coworker!simon riley who barely speaks to anyone but always seems to notice you. he leaves a black coffee on your desk every morning with no note, no eye contact, just a low grunt when you thank him. everyone thinks he’s cold. you’re starting to think he’s watching you more than he should.
coworker!simon riley who fixes your computer when it crashes during a deadline, sleeves rolled up, veins in his forearms flexing while he types. he’s so close you can smell his cologne mixed with gun oil. when you try to make small talk he just mutters “you’re not as useless as the rest of them.”
fwb!simon riley who corners you in the supply closet the second the floor clears for lunch. he yanks your skirt up, drops to his knees and eats you out like he’s starving — thick fingers curling deep while his tongue works your clit until your legs shake. then he spins you around, pulls his mask down just enough and fucks you hard against the shelves, one hand over your mouth so no one hears you moan.
coworker!simon riley who glares at the flirty account manager when he lingers too long at your desk. says nothing, but his jaw ticks under the mask. later that same day he texts you one word: “office?” and you already know what’s coming.
fwb!simon riley who fucks you bent over your own desk after everyone’s gone home. papers scattered everywhere, your computer still on, his thick cock stretching you open while he growls low in your ear, “been thinking about this tight cunt all fucking day, sweetheart.” he keeps one gloved hand over your mouth the whole time so the security cameras don’t catch your sounds.
coworker!simon riley who walks you to your car in the parking garage every night “because it’s on his way.” his hand brushes the small of your back when no one’s looking. you both pretend it means nothing.
fwb!simon riley who has you riding him in the driver’s seat of his truck in the underground garage, windows completely fogged up. he grips your hips hard enough to bruise, guiding you up and down his cock while whispering filthy praise in that rough manchester accent, “that’s it… bounce on it just like that, filthy girl. take every inch.”
coworker!simon riley who still acts completely normal around the rest of the team — silent, brooding, professional. but the second the last person leaves, his eyes go dark and he’s already looking for the nearest locked door.
fwb!simon riley who fucks you slow and deep on the break room couch at 2am during a storm. emergency lights only. he’s got your legs over his shoulders, mask pulled down so you can see the scars and stubble while he stares straight into your eyes the entire time. he doesn’t pull out when he finishes — just stays buried inside you, breathing heavy against your neck like he never wants to leave.
coworker!simon riley who leaves hickeys on your inner thighs that you have to hide under your work pants the next morning. he catches you adjusting your clothes and the corner of his mouth twitches under the mask like he knows exactly what he did.
fwb!simon riley who sends you a text at 11pm during another overtime shift: “elevator. now.” when the doors close he’s on you instantly — pinning you against the wall, fingers inside you before you can even speak, growling “can’t fucking wait anymore.”
A/N: Huge thanks to @lokisgoodgirl and @simplyholl for their help in creating the concept and dialogue ✨🎄✨
The warmth of Steve’s chest radiated into your back as he hugged you from behind. You gripped the kitchen countertop as sweet kisses in the dip of your neck created an illusion of sweetness, a contrast to the sexual debauchery you had indulged in from the very moment you opened your eyes on Christmas morning.
He hadn’t bought you a present, he told you upon waking. But he had a package he knew you would like. Hours later, your real gifts were revealed nestled under the tree, wrapped to perfection in traditional red and gold.
“God, honey…” Soft lips hummed into bare skin, his grip on your hips firm as you pressed into the side of the kitchen counter. You felt his arousal against your lower back. He was already hard beneath his jeans.
“Steve, I literally don’t have any more in me.” You uncorked the Prosecco, the liquid spilling over your hand. He groaned. You turned to face him. “Besides, they’ll be here any minute.”
The scent of turkey filled the air as you opened the oven and placed the bird on the counter to rest. Candles flickered on the table, set for eight guests. Your dubious Christmas playlist streamed from Spotify and echoed through your small wireless speaker, placed on top of his 1940s radio. It looked the part but had ceased working decades prior.
Steve’s cologne filled your nostrils, fresh and expensive, as he snook up behind you whilst you set out the place names on the table. In one swift move you were against the wall with your arms above your head, pinned in place. Your soft white sweater fell to reveal a bare toned shoulder, the scar from your accident prominent on your collarbone. The door shook with rhythmic taps before Steve’s lips could devour your décolletage.
