#the practicing politics waitress is about to relieve her
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@viennawait & cathy hiatt.
INT. PIANO BAR, low - lit and decidedly dingy. there is a strong scent of smoke permeating the space, which feels particularly claustrophobic for THE WAITRESS, today. she’s handled the afternoon crowd alone, and you can tell from the set of her features that the stress of it has gotten to her. lucky for her, her shift is nearly over.
CRASHING. a tray full of glasses is knocked from her hands as one of the PATRONS elbows past her, not a regular, she notices, as he continues walking and leaves her to clean up the mess. for a moment she stares after him, and then she kneels, denim soon wet with a mixture of whiskey and melted ice as she begins plucking pieces of glass from the scuffed floor and placing them onto the tray, until a pair of shoes creep into her line of vision. she looks up, to find the PIANO MAN gazing down at her, his expression difficult to read.
“shit. sorry, bill.” she scoots to the side, freeing up the walkway for him to get by, sure that she was in his way. her head shakes, and she pulls a rag from the pocket of her apron, mopping up the liquid as it dribbles slowly toward him.
#int / cathy hiatt.#int / bill & cathy.#.... so i remembered how in the last five years cath was working at bars pushing burgers and beer nuts and missing the clues#anyways#i also wrote the beginning like that bc cath ends up being a writer instead of#an actress#but rn she is a struggling actress so like#john at the bar and cathy probably vibe#but you know what this means don't you#Angst#she's not THE waitress#the practicing politics waitress is about to relieve her
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When He Sees Me // Benedict Bridgerton
Request: Hey! I've just finished reading all of your Benedict fanfics and it's like, "let me have more!!!" *-* Could you maybe write something where the reader and Ben meet at Mr Granville's house? Where the reader is lower class and mocks him for with his lord manners, and eventually they get along well and all that? And he falls in love with her but she's just a seamstress and is scared he fetishizing her poverty and the "starving artist" lifestyle... Thanks in advance, love your writing xxx - anon.
A/N: Thank you so so much! This is such a sweet message. Thank you for requesting something from me; I can only hope I have done it justice. This is a really long fic, I know that - it really did get away from me. Nevertheless, I hope you enjoy and I hope you are all well!
Title: Waitress - When He Sees Me
Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x Fem!Reader
Warnings: mentions of alcohol and nudity, making out, amorous activities, light voyeurism (very light), class divides, pining, mutual pining, fluff, light angst, humour, Bridgerton family feels. HAPPY ENDING.
Word count: 6.8k (this is so long, I am so sorry)
“Bridgerton!” Henry Granville calls, a large smile spreading across his face as he spies Benedict by the front door. “I was hoping you’d make it.”
“Here I am,” Benedict laughs, spreading his arms wide in evidence.
Granville chuckles, grabbing a glass from a nearby tray and handing it to Benedict who takes a healthy sip immediately. “Come,” Granville gestures, “Let me show you around.”
Benedict follows the man he already classes as a friend. He hums at the appropriate time, eyes dancing around every room he is taken into, taking in the numerous pieces of art and the growing number of people.
Finally, Granville leads him to a room bathed in studious silence. Five people stand in the room; four stand behind easels – the picture of concentration as brushes scratching on canvas is the only sound in the room. The fifth person stands proudly before the back wall; posing elegantly, a lady stands completely naked save for an apple held delicately in the palm of her hand.
“This is Ariadne, our life model for tonight,” Granville introduces, smiling at the model without an ounce of care that she stands naked in his living room.
“Ariadne,” Benedict nods, doing his best to look anywhere but her naked body. He wasn’t usually this awkward around women, but the last thing he expected tonight was a life model. His usual influences for art came from clothed members of the public.
Granville takes a seat at an easel, studying Ariadne with great care before picking up a thin brush. As he runs it through the nearby oil paint, he calls to Benedict, “Join us!”
Benedict shakes his head, heading towards the door. Granville nods understandingly; it was a lot for a person’s first time at a soiree such as this. “Another time perhaps,” Granville says as Benedict leaves the room.
Closing the door, Benedict leaves the artists to their muse. His fingers twitch for his sketchpad, thinking of the images he could create; he had seen the empty seat in front of a spare easel, but he couldn’t bring himself to sit down and create the art he saw in his mind. Another time, he thinks to himself.
He turns away from the door where his attention is immediately tethered to a couple across the hallway.
The couple are in the middle of an embrace; connected at the mouth with hands beginning to wander clothing. The stays to the lady’s dress are loosened, the relieved gasp quickly swallowed by her partner’s mouth. Hands continue to wander; moans swallowed by joint mouths. It’s a sight to behold even as the position is changed; the woman straddling her partner, beginning to move her hips to the rhythm of music only they must be able to hear.
Unable to tear his stare away from the couple, Benedict feels his mouth drop open at the impropriety before him.
“Come now, Mr. Bridgerton,” A feminine voice teases, “Surely you’ve seen worse.”
Benedict bristles; unhappy with the tone of her voice and the accusation lightly punctuating the air. “Not that it is any of your business, but I have seen worse.”
Her eyebrows fly into her hair, clearly not expecting the rebuff. Benedict represses a smile at the expression on her face; his eyes dance around the hallway, not knowing where to look without fear of landing on the amorous couple. Benedict had never been one to shy away from love and lust and where it can lead you, but he had never been witness to such an event. The last thing he needed for himself (and his family) was to be classed as a voyeur.
“Follow me,” She announces, crooking a finger at Benedict before walking away.
Helpless and out of his comfort zone, Benedict follows the nameless lady. His eyes pour over her figure as he walks behind her like a lost puppy; her dress is finely made, the fabric clearly new. Benedict keeps his eyes fixed head, refusing to let his gaze drop any lower as she opens a door, standing to one side to let him enter first.
The room is adequately sized; enough room for a fireplace already blazing, a couch big enough for two and a small table and chairs. It’s comfortable; the room is well lit from the candles around the room and the large fire.
The well-dressed lady follows Benedict into the room, leaving him standing in the centre as she heads towards a drinks cabinet. She grabs two glasses and a decanter of liquid that Benedict cannot decipher. Scotch, whisky, brandy – all three would fare him well at this point.
Wordlessly, she hands Benedict a drink. A knuckle’s length of amber liquid swirls in the glass, lit up by the roaring fire. “You have me at a disadvantage,” Benedict starts, “You know my name, but I do not know yours.”
She smiles; eyes crinkling from the force of it. “You can spy a Bridgerton by the colour of their eyes,” She snorts, shaking her head at the ridiculousness of it, “I’m (Y/N).”
Benedict bows his head; the very picture of gentlemanly politeness. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
If possible, (Y/N)’s smile grows larger, trying her hardest to repress the laughter bubbling inside of her. “This isn’t your usual scene, Mr. Bridgerton.”
Benedict shakes his head. “I’m a friend of Henry’s and call me Benedict please. After being witness to the couple outside, I think we can forgo formalities.”
Laughter escapes her mouth, powerless to help herself. Benedict frowns at her reaction, but (Y/N) waves a hand in apology. “I remembered your face,” She offers in explanation, “You mentioned that you had seen worse, but you still looked so scandalised.”
Benedict huffs, crossing his legs, sipping at his drink before answering. “I didn’t know what to expect from tonight. Henry is an artist! I just never expected that.”
“We’re all artists, Benedict, in one form or another. We’re practically bohemian.”
“Does that happen often?” He asks, nodding towards the door where Benedict holds no doubt that more clothing will have been lost between the enamoured couple.
(Y/N) lifts a single shoulder in a shrug. “More often than not. The intimacy that is required with art combined with the amount of alcohol consumed tends to lead to such things.”
“Have you ever taken part in such things?” Benedict asks before realising the extent and implication of his words. “Forgive me,” He coughs, “I’m not usually so forward. You don’t need to answer.”
“No, I don’t think I do,” (Y/N) answers honestly, amused at the lack of filter from the Bridgerton. “Why don’t I ask the next question?”
“Please do,” Benedict responds, loosening the cravat at his neck, deciding to take it off altogether.
“Tell me,” She begins, eyes on the skin now bare to the room, “Do you prefer paints or pastels?”
“Neither,” Benedict answers, “I prefer graphite or charcoal.”
“Interesting…”
“Is it?”
“It is! But I cannot think of a reason why.”
Benedict snorts, draining the last few amber drops in his glass. Silent for a moment, Benedict hums before asking, “Do you draw?”
“Heavens no,” (Y/N) responds, “I’m a talented seamstress, but landscapes and watercolours are not for me.”
“Then why are you here?” Benedict asks; the words unintentionally sharp. He cringes before offering (Y/N) an apologetic smile.
“My friend invited me,” (Y/N) defends, “You met her earlier.”
“I did?”
(Y/N) nods. “You did. She was the life model you were trying your hardest not to ogle.”
Benedict flushes; heat spreading from his neck to his cheeks – partly fuelled by the alcohol in his system, partly fuelled by the knowledge of being caught out. Benedict clears his throat, unable to hide his embarrassment. “I didn’t think anyone had noticed.”
(Y/N) smiles widely. “They didn’t, but you don’t make it habit to frequent such parties. It was clearly a shock to your system.”
Benedict exhales with a laugh; all the while wishing he had another drink in his hand. “I’m not new to art,” He confesses, “But I am new to this… environment.”
(Y/N) leans forward in her chair; her eyes sparkling in the dim candlelight. A coy smile crosses her lips and Benedict idly wonders what she would taste like as she asks, “And what do you think of this new environment?”
Benedict drags his gaze away from (Y/N)’s mouth to look her in the eyes. Evenings like this are something he could quickly get used to so long as he had her company in the early hours of the morn. A wicked grin spreads across his face as he answers, “With your company, I’m fairly certain that I could come to enjoy this new environment.”
“Only fairly?” (Y/N) murmurs, sipping at her drink before continuing, “I think we’re going to have to turn ‘fairly’ into an absolute.”
Benedict tips his head to one side, wondering whether it would go against societal customs to offer his hand in marriage after only knowing someone for an evening. The thought lingers at the back of Benedict’s mind as he replies, “I have complete and utter faith in your ability to do such a thing.”
(Y/N)’s answering smile has Benedict wondering about marriage for a second time in less than two minutes. What would be the appropriate time to ask someone for their hand? He thinks. A powerful enough thought that Benedict has to look away from her; desperate not to ruin a newly budding friendship.
The clock strikes one; the chimes making (Y/N) jump as they ring through the tension-filled room. A sad sigh leaves her lips as she stands, placing her glass on a nearby table.
“I’m afraid I must go,” She declares, biting her bottom lip, lingering in front of the Bridgerton.
Benedict rises from his seat, his voice close to wobbling as he murmurs, “Must you?”
(Y/N) smiles wistfully. “Not all of us have family money, Benedict. I have two dresses to finish for tomorrow evening and I need to sleep.”
“Will I see you again?” He asks, unable to keep the hope from his voice as his mind spins all sorts of fantasies of their next meeting.
(Y/N) nods; Benedict’s heart soars.
“Thank you for a lovely evening, Benedict Bridgerton. I’m sure I’ll see you soon.”
“The pleasure was all mine,” Benedict replies a second too late. She’s gone and Benedict is left to wondering how many seamstresses there are in London.
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If Benedict was thinking logically, he knew that there wasn’t thousands of modistes and seamstresses across London. He knew that the number was much closer to hundreds, but to him that was still too many. He thinks back over the interactions from that night, examining the conversations, trying to find a hint of whether (Y/N) had given him the address of her shop. The more he cross examines, the less evidence he finds.
At this point in his investigation to her whereabouts, Benedict was no longer thinking logically. He was thinking with his heart – desperate to see her again so soon. He didn’t want to have to wait until another party where she just might show up. No, he wanted to see her in her own environment where Benedict had no doubt she would flourish.
He makes himself wait three days before beginning the task of tracking her down. His first port of call was to Henry Granville, asking whether he knew anything of the lady accompanying the life model. Henry knew of her by face, but not much bar her first name. He leaves Benedict with a word of encouragement and a promise of another party soon; Benedict thanks the man heartily, knowing that Henry had tried his best.
However, it left Benedict in a predicament that meant he had to bring in reinforcements.
“I need your help,” Benedict pleads of his dear sister, Eloise Bridgerton a day after starting his hunt for her.
“Whatever for?”
“I need to find someone… a friend.”
“A friend?” Eloise asks sounding very much as if she didn’t believe a word leaving her elder brother’s mouth.
“Am I not allowed to have friends?” Benedict asks of his sister, exasperated at her curiosity. Eloise raises a single eyebrow, and it isn’t a minute later that Benedict begs of his sister, “Please do not tell mother.”
The laughter that leaves Eloise lasts for the next three streets, her chuckles grating on Benedict’s nerves. “Where did you meet her?” Eloise eventually asks, much calmer now that she had gotten the laughter out of her system.
“At Mr. Granville’s if you must know.”
Eloise doesn’t answer; she casts her gaze across her brother’s face, reading eh expression there and the hopeful look in his eyes. Whoever she was, she had done a number on her brother for him to be this desperate to find her.
“Why not wait for the next party?”
Benedict huffs, “She may not go to the next party, then I would be back at the beginning.”
Eloise falls silent again. She watches her older brother, watches how he fiddles with his fingers – a nervous tic he’s hand since he was a boy apparently, it happened more when he was itching to reach for his sketchpad in an attempt to keep his mind quiet.
“She’s really made an impression on you, hasn’t she?”
Benedict sighs, peering up at his sister as he calms his hands. “Please?” He asks quietly, not daring to voice the beg any louder than it needs to be.
Eloise reaches across the gap between them, covering Benedict’s hands with hers. For a moment, he isn’t the elder brother but a man in need of help. “I’ll help you, Benedict.”
“Thank you,” He replies; the relief in his voice evident as his whole body relaxes.
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The tightness in his chest that has plagued him for the last week lifts as soon as his eyes land on her. She hasn’t seen him yet; too busy with another client gushing about their latest dress. (Y/N) looks flattered as she takes in compliment after compliment and Benedict can see why; she is clearly a talented modiste. If it didn’t raise suspicion on his end, he would suggest his mother come here instead of the seamstress just off Grosvenor Square.
The customer soon departs leaving Benedict and Eloise the sole clients in the shop. (Y/N) brushes down her dress, collecting herself before greeting her newest customers.
She freezes when she finds the tall stature of Benedict Bridgerton in and amongst the countless mannequins of her shop. Plastering on a polite smile, she steps forward, “How may I help you today?”
Benedict remains frozen; his stare solely focused on (Y/N). Eloise steps forward, nudging her brother in the side with her elbow. Eloise smiles at (Y/N). “From my brother’s reaction, we have found who we were looking for.”
“Pardon?”
“I’m in the market for a new dress,” Eloise states, elbowing her brother once more.
“Yes!” Benedict coughs, brought out of his stupor, “Eloise needs a new dress.”
(Y/N) glances between the siblings; the awed expression on Benedict’s face combined with the knowing smile on Eloise’s doesn’t settle her nerves. Instead, it heightens them. (Y/N) turns to Eloise, flashing her a friendly smile. “If you wouldn’t mind, could I borrow your brother?”
Eloise snorts. “You may keep him if that helps.”
(Y/N) laughs, covering her mouth before grabbing Benedict’s hand, leading him to the back of the shop. “What are you doing here?” (Y/N) questions; her eyes wide as she closes the door behind them. This was a conversation to have in private; not one to be had in front of Benedict’s sister.
“Accompanying my sister to buy a new dress for an upcoming ball,” Benedict replies smartly, his tone innocent as he applauds himself for asking Eloise to join him on his mission.
(Y/N) fixes him with a flat look, not believing a single word leaving his lips. Benedict flounders for a second before smiling bashfully at the seamstress. It wasn’t often that Benedict was left speechless, but (Y/N) reduced him to such manners.
After a moment, Benedict sighs, deciding honesty to be the best policy. “I wanted to see you again.”
(Y/N)’s face softens at Benedict’s confession, unable to fend off the growing fondness for the Bridgerton. If she was being honest with herself, (Y/N) hadn’t stopped thinking of the man since leaving Mr. Granville’s party.
Just as quick as the fondness set in, so does the worry on Benedict’s behalf. Gesturing between them both, (Y/N) offers Benedict a sad smile. “Nothing can come of this, Mr. Bridgerton.”
“What do you mean? Call me Benedict, you did the other night.”
“There were no class lines the other night,” She all but cries, “Outside of Mr. Granville’s home, we cannot be friends, Mr. Bridgerton.”
“Benedict,” He emphasises, “To you, I am Benedict. Not ‘Mr. Bridgerton’.”
“Benedict,” She whispers, giving in to the pleading look in those blue eyes of his.
“Why can’t we be friends?” He asks quietly as if scared to voice such a question louder out of fear of the response.
“You’re the son of a Viscount. I am a seamstress. Outside of my making dresses for your female relatives, where do our paths cross socially?”
“I want them to cross,” Benedict protests almost childishly, crossing his arms as if they were the personification of the budding relationship blooming between (Y/N) and himself.
(Y/N) laughs without humour. “Think of the fallout, Benedict. You would lose friends and contacts. I would be reduced to the rumour of a mistress and lose clients.”
Benedict purses his lips; trying to find fault in her argument but he comes up empty. Class lines were so rigidly drawn in current society and Benedict knew that (Y/N) was more than deserving to be thrown to the vicious rumour mill of London ton.
“What about Granville’s parties?” Benedict offers as a solution. “You say we cannot socialise so openly so let’s meet there with every party.”
“You would go to that extent to win my friendship?”
He nods. “I had the most fun the other night than I had in a long time and I have a very strong feeling it was down to you. You say we cannot be friends so openly, so this is the next best thing. Do I feel go about keeping you a secret? Not particularly, but London society can be unforgivably cruel, and I’ll be damned if I see you suffer at the hands of it.”
(Y/N) blinks rapidly, ridding herself of the tears that grew throughout Benedict’s impassioned speech. “Mr. Granville’s it is, then.”
Benedict smiles; relief flooding his system at your words of agreement. Impulsively, he takes your hand, squeezing it once before letting it drop. The very action sets his veins alight with emotions he has not felt in a very long time, but he doesn’t not let them distract him as he whispers, “I’ll send a messenger with the date and time of the next soiree. Will I see you there?”
“You will,” (Y/N) murmurs, “I promise you.”
Benedict flashes her a handsome smile before returning to the front of the shop, knowing full well he has been too long to be acceptable.
Eloise greets him with a superior smile. Crossing her arms, she asks, “Did you find what you were looking for?”
Turning back to face the back of the shop, Benedict smiles to himself. “Yes, I think I have,” He answers, offering Eloise an arm, departing the shop once and for all.
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28th April, 9pm. Mr. Granville’s home. I hope to see you there.
The missive arrives not four days later. (Y/N) reads and rereads the small piece of paper, memorising Benedict’s elegant handwriting. Anticipation curls in her gut making it hard for her to focus on the task at hand; she had three dresses to finish all for next week. If she didn’t focus now, nothing would get done. She would end up wasting the evening by daydreaming of a Bridgerton and their handsome smile.
She hadn’t expected him. He had entered her life so suddenly. After their initial meeting, she hadn’t expected to see him again; had accepted that it was a one-off meeting that Benedict would soon forget, soon taken with the newest fascination in his life if he wasn’t married off by the end of the season.
That didn’t happen. Instead, he had shown up in her shop with his sister in tow. He had begged for a friendship, to see her again. He kept surprising her at every turn, kept startling her when she least expected it.
Yet, she knew she had to be careful. Not only of her heart, but of her reputation. If the two were caught and things misunderstood, it would not be Benedict to suffer. It would be her; she would be reduced to rumours of impropriety, labelled a ‘fallen woman’ whilst Benedict would most likely suffer a harsh word from his mother and a clap on the back from his brothers.
Society, in general, was cruel. London society, however, was punishing when it wanted to be.
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The 28th April rolls around quickly. (Y/N) losing herself in her work, sewing until the late hours of the night and the early hours of the morning to ensure that the gowns are ready and that she is free enough to attend the party.
Stepping out of the carriage, (Y/N) steadies herself for a moment, taking a deep breath to settle the butterflies exciting her. She felt ridiculous, letting herself be this affected by the man after only one meeting. Yet, he had shown up at her shop, after searching for her for however long.
(Y/N) felt in two minds. On one hand, she wanted the friendship of Benedict Bridgerton for the simple fact that he was entertaining. On the other hand, she despised the idea that she may be a project for the man – their opposite places in society becoming a barrier between them.
The atmosphere in Mr. Granville’s house is heady as (Y/N) enters the premises; the party very much in full swing as she sheds her shawl and leaves it on a side table. She smiles at those she recognises, waving quickly at Ariadne who she finds modelling for many artists once more. Ariadne smiles back but doesn’t move; her eye on a particular artist, a female she knew she would be going home with that night.
(Y/N) shakes her head fondly at the antics of her friend; having known Ariadne for years and loved her proclivity for men and women. (Y/N) admired Ariadne’s lack of shame for who she is, who she wants to be. She doesn’t let the law stop of her from loving who she wants to.
Arriving at the door she entered through last time, (Y/N) hesitates, feeling unsure of herself. A small flash of doubt lances through her mind as she reaches for the doorknob; how long was this going to last before Benedict got bored? How long did she have with the man that was no doubt going to change her world?
The very thought haunts her as she enters the room, finding Benedict in the same spot as last time. He stands when he sees (Y/N) standing the doorway; his suit elegantly rumpled as if he had been sat there for some time. His blue eyes sparkle in the dimly lit room; the only light coming from the fire in the grate. His smile brightens as he takes in her appearance.
“You came,” Benedict breathes, his voice relieved as if he was worried that she may not attend the party after all.
“I promised you I would,” (Y/N) replies, taking the offered glass from Benedict. Their fingers brush and (Y/N) tries exceptionally hard to ignore the jolt of electricity that passes between them. Friendship, she snipes to herself, nothing more.
“I know,” He whispers, “But I’m glad all the same.”
Something in (Y/N) melts at the stark honesty of his words; she found herself being knocked off her axis and it was only their third meeting.
“I have to know,” (Y/N) starts, her voice amused as she takes a seat across from the brunette, “How many shops did you go into before finding mine?”
Benedict averts his gaze, distracting himself from answering by taking a long sip of his drink. “Too many,” He eventually answers.
“You don’t know the number?”
“I know the exact number, I could even tell you their names, but I hesitate to tell you.”
“You have to tell me now,” (Y/N) prompts, leaning forward in her chair, resting her elbows on the table. “Please?”
Benedict sighs a war-weary sigh; acting as if (Y/N) had worn him down to his very last nerve. With a light blush dusting his cheeks, Benedict admits, “I visited close to fifteen shops with Eloise before finding yours.”
“Fifteen?!” (Y/N) all but shouts, laughter soon falling from her lips as rain would fall from the sky. The very sound sets Benedict’s heart racing within his chest making him wonder whether it was going to run right out of his chest any moment.
“Eloise was very grateful when we found you. She despises dress shopping.”
“Yet she went to fifteen dress shops with you in order to find me.”
“She’s my favourite sibling, but don’t tell the others.”
“How many do you have? I’ve heard of the famous Bridgerton brood but never focused long enough to find out how many children there were.”
“Eight of us in total,” Benedict laughs at (Y/N)’s gasp, “We’re named alphabetically too. My father used to joke it was so he could keep track of us easier.”
“A wise idea,” (Y/N) murmurs.
“He was a wise man,” Benedict states, thinking of his departed father with a keen sting of grief. It didn’t matter how long his father had been gone, the wound would never heal. He would miss his father until his very last day on this earth; Benedict would spend the rest of his life trying to emulate Edmund Bridgerton’s life lessons.
A pensive silence descends only for a moment before (Y/N) asks, “Why did you look for me?”
The blush returns to Benedict’s cheeks. “Would you believe me if I said I wanted to see you again?” He asks sheepishly. He had prepared himself for such a conversation but having it in real life was no comparison to the fantasy in his head.
“Why did you want to see me again? Why not wait for the next party?”
“I wasn’t sure you would attend the next party,” Benedict reasons, “And I really did want to see you again.”
(Y/N) smiles bashfully, ducking her head as his words wash over her. She fiddles with the stem of the glass in her hand before taking a long sip; the worries from earlier had returned with the conviction behind his words. She had to know; if she didn’t ask him, she would never know and she would never be prepared for the day he would inevitably grow bored and move onto the next project. “Can we be honest with each other for a moment, Benedict?”
“I thought we have been so far.”
(Y/N) smiles despite herself. Schooling her face into a mask of polite interest, she tries to cover the concern and worry steadily rising in her gut. “This isn’t a saviour moment for you is it? Befriending a poorer seamstress, getting to know her before eventually getting bored?”
“I haven’t thought of it as that for one moment.”
“You haven’t?”
“I haven’t, but the fact that you have says more about my character than I care to admit.”
“I didn’t mean to insult you,” She hurries to say, worried about losing the friendship that had only just begun and scared of hurting Benedict’s feelings.
“You haven’t insulted me,” Benedict promises with a small smile.
“I can’t help but worry,” She admits in a small voice.
“I would socialise with you in public, but you made such a sound argument the other week that I couldn’t find fault. You’re right, it could lead to all sorts of trouble, but I want you to know that I do not have a saviour complex. I just enjoy your company.”
(Y/N) relaxes, sagging further into the chair as she lets herself breathe freely since the worrisome thought entered her mind. Now that it was out in the open, she could smile more without worry. “I enjoy your company too,” She confesses, “You’re quite refreshing.”
“Refreshing?” Benedict asks, sounding close to laughter.
(Y/N) rolls her eyes at the older gentleman. “Yes, refreshing. I deal with meddlesome mothers and droll daughters all day. You make me laugh… it’s refreshing.”
“I’m glad I can provide refreshment,” Benedict laughs, his smile wide with his happiness.
Happy smiles are exchanged as the worries leave (Y/N)’s mind. She was wanted here by the man sat across from her; he had no plans to leave any time soon. For now, her mind is settled and as she raises her glass to the Bridgerton across from her, she briefly wonders whether her heart would soon be settled too.
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The friendship continues for weeks; neither of them the wiser to their growing feelings for the other. If they are, they remain silent, not wanting to disturb the status quo but rather, pine from a distance.
They continue to meet at Mr. Granville’s, sneaking away to their room where they talk for hours about anything and everything.
At one point, (Y/N) manages to convince Benedict to bring his sketchpad with him where he fills pages with drawings of her. She doesn’t realise it; she doesn’t know that the small sketch of hands holding a champagne flute is Benedict’s study of her.
Time passes and they become attached to the other; saving pieces of information and stories of friends and family for when they finally get to see each other. The time they have together filled with laughter; the class lines that separate them outside Mr. Granville’s home practically invisible as Benedict chokes on his drink at the scandalous nature of (Y/N)’s story, unaware such language could leave such a woman.
It’s easy, it’s natural. It’s all Benedict has to fill his time between the mind-numbing balls and luncheons set up by his mother in order to find him a wife. Little does Violet Bridgerton know that Benedict has found someone he would devote the rest of his life to but whether she would be willing, whether she loves him as wholly as he loves her is another matter entirely.
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He starts to haunt her dreams from their very first meeting. The colour of his eyes combined with the brightness of his smile chased her from sleep much faster than she would have liked.
Sitting up in bed, she rests her chin on her knees, feeling the helplessness that often accompanies the swift descent into love.
