (in stores next month) is a slick mix of skinny leather pants, razor-cut blazers, butter-soft, slouchy tees, and a destined-to-be-cultish pullover fur. Lauren Hutton, who stars in the Row's Spring '08 look book, says, "The clothes are extraordinary. A man I was with just loved them. The pieces are just so genius, soft like a baby's skin. Simple minimalist stuff, but really spectacular." Mary-Kate, designer, faces an interesting challenge. She has to marry Dualstar — which has made its fortune selling tween-tastic DVDs and pastel Mary-Kate and Ashley T-shirts at Wal-Mart — with her increasingly edgy and subversive taste. Dualstar executives, some of whom have worked with her since she was a child, often nag her, mom-style, about pulling her hair back "or wearing a color," she says with a laugh. "I had this event recently, and I was like, They're going to be so happy that I'm wearing ... purple. I actually have to think about those things, though, you know, so I don't get trashed." Get trashed sometimes she does. Hutton says, "Once in a while, she'll wear something and I'll think, Oh, baby doll, take another look. But to have the bravery, to take the chance to do that, is pretty wonderful. She is making her own way, which is hardly ever done in Hollywood." Of Mary-Kate's penchant for gigantic Balenciaga heels, Jenji Kohan, the creator of Weeds, says, laughing, "I'd be like, 'It's Tuesday. Do you really want to be wearing those shoes?' But she pulls it off." Designer Giambattista Valli, a friend, says, "She likes to take risks, but because she has such strong personal style, she always manages to make it work. Even if she had nothing on, she'd have style." And MK chic is spreading. "Sometimes I'll look at people or at a magazine and I'll do a double take because I'm like, Oh, my God, that's my outfit, but that's not me," Mary-Kate says. Playing with her wire-rimmed aviators, she jokes wryly that she should have bought shares in Ray-Ban. (She and Chloë Sevigny pretty much brought back white '80s Wayfarers.) She tends to fall in love with a look, then wear it until she's done. "If I put together a good outfit, I'll wear it for three days and then switch it up with a blazer," she says. "I still love my vintage jeans, my tights, and my pants, though." She didn't start wearing heels, in fact, until a couple of years ago: "I kept watching Ashley walk around in them so gracefully, and I'm such a klutz. But I ended up loving heels, and I don't usually take them off." She wears precisely one pair of flat shoes: Chanel's knee-high patent-leather gladiator sandals. This season, it's Balenciaga's fall collection — all of it — that has Mary-Kate obsessed. She is close to designer Nicolas Ghesquière and says, "He is so talented, but he's the nicest, most down-to-earth guy, and that makes everything he does more brilliant. I bought everything, but I haven't got anything yet," she says like a girl impatiently waiting for Christmas. Will she wear the new pieces with her infamous clodhopper boots? "Uh-huh. Wore them the other day, actually." Mary-Kate always goes with her gut, even if some people (back to those tabloids) don't quite get it. "The tabloids say things about me? What do they say?" she asks archly. "People are going to write what they want, and everyone's going to have their own idea of who I am. But I'm not trying to be friends with the people who are reading them, really." After a rough couple of years filled with near-forensic scrutiny of her weight, she'll have you know that she does eat. "This is not going to sound good," she laughs, "but I like making crispy tofu sticks with peanut sauce. I love my sashimi and my salmon and my vegetables." She observes, "Stress plays a big role in how I look day-to-day. I've always been very active — Pilates, yoga. I grew up horseback riding every day for hours. I love dancing. I usually last longer than anyone on the dance floor." A common image of Mary-Kate has her emerging from a coffee joint with an oversize cup. "I always get creamed for having my Starbucks cup," she says, sighing. "But the only time people get photos of me is when I'm getting coffee, when I can't sneak away from the camera." She also resents the pictorial implication that she and Ashley are dilettantes. "They take photos of us going into our offices, and it's 'Mary-Kate and Ashley shopping again.' But I'm going to work for eight hours, and we're working so hard. ..." She trails off. "It just shows how people want to think of you." Mary-Kate is not above celeb watching herself, however. Newly obsessed with Victoria Beckham, she notes she avidly watched Beckham's Coming to America documentary: "She's running around in a bikini and heels, and I'm like, Oh, my God! I do that, too!" How positively Grey Gardens. "I run around my house naked with heels all the time. It's so funny. All my friends will tell you I love running around in kimonos and jewelry or naked with jewelry." More people will be watching Mary-Kate soon, thanks to her role in the Emmy-nominated Weeds. "I am a very good Christian girl," she says with a wink. "She has her moral beliefs — and she happens to smoke pot." Of her newest cast member, Kohan adds, "Mary-Kate is complicated. She's a big celebrity, a huge media icon, but you have to separate the media images from someone who has the same issues, the same desires, as anyone else." Of course, Mary-Kate's image, in all its incarnations — from high fashion to small screen — is her strongest asset. And she has yet to settle on one. "I feel like I've lived 10 different lives already and I'm only 21," she says, almost as a reminder to herself. "But I also feel like I'm entering a new chapter." One thing on which she is clear, though: She doesn't need to be looked at all the time. What would she do for a day if she were invisible? "I would probably go to a restaurant with my friends, who would be able to see me, of course," she adds pragmatically, "and I would sit outside and enjoy a nice lunch with them. Then I would walk down the street." The old soul takes a sip of her little-girl-sweet hot chocolate. "That's what I would do."

#Mary Kate Olsen #mary kate and ashley #Ashley Olsen #harper's bazaar #magazines #articles #photoshoot

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extremelyblackandwhite · 4 years

Text

innocence - 02

PAIRING: bodyguard!bucky barnes x innocent actress!reader

WARNINGS: age gap

A/N: i’m still stunned at how many of you are enjoying this story. thank you so so much for your support. much love xx

NEXT CHAPTER

Bucky always woke up at 5AM and waking up at 5 AM was already considered a victory for him - to sleep through the night. Once the digital clock flashed 5 AM in electric red, his eyes were wide open, the sight of constant darkness being the only thing he could see. His routine was precise, as precise as time itself and it barely changed - gym then a dark cup of coffee followed by reading whatever coffee side table book Steve would linger around.

Y/N, unlike him, didn’t have a precise routine. She enjoyed routine but her mornings were always her own time, away from everything. On her free days she would try to wake up by at least 10. After she was fully awake she would turn on the TV in her bedroom and turn on the kettle for a nice tea. She would then lay in bed, surrounded by her blankets and dressed in an oversized cardigan while some random show played.

Bucky’s mornings were always filled with people coming in and out, that was life living in the Avengers headquarters. Some mornings he thought about moving into the apartment in Brooklyn but that would just upset Steve. Heck, he didn’t even know Bucky had bought the apartment, it had been an impulse buy and he would go there every week to check on it. However, Brooklyn wasn’t as close to Y/N’s in SoHo so he guessed he would stay. Y/N’s mornings on the other hand were quiet, too quiet. It was just her, just her in a two bedroom apartment in the middle of wealthy SoHo.

- Morning, Buck. - Steve, like always, walked into the kitchen, coffee mug saying number one dad in hand. He always had this smile that Bucky couldn’t find the words, a smile that was almost glad that he was still alive yet pitiful. The pure look of someone who’s been burdened, a mother to a child’s look, one she didn’t want. - Excited for guarding your first client?

- Feels more like guarding property. - he mumbled over the dark coffee, chugging it all before anymore questions could be asked.

It shouldn’t be a hard day, he thought to himself, mostly looking after her if she decided to go out for anything. He had looked into her profile, she was an easy target. Almost always wearing heels, flowey clothing, things that wouldn’t help her if someone was after her. Anyway, looked like an easy job, easier than saving the world.

Meanwhile, Y/N was laid in the middle of her covers, remote in hand as she skimmed through the channels. Looking around she noticed the loneliness she was in, the empty walls decorated with her own choosing but still empty. No sounds, too quiet.

She rose from the bed, big socks touching the cedar wood floor as she padded up to the kitchen. The agency had had everything decorated and the fridge stocked but as she opened the door she couldn’t find a single thing she wanted to eat. Disappointed, she closed the fridge, leaning against it to look at the rest of the flat. It was quiet, too quiet, filled with the sounds of quiet if that was even a physically possible thing. She let herself slide down the fridge front, sitting on the floor as she thought about what to do. She didn’t have her script yet, or at least more than two pages of it and going outside was the least thing she wanted to do today.

Y/N was about to fall asleep on the ground against her fridge, she heard footsteps. Quickly, she got onto her feet, rushing over to the door so fast she almost slipped. Pushing the peep hole away she put herself on her tippy toes to see if one of the neighbours was home.

- Y/N, are you staring out the peep hole? - the person whose steps belonged too was definitely better than any neighbour. Quickly, she unlocked the door, pushing the metal that held it shut to the wall and opened it to see Bucky in a much more casual attire than before. Red henley with some loose dark jeans looked better in her opinion. - If you hear someone it’s always a terrible idea to use the peep hole. Almost always let’s them know someone’s in.

- Then what are peep holes for? - Bucky playfully rolled his eyes but not before observing what she was wearing. She looked more comfortable. - Do you wanna come in?

- Miss Olson said I am to wait outside your door until you want to leave the apartment.

- What if someone broke my window and took me?

- Trust me, Y/N. I would know and would win that fight.

- You sure you don’t wanna come in? I could cook you some breakfast. Whatever you like. - she had that shine in her eyes, Bucky couldn’t explain it. He just knew it didn’t felt forced but she surely was nervous judging by the pushing of her oversized cardigan’s sleeve to cover her hand. - The agency filled my fridge with so much food I don’t know what to do with it.

- I’m not a breakfast kind of person, Y/N.

- Breakfast is the most important meal of the day. - her small hand came to rest over his wrist, pulling at it so he would go inside. He found it amusing how someone who was much shorter than him, head barely hitting his collarbones, would try to move him. Although, surprising wasn’t the fact that he moved but the fact that she touched him, she touched the Winter Soldier.

Bucky wasn’t a kid anymore, he wasn’t naive and he lacked Steve’s “all good” view of the world so he knew what people thought of him. They thought he had been of use but at the end of the day he had been the Winter Soldier for 70 years. They didn’t dare touch him but her she was inviting him into her home and touching him as if he were an old friend.

Once he got in, he immediately looked at everything. There were fake flowers everywhere in little glass jars, if they were broken and she were trying to escape she would get hurt, too many windows and not a lot of mirrored surfaces, people could look in.

- Would you like some pancakes? French toast? - her voice interrupted his inspection. - My mom was a cook, I can cook pretty much whatever you want. Can’t promise it will be as good as a cook’s but it’ll be edible.

- You really don’t need to feed me, Y/N. - his gaze returned to her apartment, open doors everywhere.

- I just thought ... since you’re going to be around a while we should be friendly with each other. - she looked down at her feet before looking up again, head slightly looking to the side. - I don’t know anyone in here, I didn’t even pick this apartment so I thought I would at least get to know you.

She felt ashamed, heat seemed to radiate from her cheeks to her whole body. Back at the theatre everyone knew each other, they all had show themed hoodies and would say hi whenever they came in and left but things in Hollywood were different. In her first movie she had made friends with only one cast member who still spoke to her but everyone else did their job and returned to their lives without a single hello. She thought that maybe knowing Bucky would make having someone constantly in her life a bit easier but she understood his position.

Bucky himself seemed to read that all on her face and as he did a thought popped into his head “they are gonna eat her alive”.

- Let’s try that French Toast. - she smiled at his answer, once again pulling his hand towards the kitchen. It was spacious for a SoHo flat, with cut edge technology and also a very visible knife set. He would have to tell her to put that somewhere else.

She on the other hand quickly assembled all she needed, placing it on the marble countertop, a happy grin on her face as she started to prepare the meal. It reminded him of memories he had tried to suppress.

- Mum’s a cook, why are you an actress? - those memories were still memories he wasn’t ready to get back and as such he reckoned speaking with her would keep it out.

- I don’t really know how to explain it. - she smiled, pulling a few hair strands behind her ear. - My mum took me to a musical after I didn’t get cast in the nativity play. It was Phantom of the Opera, I just remembered that chandelier rising and crashing and the energy of the performers. There was just ... that was time stopping and rushing at the same time. And the look on the performers faces as they finished a piece, god it was just, I had never seen and I don’t think I have ever seen such passion in someone’s face.

Bucky moved his head ever so slightly, she seemed to be lost in her own memories, a daydream gaze washing over her features. He wondered what it was like to have memories to be proud of.

- I’m sorry, I must sound like a sap. Why do you become a bodyguard?

- I like a challenge.

- That’s what you told me yesterday. - she placed a beautiful set plate in front of him. Beautiful things make beautiful things, that’s what his mother once told him. Maybe she was right.

- What can I say, I’m not that interesting.

- I don’t know if that’s true. - she added a coffee cup to the French Toast, before pulling a chair. - You know, if I’m at home you don’t need to be outside my door, you can come in.

- I wouldn’t want to intrude on your personal space.

- It’s not really my personal space. The agency bought the flat and decorated it themselves so I guess it’s just the space I live in. I don’t really know the city yet so you’re mostly waiting outside for nothing. - she shrugged.

- How long have you been in New York?

- A little over 5 months. I was in California during my last movie and prior to that I was living in Haymarket in London. How long have you been in New York?

- I was born in Brooklyn, about half hour away from here. Lived here my whole life ever since ... at least the part of it I could control.

Bucky waited to see that pity look, the one everyone in the team seemed to give them whenever they looked at him but she didn’t. She merely wrapped her hand around his, caring smile of someone who almost looked proud he existed or proud he was alive. They’re gonna eat her alive, he thought to himself once again.

- Hey, you could show me around. - she suggested, jumping from the high chair onto the floor.

- I don’t hang around SoHo, Y/N.

- Well, you could show me Brooklyn. Isn’t Coney Island in Brooklyn?

- You wanna go to Coney Island? - he chuckled. - I don’t think your agency would enjoy that. Too public.