Your solider grinned like a boy and rushed to the door to greet his friend with wide open arms. “It’s good to see ya, Buck.” They closed the door before a bluster of snow dusted your mat.
The super soldier shrugged, blushing as he looked down at the reused takeout container in his hand, filled to the brim with his contribution to the potluck. “It ain’t perfect but it’s what we used to have in the forties, so.”
Steve’s eyes sparkled. “Brooklyn potato salad? Like your Mom used to make us?”
Buck relaxed and smiled wide. “Yeah! Made it myself though, I can’t recommend it. And I didn’t have any, umm, tupperwears so…”
“Potatoes and mayonnaise Buck. You can’t go wrong.” The men locked eyes in a silent understanding, Steve’s hand firmly on his friend’s shoulder. He pulled him into another hug. “It’s good to have ya, bud.”
Bucky stepped beyond Steve and to you. He wrapped his arms around you as though he was cradling a baby bird with a broken wing. “It’s good to see you lookin’ so well, doll.”
In one swift movement you took the plastic container from him and handed over a glass of Prosecco, sliding the potato salad onto the table. The deal was, you and Steve would make the Christmas turkey, plus ham with the trimmings. Everyone else would bring a dish native to their home country or region.
A surge of energy blew through the door, equipped with a huge cool box in one hand and a foil-lined hot food bag in another. “Hey all!”
“Sam!” Steve and Bucky rushed up to their friend, shortly joined by a lab wagging his tail. Only a presence as powerful as Sam’s could rouse Benny from his nap.
“Hey man, I remember you!” Sam dropped the bags, which you promptly scooped up, and petted Benny. He hadn’t seen the pooch – or his pals – since their time volunteering at the animal shelter a couple months back.
“Washington still treatin’ you well?” Steve asked, shoulders back and proud.
“Well, you know.” Sam shrugged. “Just glad to be home.”
Bucky frowned as he craned his neck to observe you unpacking umpteen perfectly-packaged glass snap-shut containers from both the hot and cold bag. “They teach you that in the army or what?”
Sam smirked. “Naw, that’s all Sarah, man. Got back from Louisiana and found a couple things I definitely didn’t pack in my suitcase.”
“Yeah? Thought you’d gone all fancy in DC,” Bucky grinned.
Sam rounded his friends and made his way to the kitchen in search of a beer, finding you with a glass of bubbly. He shook your hand respectfully. “I’ve heard a lot about you,” he looked over his shoulder dramatically, “and I mean a lot.”
The remaining soldiers congregated around you in the kitchen, prompting you to turn off the oven as it seemed rather hot in there all of a sudden. It certainly wasn’t the three tall muscular heroic men leaning against various counters and door frames that had you on the brink of bursting into flames.
“Christ Rogers,” Carrie blurted out on seeing the bevvy of male Avengers in Steve’s kitchen. You hadn’t even heard her come in. Her furry hat and tailored coat were covered in a dusting of snow and you could feel the cold radiating from her, even more so when you hugged her.
“You think they can handle haggis?” she whispered conspiratorially as she handed over her goods. Unpacking her items, you found she had also brought line-caught Scottish smoked salmon to cater for the less adventurous guests.
“You not gonna beat us up are ya, She Hulk?” Bucky said with a grin as he sipped his bubbly, a loosely balled fist grazing the side of her arm.
“Oh, I dunno. You cast a pretty mean figure sipping from that champagne glass,” Carrie replied wryly, one eyebrow quirking and both eyes rolling.
Sam guffawed and looked at Steve. “You know I like her, man.”
Your colleague Emily was next to arrive, rushing through the door in a swirl of snow and vegan shopping bags, her scarf whipping around her face. She attempted to blow it away with pursed lips, her hands full. You helped unpack the butter tarts, maple-flavoured pastries, pecan pie and timbits and loaded them onto the table. She plonked a carton of eggnog next to her pastries, then shook a pack of Kraft Dinner, the dry macaroni rattling inside the cardboard. “I’ll boil the kettle,” she insisted, taking care of it amongst a sea of helpful and insistent men.
You were perched on the edge of the sofa next to Carrie when the next guest waltzed in, an air of royalty about him as he stood politely at the door in a long black winter coat, tailored to skirt his lean tall frame. He finished his look with a forest green scarf. Carrie gasped on sight. Ancient hands clutched a gold gift bag, a bottle inside. “Greetings,” he said simply, appearing to float into Steve’s flat. He looked around, an unreadable expression on his face. You thanked him for the bottle and placed it on the table. It was thick beveled glass with an ornate serpent pattern snaking up the neck. A weathered brown label said simply, Asgardian Absinthe.