In the short time she had spent in Benedict’s company, (Y/N) had to admit that she had fallen head over heels for the brunette. Sighing heavily, she tries to pinpoint the exact moment her feelings turned from platonic to romantic but finds herself unable to do so. At this point, she cannot help but wonder whether she had fallen for him the first instance she saw him. He looked so out of depth in his perfectly pressed clothes; it was adorable.
(Y/N) runs a hand across her face in an attempt to dispel the lingering tiredness but to also ride herself of thoughts of the man who had so readily captured her heart without knowing he had done so.
How could she explain this feeling? Her heart refused to calm in his presence, beating away in her chest as if ready to take flight. Benedict smiled in her direction and her mind ceased to form coherent thought. She didn’t tell anyone how in the darkest hours of the night, she stretched a hand across the empty blankets of her bed, imagining what it would be like to have Benedict lie next to her. Would he snore? Was he an early riser or did he prefer to sleep in?
Such questions would travel the expanse of her mind until the birds began to announce the arrival of a new day. Her mind creating daydreams that left her heart aching in her chest when she came back to earth, reminded harshly of the barriers that divided them.
What scent did he prefer? Did he favour scotch or brandy?
Endlessly she tortured herself with such questions. Spinning fantasies in which she woke up every morning with Benedict by her side. She would wake to find him already watching her, as if in disbelief that she would choose to love a man such as him.
A single tear escapes (Y/N)’s eye as she forces herself back to the present. Eyeing her small rooms, (Y/N) thought that she should be fortunate that a man such as Benedict Bridgerton would give her the honour of his much requested time. It would do her no good to fall in love with him now.
Straightening up and running a hand through her sleep plait, (Y/N) vows to rid herself of her feelings for the second eldest Bridgerton.
However, as the vow is sealed, a small voice in the back of (Y/N)’d mind casts doubt on her ability to do such a thing.
----------------
“Eloise has been asking after you,” Benedict comments; choosing the line of conversation for this section of the evening. At this point, they’ve been at Granville’s home for hours, covering all topics of conversation conceivable. (Y/N) had updated Benedict on Ariadne’s clandestine love affair with a daughter of a prominent member of His Majesty’s Navy to which Benedict spent over an hour trying to guess which officer and which daughter. (Y/N) delighted in announcing his incorrect guesses.
“How is she?” She asks, feeling a distant fondness for the woman who had shown up in her shop so many weeks ago.
“Distracted if I’m being truthful,” Benedict murmurs, “Her hands are always covered in ink. I think she has an admirer.”
“And why shouldn’t she?” (Y/N) demands, crossing her arms. “Eloise is a beautiful young woman. Any man would be lucky to have her.”
“She’s turned down the last three marriage proposals so I’m curious to see what type of man has captured her attention.”
“Siblings and their nosiness,” (Y/N) admonishes though there is no heat behind it.
“I want what’s best for her,” Benedict defends.
“I know you do,” She whispers, fondness for the man sitting across from her surging through her. It leaves her quiet; it leaves her breathless as she fends off the heart racing, stomach turning affection she feels for the second eldest Bridgerton.
Benedict closes his eyes, kicking up his heels and resting them on the table. A happy, content smile crosses his lips as he lets himself enjoy the moment they find themselves in.
I could do this for the rest of myself, (Y/N) thinks to herself, I could sit with him for the rest of my life.
It’s with that thought that (Y/N) knows she has broken the vow she made only a few days ago.
“You’re different tonight… quieter. Is something the matter?” Benedict asks, a note of concern in his voice.
(Y/N) shakes her head, refusing to look the man in the eye. Instead, she focuses her gaze on her glass, swirling the liquid around as if it were the most fascinating thing in the whole world.
Benedict sighs, reaching across the table, taking her glass from her hand and placing it on the table in front of them. He stops himself from covering her hand with his; that is a luxury for couples. As much as Benedict wanted more, he would settle for being her friend.
“You can tell me anything, (Y/N),” Benedict murmurs quietly, breaking her resolve clean in half.
“I broke my vow,” She whispers, voice close to breaking.
“What vow?” Benedict asks, panic beginning to rise internally. “Are you promised to another?”
“Nothing like that,” (Y/N) reassures, “I broke a vow that I made to myself which somehow makes me feel worse. I would rather I broke a promise of marriage.”
“I don’t understand what you mean.”
(Y/N) sniffles, wiping a hand under her eyes before laughing humourlessly. “A few nights ago, I made myself a promise and it seems that I am unable to keep such a vow.”
“Would you tell me that vow?”
(Y/N) sighs, seeing no point in lying to him. “I vowed that I would rid myself of my feelings for you.”
“And have you?” Benedict asks warily; he needs to know whether he has a chance to love her the way he wants to. He wants to be her everything; he wants to kiss her goodnight and then kiss her good morning hours later.
She shakes her head; wisps of hair flying loose from her updo. “I don’t think I ever really tried. I don’t think I want to lose my feelings for you.”
“I don’t often make grand declarations, I don’t believe in over the top displays of affection,” Benedict begins; his eyes fixed on her face, on every movement of her lips, “But I love you, (Y/N). I love you and if I need to, I will make a grand declaration, I will shout it from the rooftop of Buckingham Palace.”
“Please don’t do that!” (Y/N) gasps, an amused smile on her face. “I love you too, I love you with everything I am, but aren’t you worried?”
“Worried?”
“Of the fallout? It could never work, Benedict. See sense, please,” She pleads; eyes wide.
“Why wouldn’t it work? We love each other, surely that should be enough.”
“It is enough for me, Benedict,” She reassures quickly, “But it isn’t enough for the rest of society.”
“Why do you care what they think?”
“My entire business relies on such things, Benedict! Whether I earn an income over the season is down to what the ton think.”
“It is so easy to get lost in the wealth, the titles and the balls,” Benedict whispers, “You bring me back down to earth; remind me that I could happily live without the grandeur because I would have the love of the woman I have come to adore.”
The words have her argument crumbling into ash before her. There was no arguing with that; he was prepared to live a simpler life with her.
“You would do that for me? Live a simpler life?” She asks because she has to know; she has to know that she isn’t something he would come to regret in the weeks, months, years that pass. She couldn’t live with herself if he harboured any resentment towards her for his loss of societal ties; the very thought terrified her.
“Darling,” Benedict states, “I would give it all up for you. As long as I have you, I do not need the life in London and everything else that comes with it. We can live in the country; I have a cottage there that I am sure you’re going to love.”
“What about your family?”
“They’ll love your almost as much as I love you.”
“They won’t hate me?” She asks, voice timid as she thinks of the matriarch of the Bridgerton family, knowing she was not a woman to cross.
“They could never.”
(Y/N) begins to nod; slow at first before growing more rapidly with a smile breaking out across her face. “Okay,” She breathes, “I love you, Benedict Bridgerton. I’m not scared anymore.”
Benedict gathers her in his arms, finally getting to hold her after dreaming of such an action for so long. Better than his dreams, he thinks to himself as he glances between her stare and her lips. Silently, she nods, smiling softly as Benedict takes that final leap, pressing their lips together.
(Y/N) sighs against his mouth; a noise he could happily hear for the rest of his life. Her hands grasp the lapels of his jacket, pulling him even closer. She feels like heaven against him as Benedict continues to taste the remnants of her drink on her lips.
Her hands leave his jacket, reaching up to card through his hair. (Y/N) tugs lightly at the dark brown locks, smiling into the kiss at the sound of the low groan in the back of Benedict’s throat. (Y/N) loses herself in the feel of the man against her; all hard lines and muscles, he feels like a Greek god and she a mere mortal getting to experience the heady passion written about in epic poems and plays.
Desperate for air, but not desperate to leave the arms of the man she loves so wholly, (Y/N) breaks the kiss. Panting, Benedict kisses her lightly once, twice, three times before pressing his forehead to hers. A moment of peace before the rush of the future began.
Boundaries, divides, lines really meant little when you had found the one who truly saw you.
****
Bridgerton Taglist: @heloisedaphnebrightmore @dreaming-about-fanfictions @janelongxox @now-its-time-for-a-breakdown @aspiringsloth20 @wallwriterstuff @magicalxdaydream @darkestbeforethedawn16 @gryffindors-weasley @spideysz
#benedict bridgerton#benedict bridgerton x reader#benedict x reader#bridgerton fanfiction#benedict bridgerton fanfiction#benedict bridgerton imagines#Bridgerton#bridgerton imagines
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trusting you; trusting me. (t.c.)
dating in the workplace may be tough, but your new hopeless romantic of an assistant makes it worthwhile.
(coworker au, boss x assistant au)
chapters: one, two
words: 2500
warnings: mentions of nsfw (none in this chapter unfortunately, but def in the next !!)
a/n: long time no post !! i wrote this such a long time ago and it’s collecting dust so i might as well post without worrying too much about how it will do, right? lol, hopefully i can get to writing more !!
Keeping a poker face is easy until the new employee transferring into your department was the guy you’d just spent the night with.
You keep your expression contained as you make a beeline towards your office. This wasn’t the plan. The plan was for you to let off some steam with some good looking guy at the bar and then leave without a trace the morning after. He was nice. Style, charisma, and a boyish charm all wrapped in one handsome package. Just your type.
And you believe that you’d caught his fancy as well. He slipped his number written down on a napkin that sat wedged into your car’s sun blocker. (You’ve been pondering on whether or not you should shoot him a message all morning).
But as much as you enjoyed his company, he wasn’t supposed to be following you around.
‘I’m going crazy,’ You’re quick to frantically grab the file placed on your desk earlier this morning. Surely enough, Timothée Chalamet would be starting as your new assistant.
/////
“Fancy seeing you here,” is how Timothée greets you when you let him into your office. You bite your cheek as you frown at his words.
“Stop addressing me so casually. I’m your superior.” You lean back in your chair and offer Timothée a seat in front of your desk. His lips press into a straight line as he responds with a curt nod before eventually sitting down in front of you.
The atmosphere was heavy but you find yourself feeling somewhat relieved upon seeing the uneasiness in Timothée’s expression. It seemed like he wasn’t expecting an early reunion either.
“Let me get straight to the point,” you start, leaning forward and clasping your hands together as you rest your elbows on your desk. You see Timothée’s body visibly tense up.
“We’ll be spending a lot of time together from here on out. In regards to what happened last night, we can’t let it affect our practice here. While we’re in this building, we’re coworkers first. Got it?” Timothée nods in a silent agreement, and you try your best to not drown in how uncomfortable you had to make the situation for the both of you. It was protocol for situations like these, but you hated the thought of being professional to the man who sweet-talked you for the duration of all of last night.
“That’s all. I know it’s a lot for your first day, but try your best. Most of our coworkers are all great people so hopefully they can help you adjust. If you need anything, just ask.” You end the conversation with a send-off you once read in a self-help book about excelling in management. It was just a standard between a manager and a worker; hopefully a standard the both of you will be able to upkeep.
You eventually stand up and extend your hand to give your new assistant a handshake. He stands with you and clasps your hand firmly.
‘He has a good handshake…’ You think about how odd it was that you held this very hand last night. It was cold and fragile yet still big and protective when he held you. He had long fingers and surprisingly soft skin; his hands were noticeably beautiful. You told him so as you dozed off in the wee hours of the morning.
Your touch lingers a few seconds longer than it should before you let go.
“Thank you.” Timothée breathes a sigh of relief as he bids you farewell and you let yourself fall back into your chair after he closed the door behind him.
/////
You were always the last to leave, especially on a weekend. Even a few years ago when you were stationed at the cubicle in the back of the office, one row of fluorescent lights would stay illuminating your space.
You were a hard worker with big plans. Everyone in your relatively new branch was around your age so you were well liked, admired, respected, or at least acknowledged by your coworkers by the time you eventually got promoted to a managerial position. The youngest manager in the company. You deserved it, and you would make sure that you’d aim higher. Nothing would come between you and your performance.
Well, maybe nothing but the new assistant you accidentally slept with a week ago.
“Can I talk to you?” You jump at the sound of Timothée’s voice. He looked up at you as he sat on the couch outside your office with his suit jacket slung over his shoulder and his briefcase resting beside him. Your hands grasp the door frame as you check the clock on your office wall. He’d been waiting for the last two hours for you to come out.
“Of course! You could have just knocked at 5:00–“
“It... isn’t about work.”
By the time you turned back to him he’d stood up. He fidgeted with his hands, putting them halfway into his pockets before eventually folding them in front of his body. You think of all the possibilities that would play out if you said yes and you consider telling him to wait until Monday when you’d see each other at work again. In a professional setting. You knew along the lines of what he was about to ask, and now wasn’t the time to get caught up in your emotions. Not when you’d only been promoted two years ago.
But for some reason, something pulls at your heartstrings as you observe Timothée’s demeanour. He seemed so… innocent as he tried his best to be patient while he waited for a response.
You sigh and step outside your office, closing the door behind you. You stood still for a moment before caving.
“Have you eaten yet?”
When his face lights up, you realize that your new assistant may have you wrapped around his little finger.
/////
You don’t know why you chose to come to Denny’s to have this conversation with Timothée, but it somehow felt right. Eating mediocre breakfast foods drowned in maple syrup helped to mask the fact that the two of you being together like this was, well, wrong.
“Are you adjusting well?” You break the silence. Well, silence other than the sounds of forks and knives clanking against each other. Timothée swallows a ball of nervousness down with his chocolate chip pancakes and nods.
“You’re right, everyone at our branch is really nice.” He smiles politely and it makes you feel uncomfortable. He seemed so free spirited when you first met him, but that was when you were just a person at a bar. Not his boss.
“That’s good.” You smile back. It’s not like you weren’t guilty either; he wasn’t just a charming boy approaching you with a cheesy one liner anymore. He was your employee.The two of you sit in each other’s silence for a moment longer.
“Thanks again,” He starts. Your eyes avert to his.
“For what?”
“You’re not treating me any differently even though it must have been hard to stay professional for a whole week. You even let me keep my job.”
“You thought I was going to fire you?” You ask, somewhat in disbelief. The more you think about it, firing him would make sense if you were heartless. He nods casually. “I was 100% positive when you called me into your office Monday morning.”
You try not to express your concern towards Timothée’s confession. It wasn’t your fault you accidentally slept with your new assistant but it obviously wasn’t his either. As long as you stayed professional during work hours, what was the problem? It’s not like he wouldn’t be able to redirect your calls or organize your schedule. The last thing you’d want was for him to feel uncomfortable towards you; he was your employee after all.
Yeah… your employee.
You wonder if that’s why you take the extra liberty of comforting him, and before you know it words of consolation becomes friendly conversation. It’s alright if you spend the next two or three hours chatting about nothing and everything at the same time … you weren’t at work, after all. There was no need to be so stiff around each other.
“We should get going,” You check the time: 11:30 p.m. You should have wrapped this up hours ago. You don’t notice Timothée’s smidgen of a smile as he watches you gather your belongings. He eventually stands up to grab your trench coat off the coat hanger beside your booth. You scoff as he holds it up for you, eventually helping you slip into it before he shrugs on his own jacket.
“Together?” The monotonous waitress, who’d been taking care of you since you entered, punched a few buttons on the cash register. You noticed that she’d let her hair down and put on a sweater as you walk up to the counter to pay for your meal. She must be getting ready to go home as well.
“Actually–“
“Yes, please.” Timothée cuts you off by giving his card to the waitress, effectively stopping you from rummaging through your purse.
“What are you doing?” You whisper, watching Timothée’s face as he punches his card combination into the machine. He only smiles when he hears the beep of an approved transaction, and thanks the waitress before finally turning towards you.
“You paid last time.” He shrugs. You feel your heart flutter as he reminded you of the weekend you spent with him.
‘Oh no,’ You think, following him out into the parking lot and back to your car. This wasn’t going to lead to where you thought it was going to, would it…? He joined you for dinner, he listened to your mindless conversation, he helped you with your jacket, he paid for your food…
Well, it was fun while it lasted.
“Timothée,” As the two of you walked out onto the parking lot, he’d just opened the car door when you called his name. He stares up at you with a grin, his hand still resting on top of the car door. You swallow your nervousness. “what did you really want to talk about?”
The subtlety of Timothée’s faltering grin is hard to catch. He was well aware of it too, how tonight didn’t feel like a simple get together between two professionals… actually, it felt quite the opposite. Almost like a date.
“I like you.” He says, completely serious. You bite your cheek. “A lot.”
“We’re coworkers.”
“Can we not be more than just coworkers?”
You frown at his question. Maybe it was because he was young, but Timothée’s aggressiveness and passion makes your heart squeeze in your chest. You wanted to ask that question too, why couldn’t you be anything more?
“I’ve only known you for a week. I see you every weekday because I’m your boss. It’d be too much for us,” You start, finally stepping into your car and slamming the door shut. Timothée follows, and you keep on chewing at your cheek. You shouldn’t be so defensive; you had to stay professional. “at least not while we’re so young.”
“But we’ve got our whole life ahead of us, shouldn’t we at least try? We’re at the age where we can’t just waste our chances while they’re running out.” You let out a scoff at his words as you start the car, but you don’t say anything in response. You didn’t want him to know that his words resonated deeper within you that they should have.
You start the drive to his house in silence, and Timothée sighs as he lets his back collide with the seat of your car in frustration. Your relationship as coworkers was not coming to a very good start, but you suppose that it had to start somewhere. Plus if he was looking for a relationship with someone, there were plenty of great looking people at the office. He’d get over it and so would you.
“We’re here.” You say, pulling in the parking lot next to Timothée’s apartment building. Timothée turns to you one last time, and with a sigh, unbuckles his seatbelt.
“Thank you for the ride.” You nod and keep your eyes glued to your steering wheel, waiting for him to leave. You don’t see his gaze avert to your eyes, then to your lips. Timothée opens his mouth but says nothing, only pressing his lips together as he opens your car door to step out onto the pavement beneath you.
You feel yourself sigh in relief when he shuts the door. Don’t look back, you tell yourself. You wouldn’t be able to control yourself if you did. Instead you fiddle with your sun blocker to distract yourself.
Thoughts of Timothée swirled through your mind, especially what he had said before you drove him home. Don’t waste chances while they run out.
You let out a halfhearted scoff. You could only wish to think like that. To be impulsive and take chances as they arise but you can’t. Sure you were jealous, but you’ve got too much on the line… too much to risk.
You lower your sun blocker and notice a forgotten napkin slip out and onto your lap. Timothée’s number from last week. You frown.
You were just a coward.
Fuck it.
“Timothée, wait!” You call, practically jumping out of your car before running towards your assistant. You get as far as the front entrance before you see that he’d already gone inside and stepped into the elevator.
He only notices you behind the glass doors when he turns and looks up, just as the elevator doors begin to close.
“What’s wrong?” He asks, just after he stops the elevator from closing with his arm and runs towards you. He opens the door for you and you slowly walk inside, panting from your run over.
“I have to tell you something,” Timothée nods expectedly, and you rub the back of your neck.
“I really don’t think it’ll work out.” You start, watching the hopefulness in Timothée’s eyes die out. Just a bit.
“I barely know you– I liked you from when we slept together but that’s it. I was wondering where we were going to go afterwards as well, but when I saw you at the office last week, I thought I had my answer.” You step closer to him.
“But now I’m wondering… I really don’t know anymore. Maybe this isn’t going anywhere– I can’t be so sure. But when I’m looking back at the past seventy years, what’s the first week, really?” Timothée’s lips part as you look into his eyes, and you feel a warmth rising up to your cheeks. “Wanna go out?”
The corners of Timothée’s lips immediately upturn at the sound of your words, and his hand shoots up to his mouth to cover his smile. Though, you end up seeing it anyways as it travels to his eyes.
“If you’ll have me.”
#Timothee Chalamet#timothee chalamet x reader#timothee chalamet imagines#timothee chalamet fanfiction#timothee x you#timothee chalamet x you#timothee imagine#timothee fanfic
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Date?
Jethro Gibbs x female reader
Masterlist
Y/N realizes she has feelings for jethro because she gets jealous, can she convince him he deserves her?
Thank you @hopscotchandlemon for the encouragement and some inspiration
——————————
Gibbs and Y/N were on their way back from interviewing a suspect when he suggested they pull over to eat. He found a little Italian restaurant where they sat and chatted over pasta.
Y/N joked that he must need a favor from her to be filling her with her favorite food in the middle of a work day. To which jethro looked down with that charming smirk Y/N loved. He wasn’t her boss, she was an FBI profiler that often worked with the team so she was allowed to make him work for favors.
To any one on the outside they looked like a couple grabbing a quick lunch break. Not work colleagues. Everyone except the pretty waitress that is.
Y/N was sitting watching her hopelessly flirt with him. She felt frustration and anger rise through her. She didn’t know why but all she wanted was to deck the pretty waitress when she gently caressed his arm. Jethro watched as Y/N got more and more angry. Suddenly he watched realization cross her face and then her cheeks flush.
What he had just witnessed was Y/N finally realizing how she felt about the NCIS agent she often worked with. She loved him. She loved him and she could now barely eat the delicious pasta in front of her because watching this woman flirt with him made her sick.
Jethro fake smiled as he politely replied to the too touchy waitress and looked at Y/N.
“How’s the food Y/N/N?” His smile turned real.
“Fine”
“Mhm” he hummed and then narrowed his eyes at her “then why aren’t you eating, and is there a reason you’re blushing like that?”
“No, I’m fine, it was just kinda gross watching her throw herself at you.” She admitted
“OH, so you’re jealous?” He laughed
“Shut up” she blushed more.
“Don’t worry about her, I’m not interested. Now enjoy your pasta. Im about to spend good money on that.” He said reaching across to hold her hand.
She thought about his reassurance and his comment about her blush, and fact he wanted to pay. Shit is this a date? Shit, she really hoped it was.
“Are we on a date right now?” She asked, knowing straight forward was always best with Jethro.
“What?” He grunted, not sure if he heard her right.
“Well you ignored the pretty waitress’ attempt to eye screw you, you want to pay for my meal, and you’re holding my hand.” She squeezed his hand in hers as she watched him realize they were still holding hands. She hoped to god he didn’t pull away. Instead he gripped her hand tighter and the anxiety in her chest eased just a bit.
“Y/N I-“ he said in a serious tone, that she knew led to his usual excuses not to get close to people.
“Save it!” She warned
He stared at her, shocked at her sudden tone.
“Unless you’re going to tell me you truly don’t have feelings for me then I don’t want your other bull shit excuses”
“Bull shit excuses?” He asked with his signature sarcastic smirk.
“Yeah. that you’re damaged, that I’ll get hurt, that you aren’t good enough for me.” She listed
“All true.”
“Do you have feelings for me?” She was using all the confidence she could muster.
“Yes” she was relieved at his answer, but knew there was more to talk about.
“Then say this is a date.” She insisted softly.
“You don’t want to date me” he broke eye contact in a way that made her heart ache.
“I do.” She said ducking her head to try to look in those blue eyes again.
“Y/N” he warned.
“I know you have baggage, half of your heart will always belong to Shannon and Kelly. You think you get people hurt, you’re awful at communicating”
“See” he couldn’t help but smirk at the fact that she practically read his mind.
“But I want you jethro. I want a little piece of your heart more than I’ve ever wanted all of any one else’s. I’m good at sharing, I’d gladly share you with them. As for baggage, I have my own, you’ve accepted it. Believe me when I say I want to accept yours.”
At that point he wished they weren’t sitting across from each other so he could wrap her in his arms. However they were, so squeezing her hand in his would have to suffice for the moment.
“I’m an FBI agent jethro, could I get hurt? Yeah, with or with out being attached to you. But it wouldn’t be your fault and honestly being with you, what we could have is worth anything. It’s even worth the risk of you breaking my heart. Because 3 failed marriages or not, I know you’d take care of it the best you could, and that’s all I’d ask. And I’m willing to deal with your shitty communication skills. I’m a profiler I have a leg up on understanding your actions instead of words. Plus I kinda love the fact that even though you’re a functional mute, when you do talk, you’re so good at it. I think I’ve made my point and I’m going to shut up now and let you do the whole communicating with out talking thing.” She finished and took a deep breath.
He Looked at her the way he does, where she swears he can read her mind.
“Just-“ she started again.
“Thought you were done.” He said with a faint grin.
“One more thing, if you really don’t feel the way I do, just tell me straight.”
“I can’t do that” he said rubbing his thumb over her hand.
“So this is a date?” She said, knowing when to stop pushing.
“No” he responded.
She nodded, not letting herself get upset until she could read his body language and figure out what was behind his answer. She didn’t have to because for once In their friendship, he didn’t leave her guessing.
“But tonight is.” He smiled.
“Tonight?” Her eyes lit up as she asked.
“Yeah come over at 7, I’ll cook”
“I like my steak medium rare. More rare than medium” she said with a glowing smile and watched his face break out in one too.
“I knew I liked you” he laughed with a wink.
Tag list: @averyhotchner @diesinspanishbcimhispanic
#ncis#ncis x reader#ncis fandom#female!reader#leroy jethro gibbs imagine#jethro gibbs imagine#leroy jethro gibbs x reader
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Supernatural Finale Rewrite
(Author’s Notes: Regarding the finale, that was a lot and there was a lot I would have done differently. Although this isn’t perfect by any means, it’s what I would have liked and most expected from the finale. Hope you all enjoy and are feeling alright!)
Dean’s eyes opened when the sound of his alarm clock stabbed through the veil of sleep he was enjoying. Mechanically, he turned it off and sat up against the headboard, taking a deep breath and stewing on the events of the day prior. For once, he didn’t feel a weight over his shoulders. He didn’t feel like he was playing to someone else’s narrative. This was his first day of free will in his entire life and he felt faintly content about that fact, smiling to himself before his attention was trained upon Miracle. He lifted her up onto the bed and wrapped his arms around the fluffy and recently groomed canine, calmly rocking with her clasped in his arms. Sam was surprised by his affection for the dog but she was important to Dean and he was happy to have her in his corner when he began life without God’s dictation.
After doing his morning routine smoothly, with Miracle by his side, he got to the kitchen, following the tell-tale smell of Sam’s breakfast. He watched his brother use the spatula to unstick the turkey bacon from the skillet, Eileen directly behind him with her arms wrapped around his waist affectionately. She stood on her toes and was able to kiss Sam’s cheek as he smiled similar to how he used to when Dean would tease him about having crushes on girls. They were lucky to have Eileen again. Dean remembered Sam’s attempts to be strong throughout their days of being alone on Earth, eyes on getting people back and having Eileen again. When everyone came back and Eileen showed up at the bunker door, Sam very nearly cried and Dean was just as happy as Sam was relieved.
Although it wasn’t explicitly stated as they drove to investigate the case in Ohio, it felt like one of the last rides. This scared Dean but he also forced himself to accept it. Sam was holding Eileen’s hand even though she was in the back seat and stared out the window at passing trees, fantasizing with a hopeful demeanor. It wasn’t dissimilar to when Sam was getting to be a teenager and looked out the window, secretly fantasizing about going to college but keeping that fact to himself given Dean and John at the time were not very supportive of that idea. Dean was ready to hear this time and with that thought in mind, he stopped looking towards him and focused back on the road, sharing a knowing glance with Eileen, who understood Sam now had his mind on bigger things, in the rearview.
After fighting the vampires and saving those boys, that air of finality was nearly impossible to shake. Dean would have died if Eileen wasn’t there to tag-team the larger vampire with him and he was grateful for her presence. Still, a close-call was a close-call and Sam and Dean realized in that moment that recklessness was a bad practice to have now that God wasn’t protecting them for the sake of a good narrative. Not long after, only weeks following actually, Sam stood in the doorway of Dean’s room following a nice dinner of his own making. He spent hours on it and stewed over it like the day was some kind of occasion, and it was.