- They don’t need to know. - she smirked playfully. - If you don’t tell them they won’t know.

- You’re a celebrity, trust me you’ll be noticed.

- You said on your CV you were good at blending and disappearing into a crowd. Please, I’ll get you whatever you want in Coney Island.

- Whatever I want? - he furrowed his eyebrows at her and she nodded. - Alright, Y/N.

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maybedefinitely404 · 4 years

Text

Day 23: Dukeceit

I’m very aware it’s October. But I will get all these prompts done!

@tsshipmonth2020

Day 23 - At a certain age you switch bodies with your soulmate for 24 hours. (I may have changed this one slightly, too.)

Content warnings: kidnapping mention, food/coffee mentions, homophobia mentions (though none is really seen), just so much caffeine.

The first thing Janus noticed when he woke up was that this was wrong. Very, very wrong.

Which, to be fair, was an accurate reaction, seeing as he was in the wrong room.

His initial thought was that he’d been kidnapped, but no, that couldn’t be right. It was just another bedroom, not a basement or a van or whatever kidnappers used. It was a regular, teenage looking bedroom, with clothes littering the floor and the desk, large posters haphazardly stuck at every angle on the wall, and a phone charging on the nightstand next to him. So, definitely not a kidnapping.

When his mind finally cleared from his post-waking haze, he sighed in resignation. Apparently the universe had decided that today was the day he would switch bodies with his soulmate, on the day he had specifically set aside to study for a huge biology test that would make or break his grade in the class. Hopefully the school took pity on him and let him redo it. If they believed him, that is… he wasn’t exactly the most honest student.

Groaning, he threw the blankets off him and stumbled to the full body mirror on the door, inspecting the reflection. His soulmate was cute, he’d give him that, but it did nothing to disperse the internal confusion at seeing someone else looking back at him in the mirror. It also felt super weird to be attracted to… well, himself, at the moment, technically? He pushed a strand of white hair, dyed lighter than the rest of the black locks, out of his face and leaned forward, trying to decipher if the eye color was brown or murky green, when the door flew open and hit him in the face.

He yelped upon hitting the floor, rubbing his forehead, and glaring up at the intruder.

“Who the hell are you?” He hissed before he could stop himself, meeting the eyes of a very confused guy standing in the doorway. Blinking, he looked back into the mirror, and then back to the newcomer, wondering for a second if he was hallucinating. It took him far too long to remember the concept of twins, mentally facepalming as the other spoke.

“What do you mean, who the hell am I? Really, not one of your best pranks, Remus.”

“I’m not pranking you. I’m not Remus.”

The other merely blinked, staring at him blankly, until a look of realization crossed his face. “Oooohh! You’re his-”

“Yeah,” Janus snarked, getting back to his feet, “I am. Who are you?”

“Uhm, I’m Roman. Your- I mean, his brother. Remus’ brother. What’s your name?”

He brushed nonexistent dirt off his pajama top, an old and ripped oversized t-shirt, and responded, “Janus.”

“Janice? Huh,” Roman wrinkled his brow, casting a look behind him before stepping in and closing the door behind him, “I could have sworn Remus was gay.”

“I’m not a girl, you deflated airbag. I’m named after a Roman god, and I am very much male.”

Roman was at a loss for words, watching Janus approach Remus’ closet and look through it scrutinizingly. “He has good taste.”

“That’s what you call good taste?” The brother asked, peering over his shoulder at the chaos of ripped cloth and mesh and leather. He was frankly shocked there was any left in the closet, seeing as there was what appeared to be enough for a whole other wardrobe on the floor.

“I wouldn’t personally wear it. I’m more classy than that. But,” He picked out a weathered jean vest, adorned with pins and spikes, “Hot.”

Roman tried to hide his eye roll. “You’ll get along with him well. I came up to get you- er, Remus, but now you, I guess. For breakfast.”

Right on time, a woman’s voice carried up through the house, calling for them. Janus shrugged and followed Roman out the door, abandoning his discovery on a chair and pulling up the first hoodie from the floor. He didn’t generally like to wear oversized things, so he was surprised that the almost blanket-like garment was so comfortable.

“Ah, took you long enough. It’s getting cold.” Janus took in the downstairs area, a small kitchen and dining room in one, leading off into a living room. It was all comfortable, the sunshine raging through the picture window on the wall closest to the table, highlighting the steam rising off the food.

Janus stood at the bottom of the stairs as Roman took his seat opposite his parents, gesturing to the seat next to him.

“Remus, sweetie, everything okay?”

For a solid second, he forgot that he was supposed to be Remus and just stared blankly at the woman who had spoken.

“That’s not Remus. It’s his soulmate.” Roman said absently around a bite of food.

Their mother’s expression turned to delight, standing up immediately and engulfing Janus in a hug that he didn’t return, “Oh, welcome, darling! It’s so nice to meet you! Join us for breakfast, and you can go about contacting Remus later. Sound good?”

“I guess.” He didn’t seem to have a choice either way as he was ushered to sit next to Roman, his plate pushed a little closer to him by the mom. The dad was just taking him in, chewing slowly, and everything in Janus was yelling at him to look away. But Janus was never one to shy away from a stare off, so he kept eye contact, hoping that Remus had the same glare that his own face did. He must have, since the man finally looked back down to his plate.

“What’s your name, sweetie?” Jeez, did this woman always have to use pet names?

“Janus.” He responded simply, pulling in his first bite of food. It was good, he’d admit, but his own house never had these kinds of… family get-togethers, and to say he was uncomfortable was an understatement.

“Janice? Huh, must be weird being in a boy’s body, yeah?” Her face clearly conveyed that it was supposed to be a joke, or maybe some fucked up icebreaker, but he was more annoyed by his name.

“I’m actually-” He was cut off by a sharp kick to the shin, coughing slightly to stifle a curse, and turned to Roman expectantly. The glare out of the corner of his eyes was something Janus wasn’t anticipating, same with the almost imperceivable shake of his head. The message was clear. Forcing a small smile on his face, he turned back to the parents, who were still wholly focused on him. “Yeah, it’s weird for sure.”

Usually, lies slipped off his tongue with no hesitation. He had to learn to survive, growing up as he had. But this one felt wrong, and so utterly bizarre, that it seemed to burn the roof of his mouth. If that’s what it took though, and he was very sure that Roman’s cutting him off had been to prevent outing Remus, he could take that.

The rest of the meal was filled with small talk between him and the parents, in which he learned that he wasn’t all too far from his own house, where Remus would be waking up. Even so, he didn’t recognize the neighborhood he was in. It was definitely nicer than from where he lived, though, and he doubted that Remus would know where he was either. Poor guy.

As soon as it seemed socially accepted to leave the table, he did so, loading his dishes into the washer and dashing upstairs. It was only nine in the morning and he was exhausted, dropping onto the bed and noticing the little glow in the dark dinosaurs on the ceiling for the first time. Rather, the remains of glow in the dark dinosaurs. Remus must have taken scissors to them, separating the heads and attaching them to different bodies. He was specifically entranced by a T-Rex with a Pterodactyl head when Remus’ mother’s words flooded back into his mind, and he remembered that he should probably try to get into contact with Remus. One look at the phone on the nightstand, though, and he was getting up with a groan and padding down the hallway.

It wasn’t hard to distinguish Roman’s room from the other doors; it was the only one with his headshot taped to the front with a star under it, his name written in bold letters across it like a Hollywood star. Janus rolled his eyes and knocked on it, walking in at Roman’s call.

“Can I use your phone?”

“Why?” Roman gave him a hard side eye from where he was splayed across his bed, a script in his hands that he was most likely trying to memorize.

“I want to call Remus. And unless you know the password to his phone, I can’t get on it.”

“Ah. In full honesty, I don’t even want to know what the cretin has for a password.” With no further convincing, he handed Janus his unlocked phone and went back to scanning the papers, quietly muttering lines to himself while giving Janus the occasion glance.

He typed in his own number and held the phone to his ear.

“Hello?”

“It’s odd hearing my own voice through the phone,” were Janus’ first words to his soulmate. The voice on the other line, his voice, gasped.

“Oh shit! Ooooh shit! I would have called, but I couldn’t remember my own number!”

“That’s Remus for you.”

“Stop eavesdropping,” Janus snarled, taking a step away.

“If it’s loud enough to hear, is it really eavesdropping?”

Janus lowered the volume of the phone in response, flipping Roman off. “Hi, Remus, I presume.”

“I see you’ve met Roman. Pain in the ass, huh?”

“You could say that.”

“Okay, first things first. You’re hella hot.”

“I’m flattered.”

“Second, where am I?”

Janus chuckled, which sounded odd coming from vocal chords he wasn’t used to. “About twenty minutes away from your house. Did you want to meet somewhere to switch back?”

“Fuck yes. I want my teeth back.”

“Your-” Janus ran his tongue along his teeth, noticing for the first time that they felt different than what he was used to. The general shape, the curve, it was all new, and odd, and suddenly it was all he could think about. “Why the hell did you have to say that?”

Remus snickered, “Whoopsies.”

“How about Edison’s Bakery, on Westland? It’s pretty much in the middle.”

Roman gave him a thumbs up, mouthing ‘good choice’, at the same time as Remus almost squealed in glee. Apparently, he liked the place.

“I’ll take that as a yes. In half an hour?”

“Yessss.”

“Before you hang up, what’s your phone password?” He physically recoiled at the response, earning a snort from Roman. “I’m not typing that.”

“That’s the only way you’re getting into my phone.”

“Hold on, how did you get into mine?” Remus only chuckled, and the line went dead. Janus sighed and tossed Roman his phone back, hitting him squarely in the chest. “Not much of a conversationalist, is he?”

“Remus abides to the laws of social constructs about as well as he abides to the laws of nature. That is to say, not at all.”

“What should I wear? When I go to meet him?”

Roman looked taken aback. It made him scowl in embarrassment, rolling his eyes at the other’s face.

“I don’t know what Remus likes to wear, dumbass. Don’t get a big head.”

“Uh, the ripped grey jeans with the patch on the thigh and Green Day shirt are his favorite. He usually wears something meshy underneath, but-”

“I’m not wearing mesh.”

“Figured.”

Like all of Remus’ clothing, Janus learned very quickly, the Green Day shirt was also full of holes. Whether his closet had been raided by moths, or it was just his aesthetic, he didn’t know. He could see why mesh would go well under it, but there was no way he would stoop to that level, so he threw on the jean vest he’d first seen and went back to Roman’s room to get approved.

Deciding against seeing the parents again (Janus didn’t understand his instinctual hatred for them, but it was strong), he scaled the drainpipe outside Remus’ window and used his soulmate’s phone for directions to the cafe (despite the disgust he felt at typing in the password), since he still didn’t know the exact directions from this strange neighbourhood. After deciphering the bus map, he hopped on the next one to arrive, grateful that he’d found enough spare change in Remus’ horribly unorganized wallet for bus fare.

Surprisingly, he wasn’t nervous by the time he got to the cafe. He’d have thought his nerves would have eaten at him already, telling him to just turn around and live as Remus for the rest of his life, but they were surprisingly calm. There was just something about meeting a soulmate that didn’t mess with him. They were soulmates; they were kind of supposed to be perfect for each other. That’s the whole point.

It didn’t take long for him to spot himself in the almost empty bakery, propped up against the large window in a way he would never stand, tracing the patterns on the ceiling with his eyes. Janus sidled up to him- himself? The concept was enough to make his head spin- and, ignoring the slightly Inception-esque nausea of looking at his own body, smirked.

“You’re getting fingerprints all over the glass.”

Remus spun to him, grinning widely, and without further adieu, grabbed his hand. Janus’ vision tunneled before going completely black. A sound like an intense air rush overwhelmed him despite the fact that there was no wind, his ears popped almost painfully, and his mouth went completely dry, but when he opened his eyes again, he was staring back at Remus. Actually Remus. In his own body and everything.

“Oh, my teeth, how I missed you,” The taller crooned, making a show of running his tongue across the outside of his teeth.

“You’re odd.” Never before had Janus been so happy to hear his voice.

“That I am,” Remus said with too wide a grin, tilting his head to the counter. “I waited for you.”

“Glad you had the decency.”

“C’mon, Jay,” He tightened his grip on Janus’ hand, who was surprisingly okay with the nickname (despite having punched people for using it before), “I love their energy drinks.”

“Their what?” Janus had been going here since he was a little kid, and he knew for a fact they didn’t have energy drinks. The overtired barista heard him though, shooting him a look of pure disdain.

“That’s what he calls it. We like to call it the Abomination unto God. I don’t know how his heart doesn’t give out from it. One pump of every flavor, five shots of espresso, top it off with black coffee.”

“Is that legal?” Janus asked incredulously.

“Technically, I just ask for how many espresso shots they can fit in a cup. She was the one to limit it to five.”

“He asked a trainee on their first day working. They filled the whole cup with espresso.”

“I was vibrating.” Remus said dreamily, as if the memory was particularly fond. Despite Janus’ protests, Remus ordered his monstrosity of a drink, pouring at least three sugar packets into the cup to his rising horror, and sat down happily. It was almost enough to make him not want his coffee anymore, watching his soulmate take a long glug of the sludge in his cup.

“So, Janus,” He said when he finally put the half empty cup back onto the table, “How did you find my family?”

Somehow, Janus could sense the underlying question, taking a sip before responding. “They’re fine. Your parents rub me the wrong way, so to speak, and Roman’s a bit of a prick, but they’re fine.” He watched as Remus tossed his cup back again, fiddling with the sleeve on his cup, “I didn’t out you, by the way.”

That was enough to dampen the mood, Remus suddenly looking sullen as he stared at his hands. He blinked rapidly, taking a shaky breath before responding with a quiet thank you.

“They think I’m a girl. So that sucks.”

“They’re homophobic as shit.”

“I figured that out. Is Roman-”

“Gay as they come.”

Janus swirled his drink in his cup, watching the coffee stain the edges. “What will happen if they find out?”