You smiled at the thoughtful gesture. “You know Steve and Bucky can’t get drunk, right?”
“Oh we’ll see about that.” He winked, his voice like hot honey over holly.
“Thanks for coming, Loki,” you smiled.
“It is clearly a feast of great extravagance.” He gestured regally with one hand, a smirk on his face and his tone dripping with sarcasm. “What a humble abode you have, Steven. Terribly on-brand.” With two hands clasped behind his back, he made his way into the kitchen curiously. He looked a little like Prince Charles visiting the grounds of a primary school. You chuckled to yourself at the mental image. Steve saw your lips curling up into a smile. He smiled back at you, then gently shook his head. You had agreed to be nice to the Asgardian after the apple fiasco. Or AppleGate, as you preferred to sub it.
It was twenty minutes before you heard a commotion outside. During that time, you distracted your guests with Iceland’s finest platter, spring rolls and samosas and breaded shrimp straight from the oven. The soldiers devoured them. Loki made a barb about ‘haute cuisine,’ though it didn’t prevent him from nibbling multiple jumbo shrimp and reaching over Emily for a dip of sweet chilli sauce.
“Bucky if you don’t come out here right now I swear to god!” Holly’s southern lilt drifted into the apartment through the glass, her silhouette the picture of comedy, umpteen bags and baskets covering her petite frame.
With a raise of his brows and a swift gulp of his bubbly, Buck rushed outside and helped his southern belle with her items. As you unpacked it all onto the table, she squeezed Bucky’s shoulder and asked him to get her a drink. She slapped him on the ass as he turned, before whispering to you, “Girl, I am feral.”
“You enjoying Bucky then??”
Her chuckle rang out through the apartment with a joy to rival Christmas bells. She helped you unpack the packs of food and started laughing. “Me showin’ up with like twelve dishes because how southern is that?? Look I made all this, I made a whole meal.” She threw her head back, blonde hair flipping back. “I’m country as hell. I’m just realising.” She projected her voice into the kitchen. “Bucky! Bucky! There’s more food in the car.”
Once it was all unpacked, she pointed to each item. Fried green tomatoes. Her Momma’s killer sweet potato casserole recipe which she makes when her Mom’s sick. Banana pudding and a blackberry cobbler. Sweet tea. And a bottle you didn’t recognise.
“Bitch that’s moonshine.” She giggled mischievously.
Bucky beamed, smitten by her combination of sweet southern gal and cheeky elf. “Aww baby you’re perfect.”
You looked at him, eyes wide, and mouthed, “Don’t, Buck.” Holl hated affection. It gave her the ick.
In a sea of chatter everyone sat down at the table, the men on one side, holding bottles of beer provided by Steve, and the ladies at the other. Loki and Emily sat opposite each other, the centerpieces in this new social circle.
You tucked into each other’s dishes, the potluck becoming a festive buffet. Loki eyed Sam’s contribution and failed to bite his silver tongue.
“You brought…. sandwiches.” His nose crinkled in judgement. “To a winter feast?”
“No man, they’re po’boys. What’s wrong witchu?” Sam dolloped fried shrimp into his baguette and topped it with lettuce and tomato, reaching into each container, each item packed separately. In a heartbeat another sandwich was ready and thrust onto Loki’s plate. “Take a bite and tell me it ain’t good.” Sam leaned back and folded his arms. “Go ahead. I’ll wait.”
The crunch of the toasted baguette matched the volume of a jet taking off as a hush descended on the table. Loki gave his verdict.
“I dare say it’s rather…. pleasant.” He felt the last word was spelled with an additional and unnecessary L.
Sam erupted in cheers and the life returned to the table. As you all reached over one another to grab more deliciousness, Loki eyed Carrie’s haggis which had been met with a lack of interest. The Asgardian immediately slipped his knife under a slice and slid it onto his plate. He glanced at your friend. “At least she brought something from her culture. Unlike the rest of you heathens.” He chewed on the meat and dabbed the corner of his mouth with a snowman napkin. “It’s very much like swine pudding. It’s customary at our winter feasts on Asgard.” Carrie and Loki immediately launched into a conversation about the crossover between Asgardian and Scottish culture. He poured her a drink of her choosing and opened his bottle of absinthe to a suspicious lack of fanfare. He favoured pouring everyone a glass and topping with soda and lemon, quietly sliding the tumblers next to each plate.