Dean was laying on his stomach on the bed, flicking through news stories on his tablet with Miracle curled up by his side unbothered. He glanced up from the tablet and placed it down when he saw the look on Sam’s face. He was struggling with something, brows furrowed but also tilted up with his lips pressed in a thin straight line. Dean wouldn’t prompt him, the words that would soon leave Sam’s lips were his to share. With a shuddering breath, Sam finally said what he wanted.
“Eileen and I, we uh,” he clears his throat and looks away from Dean to the corner of the room. Dean smiled knowingly to himself but remained silent, looking down at the bed spread and scratching at Miracle’s ear as he waited. “We were wanting to go on our own trip, for a while.”
Sam expected a response from Dean, eyes softened with fearful expectation, but he got nothing. The silence wasn’t bad or uncomfortable so he clarified.
“You knew I couldn’t do this so seriously forever,” he chuckles weakly, “she and I will continue of course, can’t forget hunting, but we want to try to move on. Even though she and I… you and I, will never be normal, it’s always been something I’ve wanted to try and I couldn’t comfortably do that the last few times, when you were gone. So, I think now’s the time to…” he scoffs in realization of what he was about to say, squinting his eyes and looking down, “move on I guess?” he laughs out abortively.
Dean finally nods and looks up to his brother, waiting until Sam looked him in the eyes to speak. “I think that’s a good idea, Sammy.”
Sam stood dumbfounded for a moment, not wholly surprised by Dean’s reaction but expecting more.
“It’s what you’ve always wanted and there’s no one here that has as much power to convince you otherwise but yourself.”
A weak but heartfelt smile crossed Sam’s face. “What are you going to do?”
“I’ll take up that question on the daily,” he mumbles thoughtfully, “and eventually I’ll figure it out.” Looking up at Sam, he was happy to see he accepted the answer with a nod.
Sam and Dean didn’t talk as much as either would have wanted in the months following Sam and Eileen taking their leave from the bunker. Eileen, as they were planning on passing through Kansas on a casual hunt that interrupted the domesticity they enjoyed prior, suggested they drop by briefly to see how Dean was doing. Sam was happy she suggested it as he wouldn’t have attempted to otherwise, even though he secretly wanted to. When they got there, Baby was nowhere to be seen but Sam disregarded that. He asked if Eileen wanted to join him but she insisted their reunion was to be had between one another and that she’d join him soon enough prompting Sam to enter the dark bunker.
His brows furrowed as he turned on the lights and looked around, finding his own barren room and eventually finding Dean’s, although, it didn’t look like Deans. None of his stuff was there any longer and it seemed as though the only remnants of anyone being there in the first place was the scratching on the table in the main room and the very faint, concerning smell of smoke that permeated throughout the bunker. Not long after scoping out the place, he called Dean’s main phone, making his way out as he did so. Eileen was confused and waited for Sam to fill her in on why Dean didn’t join him but relaxed when Sam’s demeanor relaxed as well; the call was picked up.
“Hiya, Sammy, how are you and Eileen?” he said with a smile in his tone.
“Are you on a hunt?” Sam asked even though he was aware Dean’s lack of belongings at
the bunker implied more than a simple hunt.
Dean picked at his fries and ate another, waving off a waitress politely before she could ask if he was enjoying his meal. He was sitting on the outside patio of a diner with Miracle by his side. “I’m not actually.”
Bated silence was all that could be heard on Sam’s end.
“I thought about what you said, about moving on, and I thought I’d give it a try. Still hunting but I’m doing what I want, I guess,” he chuckles, coming off as genuinely happy, “that’s all we can really do, huh? So I’m giving it a try.”
“You’re not hunting anymore?”
“Woah woah woah, of course I’m still hunting, I’m just not… well… it’s whatever comes to me.” Dean thought of his words and frowned, the part of his father in him reminding him he was selfish for not spending every waking hour hunting. “Does that make me selfish, Sam?” he asked in a moment of clarity.
Eileen watched Sam intently, garnering an understanding from their interactions based on Sam’s facial expressions and words. His eyes were wide but sparkly in happiness, mouth opened and twitching as though he wanted to say something. His brows raised up suddenly and she instantly recognized a powerful “no” leaving his lips. He was happy despite his admonishment, and so was she. Dean, likely, had left for good, and she was happy for what that meant for the both of them.
Sam had an air about him following that interaction. He was happy and spoke to Dean often. In his childhood and adulthood he always feared one of them would die too young to see the other grow old. If that didn’t happen, he was sure they would have a large fight and never make up, but they remained close despite those predictions. Dean was there for nearly every Christmas and Thanksgiving that followed the phone call, even though he said it was only for the food. Dean hadn’t been the only one to join Sam and Eileen during the holidays at their home, of course.
Jody, with Donna and the girls, joined often and teased the boys for their old age every year and Dean remained close with Claire following his absence from the bunker. Sam didn’t think to think too much about it but, more times than not, when Dean visited Sam casually, Claire was in tow, always eager to join him on hunts and growing into a capable young woman with a penchant for medicine. That fact reassured Sam that Dean was not likely to be lost with her beside him during hunts.
Miracle’s passing was followed up by Sam and Eileen having a baby girl. Sam and Dean’s makeshift family followed the latter journey every step of the way. Charlie had been excited to have her own as well so it wasn’t abnormal to see her drop by and ask Eileen how she's feeling and if she had any advice to give if Charlie wanted to have one of her own with her girlfriend by her side. Eileen was more than happy to oblige and answer those questions for her.
When she was born, the waiting room was flooded with over forty hunters from their universe and the apocalypse universe that no longer existed. Mary was calm and mild mannered like both of her parents. She would likely be just as smart as her parents and Dean never hesitated to let her know that when he visited them for the holidays following.
By the time Mary was seven, Charlie had a baby of her own and proudly showed him off to the group of hunters and friends that joined the Thanksgiving celebration that year. Mary, eager, asked her dad when Uncle Dean would be coming and Sam insisted she had to be patient, which she desperately attempted to do. All her suppression of excitement during the hours of waiting for her uncle resulted in an explosion of squeals when Dean entered and scooped her up playfully. Funnily enough, everyone predicting she would be calm and mild-mannered was negated by her favorite uncle’s brash nature.
“There’s my girl!” he spoke excitedly and groans as he tries to lift her up as high as he would have normally but he got about halfway before placing her down on the ground and smirking at her. “You’re getting to be just as tall as your daddy, huh?”
Sam scoffed and rolled his eyes before they focused in on a larger box Dean had stuck into his bag with a pink bow. “What’s that, Dean?”
“Huh? Oh, this?” he whips out the box and smirks down at Mary, “I don’t know, Mary, what do YOU think this is?”
“It’s a Christmas present!”
“Yep, needed to get this to your daddy early, you still need to wait a month though.”
She groaned but accepted the situation before smiling and running off to dote over Aunt Charlie’s baby.
Dean walked up to Sam and handed him the gift, eyes bright as he looked over the individuals in the room. Sam spoke, still looking down at the box in his hands.
“This mean you won't be coming over for Christmas?”
Dean glanced back towards the gift thoughtfully before looking towards Sam. “You know I hate to miss Christmas, giving it to you early just in case. Have a few cases on the roster that I’m considering and if any of them bleed into Christmas, I wanted Mary to at least get a gift from me, you know?”
“Not working yourself silly?”
“Nah, just doing all the good I can manage. I’m human, after all,” Dean says with a smile.
Sam was happy for the words but frowned as he figured Dean would have had a wife by that point if he wasn’t actually working himself silly. Was Dean lying to him? It was something Sam had been concerned about since Mary turned three but opted to be more patient with Dean than anything. Patience was what he deserved.
Sam, sitting at the table with everyone in tow, happily reflected on the memory of his Dean witnessed years ago: sitting with another family during the holidays enjoying their food and the family life he couldn’t relate to at the time. This Thanksgiving wasn’t unlike any of the others and Sam reflected on that memory and the life he made for himself often. Dean and Sam met stares like they did every other Thanksgiving when they truly realized how lucky they were until it got to the end of the night when the kids were tired and the adults were respectfully tipsy.
As everyone chatted following dinner, Sam couldn’t help but notice his brother was missing from the festivities. Mary had been settled so it wouldn’t have been unsurprising for Dean to lose interest and find a chair to sleep on but Sam still couldn’t find him. Finally, he caught the image of his brother leaning over the fencing on the back porch, beer bottle in hand as he looked over the dark field ahead. The view provided nothing crazy aside from the decent sight of the stars up above.
Sam joined him and stared ahead, words, unspoken, behind his closed lips as he stewed in the silence. He glanced behind him towards the group of friends, partially obscured, and his gorgeous wife, and used that for fuel for the statement he’d been keeping to himself for a few years at that point. “You ever plan on settling down like this? Have a wife and kids? Is that on your mind at all?” Sam’s eyes were softened with concern towards his brother. He noted that Jody had been right about the years never ceasing to pass. While he himself had greying hairs on his temples, Dean’s hair now took on a dull brown look, fading rather than greying. His wrinkles were deepening as well but not in a way Sam disliked. His frown lines remained how they always were but his crows feet were extra defined. Despite Sam’s worries, Dean was a happy man.
Those crows feet only deepened when his question prompted a smile from Dean. He had been still during the silence but his hand flexed around the neck of the beer bottle as he looked down and thought up a viable answer for his worried brother. “May not be what you wanted for yourself but I like how things are for me right now. It’s not normal but it's humble and unpredictable without being dangerous. Best of what you and I wanted for me if I ever got this far,” he laughs out.
Sam let out his own abortive laugh with softened eyes. Dean was privy to visits and was with Claire a lot but surely he couldn’t be happy without a partner and children of his own, right? Almost as though Dean read his mind, he continued.
“I wouldn’t mind having a kid though, if I ever feel I’m ready for it but…” he sighs softly, eyes bright, “Claire is good.”
“You see Claire as your kid?” Sam spoke softly and acceptingly.
Dean nods, “yeah, I think I do,” he chuckles almost in disbelief, “she, uh…” he tried and failed to stifle a smile, “she called me dad on a phone a few months ago and uh… I don’t know, man, it just felt right.”
Sam noticed Dean’s eyes were wet with sentimentality and nodded, eyes growing calm as he remembered watching her grow following Cass taking her father’s vessel. Sam’s eyes softened as he thought about the angel but didn’t speak of him.
Dean swallowed down his emotions and continued despite his better judgement. Sam gave off an air of openness that Dean finally decided he was willing to adhere to.
“I never told you what happened before Cass died, did I?”
Sam’s eyes widened and looked towards Dean eagerly.
Dean recognized his eagerness and faintly felt bad that he kept Sam in the dark in all the years he spent coping. Some part of him had hoped he could have Cass himself explain. Clearing his throat and nodding to himself for hype, he explained.
“Cass sacrificed himself so the Empty could come take Death away, you know that but… Well.” Dean warily looked towards Sam.
Sam responded with a patient look and Dean regained his confidence.
“Cas made some kind of deal with the Empty at some point, don’t know when. He told me the deal was when he became happy, he’d be taken away.”
Sam’s brows furrowed, not understanding where this was going.
Dean cleared his throat again, now gripping the neck of his beer bottle and staring as deeply into the dark as he could, attempting to place himself as far away from the house as he could manage subconsciously. “He told me he loved me, Sammy.”
Sam’s mouth gaped.
“He,” Dean took a deep shuddering breath, unable to stand still as he dropped his thousand yard stare and hung his head, momentarily overwhelmed with the confession, “he told me loved me and that that was good enough. That he was happiest being honest with me about it, and then he…”
Sam now understood and placed a hand on his brother’s shoulder as if he was telling him he didn’t have to explain what happened after.
“Sammy?” his voice was hoarse and surprisingly fearful but overwhelmingly vulnerable. Sam felt like Dean was a kid again but this was different because Dean never allowed Sam to console him, that was always Dean’s job.
“Yeah, Dean?”
Dean was now white knuckling the bottle as he shuddered. “Sammy, I think I loved him too,” he choked out painfully and raised his head, eyes wet as he looked up at the stars in hopes that the tears would cease. He placed the bottle on the raising so he could use his free hand to cover his eyes and rub the evidence of hurt from his face
Sam didn’t see much but he saw Dean’s face flush and mouth tense as he tried to stifle the sobs that threatened to spill from his mouth and gave in, using the hand on his shoulder to drag him into a powerful hug, silent because all Dean needed in that moment was comfort. Eventually, Dean gained the ability to speak in a way that was understandable, breaths evening.
“I tried so hard to get him back.”
Sam pulled away slightly to scrutinize him, willing to serve disappointment if Dean’s words meant he would have been willing to sacrifice himself again. Dean responded by nodding his head no.
“After you left, I spent those months looking for anything. I wouldn’t summon the Empty but I just wanted to know if he was there. I wanted to talk to him but nothing worked, Sam.”
Sam recalled the smell of smoke in the bunker when he got there to look for Dean after he left and he realized.
“I just wanted to know if he was there but it was like,” Dean froze in the middle of his sentence, remembering sitting on the dock with a line in front of him and Cass by his side. He squeezed his eyes shut to compose himself before going on, “it was like I was casting a line with bait that could only get the attention of one fish but hours would pass and days would pass and nothing ever bit. It was like Cass wasn’t there at all, Sam. And I was so…” he stops himself briefly but continues, “I wasn’t really okay with it until I thought that, even though Cas was gone for good, he would want me to use that free will I worked so hard for and he would want me to live for myself and do what I wanted.”
Sam was crying calmly, a tear streaking down his slightly aged face occasionally as Dean spoke.
“I don’t think I’m ever going to feel the way I realized I felt about Cass for someone else but I’m okay with that, Sam,” he speaks, looking into Sam’s eyes and cupping his cheek, “I’ll be okay.”
Sam scoffed out a laugh through his tears as he nodded and accepted the comfort.
“I’ll be okay because,” he looked down, gathering the words in his mind before speaking them out to the world, “happiness isn’t just in the having, it’s in the being and feeling.”
Sam couldn’t stop himself from thinking back to all the times he admonished Dean for his loyalty to Cass, for his anger directed at Cass that was mostly fueled by disappointment rooted in love, all the arguments they had that he involved himself in, and suddenly his jokes back then weren’t all jokes.
Dean begins genuinely crying and glances back towards the window and into the warm house. Eileen was peeking around the corner curiously but Dean feigned a smile for her before looking back at his brother. “You have something so good.”
Sam smiled and nodded, squeezing his eyes shut as he did so before once again meeting his big brother’s eyes.
“It’s something you built for yourself and I’m so damned proud of you, Sam,” he lovingly used the hand against his cheek to shake his head about playfully, “my baby brother.”
Sam lets out a wet laugh as he allows Dean to lead them into pressing their foreheads together. Both brother’s realized that was likely the last time Dean would tell Sam he was proud of him, not because he would be disappointed later, but because he achieved his ultimate happiness with Eileen and the family he and Dean built together.
“Are you expecting anyone?”
Bobby was shaken from his trance as he stared ahead at the world Jack built for them. He enjoyed having John, Mary, and his other friends nearby nearly as much as he enjoyed stewing in the calmness. Sitting on the porch and enjoying stillness was something he did on Earth and would continue to do throughout the afterlife.
“Hopefully not anytime soon.”
An awkward silence was the response and Bobby realized the man misinterpreted his words, “I meant anyone that’s not here already, you jackass,” he chuckles out affectionately, patting the chair and handing the man a beer when he joins him.
Cass scrutinized the bottle before tipping the liquid into his mouth and joining Bobby in the bliss of commonality despite not being fond of the taste. “Do you think they’ll like it here?”
“They’ll love it but they better not get here too soon.”
Cass looked towards Bobby with a warm, calm smile and nodded in agreement, looking back ahead at the gorgeous expanse before them.
#supernatural#supernatural finale#spn 15x21#supernatural 15x21#supernatural fix-it#supernatural fanfiction#destiel#saileen#dean x castiel#sam x eileen
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Either/Or: Single 9
Previously on Single
Things were going well. Things were going outrageously well, and Lena didn’t know what to do about it. Sometimes, she didn’t even think about it, just kind of did it. As much as she wanted to overthink her way out of everything, it just didn’t happen, because Kara was easy, and Lena felt good, for the first time in such a long time. It was like waking up and realizing she hadn’t been aware of so many things.
Most importantly, Lena was finding that she just fit well with Kara Danvers. She fit well enough to be comfortable, and she wasn’t sure that she’d ever been comfortable with another person, and as foreign as it was, Lena wasn’t running away, as she thought she might. Weirdly enough, she stuck around.
“I’m sorry I’m late. I am so sorry. I got stuck on the phone. I’m so so sorry,” Lena chattered as she hurried to sit down at the table her girlfriend held.
“Hey, take a breath,” Kara chuckled and waited until Lena actually took a breath. She smiled and waited. “I got your text. Don’t worry. It’s okay.”
“I know, but I didn’t mean to be late.”
“I’d hope not. I’m a great lunch companion.”
“That’s true. My favorite.”
Kara beamed, and Lena loved that smile. She loved the feeling of making Kara smile the most because she never imagined she was someone who was funny enough to make anyone, let alone Kara smile.
“You look very pretty today,” Kara offered. “Even when you’re all frazzled.”
“I’m never frazzled. I am a Luthor. We do not get frazzled.”
“Tell that to the girl who just ran into Gio’s like her butt was on fire.”
“You look beautiful, by the way.”
“There’s my girl.”
Lunch dates were a fairly new invention to Lena who was used to dates late in the evening after work, usually with drinks, usually with sex after. That was the extent of the interactions she had in the dating world. But lunch dates were honestly the best. It meant Lena got out of the office, and it meant an hour of solid flirting and talking with Kara, uninterrupted by anything else. Sometimes, lunch dates were in one of their respective office, and sometimes it was in a new restaurant or an old favorite. Lena made sure to ask Kara at least once per week. She was doing her best to quantify being a girlfriend, and a great one.
Most of the time they were successful in being uninterrupted. It was easy to do when even Jess was fond of letting Lena have those lunches.
“Oh, I’m sorry, but I have to…” Kara trailed off as she looked at the number that appeared on her phone.
“I’ll allow it, as the better girlfriend.”
She rolled her eyes before picking up the call and excusing herself from the table to take it outside. Lena smiled into her glass and grabbed another slice of pizza from the shared tray between them. Even though she now had the moment to do it, Lena didn’t bother picking up her phone.
“Can you take care of the check with this?” she smiled politely at the waitress and handed over her card. “And if you could, two orders of tiramisu, one for the table, and one to go.”
“Of course, Ms. Luthor. How was everything?”
“Gio is going to be responsible for my wardrobe not fitting.”
“It’s worse working here. I have to work out twice as much.”
“I can’t imagine. My girlfriend has the metabolism of a greyhound. I’ve never been more jealous.”
“That’s a superpower I would want most of all. Eat all of the carbs and they didn’t count,” she chuckled and picked up a few plates and glasses. “I’ll be right back with that. And I’ll box up this up for you.”
“Thanks.”
It took a few more minutes, but Kara came back to the table, noticeably more sullen than when she walked outside.
“That face doesn’t look like someone who has tiramisu on the way and another to take home for their afternoon snack.”
“God, you’re the best,” the reporter sighed, though her mood didn’t improve. “That was a lead on my pollution story. I wasn’t sure I’d get the chance to interview a controller and purchaser for the state, but there was an opening through a friend of a friend. What?”
“Nothing, you’re just… I like when you talk about work. Usually it’s me that does that. It’s refreshing. Tell me more.”
The tiramisu was placed in front of them, and Kara picked up a fork immediately as she kept talking.
“I’ve been waiting for a break, or at least a chance to ask some real questions. I mean, I’ve practically memorized the budget for waste management and funding for companies and their waste. But I haven’t been able to get anyone to go on record.”
“But you’ve found someone,” Lena reminded her, taking a bite of the shared dessert. She watched Kara watch her lips and gulp before going for more.
“I, uh, yeah, I do. But I don’t have anyone to watch Katie. Alex is away on her anniversary trip, my mom is at a conference. And I can’t string together everyone else. It wouldn’t work.”
“Ow long do you have to go for?”
“Should just be like two days. I have to go the capitol. But I can fly back. You know. Like… fly, fly.”
Things had been easy since Mon-El left. There was a peace that existed there, and Lena really didn’t mind spending time with Katie. It was easier to do when she knew everything, and even when she heard Kara’s stories of home and her mother. But somehow Kara’s ex made the couple feel closer together. Weirdly enough, it made Lena feel more comfortable to know that Kara was all in.
“I’ll take her.”
“Um, what?” Kara furrowed and debated before giving Lena the last bite. She was gunning for the best girlfriend slot again and that was the most selfless thing she could think of.
“You didn’t ask me, but I can watch Katie.”
“Well, yeah, but we’re going slow. And I didn’t-- I mean I wouldn’t--”
“It’ll be a good way to get to know her and I’m a responsible adult individual who can do that.”
Across the table, Kara looked at her girlfriend and debated. Her daughter was a lot, and was even more for someone who didn’t have much experience. But Lena knew everything already and she was a capable adult individual.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes. I mean it. I am going to have to get good at kids… or at least one kid, and it’s this kid. So I should try. I mean, she’s indestructible, so who better to practice on.”
“That’s almost a good point,” Kara nodded and chuckled at Lena’s pragmatic explanation. “But are you sure you want to?”
To her credit, Lena thought about it again, debating over her idea. And when she looked at Kara, she felt her heart grow and swell and her chest grew warm. It was a feeling she adored having, but she was afraid of getting used to it. If she fell in love with Kara, and if she couldn’t do the kid thing, then it would hurt. Better to find out sooner, rather than later.
Plus, she was trying to be the best girlfriend, and Kara had given her the last bit of tiramisu.
“I want to. I want you to be able to go do your work stuff and not worry. You should be able to count on me.”
“I do.”
“Okay. Then it’s decided. I will be an expert babysitter and you will conquer the world.”
“You’re amazing, did you know that?”
“I did actually.”
Kara smiled and let her girlfriend have it. Lena might not have known it, though Kara suspected she did, since her brain was always thinking things over-- but it was a big deal, and they knew what it meant.
“So long as you knew,” Kara smiled.
XXXXXXXXXX
Lena didn’t do anything without careful planning and extreme research. Babysitting was no different. For a few hours, she shirked work and looked up topical subjects to discuss with a five year old. She looked up all kinds of things, reading parenting blogs about how to handle things like tantrums and what foods were healthiest. Lena even learned basic life-saving techniques like the Heimlich and refreshed her CPR skills as best she could from a webpage. She had a wonderful pep talk and extensive list of instructions from her girlfriend.
She was ready. Or as ready as anyone could hope to be.
Somehow, in the grand scheme of things, Lena found herself standing outside of an elementary school, waiting for a child to appear.
“Lena! I’m so ‘cited to see you!” Katie hopped down the steps and skipped toward her through the crowd of people.
“Hey! I’m excited to see you too.”
“Do you want to help me with my homework but can we play first?”
There was a lot of energy happening, but Lena smiled because Katie held her hand and persisted to tell her about her day at school. She truly was like her mother in so many ways.
“We can definitely play first. I really want to go on the swings,” Lena decided. “And I was thinking maybe cheeseburgers for dinner?”
“Oh, I love cheeseburgers!”
“Me too!”
The park was fairly busy with the bustle of the afternoon crowd, but still, they tossed the backpack in the car and took to the park joyfully. Lena came prepared, exchanging her heels for sneakers and work out clothes. The thing she kept reading was that the best practice with children was to get on their level and take part in their activities. That meant running around, and as much as she kind of dreaded pretending to have fun, Lena allowed herself the time to enjoy it.
They stopped at the best burger place in the city and ordered their food when Kara called to check on them and say goodnight. Lena found it comical how big her phone was in comparison to Katie’s tiny hand.
“How’s the investigating going, darling?” Lena smiled into her phone while Katie asked for help with her ketchup packet.
“So far so good,” Kara breathed, somewhat relieved on the other side of the line. “You two seem to be having a good time.”
“I don’t want to jinx it, but we are. We’re going to head back home and do homework, bath, and bed. Easy night.”
“And I am across the country while you’re in my bed. It’s a travesty.”
“I agree.”
There was a tiny blush as Lena hurried to eat a fry and shut up before she said something stupid in front of a kid.
“Thank you for doing this. I mean it. It means so much to me, and--”
“Just admit I’m the best girlfriend.”
“I admit it. I’ll sing it from the rooftops.”
“Don’t worry about us here. Just go do what you gotta do, and we’ll see you on Sunday evening.”
“It’s a date. Have a good night. I’ll try to call in the morning.”
“Bye Mommy!” Katie sang towards the phone.
“Bye, Kara,” Lena offered with just as much joy.
“Bye ladies. Have fun!”
With the phone hung up, and the two left at their small table, Lena looked at Katie who just looked back at her before taking a big bite of her burger.
“Is this what it’s always like?” Lena asked.
“Yeah except we don’t always eat burgers sometimes Mom makes me eat other foods.”
The CEO just smiled and ate another fry.
XXXXXXXXXX
Maybe she was just overprepared or overconfident, but Lena found that following her schedule was a perfect way to pass the time with a kid. As she promised Kara, they worked on some homework and got a bath and shower respectively. Lena was only nervous half of the time of doing something wrong, and that was a win and a half for her.
“And they lived happily ever after,” Lena finished reading the story and closed the book, satisfied by the book well enough.
Part of what made her nervous about kids was that she honestly had no interest in how unintelligent they were. They just weren’t fully formed yet and found burps amusing and watched such droll and dull shows and read such easy books, and she couldn’t fake interest well at all. She’d been pleasantly surprised by how unannoyed she found herself with all of Katie’s childish things.
“We can read another,” Katie offered, trying to get out of bed to find another book.
“I think three was more than enough,” Lena shook her head, amused by the treachery that was attempted. “You should sleep now so I can work on my homework.”
“Do you need some help? I’m good at homework, you saw mine. It was so good.”
“Mine’s very boring. You wouldn’t like it,” she promised, pulling the blankets up. “But thank you for offering.”
“Is Mommy going to be home soon?”
Her eyes were like Kara’s and her chin tilted in the same way. It was amazing to see in person, and genetics, though a simple enough concept, was magnificent.
“She will be home in a couple of days. But for now, I’m going to stay here. I’ll sleep in your mom’s room.”
“Like when you stay over sometimes.”
“Yes, right, exactly,” Lena blushed slightly.
“Where do you live?”
“Oh, Well, I live downtown. My house is high up in a tall building
“Can I see it?”
“There aren’t any toys or fun things for kids to do, you wouldn’t like it.”
“But you live there and you’ve seen where I live.”
That was fair Lena realized before being caught by the notion that a five year old was outsmarting her somewhat in the logic department.
“Maybe we’ll go see it. But I can’t promise.”
“Sounds good.”
“Good night, Katie. Sleep well. Sweet dreams.”
“Night, Lena.”
Door finally closed behind her, Lena wasn’t aware of how exhausting Katie had been until she was left in the quiet. And she still had the kitchen to clean up and her work to get done. She wanted to tell Kara that she was amazing for getting it all done and still working on her career. Instead of calling her though, Lena decided she was going to be someone Kara could count on more often.
XXXXXXXXXX
“Oh Christ!” Lena jolted awake when she saw two eyes staring back at her and felt a hand on her cheek. Her heart leaped and thumped until she realized where she was and who was touching her.
Katie just giggled and climbed into the bed completely.
“Good morning. I woke up and went potty and now I’m very hungry. Like I could eat a stack of pancakes.”
“Let me catch my breath… for a minute…”
“You’re scared when you waked up.”