“I don’t want to think about that. Getting disowned, at best.”

They both went silent, almost in solidarity. What could you say to that?

“Do you live alone?” Remus asked out of the blue, drinking more and having the audacity to chew the sugar from the bottom of the cup.

“My mom’s out of town for work right now.”

“Dad?”

“Never knew him.”

“Shit.”

“That about sums it up.” The two of them chuckled.

“So…” Remus started, finishing his concoction and throwing the cup into the garbage can by the sugar station, startling the barista. “We’re soulmates.”

“What led you to that conclusion?” He deadpanned, watching Remus as he took a slow sip of his coffee.

“Hardy har har.”

“Yes, we’re soulmates,” Janus agreed, “Must we make it complicated?”

“Eh,” The other said with a shrug, “Ride with the tide, see where it goes?”

“Works for me.” As Janus finished off the last of his coffee, he could see Remus’ hands had started to shake violently on the table, and could feel his leg bouncing up a storm underneath it.

“C’mon, get up,” Janus laughed, pulling Remus to his (somewhat unsteady) feet, “Let’s go to the park and get your energy out. Hopefully I can get you home before you crash.”

“Aww, you do care.” Remus cooed, laying his head on Janus’ shoulder as they left the shop.

“I believe that’s the point, dumbass. Now, I’ll race you to the park. Three, two, one, go!”

Remus took off at a full caffeine-induced sprint to the park just down the street as Janus continued his leisurely pace, laughing the further Remus got without realizing he wasn’t following. What had he gotten himself into?

Nothing he didn’t want, that was for sure.

#lywrites #tsshipmonth2020 #dukeceit #remus sanders #janus sanders #roman sanders #sanders sides #sanderssides #sanders sides fanfiction #sanderssidesfanfiction #ts soulmate au #soulmate september #even though its october #soulmateseptember #sanders sides soulmate au

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princess-geek · 3 years

Text

Love Lesson

This fic is dedicated to my guardian angel @storyofmychoices. Besides she's a wonderful a writer, she's an incredible human being whose kind and light are endless. I never could thank her enough for what she has been doing for me.

Dear Dani, I know you usually don't read Hunt's fics written by other authors, but I hope you accept this one.

I hope you enjoyed it 😊💕

Choices Book: Red Carpet Diaries (a couple of years after Book 3)

Characters: Thomas Hunt, Miss Taylor (@storyofmychoices ), mentions to Jessica Massena (my RDC MC) and Matt Rodriguez.

Words: 1748

Warnings: none

Notes: English is not my first language. Please, excuse me any typos /or grammatical errors.

Special thanks to @alj4890 for be by beta reader.

Jessica Massena exclusive pregnancy photos - The most handsome Hollywood parents to be talk about the challenges of parenthood.

Thomas sighed and poured some more of the expensive scotch in the glass. He has no idea why he was wasting his time reading garbage press. He'll be the baby's godfather. He knew every detail about the issue. All the sacrifices she did to conceive...how the first months of nausea got her down. But now, she was radiant...healthy...happy...with Matt.

She had woken up his senses and melted his heart unlike any other woman in years. He never actually had confessed his feelings because it was clear like crystal whom her heart belonged to. For a while, it drove him crazy. Nowadays, he had made peace with his feelings and he came back to his old self. He also recognized that it was nothing more than a crush, a fever of an almost middle-aged man caused by her infectious joy. Jessica Massena was a closed chapter in his life.

He abandoned the magazine and refocused on his research. A tragic death of a beloved teacher in a shooting at a high school inspired him to approach the question of USA public schools’ problems. He had read tons of news and academic papers about it, but they were too theoretical. He needed to breath that air, step on those dirty floors, hear the sounds. So, he decided to visit some public schools in area.

Since he was invited to speak at a university conference in New York, Thomas decided to visit some schools there too.

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

Kids and teens. Many. Too many. It was a banal New York school. Perfect.

As he wandered through the corridors, he saw a girl crying, hidden in the corner of lockers. Thomas wanted to do something, but he didn't know what to do or even what to say to calm the girl down. He never had a good way with children.

While Thomas was still distressed in his dilemma, a brunette stopped her hurried march, stepped back, placed a giant coffee cup on the floor and knelt beside the girl.

She gently wiped the girl's tears away. Thomas couldn't hear clearly what they were talking about, but he noticed that the girl calmed down as the woman spoke to her and stroked her hair.

“After class, I promise I'll go with you to talk to the principal. They can't do that and get away with it!” the brunette promised hugging the girl tightly.

It was the last thing Thomas heard before the bell rings.

With confusion in the crowded corridors, Thomas lost sight of the girl and the brunette.

The school board recommended him to visit Miss Taylor's class, classroom no.51. It took a while, but he finally found the classroom. Before knocking on the door, Thomas suddenly felt nervous, with a knot in his stomach.

‘In the name of art, Thomas, in the name of art …' he murmured before knocking.

The door opened. Many pairs of expectant eyes looked back at him with curiosity. When the door opened a little more, it revealed the brunette he had seen with the girl.

His eyes fixed on her sweet chestnut for a moment, and, no matter how cliché and cheesy this may be, his heart literally skipped a beat. Thomas felt an inexplicable warmth come to his face. Fortunately, the beard would camouflage his rosy cheeks. Whatever happened in those seconds, it didn't seem to affect the brunette who looked away.

“Is this Miss Taylor’s class?”

“Yes.”

“I have permission from school board to attend your class. I’m…”

“I know who you’re... please come in,” she smiled shyly, “I apologize for not having a seat for you ... the room is at its maximum capacity ... but if you want you can sit at my desk…”

“No way, Miss Taylor! Don’t worry about me. I am going to the back of the room. You won't even notice my presence. Thank you for having me.”

She just nodded.

“Class, let me introduce you Mr. Hunt. He is a famous director…”

“We watched one of his movies a few weeks ago, didn't we, Miss Taylor?”

“Yes, we did…”

“Mr. Hunt, Miss Taylor is a huge a fan of you…she said she watched all your movies…”

Miss Taylor's cheeks changed to increasingly reddish tones.

“Kids let me finish, please…”

“Is it true that Jessica Massena blow you off?”

“Samantha don’t be nosy! I’m so sorry, Mr. Hunt…they’re well behaves kids. I'm sure this is the excitement speaking for them,”

“I'm not making anything up ... it's in all the magazines!” Samantha protested.

“Miss Taylor is single, and she already has a soft spot for you…You could ask her out!” another girl added.

“Children, you’re crossing the line ... one more inappropriate observation and you are grounded!”

“That’s okay, miss Taylor…they’re just kids.” Thomas said.

“Thank you for understanding, Mr. Hunt...As I was saying, Mr. Hunt will be here at school for some days and attend some classes for research proposals.”

“This is for a new movie?”

“Can we be part of it?”

The students were even more excited.

It took some time for them to calm down, but little by little, Miss Taylor, in a sweet and serene voice, managed to calm them down and refocus their attention on her.

After correcting homework, Miss Taylor started her Math lesson. The way she explained it was truly remarkable…inspiring. She put in those numbers the same passion he had seen in the greatest actresses.

She was very affectionate with the students. One of them was having troubles in understanding an exercise. Miss Taylor explained it once, twice, three times ... always calmly and patiently.

��Very good! I knew you could do this.” Miss Taylor encouraged the student.

Jessica Massena was a consuming fire, but the brunette teacher was warming his soul, a kind of heat that settles on the skin, on the bones and makes us feel good and at peace.

From time to time, when she thought he wasn’t looking, Miss Taylor threw him a discreet shy look. When their eyes locked, she blushed, adjusted her hair nervously and looked away.

Thomas found himself completely mesmerized. In fact, he felt like he was in one of those cheesy movies where the main character is completely lost gazing at the girl, there is a pop romantic ballad playing in the background and the sun shines brighter.

He didn't notice time passing, delighted to hear and observe her. The bell woke him from the trance.

“Sorry again for the kids... and for and the indiscreet remarks.”

“No need to apologize. It's part of the children's charm ... at least that's what people say.”

“I hope you found our class useful for your research.”

“Yes...thank you for having me...”

There was an awkward silence for a few seconds. Whenever one looked, the other looked away.

“The pleasure was ours. If there is anything that kids or I can do for help...”

He barely heard her, captivated by her natural features. Her lips were two beautiful pink lines. Thomas had never thought of his life being enchanted by a nose, but Miss Taylor's nose was the cutest nose he had ever seen. The director was so distracted that he didn’t notice he was leaning against a desk, which, at some point, gave in to his weight, causing him to lose his balance.

She tried to grab his arm to hold him, but the force of gravity had no mercy and the director ended up falling on the floor dragging Miss Taylor with him who landed on top of him.

Just a couple of inches were separating their lips. “Kiss her!” a voiced shouted in a corner of his head, “Are you crazy, Thomas?” another inner voice replied, “You’ve only known her for a couple of hours ... What would she think of you?”

I must have hit my head very hard... his rational self thought.

“Oh Lord, I’m so sorry, Miss Taylor...Are you okay?”

“Yes...and you? I’m so sorry. I was trying help and my clumsiness got things worse like the usual…”

“No, it was all my fault, Miss Taylor.”

Her perfume. It was not like the expensive signature perfume the women who he usually crossed paths. Her hair smelled like honey and her perfume was soft with hints of flowers.

“Maybe we should get up?”

“Yes, of course, sorry.” Thomas babbled.

She got up first and held out her hand to help him. Thomas declined delicately. A gentleman must help the lady and not the other way around.

However, when he got up, he fell out of balance again, falling once more.

Miss Taylor smiled to avoid laughter.

“You can laugh. This is absolutely ridiculous,” Thomas said, allowing a smile to appear on his lips.

He rose from the ground with as much dignity as possible, shaking the dust and smoothing his blazer. Moved by the instinct of help, Miss Taylor helped him to clean up. At some moment, their fingers touched and grazed each other’s for some seconds. She blushed and took her hand from his arm.

“May I offer you to a coffee? I mean, offer a coffee to you…as an I’m sorry coffee,”

“You don’t have to do it, Mr. Hunt…”

“Just Thomas, please…and I insist…It’d be a pleasure for me.”

“I…I'd love it…”

“Great! Do you recommend any place special?”

“Wait , I can’t…I’m sorry, I promised to help a student after classes…she really needs me today…I’m sorry…”

“She…your students are lucky to have you.”

Miss Taylor blushed. “I’m not that special…I just love what I do…I think you can understand me on that point…You used to be a professor too...and, you know how it is...When we love our job, we don’t just do it...we breathe it.”

Yes, he could understand that. And he was understanding that this he was feeling was something he shouldn’t ignore.

“I’ll come back tomorrow to Mr. Somerset’s classroom. Maybe, after classes tomorrow?”

She smiled.

“Until tomorrow.”

Thomas gently grabbed her hand, taking it to his lips and planting a gentle kiss on it, “I’m counting the minutes. Have a lovely evening, Miss Taylor.”

He made his way out of the classroom, but not resisting to steal some glances of her along the way, which cost him a blow to the shin, courtesy of desk’s iron leg. When he threw a last glance at the doorway, she said:

“Danielle. My name is Danielle.”

#choices stories you play #play choices fanfic #choices red carpet diaries #red carpet diaries #rcd thomas hunt #choices thomas hunt #thomas hunt #thomas hunt rcd #thomas hunt hwu

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fangirlovestuff · 4 years

Text

The Heart Wants What it Wants - Chris Evans x reader pt.2

a/n- Hey lovely people, welcome back to angstland, hope you enjoy your stay, likes and reblogs are welcome. Summary is once again an angsty pinterest post. Enjoy hehe <3

part 1

Summary: It’s hard to wait around for something you know might never happen; but it’s harder to give up when you know it’s everything you want.

Warnings: angst, age gap

The next morning you woke up alone, the light hitting your face from the window. Apparently, Chris had decided to save you the awkwardness of the morning after and left early, which you should be thankful for.

But you weren't; not really. You felt your heart clench as you registered that the night was over, that he's gone and not coming back. You both knew what happened could never happen again, you had agreed - just for tonight. Yet, you couldn't help but feel suffocated by the bittersweet memories of the previous night. It wasn't just the sex, which was admittedly better than anything you already experienced. More than the physical connection, you felt an actual emotional connection with Chris. You were mourning the loss of that connection, not the sex.

The intensity of the realization shook you from your reverie. You got up and took a shower. This was just for one night and you knew it. Don't get all mushy now, you told yourself as you went through your morning routine, determined to ignore the odd feeling of sadness in your chest.

And life went on, as it always does. You acted in more movies, made acquaintances in Hollywood as you continued to build your career. Scarlett and you were still very close, but she finally let go of the Chris thing.

You wished you could finally let go of the Chris thing.

You'd managed to avoid seeing him again, keeping your distance in events like you did before. You kept telling yourself that "out of sight out of mind," and that you'll get over it eventually. You dated around for a while, never long enough for the paparazzi to have an opportunity to catch you together. Then, you started aiming to get more serious in your relationships, hoping that would help, but it didn’t.

Every one of them, as charming or handsome as they were, wasn't who you wanted. You could never stop comparing them to him. You were trying so hard to find the right person, to move on from this stupid fling that happened years ago. But there was always a tiny, persistent voice in your head telling you that you'd already found the right person, you just let him go.

And you wanted, so badly, to be able to let him go and forget about him. But you couldn't bring yourself to do it. You watched every single one of his movies when they came out, sitting alone in the back row of a local theater so you won't get recognized. You read the gossip, the news. You felt so incredibly stupid. In every relationship you had, there were other reasons you broke up of course, but somehow you always came back to him in your mind. You tried to keep yourself safe, away from the flame, but you just couldn't, and the consequences were evident. You got burned.

You broke up with your most recent boyfriend a month ago. But that's not the reason you were drinking alone on the night before your 24th birthday. You were in one of those hole in the wall bars, sitting on a couch in a corner of the room so you won’t get recognized.