He provided Steve with a double measure. Loki looked at you and winked.
By the end of dessert, the moonshine hit the mortals and the Asgardian absinthe intoxicated the super soldiers. The crescendo of laughter, dirty jokes and calls of ‘Listen, listen….’ were at an all-time high.
“Bells end?” Bucky guffawed at the song on your Christmas playlist. “Did it just say bells end??? I know what that means!!”
Steve’s pal loved the lesser-known festive tune by The Darkness and was apparently up on modern British slang. Steve began to resemble the starry-eyed emoji, chin resting on his fists as he admired you across the table. He felt equal parts frustrated by the physical distance between you yet grateful for the vantage point. He always stepped back to admire paintings in Brooklyn museums in the early forties. This was no different. “She’s so beautiful,” he muttered to nobody in particular.
Five songs later, your boo tapped on the side of his glass. “Everyone! Everyone! I have an announcement!”
Loki sipped on his drink, his lips tugging up at the corner. The table hushed respectfully.
Steve gestured theatrically towards you before pressing the same hand to his heart. “We are…. we are in love!” The table remained silent, glances and furrowed brows the only form of response. “Alright, alright… listen, listen….” He cleared his throat and launched into the beginnings of a rousing speech.
“Oh, this is gonna be good….” Sam slurred. It had been way too long since he’d been privy to a Cap speech.
“We are gathered here today because it’s Christmas. And Christmas isn’t about the gifts and the decorations. It’s about friends. Family. And when we don’t have that sense of belonging, we lose a part of ourselves. And the only way back to ourselves is through those we love. I got lucky. I got my do-over. Most of us don’t get that shot. Doesn’t mean we don’t all deserve it.” He held his drink aloft as he spoke, a righteous finger pointing to his audience.
Steve became misty-eyed. Loki’s eyes glazed over.
“We gotta look out for each other. That’s the real fight. And it’s the fight of our lives. It’s a fight we’re gonna win. And if it’s a battle I have to face alone then so be it. But I’m willing to bet I’m not. We gotta go all in on the ones we love. Whatever it takes.”
Raised glassed and echoes of ‘Whatever it takes’ echoed around the table. Carrie excused herself to vape outside.
“Sam….” An uncharacteristically quiet Emily slurred, pouring another glug of moonshine into her eggnog. She nodded to a brown leather case leaning against the wall. “What’s in that leather thing….?”
“Oh you wanna know what it is?” He leaned back, arms folded. “Oh I’ll tell ya – ”
“Sam can you not hit on Emily please, I know she’s Canadian, and we all love a Canadian, but…” You trailed off, unsure of what your point was. Steve’s large thighs and crotch filled your view as he stood up from his seat. He soon stood behind you, hands massaging your shoulders. Your eyelids became heavy, closing under the sensation of Steve’s lips on your skin. When you opened them, Sam was stood up with a shield over his left arm, looking down at it proudly as Emily’s mouth gaped open.
“Is that… is that the shield?”
“Yeah. It is.”
“It isn’t….” Bucky mouthed to Holl, pursing his lips slightly.
Sam continued, his voice booming with enthusiasm. “Pretty cool huh?”
“Woah…..” Emily stumbled over to Sam and ran her hands over the top of the alarmingly modern vibranium.
“You know if you ever retire….” Sam looked over his shoulder at Steve. “I’m not sayin’ I wanna be Captain America, but….”
“If the shield fits!” You shouted over. The alcohol ignited the flames of your bad joke and prompted your tipsy friends to giggle and holler. You grasped at Steve’s forearm, hanging loosely over your chest as he continued to stand behind you and kiss your shoulder. You whispered, “Baby what would you even do if you retired?”
“What would I do? Oh honey…. I could think of a few things….” He bit down lightly into your skin.
“Drink makes Steve mushy and horny,” Holl quipped. Buck almost spat out his absinthe.
“C’mon doll.” He rounded the table and guided your blonde bombshell colleague to the sofa.