“I don’t have kids at my house waking me up usually. I was just a little frightened.”
Lena turned her head and looked at the little girl who made herself comfortable in the big bed, very close to her. Before she could say something, she felt her phone vibrating and reached for it quickly.
Katie bounced a little and urged Lena to help with breakfast while the CEO tried to hear what was happening on the other end of the line.
“Why don’t you go set the table for breakfast,” Lena tried, covering her phone while her assistant kept telling her about what happened with some deal.
An instant later, little feet made their way down the hall and Lena was able to focus on the task at hand. In a matter of five minutes, she realized that she would have to go into the office to handle it, and now she was unsure of if babysitting was a good idea.
But it was too late to second guess it.
“George, hey, I’m so sorry to call-- yes,” Lena smiled as she made her way down the hall. “Could you pick me up at Kara’s…” Katie was already watching cartoons. “And stop and pick up a booster seat.”
XXXXXXXXXX
“Wow… your office is very cool and awesome,” Katie observed as she sat behind the big desk, eyes wide and enjoying the seat. “I like the windows.”
“Thanks. It’s alright, I guess,” Lena smiled to herself as she looked around her office.
“That’s my mom.”
Katie pointed at the picture frame that had the pair at a gala month ago. Kara had her arm around Lena’s waist and was smiling happily. Lena remembered when they got a little tipsy and stumbled back to her place and the dresses didn’t survive the needy hands and eagerness both exhibited. It was a good memory, and it took that for Lena to realize what useful things photographs were.
“It is. We went to a party together.”
“Why do you have it on your desk?”
“Because I like to look at it and feel happy. Your mom makes me feel happy when I’m kind of bored or stressed. She makes me smile.”
Katie thought about it and nodded, furrowing at the picture.
“Yeah, she’s good at making people smile.”
Her legs kicked and couldn’t reach the floor. Lena took a picture and sent it to Kara so she could see her daughter as CEO-in-training. And then Lena got to the task of running her company while entertaining a child. It was an extra level of difficulty she hadn’t anticipated, but Katie was well behaved, coloring a little and then watching a movie on the couch in the corner while Jess plied her with popcorn and juice. Every step of the way, she asked Lena what she was doing, and even though she didn’t understand anything at first, she listened intently and decided that Lena’s job really was boring.
Lena had to agree.
“So the other people didn’t like your… stipala-- stiplat-- what was it?”
“Stipulations,” Lena explained again with a smile. “Right. So now I have to give them more money to accept those and my board doesn’t want to.”
“You have lots of money?”
“Yes. But do you want to know a secret?” Katie nodded eagerly as she leaned against the desk. “When you have a lot of money, you don’t tell people that you do.”
“Why?”
“It’s kind of boring to talk about.”
“What does this company do?”
“They kind of make new inventions.”
“That’s pretty cool.”
Lena type away for a second and waited for another call from her board. She knew the telltale signs of someone who was sick of being stuck in the office, as she’d once been that little girl dragged along when promised something else. She was really mucking up the whole babysitting thing, and she did, desperately, wanted Katie to like her.
“I don’t think there’s much more I can do right now, they just need my signature,” Lena sat back. “Want to do a little experiment? I can show you what this new company does with magnets and electricity.”
“An experiment?” Katie asked, perking up slightly.
“Press that button,” Lena pointed toward her phone. “And you can ask Jess for our supplies.”
Lena wasn’t sure she’d ever seen such excitement, and she was certain she’d never connected with a kid like she did right there with Katie, her entire life coming full circle. Katie slid into her lap and Lena thought she might have understood a little better.
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Room for more(chapter four)
~.~
They had stopped for lunch at a place Zane was sure they’d like, Skylor’s noodles.
Skylor was their long time friend, who also was married to their friend/Social worker Pixel but hey, who was counting?
Parking in front of the restaurant Zane knew he’d make the right choice. Down to the fact that Nya was trying to undo her car seat.
“I see you like this place.” Zane laughed as he unlocked the doors. The moment he opened the door Kai ran out with Nya in his arms, a good thing he had kept the child locks on.
“Momma and Pappa used to take us all the time!” Nya exclaims as Zane picks her up and has Kai hold his hand.
“Did they now?” Zane asks as they walk through the parking lot and inside the building. Once inside Kai tried to run again, but Zane wouldn’t let him.
The family was seated at a booth and were given menus within five minutes. Zane had been there many times, he knew Cole came here sometimes for his lunch break, but this was the first time he’d bring his children. Temporary children? No that makes it sound like they weren’t people.
“Hey there Zane, great to see you again.” The waiter grabbed at Zane’s attention, he realized he was spacing out.
“Oh hey Griffin,I forgot you worked here.” Zane smiled politely and turned to his friend.
Griffin shrugged and fixed his red tinted sunglasses, “It’s mostly part time now, might change to full time till fall.”
“Really? Would Skylor let you do that?” Zane asks as he sets the menu down in front of him.
“She gets what I need to do, that and i’ve been here since she got the place.” Griffin smirked before he pulled out a pad of paper and a pen. “Anyways, the usual right?”
“Kai, Nya? Are you ready?” If his friend didn’t notice the two little kids when he came over he definitely did now.
It was unusual for the fast man to be silent, but he remained like that as the little girl pointed to what she wanted while her brother(?) muttered it.
“Griffin?” Zane asks, as the man was in a way shocked out of his stupor.
“Yes, uh yeah i got it don’t worry.” He wrote down the order before pocketing his pad and pen, “I’ll be right back with your drinks.” Griffin quickly left, most likely to tell his boss/friends in the back.(He’d forget the drinks till last minute.)
“Who was that guy?” Kai asks, watching the man practically run to the back.
“He’s a friend of ours, he’s nice once you get to know him.” Zane stated as he spotted Skylor a table away talking to someone.
“Why was he wearing sunglasses indoors?” Nya asks, scribbling away on the kids menu.
“We don’t know, he’s like that.” Zane explained, taking out some wet wipes from some of the little dishes placed in the middle of the table. “Wipe your hands please.” He handed one to Kai and another to Nya.
“Well if it isn’t one half of a whole mess!” Skylor exclaims as she slaps him on the shoulder.
“I could say the same for you.” Zane deadpans as Skylor unceremoniously drops herself across from him.
“Don’t be like that, you love me.” She grins before her attention is caught by Kai and Nya, both of whom were staring at her with wide eyes. “Who are these little ones?”
“Skylor this is Kai and Nya.” Zane says confidently, it was the first real time he could call them his kids, right? “Cole and I are fostering them, kids this is Skylor.”
Skylor, who looked smitten the moment she laid eyes on the two, gave a motherly smile and waved. “Hi, it’s so nice to meet you.”
Suddenly Nya brightens up, stars in her eyes, “You're the lady from the picture!” she exclaimed.
“Mrs.Borg is your wife!” Kai chimed in, looking pleased that he remembered.
Skylor was shocked for all of two seconds before she started laughing. “I haven’t met them and they already know me!” She threw her head back as she cackled.
“Well we do have quite a few photos from your wedding Skylor.” Zane chuckled as his friend started to calm down.
“Did you guys order already? Where are your drinks?” Skylor had finally calmed down and took a moment to look at their table, there were no plates or glasses, just some unopened chopsticks alongside some forks and spoons.
“Griffin came by, he looked spaced out however.” Zane said as Kai and Nya started to whisper to each other.
“Yeah, he gets like that around winter.” Skylor leaned back into her seat, she started thinking about it. “I think it’s because its almost winter, after that he can’t really function.”
“How come?” Kai asks as Nya leans on him.
“He always has to move,you know? He’s like a shark with bad sunglasses.” Skylor explains, giving Zane a look at the last part.
“Hey dude, sorry for the wait.” Griffin finally came back, a tray expertly balanced in his hand.
“Griffin, we aren’t even packed. Why did it take so long?” It was like Skylor did a complete 180, giving her employee an icy glare.
“Sorry Skylor, one of the waitresses needed me.” Griffin handed the family their drinks, “It wasn’t that long though.”
“It’s long when there’s nobody here, Turner.” Skylor stood, and while she didn’t tower over him she was intimidating and angry.
“I-it won’t happen again, i’m sorry Skylor.” Griffin held the tray close to him, scared that he could lose this job.
In response Skylor’s demeanor changed like she wasn’t mad in the first place. “I’m kidding Griffin. Don’t worry about it.”
Giffin, somewhat relieved, started laughing as well. “Wait really?”
“Of course, hey did you meet Zane’s kids?” Skylor took the tray from Griffin and sat him next to her.
The two looked at Griffin, Nya with wide eyes while Kai glared at him. “Hey little dudes, i bet these two talked about me?” He leaned forward and gave a charming pose.
“Fast and distracted.” The two stated in unison and nodding.
Two of the adults gave an unflattering snort of a laugh as Griffin’s face fell. “Wow, i haven’t met them and already i’ve been tarnished.”
“Serves you right,” Skylor muttered, as she stole some of Zane’s water. “Remember when we met Karlof’s niece? You said i was a witch who bribed people with noodles.”
“I was joking, you’re not a noodle witch.” Griffin smiled, “More like a demon.”
“I will hit you.” Skylor whacked the back of his head, causing his red tinted glasses to fall.
The glasses landed in front of Kai, who looked intrigued by them. “Why do you wear these indoors?” He asks, picking them up.
“That’s a good question, and in all honesty I don’t know.” Griffin laughed as he took them back. “I wore them a lot in college and I never stopped.”
“So you're trying to relive the glory days?” Nya asks sweetly, now holding her cup with two hands.
Griffin let his glasses clatter as Skylor cackled and Zane shook with silent laughter.
“N-Nya, sweetie.” Zane took a deep breath, “Nya you can’t just say things like that.”
“Why?” She asks, placing her cup down.
“Because Griffin still thinks he’s young.” Skylor stated as her friend gave a squawk of indignes.
“Excuse you, i am young.” He stated as his friends rolled their eyes. “What, i am!”
“Griffin you have back pain.” Skylor deadpanned, “You’re 28.”
“Well he does carry his whole team on his back.” Zane remarked, only somewhat sarcastically.
As the adults talked and Nya listened with attention, Kai grew very bored. He was hungry, and Griffin only brought their drinks.
Could he say something though? It was nice of Zane to bring them to the noodle house, but he was talking to his friends. He shouldn’t be bothered.
Zane noticed something was up with Kai however, the way he kept looking near the kitchen, how he looked like he wanted to say something.
Realization hit the man, that’s the whole reason they came here was for lunch.
“Hey Griffin,” Zane interrupted his friend's story, “When can we get our food?”
Skylor gave Griffin a glare as he tensed up. “We’ve been here for ten minutes and you didn’t bring their food? Really?”
“Oh, that’s what I forgot.” Griffin hissed, before standing and grabbing his tray. “I’m so sorry, I’ll be back in a second with your food.” He quickly left to the back.
Skylor sighed, “I’m sorry about the wait guys, I’ll let you get to your meal.”
When she left Griffin came back, balancing a tray filled with hot food. “Alright, here is your order and call me if you need anything.” He set the meals in front of their respective person and left to tend to some other paterons.
As the family dug into their meal Kai had a thought tugging the back of his mind. Zane only said that because he was hungry, right? Most adults do stuff like that because they need it, right?
“Kai? Are you ok?” Zane’s voice jolted Kai out of his thoughts.
He looked up at his foster father, at the genuine concern that stared back.
“I’m fine.” He grumbles, it was a trick. No one really cared, not about him anyways.
“Kai, look at me please.” Zane had put down his utensils and turned his body to face the boy.
Begrudgingly Kai faces him, it didn’t matter.
“What?”
Zane placed a hand on Kai’s shoulder, “Kai, can you please tell me what’s wrong?”
“Nothings wrong.”
“Something’s bothering you, and you can tell me.” He gave the boy such a genuine smile that it couldn’t have been anything but true.
However the boy stayed silent, it was such a bad place to say anything; mostly because the restaurant started to fill with people.
Zane must have had the same thought, and sighed. “We can talk about this when you're ready, take you time.”
He stayed silent for another minute, “Can we talk about at home maybe?”
Giving a small smile Zane nodded, “Of course we can.” And they went back to their meal.
Zane didn’t ask for himself, he asked because he saw Kai. Zane wasn’t like the other adults, maybe that’s a good thing.
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Remember me chapter 4
Master List
Fandom: My Hero Academia
Pairing: Bakugou Katsuki x OC
Notes: If I was giving names to these chapters this chapter would be called “Love at first snark”
Also the Starbucks scene was NOT inspired by the millions of times I was held up in line by that ONE person who takes their coffee way too seriously.
nope, not.
All words in bold are spoken in Japanese. Working with both languages is a bit tricky so I’m going to try to make this as smooth as possible. While I don't speak Japanese I love the idea of playing with words and idea of someone who can sort of speak a language and what that looks like
All Masterlists @melyalizarchive
Connect with me! AO3 / Instagram / Pinterest
DONATE or REQUEST
-0-0-0– Bakugou –0-0-0-
They had been in and out of the office for a few days now. After another wave of earthquakes, another group of heroes from Middle America had come to relieve the Japanese crew. So Bakugou and Kirishima were taking a few days off to rest and make their reports. There was also some press stuff as well but, like always, Kirishima was handling most of that.
He just got along better with people. Not that Bakugou really cared. He always believed his work spoke for him and didn’t need to stand around grinning like an idiot answering people’s questions about why he was so good. If they couldn’t see that they were fucking stupid.
So instead he had come back to the large glass building to file a few things and get some shit done before he went back to the hotel they were staying at.
But right now he was grabbing some coffee from the Starbucks in the lobby.
Or he would be if the fat bitch with nasty nails wouldn’t stop complaining about her drink. While his English was rusty he knew what that high pitched yappy voice meant in any language.
“Oh my god please, let’s hold up this line just a little longer you high maintenance bitch.”
Bakugou glanced in shock glancing at the girl next to him who was mumbling under her breath in Japanese. Dark brown hair pulled up in a high ponytail where her bright purple ombre was evident. She had literally just spoken the words in his brain as her eyes never left her phone.
“I’m sure she’s loving you leaning over the counter like that. How about you just grab an apron and make your fucking drink.” the girl continued her monologue in a language Bakugou realized she was using because she knew no one understood it.
Well no one but him.
Letting out a soft chuckled and the young woman jumped slightly glancing over at him as if just realizing he was standing next to her. That was when he realized who she was. The girl from the insurance meeting.
“Oh shit sorry!” she said in English and then switched quickly “I’m sorry, please forgive me.”
“She’s insufferable,” he responded shrugging letting her know that he wasn’t offended.
“ Welcome to America, we take our Starbucks more seriously than our human decency.” the girl said, rolling her eyes a small smile playing on her lips showing she was joking. Sort of.
Bakugou smirked, he had never met a woman like her before. Normally the girls he was around were sweet and polite. If they had been caught speaking like that they would have been falling over themselves to act like they were sweet innocent women. Yet this girl just owned her attitude speaking her mind without any hint of reservation. He wasn’t sure if it was an American or her thing. What had she said her name was?
“Grape?”
“That’s me! Oh, this looks amazing thank you so much!” the girl said very loudly while taking the drink, “You guys are the best here!” she added glancing at the woman as she punctuating her ‘best’. The woman didn’t respond, instead just taking her large whipped drink sipping it angrily. Winking at Bakugou the young woman waved goodbye. “Until we meet again Mr. Bakugou.” she added before disappearing down the hall toward the elevators. Bakugou watched her go.
She knew his name but he had a very strong feeling Grape was not hers.
-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-
Bakugou had showered, dressed, and been ready for 10 mins before Olive walked out in a cute blue dress, a denim jacket and the sneakers he had suggested. Bakugou instantly recognized the soft silver necklace she was wearing as one he had gotten her when she had first come to Japan as a welcome gift. The sight of it hanging from her neck laying just above the slightly deep V neck to the dress made his stomach drop as he stood talking a step toward her nodding.
“I cheated,” she blushed slightly shoving her hands into the pockets of the dress, “I looked at photos of outfits I had already worn.” Her playfulness reminded him so much of the old Olive that Bakugou had the urge to kiss her. The soft pink lipstick was so inviting. It took all his will power to pull away.
“Let’s go,” he said walking toward the door. At the sight of his owners dressed and walking toward the door, Dolemite let out a pitiful cry running toward them. “NO” Bakugo snapped at the fluffy cat pushing him away with his foot. “You are not coming.”
“Awww baby,” Olive cooed watching as Bakugou quickly pushed her out of the door while keeping the cat a bay. Once the door was closed she giggled looking up at her husband, “You’ve had some practice with that.”
“Yeah well, that shitty kitty never leaves your side.”
“I’m his Queen Bee.”
“Yeah basically.”
“Wait, you’ve have seen Dolemite? Oh god, did I show you that?” she asked her eyes getting side.
“Yes.” was his simple response.
“What else have I showed you?” she asked, glancing at him as they made their way out of the skyrise apartment complex.
“A lot. Not all good.”
This made Olive burst out laughing, “Did I make you watch Samurai Cop?”
“Yes”
“Miami connection?”
“Yes”
“Hard Ticket to Hawaii?”
“No.”
“Oh man I have failed as a wife,” she said, shaking her head sadly.
“You said I wouldn’t like it.” was his response glancing down at her as she looked around the city curiously.
“Past me was probably right. But it does have a snake in the toilet and belly button sex”
“I’ve heard.” she had told him all about the plot once over a bottle of wine during one of their early skype dates when she was still in the US. Acting out scenes, forgetting moments only to come back to them. He had just sat there no idea how to respond to this rendition but unable to really do anything about it except question his choice in women.
Olive giggled slightly and for a moment Bakugou saw it. Saw the old Olive. The one who would say something he only half understood only to have her laughing her head off. Or to see her dancing like a crazy person in the hallway to the music she could only hear in her headphones. She did silly things as if her life depended on seeing him smile. And that look she would get when he cracked a smile, it was one of his favorites.
“I’ve been to Japan before…” the words died before they even started as Olive realized what she was saying. Of course, she had been here before. She lived here.
“About two years before we met.” He said quickly knowing what she had wanted to say was a year before Eliott died but beating her to it. He was determined. Watching her laugh and joke again. He was going to get her back. He was going to become number one in her life again.
“Yes,”
“I should practice my Japanese” Olive shifted the conversation quickly.
“Yeah you should, I can’t always be around to help you with that.”
“ Hello, I’m Olive.”
“What food do you want?” he asked, trying to keep the questions simple unsure where her level was.
“Whatever you're having,” she said, looking up at him smiling. Faltering a bit but she quickly continued tiring a few other simple statements and questions him responding to them. When she didn’t know a word she would say it in English and he gave her the translation helping her use the right pronunciation.
“ Ramen !” she squealed as they walked into the place. “I’m in love with ramen!”
“I love ramen.” Bakugou corrected. You’re in love with me.
“I love ramen” she corrected herself. The owner waved at them telling them to go to their usual spot. As they sat down and the waiter came up excited to see her regulars and ask Olive about her latest book. Bakugou quickly told her that Olive wasn’t feeling good and didn’t want to talk tonight. The Waitress, while looking hurt, nodded taking his order before dashing off.
“What did you say to her?” Olive asked, leaning forward confused, “she looked upset.”
“She wanted to know about your latest book.”
“My what?”
“Your book.”
“I too would like to know what my latest book is about,” Olive said with her eyes wide, “Am I writing full time? I guess I’m not doing insurance anymore.”
“Yeah you quit when I proposed, you were making enough money off books anyway.” Bakugou shrugged, “I think you only did the insurance to get out of the house.”
“Yeah, I remember I was going to quit right before…” she paused biting her lip.
“You can say his name you know, '' Bakugou said, not making eye contact with her as he looked over a menu he knew by heart. “It’s not like I don’t know you were married before us.”
“It’s just awkward.”
“Get over it.”
Instead of getting offended, she chuckled at that nodding, “Ok fine I will, grumpy.”
“I’m not grumpy, it’s just annoying that you are tiptoeing around me like I’m some fragile person.”
“True, you did blow up half a mall,” she remarked picking up her chopsticks rolling them in her fingers.
“That was the gunman, I saved a bunch of people. I’m a hero, remember.”
She nodded looking away for a moment taking in the restaurant, “We come here a lot don’t we.”
“Yeah, I don’t know why, the food's ok but you are obsessed with the Gyozo and their soy sauce.”
“Well if you hate it so much we don’t have to come,” she said playfully. He rolled his eyes at her dramatics. She always did that when he made fun of her for making him do stuff.
“I don’t hate it, there are just better places.”
“So, I write…” she said changing the subject, “and you're the number one hero.”
“In the world.”
“Wait really?”
“What is that supposed to mean? Why do you look so shocked!?!”
“I’m not shocked you are number one,” Olive said flushing slightly, “I’m actually shocked… you married me.”
“I wasn’t number one when we met.”
“Oh you were number 0.” she nodded knowingly as if there was only number 1 or number 0.
“NO!” he said flushing slightly with annoyance. The journey to number one had been long and hard and Olive had been such a big part of it that he was annoyed she didn’t remember any of it. “There is no such thing as a 0”
That made her laugh, loud and hard, “I know that!” she said tears spilling from her eyes as she literally cried with laughter. Bakugou just watched her totally perplexed. It wasn’t uncommon for her to laugh like that. But after the few days they had, it felt like years. Although she was more laughing at him than with him and he wasn’t sure how to react.
“Well I don’t know how much you remember.” he shot back. Honestly, he had no idea why he had even said that. So caught up in their conversation he hadn’t been thinking. And now he just wanted to push the conversation away from poking fun at him.
“True true,” she said, wiping away a few tears. “Man so Clare wasn’t joking about you being Christian Slater.”
“I don’t know why she keeps calling me that,” Bakugou said as the food was delivered to them. Grabbing some hot sauce he quickly added more spice to his food. Olive slowly dipped her spoon into the bowl taking a sip
“You kind of look like him,” she remarked pulling her brows together in a frown, “in the eyes.” she sighed as the warm flavor hit her taste buds. Katsuki was wrong, this was the best food she had ever had. “But I meant more like celebrity status. Although number 1 is more like being married to Brad Pitt or something.”
“Whatever, don’t get all star-struck over it,” he said, taking a bite of his noodles.
“I’ll try number 1”
The conversation lulled as they ate. Besides the ramen Bakugou let Olive eat most of the Gyoza. In return, she told him how he was wrong for hating on the ramen since it was a gift from the gods above.
“I don’t hate it! I just said that it’s not as good as other places.”
After eating their full and then some they made their way back to their apartment. For a moment Bakugou forgot about what had happened as they walked in blissful content. A comfortable silence stretching across them. Glancing over at his wife he couldn't’ help but admire how beautiful she was. Her dark hair was half pulled up so that the rainbow colors were promptly shown. The multi colors falling over her shoulders of her jean jacket that was covered in band patches from concerts that she had gone too. A few they had even attended together.
Absentmindedly he brushed his fingers over the one of Baby Metal. Olive had begged him for a month to take her. It wasn’t until she threatened to go with Kirishima instead that he finally screamed that she was HIS girlfriend and that shitty hair could go screw himself.
Kirishima had still ended up coming like he did for most of their dates and Olive had even been his wingman hooking him up with some cute girl who had been visiting from China.
“Everyone is getting some tonight!” she had sang in the Uber ride home as she watched Kirishima walk down the street with his arm slung over the girl’s shoulder.
“Oh really?” Bakugou had said leaning forward, kissing her glad to finally have her alone and all to himself.
“Yes,” she had said trying to get closer but being stopped by her seatbelt.
“Well just wait until we get back,” he said his voice low as his fingers ghosted over her thigh. A rush of excitement running through him as he noticed the trail of goosebumps that followed his touch. He loved being able to do that to her body. Get those reactions out of her.
He did that, only him. Just him.
She was all his.
“We’re here,” her voice broke through his thoughts and he stood there looking at the door like it was some sort of death sentence. He wanted to go back to the street. Where they were getting along. Where she wasn’t crying over someone else.
Where she was his again.
Slowly he opened the door letting her in. Dolemite running toward them crying his annoyance at them for leaving him all alone. He could have died without them there. How could they?
“Tst” Bakugou sighed, rolling his eyes as Olive cooed, stroking the cat. Standing up she turned to him with a wide smile on her face. Her real smile, the beautiful one.
“ I had fun, ” she said slowly forming the words as she spoke, “ Thank you Katsuki. ”
“Say it again,” he said, taking a step closer. “Say my name again,”
“Katsuki?” Olive took a slight step back as he stood over her. His warmth sent filling her senses as he looked down at her. Her heart was racing, not from fear, but not really lust either. Something strange and in the middle. As if her body was at war with her mind.
He closed his eyes for a moment, savoring the moment letting out a soft sigh. Then the spell was broken as he looked down at her. Her wide eyes looking up at him so unsure.
So foreign.
Kissing her forehead he pulled away, his body still only inches from hers “You’re welcome” he said his voice was so soft and warm it made her heart melt like hot lava flowing down her chest into her stomach. Olive was surprised at how she felt by a simple touch.
Her mind may have forgotten him but her body hadn’t.
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Master List
Story Tag: @0hmydeku @inumorph @it-jinxed-us @myraticm
#bakugou katsuki x oc#bakugou katsuki x reader#bakugou x oc#Bakugou x reader#bakugou katsuki long fic#BNha fanfic#bnha x oc#bnha fluff#bakugou katsuki fluff#bakugou katsuki angst#my writing#bnha long fic
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His New Partner
Chapter 3: The First Date
Series Masterlist
Previous Chapter
Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader
Words: 1645
Warnings: Fluff, motorcycle riding, talk of actress!Reader, talk of reader being able to sing.
A/N: I felt bad for the last chapter only being like 300 words, so I put this one out quicker lol. Also, Y/C means Your Country. If you’re from America then don’t worry, there's not too much talk about her being from somewhere else. I hope you enjoy!
It was exactly one week since Steve and Y/N had met. Tonight was the special date, and to say that they were both nervous was a big understatement. Steve hasn’t been in anything even close to relationship in about 67 years. Y/N was just worried she’d accidentally trip in her heels or spill something down her dress. After all, it was the famous Captain America that she was going out with. Yes, she was well known too, being a professional actress and everything. But, this was different. He was different.
Y/N was downstairs in the lobby of her expensive building waiting for Steve to arrive. She glanced at her phone, the time was 6:55. Since Steve said he would be here for 7:00, it should be any minute now.
Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a motorcycle approaching and then suddenly stopping. Y/N turned her head to the glass door and much to her surprise, saw Steve getting off said motorcycle.
He looked perfect as ever wearing khakis, a white button up, and his vintage brown leather jacket. Simply classic.
Before Steve had to go through the hassle of buzzing the apartment phone, Y/N quickly made her way to the door and walked out.
“Hey, Steve!” She called, waving her hand in his direction before making her way to him.
He looked up from his motorcycle, jaw slightly dropping.
Y/N was a vision. The light blue summer dress that went just above her knees. The beige heeled sandals giving her legs a few inches. Soft H/C curls cascading onto her shoulders, along with those baby pink lips that looked absolutely delicious to Steve. She was a vision indeed.
“Uh, wow... hi.” He said walking up to her, stunned. “You look...” He puffed out a breath “beautiful.”
“Thank you.” Y/N said bashfully, looking at her feet before looking up at him. “You look quite handsome yourself.”
“Thank you.” Steve smiled. “Uh, I hope you don’t mind that we’re taking the bike.”
It was in this very moment, that Y/N realized she would have to actually get on this thing. As hot as Steve looked standing next to it, she didn’t see the need to put their lives in such danger.