Apparently, that didn’t help, because a man was getting closer to your table, shaking you from your melancholy thoughts. You put on a fake smile, ready to great the fan, but then you realized – it was him.

His electric blue eyes met yours and you realized you had nowhere to run or hide. Why would he even want to see you? You were the one hung up on him for five years, and even you didn't want to see him right now. Your heart fluttered in your chest at the sight of him, his shirt tight over his biceps, his tongue darting out to wet his lips as he took the liberty of having a seat on front of you, and oh my fucking god he ages like fine wine and it's so unfair. You had seen pictures of him, obviously, but seeing him in person made you remember how captivating he is, how you wanted to be as close to him as you could. But right now, the closest you could afford was miles away, you reminded yourself.

"Hey," he started hesitantly.

"Hi Chris," you said, your voice coming out as a whisper.

"How've you been?" he asked, trying to start a conversation. You let out a sound between a chuckle and a scoff. "Seriously, what's it been, four, five years? There must be some interesting stories," he tried again.

"Look, I appreciate the effort, but I'm fine. I'll be even better if you left me alone."

He swallowed, his eyes darting down before coming back up to meet your determined gaze. You felt like if you caved now there would be no coming back at all, no healing for your heart.

"Okay," he said after a beat. "I'll leave. I just have one question. Please." You nodded your head for him to continue.

"Are you happy?"

Your intoxicated brain took a moment to register the question, and then your thoughts started racing. What kind of question was that? Why would he ask that?

Were you happy?

"No." The answer was out of your mouth before you managed to stop it, sitting heavily between you. "But is anyone really?" you said, trying to correct yourself. "Ya know, like happiness is supposed to be the constant pursuit of happiness or whatever," you chuckled lightly. "So, um, yeah. I answered your question." You looked at him expectantly.

"Me too."

Maybe it was the alcohol, but something inside you snapped. "Fuck off," you scoffed. "Sure, yeah, what could you possibly be unhappy about? Your career is thriving, your family's well as far as I've heard, and you've probably got a girlfriend or something. Your life must suck so bad." You mocked, your anger evident on your furrowed brows and fiery eyes. "You have everything you could possibly want."

"Oh, and you don't?" he asked, his blue eyes filled with emotion. Whether it was anger, concern, or something else entirely, you couldn't tell. You bore your eyes into the table in front of you, averting his gaze. You couldn't let him win, couldn't let him know you spent the last five years pining for him, the stupid, handsome little sh-

"And for the record," he made you lose your train of thought, "I don’t have everything I want. I can't. At least, the chance I could is close to zero. Believe me, I've done the math and thought it over for the last five years," the words left his mouth in a voice so low it was almost a growl. Your head snapped up, your eyes meeting his fiery ones. It’s weird, how the color blue is usually considered cold. In that moment, nothing about him or you felt cold.

Your breath trembled, you suddenly felt warm and dizzy. His eyes made you realize what you were avoiding all along – what you could have with Chris. All this time, you convinced yourself he forgot about you. That he didn't want you, that he was out of your league and he knew it. You never allowed yourself to think what if- if he liked you back. If he wanted you too. You almost laughed out loud at the thought, but maybe it wasn't as unrealistic as you thought it was. You never allowed yourself to hope that there was really something there – a connection, a romance – even though you felt it from nearly the first minute you laid eyes on him. The narrative you'd created was that it was one sided, that not being with him was your pain only. But now you were overwhelmed with hope for something else, something more. Your mind filled with thoughts about it, or maybe they were there all along and you just paid them no attention. About the kind of life you could have together, how perfect it could be - Chris making you breakfast, going on walks together, you holding his hand whenever he felt nervous. The visions kept flooding your mind, even of mundane things like helping each other read lines and-

But there would be no lines to read. No movies to make. No fans to greet. If you had that with Chris, you'd both need to stop doing what you love. That reality seemed almost inevitable. The critics will slay away at the both of you. Public image is pretty much everything in this business, and dating would ruin yours, both of yours. And that would be unbearable for you and Chris. You couldn’t give up your dream for love, could you?

"Hey," Chris' low voice shook you from your reverie. "You here?"

"Yeah, unfortunately," you whispered, almost voicing the wish to move to a fairytale land where love always won.

His eyebrows furrowed, but he didn’t push. "Look, I'm sorry for springing on you like this. But there wasn't really any other way, since you were adamantly avoiding me, which I get. I just," he sighed and moved to stroke his hand over his beard, "I just needed you to know. I'll go." He got up from the chair, turning his back to you on his way to leave the table.

"Chris, wait." The words were out of your mouth before you had the chance to stifle them back into your throat, or to think about what you wanted to say to him. He turned around but stayed standing, waiting patiently for your next words.

"I… I'm sorry too." Tears flooded your eyes, but you didn’t let them out. "I can't… I can't give up on my dream job. Which means I should have probably given up on you. On us." His eyes were shining, mirroring your own. "But I couldn't do that too. I wish I could, or you could, to spare us the pain. I just… please Chris, give up on me. Tell me what you need to hear and I'll say it, I promise I'll say it but please don’t make me be the person that causes you pain. I could never bear being that."

He stood still, his eyes brimming with unshed tears. After a beat, you couldn't stand the silence. "I hate you, is that what you wanna hear? I hate you, go away, I don't want you." Your heart nearly shattered to pieces at the words, the lies that you both knew were lies. Even you weren't that good of an actress. The tears were now flowing freely from your eyes, ruining your makeup but you didn't care. The only thing you could care about at the moment was Chris, and you cared about him so much it physically hurt.

Chris made his way over to you, sitting down beside you. He took your hand in his, intertwining your fingers and kissing the back of your palm. You turned your head to him; tear tracks down your face. Your eyes met his aching ones and you let out a shaky breath. He was beautiful, and you couldn't help but get closer to him. Your heads pushed closer, and like puzzle pieces fitting together, your lips touched in a tender dance. Your hand went up to cup his face, his went to yours, caressing your cheek with his thumb as your lips pushed against his soft ones. The kiss wasn't starved like the last one you had; it was gentle, hesitant almost. You hated it, but you were saying goodbye.

You pulled away slightly, your foreheads staying touching. Your tongue darted out to wet your lips as you pulled your hand away from his cheek. He pulled away from you as well, his breath somewhat shaky as he put some distance between the two of you. "I'm sorry," you whispered.

"I know. Me too."

He got up and walked away. He didn't even look back. You knew it was because he didn't want to make it harder on the both of you, but that didn't mean it didn't hurt.

That night you went back home feeling numb. It wasn't even the alcohol. Leaving him behind left you feeling drained and empty. You felt helpless, like you were struggling to keep your head above the water but didn't have the strength.

You changed into pajamas mechanically and climbed into your bed. As your head hit the soft pillow, you felt your heart smash to pieces in your chest. If you were feeling numb before, now in the safety of your bed you felt everything – love for him, anger at the world, grief over what could have been. Tears started flowing from your eyes once more, and you sobbed quietly, your whole body trembling. You didn't know what was worse – the numbness or this.

You cried yourself to sleep that night, and the next one, and the one after it. You got to be more stable as time went on, going back to business. But the ache inside your chest stayed, and you had a feeling it would never really go away. Once something is broken, even if you try to fix it, there will always be cracks.

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Taglist: @swatson06 @horny-nd-bored @shannon124 @perfectlyharolds @phoebe-21-99 @wintersoldierslut @iceebabies @wanessalopesueiros

if you wanna join / be removed from the taglist, comment/reblog/message me! for now I tagged the people who liked my post anouncing this was dropping today. much love <3

#chris evans x reader #chris evans #chris evans smut #chris evans imagine #chris evans headcanon #chris evans angst

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emmy-writes-sometimes · 4 years

Text

Stuck With You

Sebastian quarantines with you, his co-star, when he feels like you shouldn’t be left alone. When you’re asked to be in a virtual music video, he finally lets a secret slip out.

“I’ll be fine,” you insisted, looking at your friend, Sebastian. He doubted you, clearly, because he was crossing his arms and paying more attention to you than the food on his plate.

“I don’t want you in that house alone,” he said. “North Hollywood’s not a great neighborhood, you don’t have a dog or a security system, and I really don’t like the idea of leaving you alone for this long.” He was right. North Hollywood wasn’t great, and you knew that. Your roommate had moved out so there was a second bedroom and bathroom, and there was definitely enough room for him.

“I’m 22, Seb, I don’t need a babysitter.” You knew he didn’t mind staying there and you secretly wanted him to because he was one of your best friends, even with such a big age gap, and you kind of liked him too. And the fact that he was willing to quarantine himself with you for an indefinite amount of time was, well, your dream. It was better than flying home to see your parents in the middle of a pandemic even if tickets were half of what they normally cost.

“I’m not going to babysit you, if I wanted to do that I would’ve gotten you a juice box instead of a beer.” He had paid for your lunch, since you paid for his coffee that morning, and he had gotten you a beer because you looked like you needed it. And after deciding to stay here instead of go home, you definitely needed it.

“Thank you, Seb, but you really don’t have to.”

“So you’re telling me you want to be alone?” You shook your head, violently.

“No. I just don’t want you to get stuck anywhere you don’t want to.” He chuckled as the check for your food came.

“You are the only person I would want to be stuck with right now. And, besides, if you’re not flying out I probably shouldn’t either. I’ll leave whenever you want me to, but just let me be with you for a few days.” You sighed and crossed your arms against your chest.

“Fine. But you’re paying for the first grocery run.” He grinned. You’d gotten put with him over the last press tour, so you knew that he was a scheming mastermind even if he didn’t look like it. He probably had something up his sleeve.

“Then I’ll meet you with my stuff later tonight.”

Later that night he was there, parking his car in the short driveway, and brought in a massive amount of groceries as well as his bags because he’d checked out of his long term Airbnb (he should really buy a house out there, but he always said New York was home). He was your savior – he’d gotten multiples of all your favorite snacks, including your favorite Australian cookie that was very hard to find for no reason, and three bags of the chips he knew you could get through a full bag of in ten minutes.

“I didn’t get anything to really cook with because I know you like to Postmate in,” he explained as you started putting everything away. He smiled when he realized how excited you were about all of the snacks.

“You’re the best,” you said, walking over to him and giving him a hug. He smiled and messed up your hair before going upstairs to put his bags away and move them into the empty room. Truth be told, he did kind of have an ulterior motive for quarantining. His mission was to make you fall in love with him because he knew about the puppy crush you tried so hard to hide. He was your best friend. He knew you better than almost anyone else, except for your mom, and he knew it wouldn’t be difficult if you were truly stuck there.

For the first few days, things were good. You two became vegetables on the couch, forcing him to re-watch Gossip Girl even though he was in it because you’d never seen it before. Then you’d binged all of the Harry Potter, Star Wars, and Lord of the Rings movies. He would go to the neighborhood gym in the mornings, until it closed, and then he would just go on runs. The only times you were really alone were when he was going on a run. You would go get groceries every now and then, but for the most part you were planted on the couch. Your head would always fall on his shoulder or into his lap if you were laying down and you thought nothing of it. You just liked being close to him and he liked being close to you.

The first interruption came after three weeks. It was the beginning of April and you’d been locked up for so long that you had a breakdown. You just started crying, out of nowhere, and he had no idea what was going on at first. You never really cried in front of him, or in front of anyone. Without even thinking about it, he rushed forward and gave you a hug.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” He asked, pulling your hair out of your face. It was just a reflex.

“Nothing, I just… I honestly don’t know why I’m crying. I just hate being so locked up and feeling like I’m going to get sick every time I have allergy problems, and…”

“Okay, breathe, first of all,” he suggested. You took a deep breath that matched his, and after two or three you were just sniffling like it would pull the tears back into your eyes. “Good girl. Now start over.” He brought you over to the couch and you sat down beside him.

“What if one of us gets sick? Or what if this lasts for so long that they just drop the movie and we’re both out of jobs, or what if I just lose my job and I can’t…” He looked at you in a way that nobody else ever had and it made you stop in your tracks. “I’m just worried.”

“Don’t be, alright? I’m here as long as you want me here.” You sniffled and wiped the tears from your cheek with a t-shirt you’d found in the laundry room. On second thought, it was his. And you didn’t even think anything of it because why would you?

Things were different after that. Just the way he’d looked at you made you feel… like even if things didn’t get better, you weren’t alone. He carried you up the stairs to his bedroom that night, not wanting to go to the third floor where your room was, and slept on the other side of the bed so close to the edge that he probably would have fallen off. You woke up, wondering why you were wrapped in the blanket that belonged in the den, and looked over. He was there still, sleeping soundly, but you knew how close he was to the edge. So you pulled him by the t-shirt, half asleep, until he turned over. He opened his eyes just enough to see that you had done it and that you were still asleep. He smiled and went back, too.

You woke up the next morning in the middle of his bed, not the side he didn’t sleep on, and you could hear music from your Alexa in the kitchen. You decided to clean up a little bit because you looked like a complete mess, and after taking a quick shower you walked down to smell that he had been making breakfast and singing along to bad 80’s pop songs.

“You look happy,” you said, almost like you were accusing him of something, and your eyebrow raised when you saw that he was making pancakes. From scratch. “I didn’t know you could cook.”

“There’s a lot you still don’t know about me, sweetheart!” He said over the music. You couldn’t help but laugh a little bit, sitting down at the counter because you didn’t quite know how to help. You barely knew how to use the electric oven since you’d had gas your whole life.

“Are there enough for two?” You counted a stack of five already done pancakes and the rest of the bacon that was about to go bad, but you knew Sebastian could eat.

“Duh!” He looked at you like it was obvious. “I’m sorry I didn’t get you to your room last night, I got tired after one flight of stairs. You’re heavier than you look.”

“Hey!”

“Kidding. You’re gorgeous and you know it.” You could feel yourself blushing and to hide it, you turned away and got out two glasses. “Mimosas? At 9 AM on a Tuesday?” You shrugged.