Carrie puffed on her vape as she walked outside and almost smacked into a tall figure smoking beside the door. “Loki?? I thought you were….” She craned her neck to look at the dark-haired Asgardian sat at the table, rolling his eyes at the poor jokes yet becoming interested in the imminent descent into debauchery.
“So tell me,” he began, ignoring her question as he puffed on an engraved wooden pipe with a sandalwood scent. “Which line from Rogers’ monologue caused you to almost regurgitate your food?”
“I almost lost it at the whatever it takes bit.” She mimicked a stoic American, nailing Steve’s mannerisms. Loki scoffed down on laughter. She couldn’t have known how he had, in the past, performed a similar impersonation.
He tapped his finger over his pipe, ash falling onto the concrete decking. “You must commend yourself on your restraint. I ceased the will to live after the first utterance of the word Christmas.”
“He’s full of shit.”
“Steven truly is insufferable.”
They both spoke at the same time, then looked at each other and descended into childlike laughter.
“So. Tell me.” Carrie began, borrowing the Asgardian’s words. “How does the duplication casting thing work exactly.”
Loki pursed his lips. With a raise of an eyebrow, he looked at her. He lifted his fingers, curled them, and a green mist ghosted from his fingertips and into her form and out the other side. A ghost of Carrie, a mirror image, walked through the door and back into the party.
“Now you can say you had a wonderful time and it won’t be a mistruth.” He gave her a wink, leaning against the wall and crossing impossibly long legs at the ankle. “I’ll have our duplicates roll their eyes at Steven’s terrible humour, lest they become suspicious.”
Inside, Emily continued to fawn over the replica shield, holding it over her own arm whilst Sam took photos of her with the Christmas tree in the background. Holly straddled Buck’s lap on Steve’s sofa, grinding into him, a blanket over both of them and hands in places you couldn’t see. Steve had taken a seat at the dinner table, holding you down on his lap as he ate your face. Carrie and Loki’s duplicates congregated in the kitchen in a deep discussion about eighteenth century literature and the finer points of modern-day erotica.
“Honey, I… I gotta have you….” Tipsy Steve’s libido was something else. It didn’t take any convincing to join forces and execute your plan with military precision – you would pack up the extra food for your guests to take home. Steve would call them a cab and thank them for coming. When the cabs showed up, Steve hugged each person, “I love you bud” for his friends and a “Thank you, you’re amazing, your food was amazing, we love you” to the ones he didn’t know as well. When all the guests had left, Steve hoisted you on top of the kitchen counter and pulled your sweater down firmly to reveal more of your shoulder.
“God, baby…. If I-I wait any longer, I’m…. I’m gonna explode, I swear to God….” He unbuckled his jeans and palmed himself with his hand, finding he needed no extra stimulation to be ready for you.
Breathless, you pleaded. “Steve, I need you…. please, baby…..
You could have sworn you heard someone clearing their throat. Steve slid into you none the less.
“I said I shall be leaving now.”
You both looked over at the figure stood in the doorway of the bathroom.
“Jeez, Loki!” instinctively, Steve pulled out of you. Loki quirked an eyebrow at the sight of the Captain’s appendage. He gave a nod, quietly impressed.
Loki’s tongue teased the corner of his mouth. “Lovely home, Steven. Thank you for your…. hospitality.” In a flourish, he left. You both waited until you heard the front door click shut.
“I mean we could have asked him to join us,” you offered.
“Not a chance, honey. I gotta have you all to myself. You’re mine.”
By the Steve had finished railing you, the sun had risen on Boxing Day.
It’s Foundations canon that Steve is unbearably horny after their reconciliation. It’s like the universe’s gift to her - he’s back, he’s healed (or healing), and he’s got the horn 24/7. A good man is hard to find, but a hard man is good to find.👌🏻
WARNING/S: Australian-isms, anxiety, bad mental health, Travis
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“OI!, you want me to thong ya?” Maddie snaps as Sebastian tries, and fails, to steal a piece of her honey chicken for the fourth time in ten minutes, making Chris to choke on his food and look at the pair with his eyes almost bulging out of his head.
“Not really, you bruised me last time” Sebastian tells her with a frown as he recalls what happened. She got him good too, the bruise stuck around for over a week.
“That’s what I thought” she says with a nod as she leans forward and gets her drink from the coffee table.
“What?!” Chris asks, his voice noticeably higher than normal, making her turn and look at him with a slight frown.