“It’s the only thing I got, and I figured it’s better than calling a cab, right?” He continued.
But of course, Y/N being the shy and always polite girl that she is, never vocalized her fears.
“Um... ya, of course!” She told him. “I’ve never actually rode one of these before.”
“That’s alright, a lot of people haven’t.” He assured, before pulling out a jet black helmet. “Which is perfect because I brought this.”
“For me?” Y/N questioned.
“Yup.”
“Why do I have to wear one and you don’t?” She asked, lightheartedly.
“Hmmm...” Steve was trying to come up with some sort of answer that wouldn’t be considered dumb, sexist, or overprotective. “Because I said so.” He smirked.
“He’s bossy… I like that.” Y/N commented playfully.
Steve let out a couple laughs before placing the helmet on her head.
You wouldn’t think that adjusting someone’s chinstrap could be considered intimate, but right now as they were looking into each other’s eyes, that’s the only word you could use.
Steve tongue slightly darted out between his pink lips as he finished shaping it to her size. “Perfect?” He inquired.
“Perfect.” Y/N repeated. Whether she was talking about the helmet or his dreamy blue eyes, was her business and her business only.
“Alright doll,” Steve interrupted her thoughts, probably for the better considering she was about to start drooling. “Just hold onto me tight and you’ll be safe.” He instructed as he straddled the motorcycle.
All Y/N could do stare in both fear and delight.
“C’mon.” He politely urged, nudging his head in the direction of the motorcycle.
She did as Steve said and hopped on the bike, his back to her chest. Y/N could practically feel the muscles through his jacket.
“I’m sorry. I’m just a tad scared.” She told him.
“Just focus on the breeze and the smell of fresh air.” He comforted. “Don’t worry, I won’t let anything happen to ‘ya.”
Y/N’s heart started to race in her chest at his words. God, she hoped he couldn’t feel it against his back. “Thanks.”
Steve smiled to himself. “Ready?”
“Ready.”
And they were off.
Y/N’s arms immediately squeezed Steve’s waist much tighter than before, the shock of the motor almost being too much. Though she had to hand it to him, Steve was a pretty great driver. His steadiness and precision almost being enough to calm her nerves. He expertly drove them down the city roads, and it then occurred to Y/N that she had no idea where he was taking her.
But before she knew it, they were parked at what looked like a little old diner. The sign said ‘Brooklyn’s Best - Est. 1922’.
They both hopped off and she handed Steve the helmet, before he fastened it to the bike for safekeeping.
“This place was around back when I was growing up.” Steve told her. “It was a town favourite. I hope you don’t mind that we’re not eating someplace nicer. I just remember how great the food was and have been meaning to go back. Actually, we can go somewhere fancier if-”
“Steve,” Y/N stopped his rambling with a giggle. “This is perfect.”
“Good.” He sighed before opening the door for her and following in after.
They both choose a booth and Steve waited for her to sit down before doing so across from her. His gentlemanly ways were definitely noticed and appreciated by Y/N.
“I didn’t know you grew up in Brooklyn.” She started.
Steve was slightly surprised, considering everybody always seemed to know everything about him. “Ya, I did. Though Brooklyn back then was slightly different than Brooklyn now.” He chuckled.
“I bet so.”
“Where did you grow up?” Steve asked.
“Actually, I grew up in Y/C.” Y/N told him.
Well that explained why she didn’t know too much about him, he thought.
“Really?” He questioned.
“Ya. I know it’s a bit ironic considering who you are.” She laughed.
“No, no, it’s actually a bit relieving.” Steve assured. “It could be a bit awkward if you grew up reading about me in your history textbooks.”
“Well then I guess we’re safe.” She quipped.
“I guess we are.” Steve breathed out, unexpectedly happy with this new information.
The waitress came by and asked for their drink orders, giving them a smile before walking away. She must have realized who they both were.
“So, you’re an actress?” Steve asked.
“Yes, I am.” Y/N said with a smile. “I’m a bit surprised you knew that, actually.”
“Well, Tony told me after we met.”
“Ohh, okay. That won’t be a problem, right?” She asked, a bit worried.
Steve was now curious. “Why would that be a problem?”
“Well,” Y/N explained “some guys find it a but stressful, being in the public eye and everything.”
“Trust me, I’m plenty used to it.” He joked.
“Oh ya, true. What am I even saying?” Y/N realized. “It must have been hard, being thrown back into everything so quickly, eh?”
“Well, sometimes you just got to do what you just got to do.” Steve said. “What I have to do just so happens to be… well, I don’t even know what to call it.”
“Avenging?” She suggested. Quite adorably, Steve might add.
“I guess so.” He spoke.
“You must miss everything, though.” Y/N added. Just the thought of having to wake up tomorrow, 70 years in the future was almost too much for her to handle. She can only imagine how he feels.
“I do.” Steve told her, truthfully. “And it definitely was hard at first. But after a while, sitting round reminiscing won’t get you anywhere.” He paused. “The world needs Captain America.”
Y/N paused herself.
“And what does Steve Rogers need?”
That question seemed to stunt him. He’s spent so much time thinking about everyone else, that he seemed to forget about himself.
“He doesn’t know…” Steve said, before looking Y/N up and down. “Yet.”
*****
“Well come on, now I have to hear you sing!” He laughed with her as they walked up to her building.
After the pair finished their delicious meal, Steve drove Y/N back only to see that their were no parking spaces available. So, he parked down the street and insisted on walking her back.
“Well,” she said playfully, as they got to the lobby door, “I only sing for guys on the fifth date.”
“Is there going to be a fifth date?” Steve asked, looking into her gorgeous E/C eyes. The atmosphere instantly becoming very serious.
Y/N, suddenly just as nervous as she was earlier in the night, asked him “Do you want there to be?”
“I do.” He stated.
“So do I.” She agreed, instantly making Steve smile, that triggering her own.
God, she had perfect lips, he thought to himself. Lips that he so badly wanted to put his own on.
But instead, ever the gentleman, Steve leaned down and kissed her right cheek. The moment felt sweet, tender, and overall just... right.
“Goodnight, Y/N.”
“Goodnight, Steve.”
And with that he walked away, giving her one more glance as she unlocked her door, thanking the Heavens that he was the one to go rescue her from that crashing building, instead of Thor.
Once Y/N got inside the lobby, and completely out of Steve’s view, she put her and on her cheek in the exact same place he kissed her. Still warm, she thought. She let out a little happy dance and way too loud squeal, then immediately pressed the elevator button, and got inside. Did she notice the side eye from 68 year old Mrs. Crockford? Yes. Did she care? No. It was totally all worth it.
Next Chapter
Feedback is always welcome!❤️
#steve rogers#captain america#chris evans#marvel#avengers#steve rogers x reader#steve rogers x you#steve rogers x y/n#captain america x reader#captain america x you#captain america x y/n#chris evans x reader#chris evans x you#chris evans x y/n#avengers x reader#avengers x you#avengers x y/n
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The air was thick with idle chatter and the smell of tobacco. At the other end of the crowded room a gentleman plucked softly at a piano, its melodies weaving through the clouds of smoke and filling the room with its pleasant and comforting familiarity. While Rose could not exactly pinpoint the exact tune, the perfectly timed chords and trilled runs had her heel aimlessly tapping along with the beat, making inaudible clicks as she did so.
Her legs were comfortably crossed underneath the small wooden table, giving her aching feet a moment to properly rest. She had somewhat underestimated how much of a walk that particular bar was from her apartment. She was also leaned forward so that her elbow was propped up on the surface, allowing her to rest her cheek in her hand and stare somewhat blankly out towards the stage. It perhaps wasn't the most ladylike position to be sitting in, but she truly felt as if she had blended in with the crowd enough that no one had even spared her more than a passing glance. Fine by her, it wasn't like she preferred it any other way.
She took the next few minutes to people watch, a personal favorite hobby of hers. As always the majority of the crowd were men, their cigars and cigarettes between their lips as they took long drags and let the smoke float lazily up towards the ceiling. Most of their faces were pink with drunkenness, their laughs loud and harsh against the soft jazz piece that now utilized a soprano sax as well as the piano still being played by the same gentleman. The ice cubes in their glasses clicked gently against each other every time they were lifted up to their mouths, typically downing most of the alcohol in one or two drinks. Some of them had their wives or girlfriends next to them, their style of dress much more diverse compared to their male counterparts. Their dresses tended to be strikingly beautiful, the sequin details twinkling when the dim lighting hit them just right. Their lips were painted in various shades of dark pinks and reds, not seeming to smudge at all as they took delicate sips out of their own glasses.
Rose let out a silent sigh through her nose, silently debating whether or not she should gather her things and go. She had lost track of the time and knew it was only getting later.
As she considered her options, a tall figure on the other side of the table tore her away from her train of thought. On instinct she raised her head from her hand, her violet eyes falling curiously on the person who had stopped by her table. "Good evening." A smooth and deep female voice said to her.
At first she thought it was a waitress there to fill her glass, so she was surprised to see that instead it seemed to be another patron. The woman wore a jade green dress that stopped right above her knees, the fit overall slightly loose with a plunging neckline that ended at a point in the middle of her chest. She was not particularly overly endowed in that area, so the slightly unconventional cut was not quite as revealing as one may think upon first glance. While the dress itself was relatively plain, the extravagance in her appearance instead made itself known through her accessories. A black fur coat hung off of her shoulders, simply being held up by her forearms where the extra material pooled. Her intricate necklace was only complimented by large matching earrings, hanging down from her pierced lobes.
Rose, realizing that she hadn't responded for a few seconds, quickly sat up in her chair and uncrossed her legs so that she was sitting properly. "Good evening." She answered, her naturally quiet voice getting somewhat lost in the noise. She hoped the woman heard her.
To her relief, the other smiled gently, her lips painted a color so dark that at first Rose thought it to be black, but in fact may have been a dark green color to compliment her attire. "Would you mind if I had a seat? It's quite crowded in here tonight."
Rose nodded instantly, not against having a guest. "Please." She offered verbally.
The woman dipped her head as she pulled the metal chair from underneath the table, and Rose could not help but admire her sharp profile. Smoothing out her dress underneath her, she took a seat, setting her white bag down on the table. "Thank you, I appreciate it."
Rose gracefully waved a hand, dismissing the gratitude to signify she was unbothered. "It's no trouble."
There was a couple seconds of silence, though it wasn't as awkward as Rose had feared. She didn't miss the way the woman had taken that time to give her a proper look over, much like Rose had just done to her. Her dark eyes lingered on her face, no doubt taking in her strangely colored eyes and her perfectly styled platinum hair, a piece of it curling gently along her jawline and onto her cheek.
"If you were waiting for someone I'll only accompany you until they get here." The woman said, still somewhat worried about inconveniencing her.
Rose shook her head. "I wasn't."
The other raised a filled in eyebrow. "Oh?"
"My sister works as a waitress here. I stop by to visit since we don't see much of each other at home anymore." Rose explained, picking up on the question that the woman wanted to ask but didn't quite say.
Seemingly relieved that Rose picked up on that, she nodded, smiling again. "What is your name, if I may ask?"
"Rose Lalonde." She responded easily.
"Nice to meet you, Rose." The woman said politely, holding her hand out across the table. "My name is Kanaya Maryam."
Kanaya... Rose thought, somewhat affectionately. She liked that name. She extended her own hand out as well, taking Kanaya's hand into her own in a short shake. She had a decent grip in her long, dainty fingers, and her dark skin was warm to the touch. "Pleasured to make your acquaintance, Kanaya."
The two women smiled at one another as they put their hands back down into their laps, feeling much more at ease with introductions out of the way. "You said your sister works here?" Kanaya asked, continuing the conversation.
Rose nodded, picking up her glass from the table and swirling around the remains of her water at the bottom. "Yes, I believe she's helping at the bar right now."
Kanaya turned her head in that direction, scanning the crowd for a woman with a fair complexion and blond hair much like Rose's. As her head was turned, Rose couldn't help but appreciate the artistry in Kanaya's make up, her eyeliner and eyeshadow crafted with care and precision. It made her want to practice more.
Once Kanaya had spotted the woman in question refilling drinks and chatting happily with customers, she giggled softly, turning back to Rose. "She seems to enjoy it."
Rose let out a somewhat dry laugh from her throat. "Definitely not something I'd be happy with, but then again we're not very similar in anything other than appearance."
The other hummed in understanding. "It's nice that you take the time to come see her."
Rose's expression softened, not sure what else to say to that, and instead just nodding. There was a beat of silence. "What brings you here, Kanaya?" She asked, wanting to keep the conversation going. She couldn't help it, she was... somewhat enamored with her.
"I also work here."
Surprised, Rose tilted her head curiously. "Oh? I'm surprised I haven't seen you before. I feel like I would remember you."
Thankfully Kanaya took that comment in the exact way Rose wanted her to, and her smile turned a little more flirtatious. "I'm a relatively new employee. Have only been coming in the last few weeks."
That explained it, Rose thought. "Well, at least that means I'll be able to see you again."
Kanaya giggled, bringing a hand up to cover her mouth as she did so. "I would like that as well. Who knows, maybe we can become friends." She offered, though there was an extra something in her voice that shifted the tone into one that suggested that maybe it could go beyond that.
Rose tried not to get her hopes up, but she was admittedly a little starstruck in that moment. "I'd love that." She said genuinely.
Before Kanaya could say anything else, she turned her head to the stage as the saxophonist belted out the last few bars of his song, the perfectly in tune note ringing out in the air into the foggy air. Those who were paying attention politely clapped for him as he bowed, stepping off of the stage.
"Speaking of work," Kanaya began, smoothly rising up from her chair. "I have to go. It was wonderful meeting you, Rose. I'm looking forward to seeing each other again."
Rose looked up at her, not able to hold back the slight disappointment in her departure. She just hoped it wasn't that apparent on her face. "Of course, I'm sure it will be somewhat soon."
Again, Kanaya dipped her head in a single nod. "Have a wonderful evening, Rose."
With that, she gracefully turned and began walking in the other direction, her black heels clicking smartly on the hard floor. Once her back was turned, Rose once again let out a sigh, already moving to gather up her things and leave for the night. However, just as she grabbed her bag and was about to rise up from her seat, she saw Kanaya step up onto the stage at the other end of the room, the lights making her jewelry sparkle and her skin glow. Rose raised her thin eyebrows, watching the woman take her place on stage behind the microphone. She adjusted it to be her height, nodding at the man nearby, ready and holding a trumpet. Intrigued, Rose settled back in her seat, watching on.
After a few preparatory beats, the trumpet player began to play, the first few notes of the song clear as a bell. The melody was soft, smooth, and comforting; a melody that could make anyone's worries melt away after only a few seconds. Without any sheet music to accompany him, the trumpet player simply went off of feeling and what felt right to him, effectively adding in his own crescendos and flourishes to give the piece more character.
After the introductory melody was played, another man off to the side with a guitar on his lap began to pluck out a rhythm similar to the trumpet. Together they both gradually quieted their volume, and Kanaya began to sing.
Hold me close and hold me fast,
This magic spell you cast,
This is la vie en rose...
Her voice was soft, low, and crooning. Her eyes were delicately closed as she sang, her hands keeping a loose grip on the microphone stand in front of her. She was actually singing the song in French, her pronunciation easy and effortless. Rose, also knowing French, had no trouble understanding her as she sang.
When you kiss me heaven sighs,
And though I close my eyes,
I see la vie en rose...
When you press me to your heart,
I'm in a world apart,
A world where roses bloom,
And when you speak,
Angels sing from above,
Everyday words seems,
To turn into love songs...
As Rose listened, she unknowingly began to relax even more in her seat, once again resting her elbow on the table and propping her cheek up in her hand. She typically wasn't one to be moved by love songs, but the gentleness of Kanaya's voice and the way she lovingly sang every word made Rose indulge herself, if only for a moment. Kanaya held out the last note of the verse, letting it subtly ring out until there was a beat of silence. As the melody kicked back in and she began to sing the last verse, Rose closed her eyes like a content cat, letting the sound lull her.
Give your heart and soul to me,
And life will always be la vie en rose,
And when you speak,
Angels sing from above,
Everyday words seems,
To turn into love songs...
Give your heart and soul to me,
And life will always be la vie en rose...
Once the patrons were sure that the song had ended, Rose lifted her head up just in time to join in on the polite claps (and enthusiastic whistles from those closer to the stage). Kanaya bowed her head in thanks to them, waiting to let the applause die down before the notes of a new song began to play. This tune was faster and more upbeat, and she began to tap her foot along with the melody to assist her in singing along.
As Rose listened, she had completely forgotten about her earlier plans to leave. The hour was late, and Rose really should have started the journey home awhile ago. Though, in that moment, she couldn't bring herself to care all that much. The constant white noise of drunken chatter and laughter fell away as she let herself indulge in Kanaya's performance for at least a moment longer, not thinking of any other place she'd rather be.
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Do you do fanfic requests? Because I really was hoping someone could write me one about Killian running out of the eyeliner he brought over from The Enchanted Forest and him having to ask Emma where to get eyeliner and she has to show him or something?
Anonymous said:Could you please do a fic about Hook running out of the eyeliner he brought over with him from the Enchanted Forest and having to ask Emma where to get more?
Congratulations, dearie, you made me write canon! It’s not usual, and I kinda wanted to set this before the year apart, but then I thought I could just canon divergence from a good point, since I could send everyone I didn’t like away. And change names. And just have nothing after it happen. So I did it. This is set after 4A - not in between half-seasons, given I don’t think they’ll see Gold or Regina around ever again *coff coff*
And I changed the prompt a bit, since he doesn’t actually ask Emma where to find more…
Many thanks to @carpedzem for sending me good vibes through this ;)
laying down my armor (so you know where I am)
Notseeing her pirate around lately was just strange.
Afterthe town had been relieved of Rumplestiltskin’s presence and Regina hadblissfully left the town, too, on a spiritual journey or whatever she was up tolately, finally leaving Emma alone, she and Killian had felt the pressure ontheir shoulders attenuate.
Sure,they didn’t spend all their time together, but they would usually meet up forcoffee in the morning - okay, they would just go to Granny’s together after a night in his room - or at least go on anevening stroll - which would usually lead them to the docks and then back tothe diner.
For twodays, however, Killian Jones seemed to have disappeared.
Thoughhe still answered his phone, he always dismissed his absence, and politelyasked Emma to leave if she knocked at his door.
Knowingall too well to give him space, especially after he’d given it to her albeitstill pursuing her, a perfect balance that had always made her feel safe evenwhen she didn’t want to recognize that feeling. She was glad she’d listened toher heart.
Killiandidn’t just leave her alone: he called out on her bullshit even when she didn’twant to. A bit contradictory, yes, but he knew her better than anyone, evenbetter than herself. But Emma, too, could read him, and there was something inhis evasiveness that didn’t sit well with her.
Whichwas why she was now standing in front of his door, tray in one hand, her pastas a waitress allowing her to keep it perfectly balanced even with the heavyteapot and cups on it. Tea might not have been her drink of choice, but Grannyhad practically thrust it into her hands and told her to bring it to herboyfriend. Emma had also blushed violently at the mention of her relationshipstatus: for the first time ever, she felt like a normal person with a normallife even if it wasn’t normal at all.
Afterknocking on the door lightly, she paid attention to every noise, from theslight creak of the floorboards to the metal groan of the bed. Hmm, she hadn’tnoticed that during the night she spent there.
«Hey,Killian,» she began carefully, knowing she had to choose her words wisely,«Granny politely asked me to bringyou some tea. She’s worried, you know? We all are worried, even my dad. Hemisses his mate.» Inwardly, shecringed at her poor attempt at imitating his accent. On the other side of the door,he probably did, too. «And I miss you, too.»
It wasstupid, or, well, Emma-before-Storybrooke would’ve repeated to herself it wasto the point she would believe that lie. Missing him after two days made herfeel clingy, but she’d started to listen to her heart more than her mind, andmissing him was making her restless.
Listeningfor any sound proved useless: Killian startled her by opening the door, slowly,carefully, as if he’d hidden a damned kraken in his room.
Emma’seyebrows pinched together, confused.
In allfairness, he didn’t seem to be ill, or on the brink of death. Instead, helooked perfectly cozy. And sexy. The teacups clinked on the tray, clearlyaffected by her tremors. Emma wasn’t one to believe she would ever experiencethe need to jump her boyfriend’s bones, but after having sex - no, making love - with him, it was as if the gatesof Heaven had opened in front of her.
«Hello,love.»
Damn, she exhaled, both in relief and as a way tocalm herself. «Hi.» A squeak, that was what her greeting was.
He’dchanged back into his pirate attire, leather pants with suspenders hanging fromthe waistband and making him look sinful. The untucked black shirt with itsplunging neckline didn’t help.
Her eyestrailed up and up until they met his downcast ones.
Unconsciously,she tilted her head, studying him, searching the reason why he wasn’t lookingat her and his Adam’s apple bobbed up and down in discomfort. There was reallynothing different from his usual se- Oh.
It wasthe first time she saw him without his guyliner - or whatever it was called inthe Enchanted Forest - and that… made him look younger. No, not just younger: vulnerable. It was then that sherealized the reason why he had holed up in his room for two days.
A warmsensation pooled in her chest, not pity, of course not, it was something morealong the lines of, well, love.Killian had opened the door, which meant he was allowing himself to bevulnerable around her. It wasn’t the first time she saw this side of him, yetit made her fall for him even more.
Ah,yeah, it was about bloody time sheadmitted that to herself. To Killian, however, was another matter entirely.
«Tea’sgetting cold,» Emma blurted out, blush ‘til her hairline. Way to go, Swan.
A smirkpulled at one corner of her lips. «We decidedly can’t let that happen.» Therewas no colour in his voice, no emotion, but she could feel him tense when she passed beneath his arm when he pushed thedoor wide open, only to close it when she was inside.
Clearlynot knowing when to shut up, Emma went on, rambling with her back to him as shepoured the tea. Where was a sleeping curse when you needed it? «Granny told meto inform you she uses only loose leaves to make her teas, she threw away allthe tea bags appeared thanks to the curse. There’s milk, if you need it. Andsugar. How did you drink tea in the Enchanted Forest?»
Emmaturned around just then, heart breaking in her chest at the sight of Killiansat on the bed, shoulders slumped in defeat as his forearms rested on hisknees, the black fabric of his left sleeve covering his stump.
Carefully,she moved towards him, hand outstretched in front of her. His hair was silkyunderneath her fingertips, and the audible sigh he let out had her heart clenchpainfully.
Oh, Killian.
Emmastepped between his spread legs, fingers running through his hair in a soothingway. Within a few, endless minutes, Killian relaxed slightly, forehead restingagainst her lower abdomen; he looked like a lost soul, now more than ever.
«Howhypocritical would I sound if I told you there’s no need for you to wear anarmor around me?»
Hervoice was soft, like a caress, no matter how light she was trying to be whentreating such a delicate matter. Surprising her, Killian chuckled humorlesslyagainst her stomach, the sound reverberating through her.
«Just alittle, I’m afraid, love.»
Emmahummed; she knew as much. Much like her, Killian may no need his armor aroundhim, but he rather had it. His innuendos, his attire, even his guyliner wereall fruit of his centuries-old defense mechanism. And, again, much like her, itwould take time for him to be comfortable without it, even just part of it.
Bendingslightly to drop a kiss on his head - a gesture she usually received by thevery same man she was trying to comfort - Emma stepped away to rummage insidethe bag she’d left on the chair next to the dresser where the tea was growingcold. Fortunately, her magic could be useful. Finally.
Onceshe’d found what she was looking for, Emma made it back to the bed, straddlingKillian’s thighs in the most innocent of ways, making sure her expressiondidn’t betray any thought of more enjoyable activities.
Clutchingthe long, thin object in her hand, she used the other to tilt Killian’s headupwards slightly so he would look her in the eyes. It amazed her how blue theywere: while the make-up did make them stand out, even without it they had thesame devastating effect.
«Then Iwon’t tell you not to wear one,» Emma said, picking up the conversation fromwhere she’d left it, «but I want to help you, if you allow me. You… you helpme, a lot, there’s no denying it. And it’s not just that: you are always herefor me, even when I convince myself I don’t want you around. This time, I wantto be the one you can rely on.»
Because it’s been a long time you had someonein your corner.
With asmall, shy smile, she brought her hand between them, shaking the black pencilback and forth.
AtKillian’s confused stare, Emma explained: «It’s this land’s version of your…»
«Kohl.»
«Kohl! Iknew that. Well, anyway, this serves the same purpose. It might not be thesame, and it’s like patching up a bullet hole with a band-aid or something,since it’s not progress, it might be like keep giving a drug addict, well,drugs, but-»
He cuther off with a kiss, hand squeezing gently her waist. Surprised, Emma respondedto the kiss, melting into it, tasting hisdesperation.
«You areincredible,» Killian whispered against her lips, brushing her nose with his.Dark eyelashes cast shadows on his high cheekbones: the guyliner didn’t addmuch to the breathtaking effect she always experienced whenever she watched himsleep. As creepy as it sounded, he looked peaceful. Those were the only timesKillian allowed himself to abandon all his defences, and she was lucky enoughto experience that.
Emmaleaned in, resting her forehead against his. «You are beautiful,» she breathed,«and we both know this isn’t a way to stroke your ego: it’s the simple truth.You are beautiful, Killian Jones, both inside and outside, whether you wearyour kohl or not.» And I love you for that.
No, thiswas not the right moment to confess her love to him, not when Killian was the one needing to becomforted. And, somehow, she believed he just knew.
Theystayed like that for a quantity of time that wasn’t probably measurable, evenif it was. At one point, when her free hand was toying with the hair at thebase of his neck and her senses could perceive only him, Emma heard him exhale.
«Isuppose I wouldn’t find good agrabahian kohl anytime soon.» His tone wastentative: he probably didn’t know how to voice his feelings himself.
Shemissed the corner of his mouth. «And we can’t just have you hide in this roomfor days to end, can we?»
The wayhis eyebrows queried on his forehead made her flush red. She slapped himlightly on the shoulder, marvelling herself of how warm he always was eventhrough his clothes.
To easeher discomfort, Killian ducked his head, pressing a kiss on her shoulder, rightwhere she’d slapped him on his own.
«May I?»Emma rasped, breath catching in her throat at the affectionate gesture. Aftershe and Killian had crossed the invisible line - she had, by kissing him thenight they’d come back from the past - they had slowly become a regular couple,holding hands in public, kissing inpublic, going on dates and so much more, but between them, things had changedsignificantly. In all her life, Emma had never been so intimate with anyone,baring her heart and soul so completely she even left out her insecurities andfears. Killian made her feel that way, and there was something in her hearttelling her it was the same for him, too.
When henodded slightly, the barest hint of a movement, Emma unclasped the pencil andtook Killian’s chin between her thumb and forefinger, tilting his head slightlyso she could trace the underside of his eye with as much perfection as shecould muster, the tip of her tongue peeking out the corner of her mouth in away Killian would later tell her was completely adorable.
Theeffect wasn’t the same, but it was a step in the right direction, or at leastshe hoped.
Killianwaited until she’d closed the pencil before falling backwards onto the bed witha dull thump and dragging her with him.
Emma’sgiggles filled the room, the pencil clattering on the floor, forgotten for thetime being.
-/-
Makingkohl from scratch was hell.
EmmaSwan, however, was a fighter, and she, much like her boyfriend, loved achallenge. Once she’d decided she wanted to do it, after the chemicals in modern day make-up had started to irritateKillian’s eyes to the point he was forced to stop wearing part of his armor andstep into the sunlight trying not to fear it as a vampire could.