“Bombs away, bitch,” you said as you poured it. He took one anyway, clinking your glasses together before putting the food onto separate plates for you.

“By the way, I have the interview later, the virtual one,” he reminded you. “Can I use your room? It’s the only white wall besides in the stairwell.”

“Yeah, go ahead,” you responded. “Am I allowed in the room?”

“If you want to be. You just have to be quiet though.”

“I’m a quiet person!”

“Sure you are.” You absolutely devoured the food he made and helped him clean everything up. Then he took off to take a shower and find some decent clothes to wear for his interview. He’d finished another movie two weeks before coming to L.A. to work on the movie you two were doing, and both press tours had gotten cut short. Every few days one of you would have an interview to do, or a Zoom call to get on. Most people hadn’t seemed to catch on that you were together, and if they did you knew the first thing they would suspect is that the two of you were together together. You wouldn’t mind, you realized after a few days of being with him. He was slowly starting to grow on you even more – you came to have very strong feelings for the crow’s feet in his eyes, the way he would sing terribly on purpose, and the way he wasn’t afraid to tell you embarrassing stories from his childhood.

You climbed the stairs and made sure Sebastian wasn’t on his interview yet when you climbed onto the bed, out of sight from his camera, and started answering posts on social media and emails like you did almost every morning.

“Does my hair look okay?” He asked, looking over at you. “I have thirty seconds.”

“It looks fine,” you answered. His hair was slightly disheveled, but cute anyway. He was so cute. Ugh, you thought, great. I have a crush on my co-star who was in high school when I was in diapers. He grinned and went back to his interview, starting the camera as soon as it turned noon.

“Hey, how are you doing?” Sebastian asked the interviewer as they came on. “I’m great, thank you.”

“Are you quarantined yet, what’s the situation?” Sebastian glanced up at you and then chuckled nervously.

“Yeah, I’m quarantined in Los Angeles right now, I didn’t feel like it was safe to head back to New York and my co-star had an extra room so I begged her to take me in. It’s pretty slow, we’ve probably spent a few hundred dollars on renting movies at this point, but we’re both healthy as far as we can tell, so we’re good.” It was really the only time he mentioned you, but the entire interview, you were nervous for him. Just in case the question came up again, you remained extra quiet as you typed out emails. One caught your eye, though, and it was from your agent.

It was asking you and Sebastian to be part of a celebrity cameo – halfway to promote the movie, halfway to promote the song – in the new Ariana Grande and Justin Bieber video. About a hundred other people had been asked to record a ten to fifteen second-long clip of dancing with someone, preferably slow dancing. Internally, you were screaming. Of course you wanted to, even if it was just a friends-helping-friends thing. But it was another chance to be close to him and you absolutely wanted that. So you said yes, that you’d con Sebastian into it, and that you’d have the video for them tomorrow.

“Alright, thank you, man! Enjoyed talking to you!” Sebastian was saying his goodbyes on the interview, and even after he turned the camera off, he held his fingers to his lips for a second to make sure it was over before shutting his laptop.

“That went well,” you said.

“I know, right? I thought maybe I’d forget how to do press stuff, but maybe not. Why are you smiling like an idiot?” He flopped down on your bed close to you and you turned the computer toward him to let him read. He read it a few times before looking back at you.

“I told them we’d do it. It’s good press.”

“Fine,” he said. “Come on.” He pulled your laptop off your lap and dragged you downstairs, making sure he had his phone since the camera was better.

“We don’t have to do it now!” You said as he tried to find some place to put the camera. You could just do it in front of the door, you decided, and helped prop it up.

“Alexa, play slow 90’s music!” He commanded. He dragged you over to where he was, taking your hand. Don’t Dream It’s Over started playing right away, which wasn’t a terrible song to dance to.

“You face the camera, I look awful,” you said, looking down at the shorts and t-shirt you were in. He smirked.

“I look worse. Come on, just dance with me, I already hit record.” You looked down for a minute. It was just like acting, right? You looked back up when he put his arm around your waist and pulled you toward him. He had that look in his eyes again and you were glued to them, a stupid smile on your face as he forced you to dance with him. You had taken dance classes, you knew what you were doing, but with him you were tripping over your own feet.

“Stop laughing at me!” You said, laughing yourself. “I think the clip is probably long enough.”

“What if I wanted to keep doing this, though?” His eyes were begging you not to leave, so you didn’t. You found yourself unable to look anywhere else. The idea of the phone recording you went away, the idea that you were tripping over him went away. The song changed to Linger by the Cranberries, and maybe it was the slow guitar and the backing orchestra that made it, but you could have sworn that Sebastian was looking at you like… He leaned slightly closer, like he was about to say something.

“Ah, fuck it.” He closed the gap between you and you stopped, bracing yourself with your hands in his shirt, and his hand moved to your face to hold you there as he kissed you. He actually kissed you. And he didn’t stop.

You got me wrapped around your finger, the song said, and it wasn’t wrong. You tugged him closer and closer, unable to keep from smiling, and eventually he just faded into laughter too. But he didn’t let you go, even when you couldn’t control it anymore.

“I’ve been wanting to do that for a really long time,” he admitted with a grin.

“Yeah,” you responded. “Me too.” You leaned your head into his chest and you just stood there for what felt like hours, even after Sebastian had told the Alexa to stop playing music.

“We should probably talk about it, though, right?” He asked finally, pulling away from you. You nodded, knowing he was right, and took his phone off of record. The video was five minutes long. You’d been standing there for five minutes. It felt like both forever and no time at all.

“I like you,” he said as you handed him his phone back. “I really, really like you, and I get it if you don’t because there’s such a big age gap and it might be weird to you, but I think you’re amazing, Y/n.” You took a moment before you answered.

“Is it a little weird? Yeah, maybe, but maybe it’s not. I like you too, I have for awhile, and I just didn’t tell you because I figured you wouldn’t feel the same way. But I guess I was wrong.” He looked down, smiling.

“So if I’d said that right at the beginning of quarantine we’d be in a pretty different place right now, huh?” You nodded.

“I guess. But we know now, and… Do you wanna do this, Seb?”

“Yeah. I really do. I’m sorry I can’t take you out on a date or whatever, but…” You put your arms around him again.

“Just send me the videos and give me some time to change. I can order some food and we can make it seem like a real date?” He smiled and leaned down, fully kissing you again.

“Sounds good. I’ll give you a good hour.” You turned away from him and went up the stairs, sending the video back. You told them to use whatever part of it they wanted after cutting out the part where you were talking.

A few days later, you both curled up on the couch to watch the video premiere. Halfway through, for a few seconds, there was the video where he stopped dancing and leaned down to kiss you. Sebastian looked over at you, smiling, and pulled you in as you continued to watch the video.

“There’s absolutely no one I would rather be stuck with,” he repeated, remembering what he’d said almost two months ago now.

A/N: I hope the anon likes it as much as I do! I loved writing this so much!

#sebastian stan fluff #sebastian stan x reader #sebastian stan imagine

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alleycat97 · 3 years

Text

My Personal Star

With Every Heartbeat

This book killed me, and I know it did you guys as well. But be prepared for some Dakota x Mc spam, this is a different take however with my own character after Dakota passes. Please enjoy.

F!dakota x Mc

Tag list: @samanthadalton @fundamentalromantic anyone else hmu, still new to this story so I’ll include others in future work.

“Live a life worth watching.”

Sage repeated that phrase every morning when she woke up. It was her motivation, it was her inspiration, she did it because Dakota wanted her too. But in the moment, it seemed simple to agree to, but without her rock beside her, Sage found it hard to keep living the life Dakota wanted her to.

She was never alone in this fight, she had Lennox and Mateo and the Winchester’s. But being across the country made it difficult to reach them most of the time.

Sage chose California because of Dakota, and that small glimmer of hope that would allow her to follow her dreams fell short when Dakota passed. But she went anyway, for her.

It wasn’t easy at all, she was alone in a different fight, and that was fitting in. Once she settled in, she was all by herself, no matter how many calls, group texts or video calls she answered, she remembered what Dakota told her that night after Mateo got released,

“When he was here, I could just sneak into his room when I was going through stuff. He knew what to do because he was dealing with the same, and now he’s gone and I’m alone.”

And then Sage knew what Dakota truly meant. She was alone with her feelings and that was never good.

Sage followed through on her promise to Dakota and decided to take on acting school along with her normal academics. It was the only way to keep her mind occupied. She soon found herself to be a natural and a force at acting, and all thanks to Dakota. She really opened up Sage and taught her to be a new version of herself, she just brought the best out of her.

LA kept Sage occupied and the only time she returned home was at Christmas. She had spent the previous 3 with her mother, Mateo, Lennox and The Winchester’s. They never lost touch with Sage and she was forever grateful to have them.

This Christmas was different however, Sage had finished her schooling early and officially graduated from both. So this Christmas was both that and her graduation party.

“We’re all very proud of you sweetie!” Her mother cheered out.

“It’s so crazy to think how far we’ve all come.” Mateo called out.

“Yeah yeah, more mushy stuff.” Lennox joined in typical fashion. Somethings didn’t change.

As the evening was winding up, Dakota’s parents handed Sage a gift.

“You guys didn’t have to...” Sage insisted.

“Well, we didn’t.” Mr. Winchester spoke.

“What do you mean?” Sage asked confused.

“Check the tag sweetie.” Mrs. Winchester said looping her arm around her husband.

Sage did as instructed and nearly fell over.

“What is it Sage?” Mateo ask bouncing in anticipation.

“Yeah who’s it from?” Lennox sighed.

“It’s from...Dakota? I...I don’t understand?”

“Please dear open it.” The couple asked. “Then we will explain.”

“Open it dummy!” Lennox yelled.

“Ok....”

Sage opened the box to reveal a Dakota’s script, trophy and original movie for Dark Pact. Showing everyone.

“Before Dakota passed, she had us promise that you would get these when the time was right. She said it would be ‘your big break in Hollywood’ so please, these are yours now.”

So many emotions came back and hit Sage like a train, even after all these years, Dakota was still looking out for her. “I’ll make you proud.” She whispered as she group hugged everyone.

...

It had been 10 years since that Christmas. 10 years of crying, 10 years of hard work and sleepless nights. 10 years of low budget living and an intense resume is blockbuster films she’s starred in. 10 years had come and gone and after 10 years, Dark Pact was finished.

It took 10 years of her life to finish Dakota’s dream. A dream she wouldn’t dare let anyone else manipulate other than Nolan Grant. He helped Sage tremendously with the film and of course Sage reprised her role as Eleanor. She even offered the ghost roles to Mateo and Lennox who gladly accepted.

She bet everything, and spent every dime to her name on this movie and it took its toll on her. It was emotional every step, not seeing Dakota behind the camera, giving her advice, helping her set scenes and edit. It was difficult. Between other jobs and working on Dark Pact, she had no interest or time for a love life.

Except for one person in particular, a new actress Nolan suggested to play ‘Harper’ a girl that was possessed by a ghost and killed Eleanor, starting her torturing and long adventure of ghost fighting.

Her name was Darci and she was an imposing figure as Sage stepped into the studio. Darci was being interviewed by some low budget pictagram vlogger when both girls met eyes.

Darci smiled and her brown eyes flashed towards Sage. Sage couldn’t help but feel deja vu, as she approached the girl who was nearly a head taller than she. Darci flipped her hair and rain her hand through it greeting Sage. “Hi, I’m Darci Weathers, pleased to meet you.”

Sage just stood still in her own world as she saw her first day of senior year all over again. The exact moment she met Dakota, happened just like this. And Sage got scared and ran, blowing Darci off.

“Hey!” Darci chased after her. “Wait up!”

Sage ran to her dressing room to cry, the memory too great to fathom. Darci barged right in and stopped embarrassed for the intrusion,

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to make you cry.” Darci said kneeling down to Sage.

“It’s not you. Can you...please give me a moment?” Sage asked.

“Sure.”

Having Darci around wasn’t going to be easy but the girl was a natural at acting and even had good ideas to help improve. She was just like Dakota and that’s what scared Sage the most.

She found herself opening up to Darci slowly, mainly for the sake of film chemistry but soon found herself hanging with her regularly. She took the time to learn about the girl and her passions, she wanted to be a producer, what a shock. But she was also the most sweet, most caring person. She didn’t take no for an answer and was determined. She was, just like Dakota....

Sage knew she couldn’t hide the truth from Darci forever and just like Dakota did, she eased into her history with the girl, hopefully to not overwhelm her. Darci took her time as Sage was still afraid to commit.

The after party to Dark Pact had been going on and after several tear jerking interviews later, Sage found herself dancing with Darci. Whether it was the drinks or Darci, Sage found herself kissing the girl all the way home and into her bed. It had been 14 years since she was this intimate with anyone and as soon as Darci dropped her dress, Sage checked out. The memory of her first and only time with Dakota flooded her mind.

“Seriously?” Darci protested.

“I’m sorry, I can’t do this, I’m not ready.” Sage said running from the room, not listening to the angry shouts coming from Darci who followed her into the bathroom.

Sage fell to the bathroom floor and had flipped a switch, “Get away from me.”

“Come on Sage, let me in.” Darci pleaded.

“No! Go away and never come back!”

“But...I wanna help.”

“You can’t help me! Nobody can!” Sage screamed. “You have no idea what it’s like to have your heart spoken for and then ripped out.”

“Well...”

“Get out!” Sage screamed for the last time. This time sending Darci packing.

It had been days since Sage came out of her apartment. 14 years had passed, 14 years since Dakota had left her and here she was. Back to square one. She shut everyone out including Darci. This was a battle she was going to have to face herself.

She caught a plane back to Boston and headed for a place she hasn’t visited in nearly a decade. Dakota’s grave. It was dark when she got there, but she didn’t care, she sat down on the wet dew and stared at Dakota’s headstone.