As soon as she sees the look on his face she lets out a loud snort, almost spitting her drink all over him.
“I’m sorry” she gasps, covering her face with her hands as she flops back on the couch, overcome by laughter.
“Flip flops. She hits you really hard with one, usually on your back. It fucking hurts” Sebastian tells Chris, clarifying what him and Maddie are actually talking about.
“Right” Chris says, clearing his throat and looking at Maddie while she wipes tears of laughter from her eyes.
“You thought we were talking about underwear” she says, pressing her lips together in an attempt to keep herself from laughing again.
“Well… yeah” he admits, making her snort before giving him an apologetic look.
She really isn’t trying to laugh at his confusion. Not that he minds. Hearing her laugh again after the week she’s had is like music to his ears.
To say it’s been hard would be an understatement. So much has happened in such a short time and it’s sent her flying backwards. Close to a years worth of progress all but gone in a single day.
And there’s nothing he, or Seb, can do to help her except be there when she needs them, which is basically all the time. Just like when everything first happened a year ago.
He feels so helpless not being about to make it all better for her. He hates it with a passion.
“What did you think I was gonna do, use my undies as a slingshot or something?” she asks as she snuggles into his side.
“Honestly, I have no idea. I just heard you talking about a thong and choked on my rice” he tells her, biting back a smile when she starts laughing again.
“I’m sorry. I’m not making fun of you, I promise” she gasps as she takes some deep breaths to calm herself.
“It’s OK. It’s nice hearing you laugh again, even if it’s at me you’re laughing at me” he says, slowly rubbing his hand up and down her spine.
She lets out a content hum at the soothing feeling of his touch before inhaling deeply and letting out a sad sigh.
“Do you really have to leave tomorrow?” she asks quietly, looking like she’s about to burst into tears at the thought of him not being here with her.
“I’m sorry, beautiful. I tried to move the meeting back again, but I can’t” he tells her, trying not to let the guilt he’s feeling show on his face.
He’d spent a good two hours yesterday afternoon on the phone with his his agent and assistant trying to get it rescheduled so he could stay with Maddie longer, but the producers refused. They had already changed it once, they were not going to do it again.
“S’ok” she says, wiping away the tears quickly welling in her eyes. She doesn’t want him to leave but at the same time she does, because she doesn’t want to be clingy, or let what’s happening with her affect his career. The project his meeting is for is an amazing opportunity for him. She wants him to take it.
“I know you’re scared” he says, gently wiping away the escaped tear running down her cheek with his thumb before kissing her forehead.
“Not with you” she tells him, smiling a little. She hasn’t felt this level of calm, or safe, with anyone, not even Sebastian.
“Do you wanna come to LA, stay with me until you go back to work?” he asks quietly. He would not mind having her stay with him for a bit. In fact, he’d quite enjoy having her in his home.
“Don’t want to leave Seb” she whispers, making Chris realise he isn’t the only person whose safety she worries about.
Of course she worries about Sebastian’s safety, why wouldn’t she? He was the one there for her since this all started, the person that triggered Travis’ outburst in the first place. Chris cannot even begin to imagine the the thoughts she’d had about it.
“I’m sorry” she mumbles, tearing up again as she starts feeling guilty for rejecting his offer.
“You don’t have anything to apologise for, I promise. I can come back after” he tells her, hoping to ease the anxiety she’s feeling, the anxiety showing all over her face.
“Really?” she asks, looking at him a little surprised. She wasn’t expecting him to say he’ll come back, he’s already extended his stay by another week.
“If you want me to” he says, nodding.
She bites her lower lip a little. She wants to say yes so badly but she doesn’t want to be needy.
She wants to be strong. She needs to be strong, for herself.
“I’m gonna come back” he tells her, making the decision for her so she doesn’t feel bad about it.
“Thank you” she whispers, feeling like a weight’s been lifted off her shoulders in an instant.
He leans forward and gently kisses her nose, pulling a long, content hum from her as she scrunches up her nose the way he finds adorable before pressing another kiss to her forehead.
“You wanna go to bed. Movie and cuddles?” he asks her quietly, very aware of Sebastian watching them from the kitchen.
It’s the first time Sebastian’s really had the chance to see them interact as a couple and even though he trusts Chris, he’s still extremely protective of Maddie, even more than he has been in a while because of Travis’ stunt at Central Park.