She’dchosen carefully the day in which she would dip and dry muslin in sandalwoodpaste all day long - with a book and junk food to take her company - waitingfor Killian to take Henry out at sea with Grumpy’s boat - borrowing it forreal, this time.
Findinga mud lamp hadn’t been easy, she’d had to ask the fairies, not trustingwhatever artifact she could find in Gold’s shop, too afraid it would, whatcould she know, even conjure a genie. Her mother, who, weirdly enough, seemedto be able to keep a little secret, maybe because now she cared, had helped her with the candle-making. Snow alsofound castor oil for her, good castoroil, thanks to some of her acquaintances, so maybe Emma had to give her somecredit.
Luckily,Emma didn’t fuck up the whole “leave a brass vessel over the lamp with a slightgap overnight”. She just burnt her fingers when removing the vessel, geniusthat she was. Her mother aided with that as well, giving her an ointment forthe burns. And the clarified cow’s butter, courtesy of Granny, or rather, hersupplier.
Thewooden box, instead, was all Emma. She’d created it with her magic, the lidengraved with a ship on it. It wasn’t often that she was proud of herself, buttoday, today sure as hell she was.
Givingthe homemade kohl to Killian, however, was another matter entirely.
Itwasn’t like Emma to be fidgety, so twirling the box in the big pockets of herwoolen cardigan was an unusual sight. Even if he didn’t say a thing, Killianhad surely picked her restlessness up.
Theywere watching a movie in the loft after they’d put baby Leo to bed so herparents would have a nice evening out and Henry was sleeping upstairs. A box ofpizza and two beers were resting on the coffee table next to Emma’ssocks-covered feet - heaven forbid Killian propped his feet on it, neat freak as he was.
At onepoint, right as Westley was explaining in what consisted his torture, Killiansighed, easily pulling her down so she would lie on his lap. Just like everyother time she found herself in that position, Killian started to run hisfingers through her hair. Surprisingly enough, the strands never caught in hisrings.
«Do youwant to tell me what is troubling you?»
His tonewas low, calming, even, his question needing an equally calm verbal responseinstead of the sigh Emma let out before pulling out the box.
Therewas a flash of alarm crossing his features before he schooled them, quirking abrow. «Woah, lass, I’m flattered. A man likes to be courted, and I thought itwould be a bit more romantic, you are quite fond of these movies, after all-»
Heatrose to her cheeks, and she slapped him on the shoulder playfully. The smileshe was biting back slipping from her control. «Idiot,» she muttered throughher giggles. He bent over her, kissing her nose.
«I triedto make kohl from scratch,» Emma confessed in a barely audible whisper. «We areboth trying to help the other lay down their armor, me letting go of my redleather jacket, my walls, and you ofyour kohl and innuendos, of yourwalls. But letting go isn’t easy, surely we can agree on that, and maybe I should’veasked Ariel if she wanted to take a journey to Agrabah but-»
Oncemore, he silenced her in a kiss. In all honesty, Emma couldn’t say she mindedin the slightest.
«I loveyou,» she breathed, looking up at him with shining green eyes. This was the right time.
Killiansmirked down at her. «I know.»
Star Wars was definitely banned from movie nights.
«Shut upand kiss me, scoundrel.»
«As youwish.»
The Princess Bride stayed.
Tagging: @kmomof4 @resident-of-storybrooke @winterbaby89 @objectsatsleepstayatsleep @gingerchangeling @ilovemesomekillianjones @jennjenn615 @killianjonesownsmyheart1 @wyntereyez @kday426 @therooksshiningknight @sals86 @superchocovian @thejollyroger-writer @heavenlyjoycastle
#cs#captainjaspenor#cs fanfic#captain swan#cs fic#cs ff#emma swan#killian jones#captain hook#my fic#inbox#anonymous
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Along for the Ride (pt.5)
Author’s Note: Thank you to anyone that is reading this! I apologize if the pace of this is slow, now that I have my character established I’ll be moving through the scenes. This is Mick’s audition and the next one will include meeting Vince and so on!
Previous Chapters: One I Two I Three I Four
Over the course of my life, I think it’s safe to say that I have become fairly acquainted to fresh starts.
Leaving Deanna
Moving from one end of the West Coast to the other
Changing my name to Nikki Sixx ( leaving Frank Carlton Serafina Feranna Jr. behind)
And now, leaving London for another fresh start.
In the time that I’ve been alive, I have learned the quick and harsh lesson that you are the only person you can count on, so whether I want to have 0 or 40 fresh starts, that’s up to me. I’m not saying these are always going to work out in my favour, or that I am always going to make the right decision - quite frankly I make stupid ass decisions mostly - but I am the only person that I can truly count on.
Do I regret leaving London? No. Do I regret the way I left them? Absolutely fucking not. However, am I feeling a little pessimistic about this band, considering that it consists of a drummer I met at a diner and some guitar player he’s dragging along? You can bet your fucking ass I am.
Sometimes a fresh start begins with a blind shot in the dark and that is what I was doing right now. Last Friday, I met Tommy in a diner and today, the following Sunday, I’m waiting to see whether this is beginning on a good or bad note. I mean, fuck, I haven’t even heard Tommy play, he could be dog shit for all I know, but I trusted him. The kid must know his way around a set of drums, the way he was spinning those stupid fucking sticks around his fingers.
The funny thing about quitting a band is that you have a lot more free time on your hands. Since I didn’t really have much else to do during this week, I figured I could bug Janis, and she didn’t seem to mind. Our routine remained intact. When I got off work, I waited for her to be done with her run before coming over for dinner. One of the only things that changed was how much time I spent at her place. She started letting me come over while she was in the shower, after I complained that I had nothing to do while I waited. Of course, everything Janis allowed me to do came with a price she told me. Janis explained to me the other night that because she was no “Mother Teresa” as she put it, that I would need to start earning my keep if I was going to be eating her food. We both knew she was joking, but I couldn’t let her joking go without consequence. The shades of red she blushed when I offered to do some of her chores while she showered and got dinner ready were well worth the work I put in. Janis gave me a quite modest list: water the houseplants and vacuum any dirt off the carpet that I got on the floor while I watered them. The chore itself never took me more than 20 minutes, which left enough time for me to be nosy. Somehow, Janis managed to fill every square inch of the apartment with something, all without making the place seem cluttered. She had knick-knacks and photos lining the wall and she also had this large bookcase in her living room that held all sorts of things. The radio and a cassette collection occupied the first shelf, board games on the second and on the bottom were a couple thick photo books alongside her high school yearbooks. I knew Janis was a runner from past conversations, but I had no idea she was a state champion. In fact, Janis seemed to have been the whole package in her high school days. She was a state champion runner, graduated with honors according to her diploma and had great grades but yet I didn’t see a college degree on her wall. I hadn’t brought this up yet, but I want to ask her about these books soon - she doesn’t know I’ve been through them though so I figured it could wait.
The clock on the stove reads 3:45 when I hear a lot of noise outside my apartment. Rolling my eyes I headed towards the door, only to open it to see Tommy and his buddy Greg carrying equipment up the stairs.
“Didn’t I tell you guys to come here at 4?” Despite the fact that it’s often polite to be early, I had told these guys to show up no earlier than 4 for our first practice because I didn’t want to disturb Janis while she slept.
“Dude, it’s going to take me a bit to set this shit up, if we want to get started at 4 I should’ve been here earlier” Tommy grunted back intermittently, while trying to help Greg carry an amp up the stairs.Either I hadn’t made myself clear on the phone or Tommy doesn’t listen. Tommy was doing more of the heavy lifting than Greg by the looks of it, which wasn’t a good sign to me.
“You the minivan?” I asked him, my way of offering help. He nodded to me while steering towards the door. As I went down the stairs, I glanced back up at Janis’s apartment to see if the noise had woken her up. I know it’s only 15 minutes of sleep but 15 minutes is a pretty big deal. To my surprise, she was leaning against the railing on the balcony.
“Think you could come down here and help us out Joplin?” I call out to her, squinting up against the sun to see her in her pajamas and fuzzed out hair.
“You boys look like you’re doing just fine!” She said, motioning with her hand for me to continue what I was doing. I hadn’t noticed Tommy walking down the stairs until he was beside me.
“Isn’t that the waitress from the diner?” He asked me as we continued down the stairs to the minivan.
“You tell me.” I smirked at him, knowing full well he remembered who she was. When I got to the bottom of the stairs, I turned around to find her still there.
“Can we postpone dinner until after practice?” I yell up to her.
“Only if you play Barracuda as your last song.” She replied. I furrowed my brow, confused at the request.
“Why?” Tommy was the one to reply for me.
“I like it.” She said, and I laughed at how matter of fact she stated this. “Plus it tells me when you’re done. Food will be hot half an hour after the opening chords.” Flashing a thumbs up back at her I turned around to continue what we were doing.
“Do we get food too?” This came from Greg.
“No.” I quickly replied, even though I knew Janis would feed them. I just didn’t want them there.
We started practicing around half past 4, and finished at half past 8. In the four hours that we had spent in my apartment, I had shown Tommy and Greg a couple of songs and tried to get to know them. All I had learned was that Tommy and Greg were both in a band called “Suite 19” before this and that Greg couldn’t play the way I wanted him to. At 8:25, I had told them to start playing Barracuda because I was getting hungry and my patience was wearing thin. Heading up the stairs towards Janis’s apartment, I felt relieved to know I would be in her presence for the next little bit. Before rounding the corner I could hear Janis, not the girl that lived above me, but Janis Joplin singing Me and My Bobby McGee. Pushing open the door, I reached up to catch the bell before it could ring so as to not alert Janis that I was in the apartment. She was standing at the stove, swaying back and forth while lightly singing along to the song - just faint enough that you almost couldn’t hear her if you weren’t paying attention. Leaning against the door, I tried to keep as quiet as possible just to watch her. Suddenly, she stopped swaying and I thought my cover had been blown.
“It’s been 30 minutes, I wonder what he’s up to?” She was thinking out loud.
“He’s waiting to see if you notice that he’s in the apartment.” She whipped around, visibly surprised.
“Sixx!” she practically yelled, clutching a hand to her chest. I could only laugh, and the stunned look she held on her face quickly faded into a laugh. That was one of the things that I enjoyed most about Janis’s company, she was never one to dwell when she was in a bad mood. She ebbed and flowed with the mood of the conversation. “I’m surprised you could be that silent, considering all the ruckus you’ve been making for the past four hours.” Crossing her arms, she leaned against the counter top while being careful not to disturb the pan on the stove.
“By ruckus, do you mean a bass player and a drummer that know what they’re doing while the guitar player doesn’t?”
“I suppose so.” She turned back to the stove, turning it off and bringing the pan over to the opposite counter to pour what looked to be meat into two bowls with fixings. She caught me watching her do this and must have noticed the confused look on my face, “We’re having taco salad Nikki. You’ll like it.” Reaching into the fridge, she grabbed a bottle of dressing and drizzled it across the two bowls before handing one to me.
“So tell me, if this guitar player -” she motioned with her hand to indicate she didn’t know his name as she reached into a drawer for utensils.
“Greg”
“If Greg isn’t what you’re looking for, then why haven’t you called that guy from the newspaper ad?”
She was referring to an ad that I had shown her from the newspaper. Someone who described themselves as a “loud, rude and aggressive guitar player” had caught my eye. They listed a phone number, but after Tommy had mentioned Greg, I hadn’t thought to give them a call.
“Well you see, Greg is a friend of Tommy’s from his old band” I figured I would cut the story off there and she would pick up on the rest. She snickered to herself.
“You’re telling me that the man with jet black hair and a name like ‘Nikki Sixx’ is afraid to hurt Greg and Tommy’s feelings?” She motioned a tear running down her cheek while pouting and I scoffed at her. “Does Tommy know that Greg doesn’t fit your vibe?” She questioned, returning to her food.
“He won’t say it cause Greg is there but yeah.” I said honestly, between bites. She nodded while continuing to chew on her food.
“I didn’t hear a whole lot of singing going on down there tonight.” She looked over at me expectantly, though I’m not quite sure what response it is she was looking for. “So it has been a little over a week, you’ve got a drummer you like and a guitar player you’re not so sure of and zero singer….”
“Get to your point here Janis Jade Smith.” She laughed at how I had used her full name.
“Point is, when will I be attending this show of yours?” she was smirking but trying to hide it. Flipping her off, she laughed and we continued eating with one another in a comfortable silence.
Another week had passed since Tommy and Greg had arrived at my apartment, and things were no better. I have little patience to begin with, but I had used it all on trying to teach Greg the way I wanted him to play. Sick of listening to me complain about the man, Janis told me that if I wasn’t going to pull the trigger and call the guy from the newspaper ad then she would. Before I had the time to process what was going on, Janis had left the apartment during the middle of dinner and returned 15 minutes later only to say “Sunday. He will be here at 4:00 pm sharp. If you like him, you tell Greg to hit the road.” So today, I was standing out on the balcony with Tommy letting him know the deal with this guy coming to audition. The faint sound of a bell caught my attention, knowing it was just before 4:00 I guessed that Janis woke up early.
“That you up there Janis?” I called out, Tommy leaned over the railing to look up at the next floor.
“Just came out to make sure that he shows up.” Answered my question.
“Listen man, how are we going to tell Greg to leave if we like this guy?” Tommy asked me as he moved his weight between each of his legs. If there was one thing I learned about Tommy in the short time since I had met him, it was that he had enough energy for the both of us. I could only guess that he’ll be a good partner in crime once the drinks are flowing. I shrugged my shoulders while smirking at him.
“Act like you’re serving him a shot.” I heard a snicker above me as Tommy initially looked confused but then realized what I was getting at.
“Give it to him straight..” Tommy mumbled under his breath as we watched a red car pull up in front of the apartment building.
“Right on time!” Janis called out from above us. “Bring whoever is still around at 6:00 up for some dinner!” Sticking out a thumb over the railing, I heard Janis go back into her apartment as Tommy went down the stairs to help out the ad man with his equipment. I liked the looks of him, he almost resembled a slightly older version of me.
By the time 6:00 rolled around, everyone was ready for a bit of a break. The guitarist that we kept was the man I came to know as Mick Mars, and we gave Greg the news as straight as it could be. If his ability to take news is anything like his drinking skills, I would say that he prefers mixed drinks.
“Mick, my upstairs neighbour has offered to feed us dinner. You down for a break?” I asked him, knowing that Tommy already heard the offer.
“Why is your neighbour offering to feed us? I sure hope you aren’t taking charity because I don’t”
I know this apartment looks like a dump, but I’m not a charity case.
“Janis and I have dinner together all the time. I’m not taking charity, I’m taking a free meal from a friend who is offering.” He appeared skeptical of my explanation. Glancing between the two of them, Tommy looked impatient.
“I’m just hungry so do you think we can go?” Tommy asked. Motioning for the door, I began to walk out and up the stairs to Janis’s apartment. The three of us were rounding the corner to the landing where Crazy Train could be heard from her slightly ajar door. Glancing over my shoulder, I could see Mick and Tommy looking almost intrigued at this. Opening the door to the apartment, the usual bell alerted Janis to our arrival and she turned around with a pan in her hand.
“Lasagna, salad and garlic bread tonight!” She exclaimed excitedly as she placed the baking sheet on the stove top.
“It smells good Janis!” Tommy said as he bounded towards the kitchen, as he entered Janis handed him a plate and pointed towards the oven so he could grab himself garlic bread.
“You must be the man from the ad that I talked to on the phone the other day.” She addressed Mick, who looked to be almost confused by the whole situation. Janis walked towards him from the kitchen with her hand extended, coming in to shake Mick’s hand. He returned the gesture and shook Janis’s hand.
“Mick Mars.”
“Loud, rude and aggressive guitar player. It’s nice to meet you. Janis Smith.” She began walking back into the kitchen, motioning for us to follow. We were each handed a plate and utensils while being told that we could grab a slice of garlic bread. Tommy had already planted himself on the couch in the living room, making himself at home.
“Anyone want something to drink?” She asked as Mick and I made our way to the couch in the living room. I noticed that there wasn’t going to be room on the couch for Janis, so I remained standing. Coming out from her bedroom, Janis dragged out a beanbag chair and placed it in front of the coffee table. I went to sit down on the chair when I was interrupted, “Sit on the couch Sixx, that’s mine.”
“Beer?” Tommy called out.
“One for everyone?”
A collective yes was mumbled and Janis returned with 3 beers in one hand and her plate in the other.
“Y’all sounded much better today. It was nice to finally hear those songs played correctly after listening to that sad sap try and keep up pace for the last week.” Now that Greg was gone, I think that Janis had given up putting on a good attitude about him.
“We will sound even better once we have a singer.” Tommy replied, which started me on my train of thought.
“Someone along the lines of David Lee Roth and Bowie!”
“So we want a skinny blonder fucker with moves?” Mick asked and I nodded, he was on the same train of thought. Sparing a quick glance over at Janis, she was eating quietly while watching the conversation.
“I think I know who could be our guy!” Tommy exclaimed.
Next Chapter
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Hold my girl
Part 5
No one really knows about TRR Main characters past …. Most of this series is based on flashbacks from her childhood. I’ve changed the main characters name to, Freya Johnson as Riley Brooks is used in my other series.
Freya is in love with Drake, but he hasn’t returned the feelings- instead just acts horrible towards her. Will Freya return back to Cordonia with the court or will she stay in the USA after the UN party.
Tags:
@annekebbphotography @burnsoslow @drakesensworld @ladyangel70 @kingliam2019 @bbrandy2002 @butindeed @bascmve01 @drakewalker04 @pedudley @captain-kingliamsqueen @duchessemersynwalker @insideamirage @of-course-i-went-to-hartfeld @kozabaji @texaskitten30 @ibldw-main @kimmiedoo5 @nikkis1983 @dangerouseggseagleartisan @gnatbrain @walker7519 @lodberg @cmestrella @hopefulmoonobject @addictedtodrakefanfic @angi15h @liamxs-world @rafasgirl23415 @notoriouscs @whenyourheartskipsabeat @jovialyouthmusic @nz1091 @yukinagato2012 @indiacater @seriouslybadchoices @rainbowsinthestorm @cordonianroyalty @custaroonie @beardedoafdonutwagon @dcbbw @qammh-blog
*****
“What do you mean you’re not coming back to Cordonia? Is it because of me? Because of the others? We all love you. I was going to ask you to be a Duchess. You came into our lives like a whirlwind. You brought us all together, you are the glue to our friendships.” Liam felt as if he couldn’t breathe- they had all failed her, he believed.
“No. I love you all. I truly do. I’m moving away- I’ve been offered a job. I’ll keep in touch with you all. I need a new start Liam. I’m so sorry.” Liam now felt as if his heart had stopped, not knowing at how the others would react to this news. A job is a job. She wouldn’t need a job if she returned with them- she was a close friend, he could provide for her or she could get a job in Cordonia.
“Please come back with us. We will all miss you.” His usual sparkly baby blues, were pleading with her to reconsider. Feeling guilty she was still in a dilemma about what to do.
“Liam, I can’t. I need a new start. Please don’t make my decision any harder than it already is. I will come and visit Cordonia every so often. I’ll keep to that promise. I need to pack my things and move them to Daniel’s. I’m leaving tomorrow.”
Liam didn’t want to argue, he thought about cancelling the Coney Island trip- instead he would just meet up with the others and explain what was happening. Between them all they could brainstorm how to change her mind.
“As long as you promise to visit us, and we will visit you. How about we cancel Coney Island. I’ll talk to the others. You can pack your things, we can meet up for a last super around five o’clock?”
“Sure. Let’s make it a night to remember.”
******
Freya left Liam, feeling guilty but also relieved after her heart to heart with him. Packing her belongings she had with her, she was willing to pay Maxwell to post the rest of her belongings from Cordonia. On route to meeting Daniel, she felt sad that she was not only leaving her new friends, but also Daniel and her parents.
“You ready?”
“Sure. Let’s go.”
Freya met Daniel at the bar, they were short on time but Freya knew they could do it in the short break Daniel had from work. They both got in his car and drove up to the grave yard.
Freya started crying as she walked up to her parents graves, holding the folder Daniel had given her. In it was pictures of her and Daniel she had taken when she returned to New York and then pictures of her and her new friends from Cordonia.
“Thanks for printing these off for me Dan, where would I be without you?” She smiled softly at him, he took her hand into his as they walked up to the headstones.
Grace and Paul Johnson
Beloved parents of Freya
They loved their second home- New York
Tragically passed away 19th February 2007 aged 38 and 39
Hey Mom. Hey Dad. Sorry I haven’t been to visit sooner. I miss you both so much. You would not believe what happened to me in the last few months. You always said I was smart. Would you think it was smart to go on an adventure to a different country with four men you’d only just met? More like crazy I’d say.
So the story begins when Daniel, ditched me at work to go on date with Lola. You remember Lola? The bitch at high school, the biggest mean girl. Well when he first mentioned he was going on a date with her a few years ago I nearly hit him to wake him up. But she started to hang about with us, and she really has changed. She’s lovely and she’s perfect for Daniel. I can’t wait to be godparents to their children ha.
Anyway Daniel ditched me and left me a rowdy table to serve. I looked over and there was three men- they were all so different. I was ready to kill Daniel at this point. He owed me. He owed me big time. I walked over and took their order when another man approached the group- I had never seen someone so handsome. He was so polite towards me, at the end of the night he asked how I was doing. What customer asks how the waitress is? He wanted to thank me for taking care of them all (maybe I do make a pretty good damn waitress- maybe better than my original fantasy job). It wasn’t until then that I realised they had come to New York as tourists for his bachelor party but they hadn’t really planned what to do. He asked for recommendations about clubs in New York and that he would want me to join them, so he could thank me for that night by buying me a drink.
Clubs are boring I thought. Or maybe I was just bored of them because I went every weekend with Dan and Lola- feeling like the third wheel. I suggested going to the ‘secret spot’. The guys loved it. They all let loose. The bachelor- Liam, didn’t seem to be having as much as a good time as the other three. He told me the only thing he wanted to do in New York was to see liberty - typical tourist! Then I had a crazy thought- I’d only just met him and the others and then I was pulling out all the stops to get him there. I contacted John the guy who owns all the boats, asking him to take myself and Liam there. We snuck away from the beach and met John. On the boat Liam’s eyes lit up like he was a kid in a candy shop. He kept mentioning how he wished he could have freedom like liberty- that’s when he told me he was the crown prince of a country called Cordonia. It was a small country in the Mediterranean. We stayed there and admired the view. Just before we left he said he admired my adventurous spirit and that he would never forgot this night or me. That’s when we kissed. And that’s when I left him to find his friends and I walked back to my apartment.
The next morning I went for my usual run around Central Park before making my way towards to bar to start the early shift. I’d offered to work it as Daniel would have been hungover after his date with Lola. I walked into the bar and saw Daniel there. He explained that he was fine to work and to stick to the original rota. So that gave me the day off. As I left, I heard a man shout my name as he ran up to me out of breath. It was Maxwell, one of the men from the previous night. Maxwell reminded me so much of Daniel, fun, always up for a laugh, just genuinely a nice guy.
He explained how in Cordonia all the noble houses could sponsor a girl to win Liam’s heart and become his princess. Maxwell and his older brother Bertrand didn’t have anyone to sponsor as they didn’t have a sister. What have I got to lose I thought? Only my job, and Daniel but we are like glue. It wouldn’t be losing him it would be a ‘see you soon’. Without hesitation I agreed with Maxwell’s suggestion. He seemed so happy. I thought this would be an adventure of a lifetime. I could make new friends, Maxwell would make a brilliant friend. I was intrigued to get to know about the noble life. For me it wasn’t all about Liam even though we had that connection.
After months of shit in the royal court, it was finally the coronation ball when Prince Liam would become king and choose his bride. In those months, I honestly felt like giving up and returning back home. I just wanted to be near you both. No one heard me, but I would cry every night in my room- who would have thought this was so hard. I am a strong person, I don’t take any shit. I had bitches fucking with me, a man practically try to rape me, and then the former king screw my reputation up,throw me out of his country and make everyone hate me- everyone that is except my my closest friends. At the airport, I had guards surrounded me as if I was some criminal- it was suffocating. I just wanted the airport to announce that we was boarding on the plane back to home. Finally the call was announced and I grabbed my bag and went to the queue, that was until the Beaumont brothers begged me back- I mean practically in tears begging me back haha. I was doubtful about returning, seeing everyone, everyone making their own assumptions up about me. But then I remembered everything you taught me- to never give up, be strong, and never lose those close to you. I am Freya Johnson, I will never give up!
On return to court, I had to endure the engagement tour. I couldn’t care less about the engagement, all I wanted to do was clear my name! The only good thing about this tour was visiting cities in Europe and spending time with my friends.
The reason I am here writing this is because the end of the tour ironically is here at home, in New York. Yesterday, I finally cleared my name. Found the man who was responsible, he did a statement and now everyone is up my arse. I feel so relieved. And I hope you are proud of me.
Freya ended reading what she had written, Daniel was next to her and put his arms around her.
“Bloody hell freya, you don’t do things by half. The last few months have been like you’re staring in a movie. They would be so proud of you. As we all are.”
“Thanks Dan. I’ve missed you. In a way I will miss this shitstorm and the entertainment. But I’m ready to be free and move on.” She laughed.
“So now that’s done. Where are we placing the other things? Is there an order you want to put them in?” Freya retrieved the photos that she had asked Daniel to print off and placed them around the graves.
The photos I am leaving are of people that have come into my life and changed it. They all are so different and I love them all. Who’d have known that little Freya from London would have grown up to have the most incredible people look after her and care for her. I don’t know in what direction my future is heading, but with all these people in it even at a distance, I know it’s going to be a brighter one.
I don’t know when I will be back or how often I’ll be back. But don’t either of you ever forget that I love you both always. You’re both forever in my mind and my heart. You have both turned me into the woman I am today and I am grateful for you both letting me into your life’s twenty years ago.
I know that I am going to cherish my children as much as you did me- you’d both spoil your grandchildren so much and pour all the love to them. I wish you could walk me down the aisle dad when the time comes. I hope- no I know for a fact you are looking down on me as I am always looking up at you both.
Your loving daughter,
Freya Johnson xoxoxox
“Thanks for coming with me. I needed to do this.”
“I’ll keep an eye out for them don’t worry. So when can myself and Lola visit Vegas?”
“Whenever, you want. Hey, why don’t you both get married at the chapel?” Daniel cocked a brow, knowing she was joking- or so he had hoped. “I need to meet them all. Only Liam knows, I owe them all an explanation. I’ll see you tomorrow morning before I leave.”
******
Liam explained that they were all meeting for an early dinner- the others all went to Coney Island regardless of Liam’s and Freya’s absence. Meeting at the restaurant, they all noticed Liam and Bertrand looking defeated.
“What’s up? Where is Blossom?” Maxwell barely said as he was scoffing his face with candy floss.
“I don’t know Max. Liam told her five o’clock. If there was anything that she was taught from her time in Cordonia it would be to be punctual.” Liam shook his head, this was no time to criticise Freya.
“So, I called my engagement off with Madeleine. I met up with Lady Freya before. Informed her that I was going to ask her to marry me. Her face faltered, I knew deep down she would refuse. Then she opened up to me about a lot of her past....” Liam had informed Bertrand prior to the others arriving about the heart to heart with Freya. Drake and Maxwell looked at each other concerned, Drake whispered “I told you he would propose”, Maxwell swallowed hard knowing he was now involved in this possible love triangle even if Liam technically didn’t propose.