“Hey.” She started. “I’m sorry it’s been so long since I’ve come to see you. I was afraid. And I know you taught me to be better than that but when you left us, my world came tumbling down. I’ve tried to cope with all of this and I knew it would be difficult. I just love you so much and it kills me everyday that you’re not with me.”

Sage tried to control her tears as she looked to the night sky, “I know you’re up there watching me right now. And I’m sorry if I’ve disappointed you. I’m trying down here, we turned your movie into a box office hit. I know you were there to see it but I wish I could have seen your face.”

She took a deep breath as she leaned into the headstone, “Anyway, I’ve met this girl. And Dakota Winchester I swear she is your twin and reminds me so much of you it scares me. The way she encourages me, lightens up my day. The smiles she gives. Oh! She even does that hair thing you did with you hand. It’s just I gave you my entire heart and I know I promised you I would date others but you were my first. That hasn’t been easy to forget. This isn’t my final goodbye, I’ll never ever forget you and the love we shared. I just want a sign, anything to know that you’re ok with me moving on.”

Sage sat for a few moments hoping for a miracle, when she about gave up, the wind picked up and Sage looked to the stars, catching one blinking in the night sky.

“Thank you, I love you so much.”

With her battle behind her flew back to LA to find Darci.

“Sage? What are you doing here? It’s late?”

“Will you move in with me?”

“What!?” Darci asked.

“I want you to move in with me. I’m sorry about the other day I just...needed to find closure.”

“I understand. If you had just talked to me about this.”

“I know Darci and I’m sorry. I loved Dakota with my entire heart. When she left she took my heart with her but after some soul searching I think I’m finally ready to move on, and that’s with you because I realized I’m in love with you.” Sage gasped as she realized what she just admitted.

“I’m in love with you to.” Darci smiled back kissing Sage.

Sage got her closure and her heart back, however she kept just a small bit for Dakota because this crazy life would not have happened without her. So as Darci and Sage enjoyed their balcony out in the country side, they could enjoy themselves and be at peace.

“So how are we going to wrap up this trilogy?” Darci asked showing Sage some of her storyboards. We can do whatever you want.”

Sage smiled at Darci’s hard work, this time thinking back to to the computer lab when Dakota taught her what a storyboard was.

“I like this one.” Sage said looking to the night sky once again, looking for Dakota. “What do you think?”

Darci crawled onto the chair with Sage looking into the sky, “Which one is Dakota?”

Sage caught the flashing star and pointed so Darci could see, “That’s her, the flashing one.”

“She’s beautiful.” Darci said I’m awe.

“She sure is. Present tense.”

“You’ve got your own personal star.” Darci said kissing Sage who returned it with love.

“Correction, I’ve got two personal stars.”

#playchoices #pixelberry #WEH #with every heartbeat #Sage woods #Sage x Dakota #dakota winchester #dakota x mc #f!dakota

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goldencuffs · 4 years

Text

fake dating au part two

Whenever Laurent was overwhelmed, or feeling the kind of loneliness even a good cock couldn’t cure, he would sneak off into the library in the north wing of the Palace, where most of his mother’s official portraits were displayed.

Laurent loved all of them; Hennike was smiling in every single one, blonde hair curled perfectly, and teeth a stunning white. The colouring of her gowns and crowns were so bright, even painted, they seemed to shine in the dullest light. Laurent didn’t really know her; she had died three days after giving birth to him, but he had watched so many interviews and home videos of her, he felt like he had. She had been beautiful, well spoken, and everyone had been shocked when she had fallen for Al, because she had been betrothed to someone else.

Laurent liked coming down here to talk to her. It helped to have her listen to his dramatic tirades. He had started doing it when he was thirteen, when Auguste had enlisted in military training and left him alone, but had stopped a few months later, when Al caught him, his face ashen as he’d watched his youngest son babble to his dead wife.

After that, Laurent made sure to only come down in the dead of night, when he was absolutely desperate.

Which was clearly now; Laurent’s head had been spinning since the dinner at Heston’s. Even dessert hadn’t cheered him up — Heston, the absolute cretin, had served only four options of dessert and not a single one had chocolate in them. Not even one! It was like people intentionally went out of their way to put Laurent in a foul mood. Laurent had already drafted a wordy letter about Heston’s appalling lack of class and hosting abilities on the way home, and he was going to send it to the local tabloid first thing in the morning.

Laurent paced around the library, addressing his favourite portrait of his mother. It was her wedding portrait, and he loved all the detailing in it. The blush pink flowers in her bouquet matched her lipstick and her blush, and the tiara she was wearing had 588 diamonds in it. It was called The Laurent Tiara, and when Laurent had found out it had been Hennike’s favourite crown, he’d cried into his pillowcase for an embarrassingly long time.

“If I tell Al the truth now, he’ll kill me,” Laurent wailed at an appropriately low volume; he was very considerate of the sleeping guards when he threw his tantrums. “Or worse — get me married! Oh god, he’ll set me up with that idiot Torveld and I’ll have to spend the rest of my life hearing about his coin collection. Who even uses cash anymore? And what exactly is the point of having money if you can’t use it? And has Al even considered the aesthetics of our coupling? How are we supposed to wear matching outfits if Torveld looks rubbish in Egyptian blue and azure? Hello! Those are my signature colours!” Laurent sunk down on the lumpy sofa and buried his head in his hands. “Maybe death really is the better option.” He looked up at Hennike’s green eyes. “Is heaven overrated? Where would you personally place it on a scale of one to ten?”

She didn’t answer him, obviously. It was no use, anyway; Laurent was definitely not getting into heaven.

Laurent woke up irritated and unrested, and not for his usual, fun reasons. He hadn’t come up with any sort of solution to his dilemma and he had had a very strange dream where Damianos punched him while Al watched on. Then the scene had changed, and Laurent was on stage accepting his tenth Oscar for Best Actor, even though he had yet to star in any films.

“I’m thinking of becoming an actor,” Laurent told Al later that night during dinner.

Al’s eyes narrowed and his mouth became a sharp line. “What?”

“I mean, I have the looks, obviously. And really, how hard is acting anyway? Clearly you don’t even need to be very good at it to star in a movie — look at Channing Tatum. I’m sorry, but it’s very obvious his height was the only thing that got him into Hollywood, and even then it’s not that impressive.”

Al put down his knife and fork. “Can we —” He sounded very strained, “have a normal conversation for once.”

Laurent considered this. “I don’t think we’ve had enough conversations to statistically find out what constitutes a normal one,” he said. Al went red, so he continued, “So you don’t think acting is for me? Shall I try directing then? Or maybe —” He sat up excitedly in his chair. “I could write movies! I have so many ideas! Why, for instance, has no one considered a gay version of The Princess Bride? What would that even be called? The Prince Groom? Ugh, no, that’s terrible. Oh, who am I kidding — with my face and my body I have no choice but to be on camera. Otherwise, it’d be such a waste.”

The vein in Al’s forehead was throbbing. If he had been wearing his crown, it would have gone unnoticed, but like this, it was rather unflattering.

Al said, “Laurent,” in a sombre tone. “I really hope you’re joking.”

“About The Prince Groom? Kind of. But the acting thing — would it really be that bad?”

“You are a prince,” Al said, teeth clenched. “If it is the glam and glitz you want, you have more than enough here.”

Laurent, uncomfortably, thought of his room, the only place in the Palace that was truly his, devoid completely of personal artefacts. He swallowed. “Yes, well.” He tried a smile. “Maybe I should borrow another crown from the royal archives. I don’t think I’ve worn one with emeralds yet.”

Al resumed eating. “Speaking of crowns,” he said, completely glossing over Laurent’s last statement. “I’d like you to wear the Crown of Naos when King Damianos arrives.”

Laurent’s mouth dropped open. “As if! Al, the gold colouring on that completely washes me out! Not to mention the fact that that thing weighs like, five kilograms!”

Al’s nostrils flared at the word Al. He said, “The crown is a gift from Damianos’ great great grandfather to yours. It will be an appropriate and symbolic gesture if you wear it.”

“But why can’t you wear it? Or Auguste?”

“I am not the one having an affair with the King of Akielos,” said Al.

Oh, right. Laurent had forgotten about that. But what was the point? It wasn’t as though Damianos would recognise the gesture. If anything, he might think of it as inappropriate.

Instead he said, “Well, gee, Al, I didn’t peg you as a romantic.” Laurent fluttered his lashes a little.

Al pushed away his plate. “I’m done, thank you.” A servant immediately came to clear away his food.

Al left the dining hall, his shoulders tight. Laurent wished Auguste would hurry back home already.

In the morning, on the way back from the stables, Jord said, “Looks like your wish came true.”

Laurent stopped dead. “Oh my god — is Pierre-Alexis Dumas here? Is he finally going to collab with me?”

“Who’s Pierre-Alexis Dumas?” said Jord.

Laurent whirled on him. “Watch your fucking mouth.”

“Sorry.” Jord said, not sounding the slightest bit sorry. The audacity! “But look.” He pointed past Laurent, to the front of the Palace.

Laurent looked. There was a nondescript black limousine parked on the long, gravel pathway. Laurent would have dismissed it, if he didn’t spot sight of Jeurre, Auguste’s chauffeur, leant up against one of the doors, smoking.

Laurent gasped. He passed on his bridle to Jord, who fumbled to catch it, and ran inside.

Auguste and Al were in the plate room. Al was sitting on the large, velvet throne, a glass of whiskey in his hand. It wasn’t even noon! And he was baring his teeth in that weird way — smiling, as he called it.

Auguste was standing in front of him, hands behind his back. He had gotten very tan, and his hair was much darker, a strange golden colour that made the blue-green of his eyes more appealing.

They both turned when Laurent entered. Al’s mouth was already drooping at the sight of him, but Laurent only had eyes for his brother, whom he hadn’t seen in eight whole months.

Laurent wanted to hug him, which surprised even himself. Laurent was not a hugger. He wasn’t much of a toucher, either, unless it involved getting laid.

Auguste gave him a nod. He sometimes acted so much like Al, it disgusted Laurent; the only difference was that Auguste’s eyes were always kind.

Laurent peered at him closely, shocked. “What have you done to yourself? Are you having a mid-life crisis? Should we call Paschal for a yearly psych evaluation?”

Auguste laughed. “It’s a moustache, Laurent. It’s very fashionable in Kempt, you know.”

“It’s horrendous!” Laurent cried. He stared at the thick hair above Auguste’s top lip in horror. “Right. I’m officially ruling Kempt out as a holiday destination this summer if all the men are growing that.”

Al’s eyebrows furrowed. “I like it. It’s very refined.”

“Oh god, now we have to get rid of it,” said Laurent, which made Al frown and Auguste laugh. Auguste squeezed Laurent’s shoulder. He was always mindful of Laurent’s boundaries. “I think you’ve grown taller.”

“I haven’t,” Laurent said. He showed off his riding boots. “See? It’s three inches of heel.”

“Very impractical,” Al said under his breath, which was not a very Kingly thing to do.

Auguste was still smiling. “I like it. It matches the piping of your coat.”

“Yes, exactly!” Laurent was so happy in that moment, he leant forward and hugged Auguste. It was very short, but Auguste looked so pleased afterwards, Laurent wished he had prolonged it.

“Did you get me anything?” he asked, to cover the embarrassment following his sudden burst of affection.

Auguste raised an eyebrow. “I’m hurt, Laurent. You’re not going to ask me about my classes or my rather excellent Anthropology professor?”

Laurent scrunched up his face. “Are you stalling because you didn’t get me anything?”

Auguste smiled. “There’s about fifty boxes of Grand Cru chocolate in your bedroom.”

Laurent’s sound of ecstasy was too loud; Al spilled some of his whiskey onto his pants. Auguste clapped him on the back in commiseration.

As the servants laid out a small meal — roses of smoked salmon on cucumber slices, macaroons, thin slices of cured meat and cheese, crunchy shrimp salad on crusty rolls, grapes and strawberries and mango and pineapple, individual strawberry shortcakes, that kind of thing — Auguste said, “Father tells me you’re having an affair with the King of Akielos.” He said it casually enough, but Laurent could see he wasn’t thrilled about the idea.

Laurent swallowed his last bite of sandwich and placed a hand on his heart. “Al! You should know better than to gossip, shame on you!”

Al just sighed, a long, suffering sound, and Auguste glared openly at him. “I thought you promised to stop disrespecting Father like that.”

Laurent’s stomach pooled with an uncomfortable tightness. Being told off by Auguste somehow was always worse than being told off by Al.

“Fine,” Laurent said shortly. He said to Al: “Oh dearest Father, Papa, Your Majesty, light of my life, the man who impregnated Queen Hennike, so I, your glorious creation, could be born to bring some joy to this bleak, bleak world: stop gossiping immediately.”

There was a very long pause. Then Auguste laughed. “You are such a shit.”

Al sighed again. “He’s becoming more and more insolent by the day.”

“Thank you so much,” Laurent said, wiping away an imaginary tear.

Auguste barked another laugh. Al sipped more whiskey; a very good sign. Laurent was going to take advantage of this; he wanted a new watch.

Auguste continued his questioning a few minutes later. “So. You and the King — it’s true?”

Laurent flapped a hand. “Oh, you know how it is. He saw those pictures of me from Aimeric’s birthday party where I wore those silk shorts that were just long enough to be tasteful and the poor darling had absolutely no choice but to slide into my DMs and woo me.”

“What’s a DM?” asked Al, and if the question had come from anyone else, Laurent would have found it adorable. He probably would have tweeted it as well.

“Texting,” Auguste said. He seemed contemplative. “Aimeric’s birthday — from last September? It’s been a bit more than a year.”

“Yes,” said Laurent. He tried to say it as wistfully as possible. “He bought me a Ferrarri.”

“Really?” Auguste sounded impressed. “The 1954?”

Laurent grinned. “Do you want to drive it?”

“Fuck yeah,” Auguste said, then quickly cleared his throat and looked at their father. “I mean, yes. Perhaps later in the afternoon.”