He’s actually had to remind himself multiple times throughout this past week to stay back when something happens and his first instinct is to go to her because she’s been actively seeking out Chris for reassurance over him.
Not that he’s upset by it, the complete opposite. He’s relieved that she’s starting to transfer a lot of the emotional reliance she’s had on him, especially her feeling of safety, to Chris. But he would be lying if he said it hasn’t been easy letting go.
It’s going to take some time adjusting to the fact she doesn’t need him the same way she has for the past twelve months. He suspects this is what a parent might feel like when their child is moving out and becoming independent.
“Can I bring my chicken?” she asks, not trusting one of her favourite meals with Sebastian.
Chris can’t help but let out a soft laugh at the way she cradles the take out container in front of her with hope in her eyes. He loves seeing her like this, her only worry being protecting her food from her best friend and roommate, not everything else that’s been swirling around in her head the last week.
“Only if I can have one” he says, not meaning it at all.
She moves the chicken around with her fork, stabbing the smallest piece she can find and holding it up to his mouth.
“I feel special” he says quietly as he bites the piece of chicken from the fork and chews.
A soft smile spreads across her face as she nods.
“You are” she tells him, her eyes never leaving his.
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❦ thinking about cheater!simon begging you not to leave ❧
simon drops to his knees so fast it rattles you, mask shoved up, his whole body trembling like he’s about to shatter. he’s huge, terrifying, dangerous—and yet he looks small here. small because he knows he fucked up. small because he’s begging.
“please,” he rasps, voice breaking as his hands spread your thighs wide. he’s already trembling with need, clutching at your skin like you might vanish, like you’ll walk away and never look back. “fuckin’ please, just let me have you. i’ll be good. i’ll do anything, love. anything to prove you’re still mine.”
he presses his mouth to you, tongue dragging slow and desperate. his groan rumbles deep, almost guttural, like he’s starving—like this is the last meal he’ll ever have. every sound you make only drives him further, hands digging into your hips to keep you there, to keep you his.
“sweetest thing i’ve ever fuckin’ tasted,” he mumbles against you, words wet and ruined. “don’t take this from me. don’t—fuck, don’t push me away. let me stay here. need you drippin’ down my chin. need you all over me. every day. only you.”
you tug at his hair, your thighs shaking around his head, but he only whines, clinging harder, grinding his face against you like he’s possessed.
“please, angel. please. i’m addicted. can’t stop. don’t want to. not when it’s you. not when i’ve already lost too much.”
he looks up at you once—eyes dark, pupils blown wide, lips shiny with you—and it’s the filthiest, most reverent thing you’ve ever seen. a monster of a man on his knees, begging like he’ll die if you don’t let him make this right by drowning in you.
A/N: Thanks to those that are sticking with this story it means the world. It’s meet the parents day on Pursued. I think you will know who these actors are but if not Im happy to explain. I hope you enjoy this chapter.
Summary: Henry & Hope film with legends and Hope gets emotional.
Word Count: 7.4k est
Warnings: 🟡 MILD Scripted discussion of kidnapping and sexual assault -🌹Scripted dialogue will be in this font and bolded, like this. If you want to skip any filming scenes, it should be easy to scroll down.🌹(Warning Page)
TLC TV & Film Recording Studios - Sussex Coast - England - May 2019 -
The first meeting with the on-screen parents had been brief and formal, apart from Ken and Hope sharing a long hug. From just that one embrace, Henry could tell the two of them were fond of each other and why Hope was so excited to be working with not only a legend but an acquaintance.
Sir Kenneth Branagh and Hermione Norris were portraying ‘Livvy’s’ parents, and Nigel Havers and Amanda Redman were playing ‘Spencer’s’. Nigel had joked with Owen and Rachel, questioning if they were sure Henry’s character could be his, as he could not grow a beard like Henry’s.
The two sets of parents had gone on to film their scenes together, without Henry and Hope, whilst they were busy being styled and getting their hair and makeup done. Once ready, it was time to film with the four iconic actors, and Henry was equal parts honoured and nervous.
Henry enters Studio B with Kal by his side, strolling over to his designated seat and unhooking Kal’s lead and collar, placing them on his blanket. There were now four more named seats beside his, Hope's and Matt’s empty ones. He reads the names; despite their quick introduction, it still had not fully sunk in, and Henry had to applaud his boss’s abilities to gather four of the finest actors into one show to play Spencer and Livvy’s parents. All four of whom were currently talking with Owen and Rachel.