“Lady Freya isn’t returning to Cordonia.” They all gasped at Bertrand’s statement. When she mentioned it to Maxwell at the UN party he honestly thought she was bluffing.
“If anyone can convince her to come back with us it’s Daniel. Liam, Drake do you remember how to get to the Dive bar?”
******
Daniel stared at the clock at work, it was 7pm. He had taken a late lunch break to meet Freya to visit her parents. One more hour left, he thought. In an hour he would have to find that person to give the note from Freya.
“Please just find them and give them this. I couldn’t bare to face them all at the restaurant. They probably won’t remember how to get there. That night was a bit of a blur. They will be at this address. If they aren’t in the hotel bar, their room is 36 on the ground floor. I can’t keep this from them anymore.”
“Don’t feel pushed into telling them all now if you don’t feel ready Frey. They will understand.”
“I don’t know if I’ll be able to do it if I don’t do it now Dan. I’d be grateful if you tried to help me. I’ll be waiting in the usual place. I’ll see you before I leave for Vegas, okay?”
After what Freya had told him that morning, Daniel knew he had to do his best to help his friend. She deserved all the happiness in the world. If it didn’t work out, he had assumed that she would return back home to New York and he would be there to support her as he always had done. He began to clean the bar, when the doors swung open.
“Daniel! Where’s Jono?”
“Drake? Hi.”
Shit. What is he doing here? Has Freya backed out of her plan?
Just then a beautiful lady smiled at Daniel. His heart sank.
“Hi. My names Hana. Have you seen Freya?” She asked softly.
“Hi Hana. I’m Daniel. I haven’t seen her since this afternoon. I met her for an hour earlier on. She er... she.”
“Is she okay?” Maxwell asked, his lip began to tremble.
“Er, why don’t you guys take a seat I’ll get you all a drink.”
Drake, Liam, Maxwell and Hana all sat down in the same booth that the gentlemen did that night. If Daniel didn’t have a date that night, none of them would have met Freya.
“Thank you Daniel. My names Liam and this is Maxwell. Is she okay? I’m worried that this may be all my fault?”
Daniel put his head down. He knew exactly what Liam meant. Liam had confessed that he would have proposed to Freya earlier on this morning and that he was considering asking her to become a Duchess. Of course he would think that there was a possibility that it was his fault. She had told Daniel she was distant with all her friends when she dropped of the spontaneous letter, not meaning to be she was just thinking about her parents as well as her past and her new beginnings.
Daniel felt bad knowing the truth as to why she didn’t meet them and the guilt when he saw these four people worrying about her. He didn’t want Freya to push them away because she was only used to Daniel and his family caring for her once Grace and Paul had passed away.
“Liam. It’s not your fault. She er. She.” They all looked at him worried and confused- waiting impatiently for him to elaborate.
“She had things she had to do. Things she always did when she lived here.” Maxwell looked extremely upset and started to think.
Things she always did when she lived here? Is she missing it here? Did I drag her away from a family? From more friends? From a life?
“I finish at seven. I will elaborate then. Okay?” They all nodded in unison, wondering what he was keeping from them. Drake walked over to the bar to order another round, Daniel was due to finish in ten minutes. Daniel poured a whiskey, a scotch and two cocktails. Whilst he was doing this Drake whispered to him.
“Hey Daniel, what are you keeping from us? We just want to know that she’s okay? Why is she thinking about not coming back with us? If so we’d like to say goodbye at least.”
“Drake it’s nothing like that. I swear. It’s not my business to tell you what we did in that hour but I feel like I need to betray Frey and show you all.”
“What do you mean betray her?”
“Oh drake.. She..had to visit some people. I will take you all there. There’s something you all need to see. Is a lady called Olivia with you all? I think she needs to see this too?”
Olivia? Wtf is going on?
“Er yeah. She is. I’ll text her to come now.”
Daniel hated doing this. But if Freya wasn’t going to open up to her friends he would help her.
Please don’t hate me Freya. I’m doing this because I care for you. No one will judge you. We all love you.
#theroyalromance#choices trr#trr holdmygirl#trr freya johnson#drakewalker#maxwell beaumont#hanalee#liam rhys#trr daniel#drake x mc#liam x mc
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Summary. Louis Bloom needed a change. Alone in a new city, he is ready to make his mark as he had in Los Angeles. Sadie Sims is alone, too. But she knows San Francisco in ways he doesn’t.
Introduction l Chapter One
Chapter Two.
Rain pounded against the windows of Lou’s car. Small waves of water slunk from the roof, morphing the neon lights outside until they looks more like strokes of paint. Inside, it was close to deafening. Sadie say in the passenger’s seat, a paper bag in her lap with her phone balanced on her left knee. Lou was lounging in the driver’s seat, gnawing on his thumbnail as she answered in detail the questions he posed.
Most were about the various districts that made up the city. The demographics. Which areas she felt safe in. Which were home to families. To loners. It seemed to her, all basic stuff, but perhaps he was more interested in a first hand opinion opposed to what he could look up on the internet. After the first hour, she had excused herself to the nearest sandwich shop, her rumbling stomach having caused one too many interruptions. She had offered to get him something too, but he had politely declined. She was certain she could feel his eyes on her as she raced up the block, her jacket pulled up to keep her head covered from the downpour. When she returned, he was gazing at his phone and didn’t look up. She unwrapped her dinner, a half of a meatball sandwich, and waited for the next question.
“What about Bayview?” He said, after a moment of silence, right when she had dared to take her first bite. She wondered if he would object to her eating. His car was immaculately clean and still held traces of that familiar new car smell. But he hadn’t told her to stop or tuck it away.
He was a strange man. To say the least. His eyes, as blue as the oceans in the north, seemed to be watching always. Never straying from their current focus. They reminded her of a hawk or some other bird of prey. Sharp and fixated. His face was sallow, no doubt from working mostly at night. The mixture of shadows and the dim glare of neon only heightened the deep bags under his eyes and the definite lines of his cheek bones.
He could stand to gain a little weight. Sadie thought, swallowing. It was something people used to say to her, but she hadn’t heard it since moving to California.
“You’ll probably spend a lot of time there,” She said, taking another large bite. “Or across the bay, in Oakland? Lots of people want to know what’s going on there. And visa-versa. Everyone who lives there really wants to live here.”
He didn’t take notes as she spoke, but seemed to be cataloging everything away in the folds of his mind. She guessed he would remember every word. He pulled at sections of his hair, drawing them into place. It was wet from the rain and looked better slicked back.
“Do you ever think of cutting it?” She asked between bites, fingering the napkin in her lap.
“What?” He asked.
“Your hair,” She clarified, gesturing with her free hand. “Just a trim maybe. It would look much better.”
“I’m not concerned with such things.” He said simply, his eyes on the road ahead.
“Oh,” She said. She lifted her foot up but paused, looking to him. “Do you mind if I-?”
He met her eyes, not understanding at first. “Not at all.”
She smiled and hitched her feet up onto the dash. Curling inwards and settling into a more comfortable position. She was like a cat in that way, always wanting to be smaller than she already was. Yet still poised. When he sat at Whitney’s he could see her watching people. Observing them. She seemed fascinated by even the most mundane patrons. Sometimes she would be listening in on conversations, scribbling into her pad before tearing the page out and pocketing it so as not to tip off her bosses. It was amusing. Made even more so because in practically every case, people had no clue she was doing it.
In all actuality, he did mind, but he was quickly discovering that things Sadie did didn’t bother him in ways that they would with most other people. At first he wasn’t sure why this was. But he had his theories. The topmost being that, she wasn’t averse to his mannerisms in the way that most people were. He wasn’t stupid or immune to it. He knew he was different. He just didn’t particularly care. He let his work speak for him. People like Nina and Robert, they cared more about his output and that was all that mattered to him. Still, it was strange to meet someone that didn’t seem to mind his idiosyncrasies. Richard had. The other interns had. They put up with it. But he could sense the side long glances and the whispers. She was nervous around him at first. Especially when he asked her to get in the car. But this was their third night together and she had begun to relax. Whatever her misgivings, he was starting to think they had more to do with him being a man that with him principally.
“Did you get that picture?” He asked, suddenly remembering what he’d meant to ask her that first night.
“Hmm?”
“Of the statue.”
“Oh! Yeah, you wanna see?” She asked, excitedly. She reached for her backpack, not waiting for an answer. She pulled a slim folder from it’s depths and handed it over. “I just got it developed yesterday, actually. It’s going to be perfect for my portfolio.”
He opened it. There were at least a dozen shots slipped into the right side pocket. On the left, a sealed, plastic envelope of negatives was pinned down. Feeling her eyes on him, he began to slip through the shots. They were all taken at night and aside from the statue, each was taken of a person. None of the subjects faced the camera, but Louis could sense the emotions in each shot.
“These are…”
She leaned in, fist tucked under her chin in an attempt to seem cavalier. It wasn’t often that she sought outside opinion, but she felt as if she owed him something for his assisting in her trespassing attempt. Even so, her heart was hammering in her throat. Criticism wasn’t something she had yet learned to handle. She was certain that, even if there was only a single negative reaction in a sea of positives, she would be awake the whole night through obsessing over whatever he said next.
“Really good.” He finished, slipping another page free to inspect it.
“You think so?” She said, breathless.
“I do.” He nodded.
“I like to play with light,” She explained, watching him carefully as he inspected each piece. “Man-made light mostly. It’s really fascinating you know, how the angles can change your face. You can look like a totally different person depending on-Oh, geez, I forgot that one was in there.”
Her face turned scarlet as he pulled out the second to last one. It was a picture of him.
“Sorry,” She said, though she sounded more apologetic that he had caught her rather than for the act itself. “It was the first night you came in. I didn’t think- I mean -you didn’t seem like the “regular” type. So…”
He was sitting at the corner booth. It had been the first and only time he’d managed to acquire it. He was leaning back against the chair, looking much like a disinterested teenager with his headphones crammed into his ears. The waitress, whether it was Sadie or one of the others he couldn’t remember, must have just brought him his coffee for slivers of steam were still wafting from the surface. Spread out before him were several papers and a notebook. He had been learning the San Francisco codes that night. Although at the time it had been unwelcome, it was a flattering shot. He looked...concentrated. Like an artist in his element. There was something almost maniac but engaging about the way his eyes were trained on the page. A direct contradiction to his lackadaisical form. He held the photo closer to his face, unable to look away.
“I like it.” He said. It was the truth.
“You do?” She breathed, sounding relieved.
“Can I keep it?” He asked, turning to her.
“Keep it?” She considered. “Well, I guess. If you don’t mind me using the negatives. There’s this gallery in the Mission that takes amateur submissions every other month...I’m hoping to get in this year.”
“It’s a deal.” He said.
He held his hand out to her. Surprised, Sadie pushed her feet off the dash and twisted around to face him. She took his hand with a grin. It was cold like ice, but he held firm. He held it for a moment longer than she expected, his thumb running along the curves of her knuckles. He didn’t even seem aware he was doing it.
Sadie slipped her hand away. “You’re, uh, welcome” She said, drawing her hand into her others. It felt hot all of a sudden. Her traced her own thumb over where his had ghosted and felt sparks. She looked up, watching him smile as he took in the photo and felt herself beginning to smile too. She purposely tried to photograph people when they didn’t realize it. And, aside from a spare photo of a friend here or there, had never received feedback directly from a subject. Usually out of fear of critic or backlash.
But...that wasn’t bad. She thought to herself. Not at all.
The police scanner shoved in between them whirred to life, causing them both to start.
“All available officers please converge on-”
Louis didn’t need to hear the rest to know it was a call worth responding to.
“Get out.” He said, not unkindly but with a jarring firmness.
“O-Okay-” Sadie stuttered, grabbing for her pack and shoving her stuff inside. As she zipped up her bag, she felt his hand on her shoulder pushing her towards the door.
“Alright, alright, I-” She stumbled out of the car and into the rain. He was gone before she could even right herself. She watched his car speed off into the night, showers of water spraying on either side of the car.
“B-bye…” She said, lamely raising her hand has rain began to soak through the hood of her jacket.
-
He was glad she had been so quick to exit the car. A minute later and he would have lost his place as first to the scene. And what a scene it was. The building looked to be abandoned. From the front, it was windowless and covered in a forest green paint that was chipped and peeling off in long, loose curls. Four police cars were parked out front. They had only just begun to cordon off the area. Sensing his window was closing, Louis held tight to his camera, and snaked past an officer talking to a local and into the building. It was low lit inside, but he could feel that the ceiling stretched high above. Despite the coolness of the evening, there was a stale, heavy warmth permeating the room. The first thing he registered was the smell. It was one he had come to recognize. Blood. Not fresh blood. But rot and sweat and salt.
“Hey! You can’t be in here.” An officer said, stepping towards Louis in the hopes that his sizable form would be enough to chase him away.
“What happened here?” Louis said, ignoring him. He kept the camera steady, trying to at least get a good sweep around the room.
“Sir,” The office said, “Get out. Now.”
Louis began to back towards the door slowly. “Is-that…”
“It is was it is.” The officer said, “Now stand back please, behind the line.
Certain he had gotten at least enough for a tease, he stumbled out and began to search for a proper interviewee.
-
Thank you for reading! Things are going to pick up next chapter, I promise. ;0)
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A Delicate Dance
“Pray work with me, that we might move forward as one.”
Serella and Aymeric begin to trust one another. There is dancing of two sorts involved.
Or:
I don’t care that my birthday was yesterday, this is my gift to myself: mutual pining while denying there is mutual pining, intermingled with political double speak and dancing.
Word count: 5130
Rightly why the high houses insisted on a celebration for the Scions innocence in the eyes of the Fury and the honor they brought to House Fortemps was utterly beyond Serella. For how readily droves of them attended the Tribunal in glee with the expectation of the Heaven’s Ward to make a heretical smear of them on the arbitration floor, the nobility were now falling over themselves to try and express how glad they are that “the Fury shielded you from such a grievous error.” If they thought themselves cunning and subtle in their duplicity, she would have to disagree.
More baffling still were the odd looks and snide remarks the trio of them got from the very same elitists that sought to try and bend them to the political schemes of the nobility; in the baffling days following that sham of a trial, they had all been so occupied with their tasks and trying to track down the missing members of their little family, they had been, more or less, unavailable for measurements for clothes to be made, though had made do with cleanly pressed suits for them all. Bollocks to them, Serella had insisted when Tataru grew despondent at their backhanded comments. As far as she was concerned, they all looked great.
Were it not for the need to ensure protection for Alphinaud and Tataru, she would have thrown a punch at someone by now.
Uthengentle had declined to attend, citing need to assist Clan Centurio with a hunt mark. Much as she was…less than thrilled with him at the moment, as she listened to the twentieth noble condescendingly comment that it was little wonder the Scions were dressed so “humbly” given their predicament, she found she couldn’t fault him for wanting to avoid coming. She wanted to be here less and less with every passing second.
Still, she found company that made it bearable, and was glad they were more stationary than some others circles that flitted about the ballroom of House Fortemps; it made it easier to stick to them that way. Haurchefant attended, blessedly, and made for refreshingly straightforward conversation. She was relieved at least someone was genuinely glad for their presence. Though the little gathering she stood in was comprised of some…unexpected guests, she mused to herself.
It was…odd, that the Azure Dragoon and Lord Commander both were required to take time to attend such a gathering. She supposed she could see the reasoning; while this was largely just a display of showmanship and an opportunity for House Fortemps to flaunt their latest acquisitions of prestige and power, it was still a gathering of the elite that governed over Ishgard. It made sense for them to have to at least make an appearance. She supposed she was just surprised that they had the time for it in the first place.
Truthfully she was more surprised still that Estinien had actually made an attempt at grooming himself before arriving; with a crisp suit and his hair pulled back, he looked almost elegant, though his natural features certainly made him handsome besides, she could concede, even as he had not bothered hiding his scowl when unwelcome guests approached him. She was half tempted to take inspiration.
“Remind me why I came here,” Estinien grumbled into his champagne, his disdain for the gathering evident.
Serella could relate, really.
“We were invited,” Ser Aymeric answered smoothly. He took a delicate, practiced sip from his own champagne flute. “Count Edmont was generous enough to organize such an event that the Scions might be made to feel welcomed and rewarded for their efforts.”
“Oh certainly,” Estinien said blithely with a thorough roll of his eyes, “and the nobility has been so welcoming.”
“They’ve been incredibly warm,” Serella answered, and her own bitterness tinged her words, “they’ve all taken the time to compliment me on my ‘successes in spite of my disposition,’ at least once.” She drained her champagne. “So kind of them.”
Haurchefant offered her an apologetic smile but said nothing. Serella took no offense; they’d howl with laughter and rant over cocoa back at Camp Dragonhead about the evening later, as they always did.
“Given their…reception of you,” Ser Aymeric spoke up, his expression pinched in sympathy, “I can hardly fault you your reluctance to mingle.”
His tone suggested extensive experience with their backhanded nature—and she could only wonder at who would dare to even attempt such condescension with someone of his status.
“I thank you for indulging in keeping me company,” she replied. When she smiled, it felt genuine for the first time all night. “A friendly face or three is welcome in a crowd of strangers.”
“Hear that, Ser Estinien?” Haurchefant grinned from over the lip of his glass. “You’re a friendly face!”
When the Azure Dragoon arched a brow Serella could only laugh.
“You’re at least honest in your contempt for being here,” she explained. “And that’s refreshing.”
“Good enough for camaraderie, I suppose.” Estinien grumbled, though he seemed just a little pleased to be wanted. “The boy seems to be in his element.” He commented, eyes drifting to watch Alphinaud easily hold up conversation with a small gathering of the nobility. “Is he aware of the vultures whose company he is in, I wonder.”
“Likely.” Serella said, carefully eyeing how the nobles gathered around him and Tataru. “Knowing how close to keep them has been…a skill recently learned.”
One of the wait staff who happened to be passing by paused and offered their tray for her to place her empty flute upon.
“Oh,” she was startled, but set the glass on the tray and smiled widely at them. “Thank you so much.”
“A-ah,” The waiter seemed to fluster at the eye contact. “Of course, mistress. Another for you?”
“If you please—but only when you have a free moment,” she answered, deliberately softening her smile. “No need to rush—you’re busy.”
“Of course, mistress.” He stammered again as he ducked his head and moved quickly through the crowd.
One of the nobles, a man from one of the houses serving House Durendaire, if she remembered correctly—which was rather unlikely for how little she cared—had drifted over toward their group, and had apparently taken her actions as a good excuse to sidle up beside her within the small cluster of people. She already wanted to slam her head against the nearest wall to avoid the impending conversation but forced herself to keep a pleasant enough face.
“Oh come now, the honored guest surely should not be made to wait for her champagne!” The noble exclaimed, perhaps a little too loudly, offering her a flute with a smug grin stretching his heavily flushed cheeks.
“I’m in no hurry,” she said. She made no move to take the glass from him. “And the waiter will be back shortly. I would not have his effort be wasted.”
“Oh, what’s a little more work for the help, eh?” he said, though he swayed as he leaned back to drain the glass himself. He let out a satisfied sigh at the last dreg and set the flute on a tray of a passing waitress. “Another,” he said more at her than to her, snapping his fingers.
Despite her hackles instantly raising, Serella fought to keep her expression neutral. There was some relief that she was in good company when an almost incredulous silence hung over the group she stood in; at least she wasn’t completely surrounded by pricks.
Haurchefant sprang into action as the girl tried to scurry off, instantly at the waitress’ side chatting with her with that same kind enthusiasm he always had.
“Is it not the obligation of the nobility,” Serella asked in a clipped tone, “to serve the public with generosity with kindness?”
“Ahh, the Noblesse Oblige!” The noble said, a hand smoothed over his suit vest as he chuckled. The more hot air he exuded, the more Serella could smell how much he had drank. “I was not prepared for an adventurer such as yourself to be so well read. How refreshing! Though really,” he gave a dismissive wave of the hand and asked, “is it not enough that they are paid for their time?”
What a first impression, Serella thought blithely.
“Forgive me—a moment, my lord,” she said in the airiest, easiest tone she could manage. When he opened his mouth again she held a hand up. “Just a moment.”
She felt Ser Aymeric and Estinien’s eyes on her as she moved to where Haurchefant still spoke with the maid, who was now pouring champagne into clean flutes at the serving table some fulms away.
“Forgive my intrusion,” she spoke softly.
“Oh!” The waitress startled, and a small splash of champagne missed the flutes and pooled on her tray. “Ah, excuse my clumsiness—!”
Though she hardly made much of a mess, the flutes shuttered enough to clink fairly loudly, loud enough that those in the immediate vicinity turned a shrewd eye toward the woman. Serella felt a second wave of sympathy wash over her for the poor girl; she remembered her early days serving at the Druthers, and that was for those who were less pretentious and demanding than this crowd. She couldn’t imagine the stress the poor girl was under.
“Please,” Serella held up a reassuring hand while the other produced a kerchief from her pocket. “You have nothing to be sorry for,” with a reassuring smile, she began to blot the champagne herself.
Haurchefant, gallant knight that he was, readily swooped in to help shuffled the glasses around to ease the cleaning process, his cheery grin infectious.
“M-my lady, my lord you need not—!”
“We do,” Serella insisted.
“My friend is correct!” Haurchefant readily agreed. “Knights such as we live to serve!”
“And it isn’t that much besides,” she added. The mess duly cleaned, she held the dampened kerchief a moment. “Though if you know where I might put this…?”
“I’ll have it taken care of at once, my lady!” The waitress insisted with a curtsey.
“Only when you get a chance—someone has to oblige your busy schedule.” She avoided shooting a pointed glare at the offending noble that caused this as she pulled some gil from her pocket. “Here, for your trouble.”
“O-oh, I could not—!”
“Pray accept this on behalf of House Fortemps,” Serella insisted, gently pressing the coins into her hand.
A few nearby nobles who were struggling to pretend they weren’t watching gasped and muttered incredulously but she paid them no mind; if they forgot their own oath to society, someone had to pick it up. Might as well be a Paladin, she figured; oaths were their specialty.
Through stuttered thanks, the waitress tucked the gil and kerchief away, and scuttled to the back, doubtless to get another bottle of champagne for the remaining empty glasses.
“You know, I daresay you’ll fit in with my family quite well, Serella.” Haurchefant said, plucking one of the filled flutes in hand and falling into step as she moved back to the group.
“I had hoped to regardless, but thank you.” She said, already hating the fact that the offending nobleman hadn’t just taken the hint and left.
Still, his baleful, inebriated glare was far less an interesting reaction compared to the outright shocked look upon the Lord Commander’s face. How odd, she thought, and promptly fought to ignore it as best she could; what she couldn’t decipher, she wouldn’t fuss over. They were working on their words to one another, anyroad. She could ask him when there was a more private moment to do so, if she was still so bothered by it.
“Such humanitarianism,” the nobleman cheered, holding his half empty glass up in a toast, “I had not realized adventurers were capable of it.”
He’s trying to incite me? She thought, half amused and half galled. Well, if he really wants to go there…
“I was taught,” she said slowly, measuring her words and their impact, “that manners make the man.” Sparing him a sidelong glance, she asked, “and lacking in manners at all, what would a man be, I wonder?” Before he could comment, she answered herself with a shrug, “nothing, I would presume.” When the waiter from before brought her a flute of champagne, she smiled as she accepted. “Thank you,” she told him, perhaps in too much earnest, silently side eyeing the pestering nobleman until he scoffed and left for more welcoming circles.
Estinien choked on a laugh into his champagne flute.
“Never could hold his liquor, that one— nor his tongue.” The Azure Dragoon mused, his keen eyes tracking the nobleman’s stumbling.
“I oft hope he might learn from his mistakes.” Ser Aymeric sighed. “I am disappointed every time.”
“Halone be praised, I feared we might be cursed with his persistent presence for the remainder of the night.” Haurchefant sighed in visible relief.
“I might have hit him.” Serella admitted without a hint of guilt.
“I would have covered for you.” Estinien deadpanned.
“Fortunate that he left, then,” Ser Aymeric said, the twitch at the corner of his lips betraying his amusement. His eyes twinkled as he said, “I would have been made to lie to the Holy See about the act to corroborate.”
“But would you have truly felt so bad about it?” Haurchefant asked with an arch of his brow and a toothy grin.
“I do not recall disclosing my feelings on the matter,” Ser Aymeric replied, his subtle grin curling around the rim of his flute as he sipped, “merely that I would have been made to do so.”
Seeing the three of them interact, it was clear that there was an intimate friendship there that was forged in their formative years, bonds tethered in adolescence and strengthened as they grew. She only hoped they were able to actually see one another for how busy their individual successes made them.
The conversation eased into more comfortable territory after that, and Zephina eventually emerged to slip between Haurchefant and Estinien and join in. It was pleasant, having such idle, unimportant chatter after the near constant motion they had been going through of late. Now that Raubahn had been plucked from his execution and the search for the sultana was on, it seemed a good enough time to allow themselves to breathe. When Serella caught Zephina’s opalescent gaze, there was a silent, mutual agreement of this was nice and needed.
Though it was hard not to notice how Ser Aymeric was frequently pulled—sometimes physically—by a man or woman insistent that he ask after them for a dance once the music called for it, or to try and gain his attention in some other way.
It was a subtle thing, but she saw the way he winced, ever so slightly, whenever someone touched him unprovoked. She wondered to herself at what point he had given up trying to tell the nobility that he was not their object of amusement. The interactions were disillusioning, and Serella at last understood why he looked at her in such sympathy when she too was pestered.
It was little wonder he was so slow to see that she had no intention befriending him for her use, she realized. The more she saw how others interacted with him, the more she wondered if his was an isolating station in such times, where he was wanted but never for himself. He was sought after, she had known, but she had not realized precisely how disingenuous the nobility’s pursuit of him was.
Her heart almost sank on his behalf when the music changed tempo, and a waltz began to float through the air. Man of his word as he was, if he did not decline any of those who requested a dance from him, she only prayed he still had toes by the end of the night.
So it surprised her—stunned her, really, when he instead walked across their little circle to her with an almost apprehensive smile on his face.
“Might I trouble you for a dance, Mistress Arcbane?” He asked her, his palm out in open invitation.
She blinked stupidly at him a moment before her gaze dropped to his outstretched hand. A dance? She hadn’t learned how— not save for festival dances and the like. Already out of her element, she knew she would only rob the Lord Commander of his toes for the trouble.
“Ah…err...?” She sputtered intelligently.
“Though pray do not feel obligated,” he said quickly, already beginning to withdraw his hand.
Without thought, she reached for it before he could pull it away and leaned closer to him. Even he seemed surprised by the move, his cheeks faintly dusted pink at her sudden closeness but she would not have him mistake her surprise as rejection.
“I don’t know how,” she admitted in a conspiratorial whisper.
That seemed to surprise him further. “You have never danced?” He asked quizzically but quietly.
Reflecting on the fact that the only practiced dances she knew were a Gridanian festival dance and the Manderville, Serella replied carefully, “I was never...classically trained, my lord.”
“If you would like, I might assist in changing that?” He offered.
His smile was welcoming, and she found the subtle tension in her shoulders easing by a fraction when she realized he was not judging her for her lack of experience, but inviting her to share in it with him. Perhaps it was that he had already begun to grow on her as a friend, or perhaps the bar for the evening had just been set so low that she felt more amenable, but she found she was not opposed to the idea. She gave his hand an affirming squeeze.
“Pray lead on, Lord Commander,” she said despite her better judgement, “and I shall mind my footwork.”