Al shook his head, but he didn’t say anything for the rest of the meal. Well, he didn’t say anything to Laurent. He really was in a good mood.

Having Auguste back had Laurent so distracted it wasn’t until a few days later that he realised how frantically the staff were cleaning the floors and walls and painting frames.

In fact, he became so relaxed doing less than nothing all day, since Al was too busy doing this and that, or fawning over Auguste, he didn’t comprehend why the chefs needed fifty boars delivered fresh on Friday morning, until Al told him before their weekly Council, “I want you to wear your red high neck blouse tomorrow.”

“Why?” Laurent asked, checking for any fine lines in the shine of the armour of one of the propped knights in the hallway.

“It is the colour of the Akielos banner. I am trying to seem as diplomatic as possible.”

Laurent went very, very still. With dawning horror, he said, “The — Damianos is coming tomorrow?”

Al’s expression turned thunderous. “Do not waste my time asking stupid questions, Laurent. You know how much I despise it.”

Laurent’s eyes widened. “Oh no,” he said quietly, real fear settling into his bones. Damianos was going to murder him tomorrow. He would need to get a facial tonight, to ensure he was the most beautiful corpse the human eye had seen. And then something much more horrific occurred to him. “Wait! I can’t wear the red high neck with the Crown of Naos! Those colours completely clash!”

Al seemed to age a few centuries in a blink of an eye. With a shake of his head, he walked into the Chambers, leaving Laurent alone in the hallway.

Laurent frowned. One of these days, he was going to be the one storming out. It was only fair.

Things only got worse.

Laurent’s last minute facial broke him out, so he threatened to sue and smashed one of their stupid reclining chairs.

Laurent had honestly thought that was going to be the worst of it; the pimple along his jawline was easy to cover up once he got the local dermatologist to inject something in it.

But on the morning of Damianos’ arrival, Laurent was in a terrible mood. He hadn’t slept at all, worried about his pimple, his horrible outfit, and the fact that a man who was the size of a small house — Google said Damianos was 6’6”, but he was definitely way more, no arguments — was going to viciously kill him.

“Hurry up,” Laurent snapped at the servant dressing him, who had been pulling too sharply at his laces for the last six minutes.

“Yes, Your Highness,” he answered meekly, and continued fumbling about.

When a few more minutes passed, Laurent looked down at him. “Okay, seriously, this is ridiculous. You usually get me dressed in ten minutes or less. What is the problem?”

“I —” The servant looked like he was on the verge of tears. “Your Highness, the laces — I can’t do them up. It’s uh — it’s too tight.”

“What do you mean?” Laurent asked, narrowing his eyes. “This fit perfectly a month ago.”

“Yes, well —” And his eyes slid over to the bed, where an empty, open box of chocolates was stacked against many other empty boxes of chocolate.

Laurent saw red.

It took three guards and then Jord and Lazar to keep Laurent restrained enough to not kill him. In the end, he yelled until his throat was hoarse and the servant broke down, running out the room with his face covered in tears.

Afterwards, Laurent attempted to do up the laces himself, because he was not fat, and he definitely had not gained weight; he was svelte and sexy and desirable.

In the end, he could only do his trousers up, and only just. If he let out a particularly deep exhale… well, breathing was overrated anyway, Laurent had always thought so.

“Oh, forget it!” Laurent howled, miserable and on the verge of tears himself. “I look ridiculous.”

“No, you don’t, Your Highness,” Jord assured quickly. Too quickly.

Laurent glanced at himself in the mirror. His ass was practically suffocated in these trousers — and that was his best feature! He ran a hand down it forlornly. “It’s too tight.”

Jord’s eyes followed his hand with avid interest. He was drooling.

“Could be tighter,” said Lazar, leaning against the bedpost.

Laurent flung himself on the bed. “No it couldn’t. I need to lose about three kilograms in the next —” He checked the clock, “half an hour. Oh god. Just tell Al I died. It’ll make his day, go on.”

“Orgasms help with weight loss,” said Lazar. “I could fuck your face.”

Laurent sniffed “Don’t be so stupid.” He looked at the clock again. “Obviously, riding you will help me lose more calories. Both of you get on the bed, quick.”

Laurent did not lose three kilograms in half an hour. As enjoyable as the sex had been, it had only made him tired and anxious.

Jord suggested that Laurent should just let the laces at the back trail, and cover it up with a coat, even though it was far too hot in the year to wear one. Laurent obliged anyway, knowing how difficult Al would be if he showed up wearing undiplomatic colours. He changed his trousers into a different pair, making sure it had an elastic waistband to stretch accommodatingly.

When the crown was placed on his head, he staggered a little. It really was unnecessarily heavy. His great great grandfather must have had a head the size of a watermelon.

Laurent walked unsteadily down the hall, towards the Palace steps where Auguste and Al were already waiting. His insides became so twisted with the thought of seeing Damianos, he had to make a detour and hide behind a tapestry to have a panic, but only a little one.

Outside, the sun was blazing. Auguste clapped him on the back in greeting, and Laurent winced, the material of his blouse sticking to his armpits. Al’s lips curled at his outfit, but Laurent couldn’t care. He hoped he looked beautiful enough — just enough — so Damianos would reconsider his murder. At the very least, Laurent hoped nothing happened to his face.

“Alright?” said Auguste. “You’re sweating.”

“Shut up,” said Laurent, mortified. He was a prince; he did not sweat.

Auguste’s response was cut off by the sound of the gates opening and rolling tires on gravel. Laurent’s heart was in his ears; he swallowed, but it made him feel more sick.

The sleek, black car was parked in the driveway. Several seconds later, Damianos stepped out, tall and handsome.

Laurent whimpered. It was one thing to see photos of Damianos on the internet, walking briskly down the street or shaking hands with Al, and it was another thing entirely to see him in the flesh as he walked down their driveway.

He was so tall. And he was built like a tree; all thick arms and chest and thighs. Laurent had such a weakness for thighs, they were really the best part of a man’s body, how they framed the groin and the cock and —

Laurent realised, suddenly, that he had not prepared at all for how he was going to greet Damianos.

Lovers kissed each other, yes? Laurent didn’t think he could do that without being punched but god, would Al think it was weird if he didn’t at least attempt to kiss Damianos? Maybe he could pretend to suddenly be shy, too coy to look into Damianos’ eyes in front of everyone — yes, yes that sounded perfect.

Damianos came up the stairs, smile wide and straight. His teeth were amazing. Were they fake? Laurent didn’t think so; he ran his tongue over his own, nervous, heart still thumping in his ears.

He greeted Al first. Laurent’s head was spinning. What if Al said something? What if Auguste did? What if Damianos said something that alluded to the fact that this was technically, the first time he and Laurent would be speaking to another?

And then Laurent couldn’t think of anything else, because Damianos was standing right in front of him.

He reached out, one large, dark hand to shake Laurent’s. Laurent staggered forward, into his chest, and closed his eyes.

When he opened his eyes again, Laurent saw the most beautiful angel.

“Wow, you’re hot.” Laurent poked a very hard, very strong bicep. “Heaven’s pretty cool.” He was dead, obviously, because people this good looking didn’t exist in the mortal world.

“You’re not dead, Laurent. Can you sit up?”

Laurent thought about it. He wasn’t dead? That was good news. But he felt like he was dead because he couldn’t move his body at all.

“Here, can you follow my finger?”

“Hmm.” Laurent said and stared unblinkingly at what he assumed was a finger. It was quite blurry.

“I think he’s concussed.”

Laurent giggled. The stranger’s accent made it sound like he had said cock-cussed. It made Laurent want to suck cock.

He said, “If I’m not dead, I’d like to be. Jord, get me my blue Prada scarf. I want to be buried in it. Lazar, get your gun out.”

“He doesn’t seem concussed.” That was Al. The compulsion to die was suddenly much stronger.

“We should take him to the hospital,” the hot angel said. Laurent was in love.

He said as much: “I really love you,” he told the blurry figure. Then he rolled over onto his side and threw up.

#captive prince #im going to see if its worth posting on tumblr and ao3 dont mind me #fake dating au #damen x laurent #my writing #my fic #queue

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anitacoknow · 3 years

Text

I'm feeling my emotions pretty hard today (June 14th, 2021), so it might be a good idea to start writing.

Trigger Warning:

This text post mentions suicide, death, abortion, and could be an uneasy read.

About two months ago, I almost died during a routine abortion. The way that sounds, my stomach turns and it makes the tears fall like a monsoon. Nothing about getting an abortion is easy, it is humiliating and it's a huge personal hurdle to deal with - my heart goes out to any woman who has been in that tough position. That being said, I'm not writing this for sympathy nor am I looking for negative comments or death threats, I put myself through that enough already with my own mental.

Starting this attempt to release my emotions is difficult because I'm not even sure what to say to myself. I guess I am also hopeful someone will have the right words through experience or just in general because I'm struggling to find the words within myself.

To begin, I can't have children anymore and that is the worst part; I made a decision that took future decisions, future generations, future plans away from me. So, to anyone who wanted to go in on me at the sight of the word abortion: fate ironically beat you to the punch.

I made a decision that my heart wasn't wholly in and it almost cost me my life and it cost my daughter's life (I don't need scientific fact proving she was just a clump of cells and hadn't begun processing pain or emotion or whatever, doesn't change shit as far as empathy goes, so please shove it).

Her birth name was to be Juniper.

To give some insight, Washington State allows abortions up to 28 weeks. For those who aren't aware of pregnancy cycles/trimesters, 28 weeks is still half way through the pregnancy and the beginning of the second trimester. The fetus during this stage has become more human like and all that science stuff. I had my abortion at 21 weeks, in a clinic and the process shouldn't have gone the way it did.

On the second day of my procedure, I was put under anesthesia and when I woke up I wasn't all there. Before this, I had never experienced being put under anesthesia to my recollection, so what I thought I was feeling was normal. It wasn't until I realized I had been losing conciousness that things started to feel unnatural. I was laid on the floor of the "recovery room" and I started to regain conciousness fast. There was a lot of blood between my legs and mentioning it to them seemed to make the blood pool more. It wasn't long after that the doctor that performed the procedure squated next to me to tell me she needed to put me back under.

For the next bit, I apologize to the squeamish.

There was another woman in the room with me who had just come out of her own anesthesia, she was ironically a CNA, who started to show signs of worry when I wasn't making the anticipated recovery. The doctor had her removed from the room and leaned back in to tell me that they couldn't locate the fetal head and a few limbs. When they attempted to have me walk back to the room, I fainted and was placed back on the floor. The nurses wheeled me into the surgical room and helped me back on to the table, to which I protested them allowing me to see my ride. I'm hesitant to mention the father in this because it is sensitive, so I apologize for how he is mentioned in further comments. It wasn't until I saw him that things started to blur and I started losing conciousness again.

I feel it is also important to explain what I felt, which was extremely cold. My nipples were harder than they had ever been and despite the numerous blankets, warmed and otherwise, that were placed on me, my body didn't feel warmth until the EMTs carted me to the ambulance and the sun touched me; and again when I was placed on the surgical table at the hospital. Mentally, I don't think I was aware of anything bad happening to my body. Even after hearing they lost the fetal head, I don't think I ever reacted. If I had to say, I was mentally blissful - which isn't something I have ever experienced. I literally couldn't care less, everything was a joke (which is also part of my personality when dealing with assumed stressful situations) to me up until I arrived at the ER and they put me under before telling me that they might have to remove my whole uterus. My last words would have been: "oh, this table is so warm!" to the doctor who saved my life. When I woke up 24 hours later, there was a tube in my throat and I was tied to the bed (which Hollywood doesn't show in movies or T.V. so when you are experiencing it, it is really scary and it fucking hurts.) in ICU.

So, what the fuck happened?

Well, my uterus at the time of the abortion was about 2 pounds heavy and 2 feet long; Juniper was about the size of a sweet potato to give you an image. During the abortion, the doctor perforated my uterus, the length of the tear was about a foot long according to my surgeon/aftercare doctor. The abortion itself was supposedly no more than 10 minutes, but I was apparently under for roughly an hour. My ride expected me out in two hours, but after speaking to him, started to worry when I hadn't responded to texts and the elapsed time came to four hours. During the removal of the fetus, after perforation had occurred, I laid there internally bleeding for several hours. The human body can hold minimum 5 litres of blood (or to give you an physical idea, a gallon [US] of milk about) depending on the size of the body and health. A human can die from losing 2 litres of blood, but I survived after losing 4 litres internally, which is probably what saved my life. I vaguely remember being lifted on to the gurney and I vaguely remember the ride to the ER. I was given 7 units of blood, my uterus was stitched in 8 layers and the fetal head had nestled itself behind my kidney, so I had an emergency cesarean, plus a JP drain placed to remove all the blood that pooled in my abdomen.

The hospital experience itself is a different story and makes the whole ordeal just as sad. The only solace I had were two nurses that really didn't judge me, outside of that, everyone there had an opinion and wore it on their face and in their treatment. My last interaction with one of the doctors who helped performed my "miraculous" surgery and was probably the most surprising bit because it included a little racism. My partner is white and he is cisgender. Before his appearance, said doctor largely made fun of my pain tolerance when removing surgical tape from my incision area and inner thighs. If you haven't had a cesarean or don't know exactly what it is, after making the initial incision, the doctors have to literally tear the muscles apart to get to your uterus. In my case, I also had to have my intestines removed to get to my kidneys. Needless to say, my midsection was very sensitive outside of my low pain threshold. During the stint, he very angrily asked me if I wanted to remove the bandage myself while showing his frustration in his whole body and face. At that point, I just said fuck it and let him tear the bandage from my body with a little skin along with it. After a quick look, he stood up and asked if I cared if he left to deliver a baby and he didn't wait for a response, I assume because my face probably said exactly what he wanted. I sat there and cried until my partner got there and when he showed face again, his bedside manner gave me whiplash. He released us after I made a large fuss about my care and I left holding back tears until we were out of sight of the hospital.