With a chuckle, he adjusted his gentle grip on her hand and led her to the rapidly filling dance floor. She followed gamely; given how quickly he offered her a dance, she suspected he either wanted privacy to talk, or had something urgent to pass to her discreetly; she could guess at the game at this point.
Well, that or he was just avoiding the seemingly endless line of people who decided they were owed a part of his time whether he wanted them to or not— that was also a distinct possibility.
“‘Tis not a complex dance, rest assured,” Ser Aymeric said amicably. He moved to stand in front of her and offered his other hand. When she took it, he guided it to rest upon his shoulder. Her hands positioned thus, his newly freed hand respectfully rested upon her waist. “Merely follow my steps— they will move in sets of three.”
“Let’s hope I’m a quick study, then,” Serella said as she began to move with him. “Lest you be torn apart by the line of lords and ladies awaiting their turn.”
“Let us instead hope that I am a poor teacher, that I might have to repeat myself until boredom has set in and the crowd disperses,” he answered.
She barely coughed back a laugh at that. “I keep forgetting you’re capable of humor.”
“You would accuse me of speaking in jest?” He feigned mild insult, though the corner of his lip curling into a grin gave away his game. “Rather bold of you.”
“Perhaps— but if that be the case, then allow me to be bolder still and ask a question,” she said.
“A question?” He asked, and she faintly saw a brow arch from beneath his raven bangs but his face was otherwise a neutral mask.
“You— an otherwise absolute gentleman, by all accounts— took the time to shirk a queue of people looking for a dance just to offer one to me. Why?”
“Bolder still indeed,” he said around a secretive half smile. “Though the question is a fair one; in part, ‘tis a preference of company,” he explained, “and because I wished to speak with you.”
“All this, just to speak with me?” She asked. “You might have simply asked after me at your office.”
“Expedience seemed of the essence; the vaunted Warrior of Light has caught many an eye of late, and I would have your attention before you are called elsewhere once more.”
While Serella could have certainly interpreted his tone as almost flirtatious, the sharpness in his gaze even as his discreetly glanced about them told her this was a dance twofold, carried out in steps and in speech. He was warning her of something, then. Or tipping her off to something he could otherwise not risk waiting to tell her later. If he had to be so secretive but hurried about it, then it could well mean that this regarded something out of his direct purview. Her curiosity piqued, she decided to play along.
“Much is demanded of my attentions, Ser Aymeric,” she replied playfully, even as she did not smile and struggled to keep track of her own feet amidst their dancing. “Might you be more specific?”
“Your recent accomplishments both here and beyond our gates have many minds within the Holy See filling with possibilities,” he began, “more influential souls than I— and many of whom you have inspired to study you closely.”
The Heaven’s Ward? The Archbishop? The Inquisition? Doubtless a bit of all of them— but his words were fairly clear: you are being watched for signs of weakness by people with greater influence than I.
“I fear they will be disappointed with what they see.” Serella sighed. “Save for finding a mutual interest in goldsmithing and botany, I fear those who wish to learn aught of use will find themselves wanting.”
“I cannot pretend that you lack innate allure otherwise— there are a great many things one might wish to know of you.”
He turned them to avoid the corner of the dance floor, and she bit back a curse when she stumbled into him for her graceless feet.
“Sorry—” she apologized automatically, even as she felt him carefully guide them away from another couple dancing closer to them.
“You have naught to apologize for,” Aymeric said softly in earnest. “You try to move on your own over much, and risk falling for all your trouble.” He startled her with his pleading gaze. “Pray work with me, that we might move forward as one.”
Their banter teetered on threatening— and had they not begun to build rapport with one another, she might have wondered if he was warning her of the threat he posed to her, but she had begun to learn— slowly— that everything about his body language and his eyes was beseeching her to listen and trust him. He was trying to put her on the trail for something that he could not directly help her with. This was him asking to work as a team, but doing so as her friend. For the first time since their arrival to the city, she didn’t feel entirely so alone; he was at least trying to help her in what ways he could within his constraints.
“Worry not,” Serella reassured him, “though I may yet stumble, you have proven an expert tutor thus far.” She gave his hand that guided them a squeeze. “With time, I’ll learn how to move with you.”
I’m choosing to trust you— show me that isn’t a mistake, she pleaded silently.
“But you make a good point; I oft forget the real reason for my list of achievements,” she lilted, ever so slightly angling her head and fanning her lashes to feign acting flirtatiously demure, “though you flatter me all the same.”
“I speak only the truth.” Aymeric answered simply, though she saw the flash of relief in his eyes; he realized she was playing along with him. Good. “You possess an ethereal sort of strength— the sort that many might be drawn to.” A shadow flickered across his face as he leaned in to murmur in her ear, “some of whom may seek to claim you for themselves— or seek your ruin, failing that.”
She shivered at the implication of his words and the velvet of his voice so close, but his meaning was clear all the same. You are being watched for your Echo, and there are those who would take the power for themselves or kill you in the process. Message received; she need only figure out precisely who among the upper echelon of the Holy See were following her, and how many of them were involved. While having a target on her back was nothing new and already she greatly distrusted the Holy See and their arrogant dealings with the Ascians, she could appreciate the risk Aymeric was taking in divulging this information to her. Doubtless the risk was great even to obtain said knowledge, though she suspected they had his First Commander to thank for that.
“It is not mine by choice,” Serella answered softly, “though that will doubtless not deter those who are lured by it.”
“Does it ever?” He asked.
“Not thus far, no.” She sighed. “I thank you for your consideration— and your company,” she said, “though you needn’t worry— I am, as ever, Ishgard’s shield. I have sworn as much, have I not?”
“That you have.” he said, and his expression eased considerably— she took it as a sign that he too was beginning to trust her more. “I confess, I had naught more to say on the matter— though if you are amenable, I would still keep your company, Mistress Arcbane.”
“Still hoping the lords and ladies will get bored waiting?”
“A man can dream, can he not?” He asked, his lips pursed in a wry smile. “And my preference for your company holds besides.”
It was easier than she had thought it would be, trusting him to show her how to maneuver around the nobles that seemed to circle them in their dance. And maybe it was just her imagination, but they seemed able to move better together now; her feet felt more sure of where to step now.
“Oh?” She asked before she could stop herself.
“Aye,” he affirmed, his expression a soft kind of unreadable when he explained, “there are few in attendance tonight so honest with themselves— and fewer still who are themselves so gentle.”
She was reminded of the way he looked at her when she helped the waitress, that unfiltered shock, and really, genuinely hoped that such commonplace courtesy was not that shocking, even as she knew the answer. “Then I should be happy to let you keep my company for yourself,” she replied despite the heat that flooded her cheeks, and he looked as though he wanted nothing more than to sigh in relief, “on the condition that you just call me, ‘Serella,’ my lord.” She clucked her tongue. “How many times must I remind you?”
“Perhaps a time or two more— Mistress Arcbane,” he replied, his bright eyes twinkling in mischief. “Though perhaps I would be more likely to remember if you might also eschew my title in kind?”
“But you have an actual title!” She argued. “It seems disrespectful not to acknowledge it.”
“I view you as my peer all the same.” He countered.
“In the interest of cooperation, I’ll drop the titles if you do the same.”
His smile returned, though warmer now that he was not trying to slip a message to her. When it was allowed to be genuine, she could concede that he was a vision, a handsome contradiction of soft angles and piercing earnestness. She had not noticed it before— or rather, had not looked beyond the superficial until then.
It could have been because they were dancing. It could have been because they were finally, comfortably friends that were working on building trust with one another. It could have been both of those things and more that she could not explain, but when he subtly tugged her closer to him to better slip between other couples dancing, she found herself fine with the lack of distance— and he made no move to part from her even after they had cleared the small cluster of couples. What was an ilm or two, she told herself in an effort to keep her heart from fluttering.
“Ah, there you are, my lord!” A woman’s birdsong voice called, and suddenly a daintily gloved hand was tapping at Aymeric’s shoulder.
As quickly as it happened the moment was lost, and Serella made the decision not to dwell on it; it was a dance between friends, and a warning duly delivered. That’s all it was. That’s all it was.
“Forgive me, my lady,” he said to the noblewoman— and Serella vaguely wondered if he had forgotten her name or if the title was deliberate. Though he kept a hand at the small of her back he turned to bow to the noblewoman, his mask of pleasant neutrality in place once more. “I had let the time slip past me. I owe you a dance, do I not?”
“Ohh, you remembered!” She swooned, a hand on her cheek. “I knew you would, my lord!”
“Of course,” he said amicably, and it was only then as he turned to face Serella that he withdrew his hand from her. “Pray forgive me for cutting our dance short.”
“Not at all— I should be checking in with the others besides,” Serella said, scrambling for a reason to just leave and have done with it. She bowed her head politely. “I thank you for the dance, my lord, and bid you goodnight.”
She might have just said his name if not for the concern for the implications such familiarity; they were friends, certainly, but the last thing she wanted was to make things complicated for him with pointless gossip. Well, that and it was just a little too amusing to poke fun in lighthearted jest. She hoped he understood, though she also suspected that he did.
“The pleasure was all mine; we should make the time for another dance on another night, perhaps,” he offered, and his hands came to wrap around one of hers and gently turn it to be cradled in the space between them. Her breath hitched at his forwardness, and she snapped to look back up from their joined hands to see him regarding her gently. “Thank you for your time regardless, and good night...Serella.”
Before she could properly process that he’d decided that the pointless gossip didn’t matter compared to their friendship, he bowed his head, and with a soft but wincing smile he took position with the noblewoman and let them both be swept back into the current of the ballroom. She stepped out, eager to find another glass of champagne and her original group to distract her from the way her heart skipped a beat or three when he said her name so softly.
He’s finally accepted you as his friend, that’s all, she reminded herself— and really, she very much reciprocated her appreciation for his friendship and trust. And despite Zephina and Haurchefant’s immediate ribbing and Estinien’s bafflement upon her return, Serella knew it was naught more than that, than their friendship settling into mutual comfort. When she unconsciously thought of the softness in his eyes and how they looked very much like polished kyanite when she gazed at them, it was naught more than that. It was naught more than that.
#I am as ever your shield#Serella Arcbane#Aymeric de Borel#Haurchefant Greystone#Estinien Wyrmblood#hi don't mind me I'm marketing toward myself with this one#but also just trying to establish that while there was mutual interest#they were both more concerned#with just learning how to coexist and work as friends#woo for writing and completing things!!! it's been a struggle lately ; ;#ffxiv#mild spoilers for 3.0
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fondness (kinds of love)
Tony Stark x Reader
Part Six of the Kinds of Love Series
Summary: you, along with the rest of the remaining avengers, have been invited to a stark charity gala. cue formal wear, a conversation with pepper potts and a surprise twist at the night’s charity auction.
Characters/Pairings: tony x reader, pepper potts, james rhodes, clint barton (mentioned), vision (mentioned).
Warnings: just a whole lot of fluff tbh
Word Count: 3,292
Prequel - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6 - Part 7 - Part 8 - Part 9 -
MARVEL MASTERLIST
You jumped slightly as you felt a hand touch the small of your back, but you relaxed into the touch as you recognized the scent of Tony Stark’s undoubtedly expensive cologne. You smiled softly as he leaned subtly into your side, pressing a flute of champagne into your hand. You accepted it gratefully, slightly relieved that he’d found you, and took a sip. The bubbles burst pleasantly on your tongue, and his breath tickled your jaw as he spoke quietly in your ear.
“Have I told you how amazing you look tonight?”
You hid a smirk as he stepped back to a more platonic distance, smoothing a hand over the skirt of your dress. Tony had surprised you a week ago with a private appointment with Tamara, one of the founding designers of Ralph and Russo, to choose a dress for tonight’s event. You’d picked an icy blue gown that matched the color of your force fields, with a natural waistline, elbow-length sleeves and a daringly plunging neckline. It’s pale material and elegant brocading complemented both your figure and your complexion, and while you’d normally object to such an expensive gift, tonight you were grateful for it. You wore it like armor, hoping that blending in with the rich and famous would help settle your nerves.
“You might have mentioned it.” you replied. “Once or twice.”
****************************************************************************************************
“You’re killing me in that dress, sweetheart.” Tony said as he took your hand. You followed him into the limo, taking a seat beside him and accepting the glass of scotch he offered. He leaned in to press his lips against your cheek, and you turned your head to catch them with your own in a fleeting kiss, your free hand cupping his cheek softly. He smiled when he pulled away, his forehead pressed against yours for a moment. “You look gorgeous.”
You grinned, wiping the faint stain of your lipstick off his bottom lip with your thumb. “You don’t look so bad yourself, Mr. Stark.”
Tony smiled at you over the lip of his glass, settling back against the seat. You tangled your fingers together with his, and he pulled your hand into his lap, his thumb caressing the back of your hand. “Are you ready for tonight?”
You shrugged, toeing off your heels. It was a long drive into the city, and you didn’t see the point of wearing them now; they’d just start hurting your feet sooner. Rhodey and Vision were already in the city, and would be sharing the limo on the way back, so you savoured the time you had alone now. “As ready as I’ll ever be, I guess.”
“Want me to take your mind off it?” Tony offered, the beginnings of a devilish grin on his lips.
“It’s tempting.” you laughed, leaning back against his shoulder. Your eyes fell to your intertwined hands, and you squeezed his gently. “It really is, but probably not the wisest idea.”
“You’re so responsible,” Tony teased, fingers touching your chin. He turned your head, arching your neck until his nose bumped gently against his. “It’s kind of a turn on.”
Your answering chuckle was cut off as his lips met yours in a long, lingering kiss.
****************************************************************************************************
“Well, it deserves repeating.” Tony chuckled. He offered you a reassuring smile as he noticed just how stiff you were. “Relax, sweetheart. It’s just a party.”
“Parties I’ve been to, Tone. They usually involve a keg. Not a black-tie dress code and a charity auction for one of the biggest relief organizations in the world. Call me crazy, but I’m pretty sure I’m a little out of my depth here.”
You were currently serving as one of the guests of honor at the annual Stark Industries Charity Gala, hosted in the Rooftop Ballroom of the St. Regis Hotel. Originally, the whole team was supposed to be in attendance, but now only those living in the facility with you were here to drum up donations to the Stark Relief Foundation.
Tony, ever the dutiful host, had been doing the rounds for the last hour and a half, schmoozing two hundred of the richest and most influential people on the planet with ease. You’d lost track of Vision and Rhodey in the crowd; they had undoubtedly been found by curious fans. You yourself had been approached by several people who were eager to meet one of the more elusive Avengers. You weren’t nearly as mysterious as Nat or even Clint, but you rarely spoke to the press yourself.
“C’mon, Y/N. You’re the unbreakable Barricade.” Tony said teasingly, lowering his voice as a few members of the press spotted the two of you together. He waved them over with the hand holding his drink and turned to stand beside you, his other hand slipping around to claim your hip. “What have you got to be afraid of?”
You leaned into his side and softened your expression into a warm smile as cameras began to flash. You spoke in a whisper to Tony, eyes on the press. “Depends on what you’re planning on doing with that hand.”
Tony laughed, his fingers briefly tightening on your hip. “Hey, I’m a gentleman, sweetheart. I’ll behave myself if you do.”
“Mr. Stark?” one of the press interrupted, recording device in her outstretched hand. She was pretty, with dark hair and full lips.
“Yes, dear?”
“You’ve been notably absent from most of this year’s social season. Any explanation as to why?”
“Sometimes you’ve got to work before you can play,” Tony said smoothly, charming smile in place. You felt his thumb brush against your hip, and held back a smirk. It was no secret, at least to you, that Tony preferred to spend his time alone with you than at huge social functions. “It’s unfortunate, but I’m sure we can more than make up for it tonight.”
“Barricade!” you started a little as a man to your left called out, and you felt Tony’s side brush against yours as he stepped in ever so slightly in reassurance. You fought the urge to take his hand in yours and turned your attention to the reporter. “Any comment on the rumors of a romantic relationship between the two of you?”
Tony cleared his throat. “We--”
“Tony has been incredibly gracious in inviting me into his home,” you said calmly, surprising yourself a little. You and Tony still hadn’t discussed exactly what you were to each other, and while that didn’t bother you, you’d known you’d inevitably be asked this question tonight. Tony’s eyebrow twitched as he looked at you; clearly he’d been trying to rescue you from being put on the spot, but he looked proud of you for stepping up. Even, mildly curious as to what you were about to say. “His dedication to the Avengers Initiative and its members -- past and present -- is something to be admired. I can’t thank him enough for giving me the chance to continue putting my abilities to good use.”
“Are you saying that everything is completely professional between the two of you?” another reporter asked skeptically, their eyes falling pointedly to where Tony’s hand still rested on your side.
“Not at all,” you said with a wide smile, and you could practically see every member of the press lean forward eagerly. Tony stiffened ever so slightly beside you, and you turned your smile on him. It softened to something more affectionate and genuine, and it was mirrored in his eyes. “Tony is one of the most amazing, kindest and selfless people I’ve ever met… I’d be an idiot not to call him a friend as well.”
The man beside you broke into a dazzling grin, and the cameras began flashing again as he pressed a chaste kiss to your cheek. You felt a blush beginning to burn on your cheeks as he pulled away, and you took another sip of you champagne to hide it. Tony fielded a few more questions with practiced grace before the group parted to let Rhodey push politely through.
Dressed in his military best, Rhodey gave you a jovial smile and a nod, clapping Tony on the shoulder. At the press’ behest, he moved to stand on your other side, pausing long enough for them to capture a few photos of the three of you before he turned to Tony.
“Sorry to interrupt the press conference. Tony, they need you on stage.”
“Ah, duty calls.” Tony sighed grandly, finishing his drink. You took the glass from him, and he shot you a quick, flirty wink before he turned to join his best friend, the reporters following in his wake. “Have fun, sweetheart.”
You breathed a small sigh of relief once they were gone, downing the rest of your champagne in the hopes of drowning your remaining nerves. You gave the glasses to a passing waitress with an empty tray, resisting the urge to shove your hands in the pockets of your dress. You did, however, take out your phone to check your messages. You smiled to yourself as you opened one from Clint.
“That was quite the sound bite you gave them.” You turned to see Pepper Potts standing beside you, her strawberry blonde hair pulled back in an elegant chignon. She was dressed in a long white gown that set off her skin perfectly, and you swallowed. You knew she was going to be here tonight, but you hadn’t expected her to speak to you. And a conversation with Tony’s ex-love was a little daunting, to say the least. You straightened your back slightly, self-consciously, tucking your phone back into your pocket. “I’m impressed. You handled the press like a professional.”
“All I did was tell the truth, Ms. Potts.” you replied, falling silent for a moment as Pepper waved over a passing waitress. She took two flutes of champagne from their tray with a gracious smile. You spoke again once the waitress had moved on. “I wasn’t trying to ‘handle’ anything.”
“It was a compliment, Y/N.” Pepper said kindly, handing you one of the glasses. She kept her eyes forward, focused on the stage. Tony was stepping up to the podium, shaking the hand of the man who’d just introduced him. “Being able to talk to the press is going to be a very important skill for you to have in the future, I imagine. And please, it’s Pepper.”
“The future?” you repeated warily. Her tone was difficult to read.
“As an ambassador for the Avengers.” Pepper explained easily, taking a sip of her drink. Up on stage, Tony caught sight of you and shot you a quick smile. “You and Tony are going to be spending a lot of time together.”
“Pepper…” you cleared your throat awkwardly. “Whatever you think is going on between me and Tony…”
“It’s okay, Y/N.” Pepper said with an amused smile. “Rhodey already told me everything.”
“That gossipy bitch.” you sighed, exasperated.
Pepper laughed lightly, shaking her head. The diamonds in her ears sparkled as they caught the light. “I think he was just trying to look out for the both of you. He doesn’t want either of you getting hurt.”
“Or you, I’d imagine.” you said, watching her out of the corner of your eye.
“True.” Pepper said simply. “He needn’t worry. And you don’t have to, either. Tony’s secrets are always safe with me.”
“Right…”
“I can’t really say I was surprised that the two of you… found each other. Tony did always like you.”
“Pepper, I know there a lot of rumors about what’s going on between us… about how long Tony and I have been… involved, and--”
“I know they aren’t true, Y/N.” Pepper assured you gently. She turned to meet your eye, her expression understanding. “For all his faults, Tony Stark is remarkably loyal. And I wouldn’t believe that of you, either.”
“Thank you,” you said softly.
“You did well, denying their allegations,” Pepper continued. “Tony, on the other hand, might have done less so.”
“What? You mean the kiss?” you asked, shrugging. “He does that with everyone, I don’t think--”
“Not the kiss. His breast pocket.” Pepper nodded towards the stage. “He might as well have worn a sign.”
You squinted slightly before your eyes widened as you saw what she meant. How you hadn’t noticed before, you weren’t sure. Tony was wearing all black tonight, set apart from the traditional tuxedos everywhere in the room. But in his breast pocket, his pocket square stood out in stark contrast; a pale, icy blue that matched your dress exactly. He must have asked Tamara for matching material.
“Tony…”
Pepper’s gaze returned to the stage as the others around you began clapping, and you did the same. Tony had just finished his speech, and was shaking hands with the auctioneer he’d just introduced. They exchange a few private words, and your eyebrow rose as Tony suddenly looked surprised. He gave the audience one last winning smile before making his way off stage. His eyes found you quickly, but instead of heading back down the steps and through the crowd, he exited out the back, out of sight. “Is something wrong?”
“A change of plans,” Pepper explained cryptically, and you caught her smirk as you glanced towards her. She finished off her champagne before turning to you. “I suspect Tony has a few questions for me at the moment. Excuse me, Y/N.”
“O…kay…?” your voice drifted off as she left, weaving her way easily through the crowd. Your phone buzzed in your pocket a minute later, and your brow furrowed in confusion when you saw Tony’s name on the Caller I.D.
You couldn’t help the way your lips quirked slightly at the photo that came up with it; it was one you’d taken a few weeks ago. You’d had an early class, and Tony had woken up just as you were about to leave. He’d sleepily asked you to come back to bed, and you’d smiled, snapped a photo of him still buried in the blankets and kissed his cheek before leaving. You swiped to answer, holding the phone to your ear.
“Hey, baby. Everything okay?”
“In a manner of speaking,” Tony replied dryly.
“Where’d you go?”
“I’m out by the elevators. Come meet me?”
You grinned, heading for the door. “Are we sneaking out early?”
“I wish,” Tony sighed. “I really, really wish.”
“Why? What’s going on?”
“My best guess is that this is Pepper’s revenge for all those years as my put-upon assistant. She denies it, of course.”
“I need a little more info than that, Tone.” you said, smiling at an older couple as you slipped past them.
“Turns out Uncle Sam’s favourite poster boy had been convinced by the Foundation to play courtesan tonight before… before he went AWOL.” he explained, clearing his throat. “A desperate bid from my staff to get the bids of rich divorcees, I guess. Of course, Rogers isn’t here, so Pepper signed me up as his replacement. Didn’t think she should have told me before now.”
“Translation?”
You stepped out into the hall and spotted Tony, as promised, leaning against the wall by the elevator doors. He had his free hand tucked into his pocket, his ankles crossed. He gave you a relieved smile as he spotted you, continuing the conversation in your ear as you approached. “I’m being auctioned off. For the low, low price of my pride, some lucky woman… or man… is going to buy themselves an all-expenses paid date with Tony Stark.”
You held back a laugh as you hung up the phone, coming to a stop in front of him. “Oh… I’m sorry.”
“Don’t you dare laugh at me, Y/N,” he muttered, straightening. You pressed your lips together to stop your smile. “You’re the one who’s going to get me out of this.”
“What do you want me to do?” you asked incredulously, tucking your phone back into your pocket. “Take a page out of the big guy’s book and wreck the place?”
“It’s seriously tempting, sweetheart. But, not what I had in mind.” Tony replied. “I need you to bid.”
“You need me to what?”
“Just… outbid the others. I’ll cover the cost,” he pleaded, stepping forward and closing most of the space between you. His gaze was imploring, and he took hold of your hands. “Please, Y/N.”
“Tony,” you said after a moment, glancing at the elevator as the doors opened. A few of the waitstaff wandered out, undoubtedly returning from their break, and you waited until they were out of earshot before speaking again. “If I do… this is going to make a statement. Are you okay with that?”
“Please, sweetheart.” Tony asked again, squeezing your hands. “You have no idea what these women are like…”
You sighed, returning the pressure with your own fingers. “You’re lucky I… you’re lucky you’re cute.”
****************************************************************************************************
“So much for our ‘professional relationship’ story,” you sighed, tossing your shoes aside. Tony chuckled, pulling you back against him. You rested your head on his chest, tucking your feet up on the seat, your skirt falling over them. Tony wrapped an arm around you, his hand coming to rest on your stomach. You covered it with one of your own, fumbling idly with his fingers. “The media’s having a field day.”
“I noticed,” Tony mumbled in amusement, kissing your hair. The press had followed eagerly after the two of you as you’d left the building; they’d been relentless since you’d won the bid. They’d practically tried to pile into the limo after you, and you finally let out a growl off frustration and thrown up a force field. One particularly excited camera man had bounced off it before the others had realized it was there. Tony had found it hilarious.
“Not that you were being real subtle in the first place, Iron Man.” you pointed out, reaching back to tug his pocket square out of his pocket. Tony chuckled, and you felt him shrug. “Why didn’t you just leave if you didn’t want to be bought?”
“Wouldn’t look good for the Foundation.” Tony said against your hair, and you felt his nose bump against your head. “Besides, it turns out I fetch a pretty handsome price.”
“Which you could have just donated. It’s your foundation, Tone.”
“True.” Tony replied. His hand curled in yours, his fingertips tracing the brocading over your stomach. “I also could have asked Rhodey to do the bidding.”
You rolled your eyes. “Then why didn’t you?”
Tony was quiet for a while, his silence contemplative. his finger tapped melodically against your belly.
“What we’re doing… what we’ve got between us… I don’t want to hide it.” Tony said quietly. “Being with you… I’m happier than I’ve been in a long time. Guess I don’t want to keep it a secret.”
You blushed, taking his hand between both of yours. You interlaced your fingers with his slowly, carefully. “And… what is it exactly? That we have?”
“What were you going to say before?” Tony asked after a moment. His voice was quiet, considering. “When you agreed to bid?”
You swallowed, tucking hair behind your ear self-consciously. “I… wasn’t going to say anything else. Why?”
Tony cupped your cheek in his hand, turning you around to face him. He smiled softly down at you, a knowing kind of look in his eye. He leaned down to press his lips to yours, his kiss soft and sweet and yearning. When he finally broke away, he pressed his lips against yours in a fleeting kiss, once, twice. His lips brushed against yours as he spoke, his fingers curling in a lock of your hair.
“Because ‘you’re lucky you’re cute’, too.”
.
.
.
AN: If you’re curious, the dress I based the reader’s on is here.
tags: @lovely-dreamer19 @wittyforachange @spacesuitsforemergency @wefracturedmotivation @january-echoes @glossyloner @fandoms-pizza-wifi-ym13 @magnificentmariposa @lol-you-thought @mikariell95 @csigeoblue @abrunettefangirlnerd @babyblues915
#tony stark x reader#tony stark x you#tony stark & you#tony stark & reader#iron man#iron man x reader#iron man x you#iron man & you#iron man & reader#the avengers#iron man fanfiction#iron man fanfic#iron man imagine#marvel#marvel fanfiction#marvel fanfic#marvel imagine#tony stark fanfiction#tony stark fanfic#tony stark imagine#the avengers fanfic#the avengers fanfiction#the avengers imagine#mine: fanfic
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