The day before I almost died, I sat with the owner of the clinic who also doubles as a nurse there, and cried to her about my fear and the little consolation I had because she was kind. I have had two previous abortions during a previous marriage that I also didn't want to have, but being in an abusive relationship, you give and take a lot, that included. I confided in her that those two experiences, both at Planned Parenthood, were riddled in racist bedside manner and left me uneasy about abortions and clinics in general. Being a woman of color herself, she cried with me and assured me that things would be fine, in fact the woman doing my abortion would also be a woman of color. She called me two days later, I could hear her sadness, but it also left me in such a state of panic that I ended the conversation without saying much.

Women of color do not have great mortality rates when it comes to medical intervention, especially during pregnancies/child birth. However, uterus perforation during an abortion only occurs at a rate of .3%, so I'm part of a medical anomaly (it isn't an anomaly at all, she just fucked up). Beyond that, women of color, specifically black women are more likely to suffer from medical racism during aftercare. One of the biggest glaring problems being that black women are percieved to have a high pain threshold, something a lot of people lack.

Since this experience, which is missing a lot of detail, I've gone in an out of depressive mania. Which, to say the least, I can handle because I've dealt with it for years. What I can't handle are commercials, or even cherub faces in person, or the fact that my step-sister announced her pregnancy to our parents on mother's day. I can't handle the notifications of memories from my pictures that spotlight some of the photos I took during my pregnancy. I can't handle that my neighbors had just moved in and had just given birth right before being released from the hospital. Movie montages about children growing up making lumps swell in my throat. For the first few weeks I would wake up screaming, or crying, or begging whoever not to take my baby from me. I tried to cope with sex that I couldn't realistically have because I was healing. I took up smoking cigarettes again because it is the only thing I could physically feel relax my incision area. My daughter, who is 9 years old, asks me how I'm doing when I don't realize I'm zoned out and crying.

Overall, I wish they would have let me die. It isn't like I haven't tried to kill myself before and I always secretly hoped I'd find a way to just go peacefully. Of all my attempts at suicide, the most serious was drinking bleach and all I got from that was minor chemical burn in my esophagus.

Sitting there during my last follow up, knowing damn well I wasn't going to get good news, I asked the doctor who saved my uterus and life if I could safely get pregnant. I was told by another I could have a child, but it would most likely be harrowing because my uterus wouldn't be able to house a full term fetus and they would most like be born premature. There was also another possibility she kept from me, which my doctor with a penchant for being very frank said: "would end up taking my uterus or almost killing me."

Word for word: if I get pregnant, my uterus would rupture at the healed incision.

And what, what am I supposed to think or feel now that my worst fear finally materialized? I'm realistically mad at myself for materializing my greatest fear. I also hate myself for being so upset at something I caused because I know others are in my situation for reasons beyond their control.

I thought writing this would make me feel better, would make it so I wouldn't have to mentally relive it, but I just feel worse. My partner lost his job because he took a leave of absence to take care of me and that's to say nothing of him taking time off at the beginning of the year because he needed brain surgery. The job I had interviewed for earlier in the week kept my position open, but on returning to work found I couldn't keep my anxiety to a minimum and eventually asked for leave of absence. So now, we are struggling financially and I blame myself for that too, which I know I shouldn't.

I can't begin to explain how unsure and confused I feel every day. Some times I find myself pacing or walking around and I don't even know what I'm doing. Hearing or seeing emergency vehicles makes me panic. I've had to force myself to look down during driving because I'm so fucking scared.

Idk, I'm sorry to whoever is reading this. I just needed to vent.

#mentally drained #near death experience #abortion #black lives matter #selflove #mental dump #creative release #writing therapy #mental heath support #mental wellbeing #talking to myself #talking it out

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spookysanta · 4 years

Text

online - five. (g.d.)

Summary: everyone warned him about talking to this girl online. but he can’t help but want to fall for her... now he has to meet her. what happens when they finally get together in person?

Pairing: Grayson Dolan x Reader

WARNINGS: as usual, sexy thoughts, nothing major

click here for part one, part two, part three, part four.

UNEDITED

i hope y’all are doing well during this time of quarantine. if you need someone to talk to, i’m always here! :)

He woke up before she did, thankfully. He knew she would be totally asleep after being up in the middle of the night, and lucky for him, she’s a heavy sleeper. So he got the chance to make himself some coffee, run to the store, and have his workout (not necessarily in that order) before going back to his bedroom to wake her. “Honey.” He soothingly rubbed her back to wake her gently.

“No.” she grumbled sleepily. He knew she wasn’t a morning person but that was his clarification. She tried to shake his hand off her but to no avail. “Stop.”

“C’mon, baby. You’ve got to get up.”

“Go away.”

“Fine. I guess you don’t want toaster strudel for breakfast.”

If there’s one thing that she loves to eat for breakfast, he’s learned, it’s toaster strudel. More specifically, the apple flavor. She told him early on in their “conversations” together that she ate them every day and could never get tired of it.

Her eyes opened. “You did not.”

“Oh, I did.” He retorted. “Now get your ass up.”

She sat up, finally. “Alright. You win.”

He moved out of the way so that she could get up, moving quickly to the guest room to get her toiletries. Then she ran back through his room and into his bathroom to wash her face and brush her teeth. When she was done, she emerged in Grayson’s room where he was sat on the bed scrolling through his phone (as he’s prone to do when he’s waiting for her).

“Took you long enough.” He muttered as he stood, going up to her and snaking his arms around her waist. “You’re so pretty.”

“Seriously?” she asked. “I just woke up.”

“Shut up and let me be mushy.” He took her hand and led her out of his bedroom and into the kitchen. There were grocery bags scattered across the countertops and very clearly she could see the toaster strudel label peeking through the clear plastic. “I also bought you some bacon and eggs, since you still eat animals.”

She wanted to melt. He really does care about her, doesn’t he? “Grayson you didn’t have to do this.”

“I wanted to, don’t worry.” He ushered her to the breakfast bar to sit while he began to prepare her breakfast. “So…I was thinking today we go somewhere special.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah.” He beat two eggs in a bowl as he talked, sprinkling in cheddar cheese. “Maybe we could go somewhere fun…maybe they’ve got rides…and maybe, just maybe, they just opened a Jurassic World ride that someone has been dying to try.” He shrugged as he poured the eggs in a hot pan. “Just a thought.”

Yes, she was excited that he suggested taking her to Universal Studios Hollywood, duh. Who wouldn’t be? But she was way too busy watching him cook for her—shirtless—to even register the idea. She was way more concerned with the thought of her bent over this counter with him behind her as he wrapped a hand around her throat—

“Hello?”

He snapped her out of her trance. “What?”

Too early, (Y/N). It’s too early in the morning for you to have these sinful thoughts, said one part of her conscience. Remember, teddy bears, waterfalls...

“You zoned out there for a bit.” He plated her breakfast, then set it in front of her. “Does that mean you don’t want to go to Universal today?”

“Yes, I’d love to.” She finally realized that she finally had the opportunity to go to Universal Studios, ride every ride there, and eat fatty and expensive amusement park food until she got a stomachache. He came around to where she was sitting and kissed her forehead before sitting in the seat next to her. He picked up one of the pieces of toaster strudel he made for her and took a big bite, wiping his fingers off on a napkin. “Grayson—”

“You can’t be mean to me today, baby. I’m taking you to check off your bucket list so really, you should be thanking me, hm?” he cocked an eyebrow at her.

“You know what? You’re absolutely right. Thank you, Grayson.” she tried to make it sound as sarcastic and unnerving as possible.

“I’ll take it.” He leaned over and peppered kisses on her brown cheek. “Alright, baby, I’m going to go shower and change. You finish up here, and we’ll get going around one, okay?”

“Okay.”

***

She had to remind herself that she needed to keep her thoughts to a minimum. She wasn’t entirely sure how that would happen because he was so gorgeous and he was so strong—she did not forget how effortlessly he picked her up last night to carry her to bed, and she certainly didn’t forget the tightness in his grip around her waist as they slept.

But even with how strong he was, and how dominating he seemed, he was still so gentle with her. He made sure to talk to her as if he were telling secrets, and he made sure to touch her gently, almost as if she were a porcelain doll.

She could tell that she meant a lot to him by the way that he kisses her forehead and cheeks, but why in the hell has he not kissed her yet? She knows that they both like each other in that way, and he already told her that he wanted her as his girlfriend, so what is he waiting for?

The (not) couple finished getting ready and was out the door before one o’clock—much to his pleasure. She begged him to let her play her music on his auxiliary because she’d just downloaded a song that she had to play. So naturally, he said yes, especially when she gave him the puppy dog eyes. When she played it she couldn’t help but get giddy inside because the song was so good (honestly her favorite at the moment), and they were going to Universal Studios Hollywood, and on top of it all, she was with him and he looked absolutely radiant.

“What’s this?” he asked over the blaring vocals.

“Oh my gosh, it’s called “when the party’s over” by Billie Eilish. Do you listen to her?”

“No, not really. It’s a bit sad, don’t you think?” he glanced at her out of the corner of his eye and saw her completely engulfed in the music.

“Yes, that’s the point.” She replied. “Isn’t it great?”

“It’s alright.” He shrugged.

“Alright? Gray, did you not hear what I heard? The vocals? The harmonies? The piano? C’mon, baby, you’re joking, right?”

Wait.

What’d she just say?

“Say that again.” Thankfully, they were stopped at a red light. He looked directly at her.

“Say what?”

“You just called me “baby”.”

Her eyes widened. She didn’t even realize she said that! “Oh, did I?”

“Yes, you did. And I want to hear you say it again…please.”

He needed to get himself under control because if she plans to call him “baby” all day long, then it’s going to be a long ass day.

“Okay…well, baby, I’m very excited to go to Universal with you today!”

He gripped the steering wheel tighter. “I’m excited, too. Trust me.”

“You do know now I have to put you on to more amazing music, right?”

He rolled his eyes. “If you must.”

***

The short car ride felt like an eternity to him. Not because he didn’t love having her around, because it’s very apparent that he did; it’s just the damn music would not end. Her music choice was…different. Not in a bad way, he thinks. It’s just not what he listens to and he almost had to plead for her to play Tame Impala before he earned a headache before their day even began.

He’s gained a new respect for Flo Milli, he’ll admit—but not to (Y/N), because then he’ll never hear the end of it.

When they pulled into the parking lot, he sat back in his seat, killing the engine and taking out his phone.

“Hey,” she piped up. “what are you doing?”

“I’m sending you your ticket. Shush.”

She couldn’t help it, and not that she wanted to, but she took her hand and raised it to his head, running her fingers through his hair. His body stiffened at the sudden contact, then relaxed when she felt him scratch his scalp carefully. There was something about the way his hair felt; almost too soft for it to be there. She wasn’t the “hair-smelling” type, but judging by the softness of it, she could tell he took good care of it and it had to have smelled good. She ran her hand through the longer tufts of hair at toward the front of his head, following the span of his scalp to the back of his head, and scratching at the nape of his neck. She soon found herself twirling the hair around her fingers, pulling on the strands accidentally.

He sucked in a breath, saying “ow” but not really meaning it.

“Oops! Sorry.”

Now here’s the issue between the two of them: they want each other. Not just with cute dates and kisses and snuggles, but in the most intimate way possible. But she’s not going to tell him that, and he definitely won’t tell her, because the list of things in his mind that he wants to do her is vast and vivid; he doesn’t want to break her before she’s ready to be broken.

Moreover, he doesn’t want her to see him as a distraction once she leaves. Once she leaves, she has to go back to school and study her ass off, and she won’t have time to call him every hour and tell him how much she misses him. She won’t be able to snuggle him, kiss him, or run her fingers through his hair. And that could be problematic for the both of them.

She’ll admit that she’s the type to fall hard and fast, so yes, the chance of her falling for him is going to be sky high; but that doesn’t mean she won’t do what it takes for thing they’ve got going to be successful and, most importantly, to keep him around.

He put his phone in the pocket of his hoodie, opening the car door. “C’mon.”

***

Of course, they had a blast. She rode rides that she’d only seen in the commercials or on the internet, and he got to witness her joy firsthand. That was his favorite part—besides trying deep-fried Oreos and sharing a glass of butterbeer with her. They walked hand-in-hand back to the car when she sighed contentedly. “Thank you for today.” She wrapped her other arm around his bicep. “You have no idea how much fun I had.”

He chuckled, kissing her head as though it were his job. “I think I have an idea…but you deserved it, okay? Don’t thank me.”

As they approached the car, his mind began to race (more than it already does when he’s around her). You know what? He thought, fuck it.

“Well, I still appreciate it.”

He stopped in his tracks, gently pulling away from her and taking her hands in his.

Her eyebrows furrowed. “What’s wrong?”

“So here’s the deal.” He spoke lowly. “All day, I’ve been wondering about what things could be.”

“In regard to…?”

“Us.” He nodded between the two of them to clarify.

“Right. Okay.”

“And I like you. And you like me. So why can’t we try?”

“Grayson, what’s gonna happen when I go back?”

“I—I’m not sure. But we don’t have to think about that right now, okay?” he let out a breath, cupping her jaw with his hands, rubbing his thumbs along her cheekbones. “I just can’t keep looking at you and not kiss you.”

Her heart fluttered again.

Or maybe this time, it actually stopped. She doesn’t know (or care) either way.

Without a second thought, she said, “So kiss me.”

“Huh?”

“Kiss me.”

He nodded, leaning down to her, his eyes locked on her lips. Why was he so nervous? He generally doesn’t act this way. But she was just so perfect, so beautiful—he had to take things slowly so as not to hurt her or break her like he thinks he could (potentially). Their lips brush, and finally, they meet. Her hands wrap around his forearms, and everything that her mind was clouded with was melted away instantly. She sighed into the kiss, relishing in the feeling.

When they pulled apart, he put his forehead against hers, unable and unwilling to hide his grin.

“Ready to go?” he asked her, not wanting to let her go for even a moment.

“Yeah.”

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