The latter waves her goodbyes and heads back to Studio A to film scenes with Matt. Henry hears the studio door reopen, and Hope, Felicity, and Poppy all enter smiling and chatting. They soon come over to where he and Kal are standing, and he smiles at the three women as Kal nudges Poppy’s legs to get her attention, and the brunette starts petting him.
“Are you sure that the bump isn’t too tight? I’d hate for you to put your back out.” Felicity asks Hope.
The blonde places her Spurs reusable water bottle in one of the chair pockets and her phone in the other. She smiles at Henry before turning her attention back to the two brunettes.
“It feels fine, Felicity. It’s not exactly comfortable, but it’s only going to be for a couple of hours. If I need it loosened or a break from it, I’ll let you know.” Hope says, giving them a reassuring smile.
Henry admired her determination to wear the prosthetic bumps without complaint. He had carried several of them for Bec and Hope. The fake, final stage bumps had been rather heavy. He didn’t envy Hope having to wear them daily for several months. Although they were nearing the end of their flashback scenes sooner than expected.
“Poppy, Flic, how are we doing?” Owen asks from his position with the four actors playing their on-screen parents.
“Darcy and Lottie are ready to go.” Felicity tells their boss, using his and Hope’s codenames.
Henry pats his thigh and whistles to Kal, who gets up and stands beside him. Henry, Hope, and Kal make their way to the lounge set, where everyone is sitting in position, waiting for the scene to start. Hope directs Kal to sit beside the two-seater sofa and gives him a couple of reassuring strokes.
She walks the short distance to stand beside Henry, where they are greeted by Mark, one of the sound engineers, who passes Henry a large, heavy tray full of mugs of tea.
“This is for you, mate; don’t drop ‘em. They actually have hot tea in for a change.” Mark tells him, and Henry takes a secure hold of the tray. Mark, Katie, and Dean finish double-checking the cables on all the sound and camera equipment.
“We’re good to go.” Katie shouts over to Owen as she bends down to pick up her heavy camera, placing it on her right shoulder.
“Thanks, Katie. We will do two complete run-throughs to gather all the dialogue, and then we will reshoot close-ups after. Ethan, you can call when you're ready.” Owen looks over to Ethan from his position at the director's desk.
Lifting the headphones from around his neck and placing them over his ears. Ethan delivers the scene info and then yells, “Action.”
That's Henry’s cue to walk into the lounge area, which he does with a steady hold on the tray. Thankful Kal, who’s lying in front of Hope’s feet, remains still as Henry moves towards the small coffee table in front of the larger of the two sofas, where all four parents are seated, placing the tray down.
“Everyone’s drinks are in their usual mugs.” Henry delivers the first line of dialogue for the scene. He picks up two mugs and moves over to sit next to Hope on the two-seater sofa, passing her one of the mugs.
“There you go, Sweetheart. Decaf, one and a half sugars, and extra milk, just how you now like it.” Henry leans over to kiss the side of Hope’s head. It wasn’t in the scene directions, but it felt like a natural gesture that Spencer would do to his wife.
“Thanks, Spence.” Hope replies with a soft smile that didn’t reach her eyes.
Henry watches as Dean is pulled along on a runner. To obtain a long shot of the room. Returning to the middle of the room, opposite where the two sets of parents are sitting, to continue filming.
“Not that we don’t love seeing you all in the middle of a weekday. However, the look on both of your faces has me, and I suspect everyone else in the room, worried. What’s going on? Is there something wrong with the baby?” Amanda asks, looking over to her fictional son with a concerned tone in her voice.
“The baby is fine, Mum. She’s reaching all her measurements, and just like Etta, a right fidget bum.” Henry speaks with a tone of reassurance in his voice. Placing his right hand over the fake bump on Hope’s stomach, moving his hand in a circular motion.
“Did something happen at the firehouse? Livvy, are you unwell?” Kenneth asks, directing the latter part of his question to his on-screen daughter.
“I’m fine, Dad; everyone at the firehouse is fine.” Hope lifts up a hand in offer of reassurance.
“We have something to tell you, and we know it will be upsetting. But we need you all to try and stay calm for Etta’s sake and for the baby’s sake. She can pick up on my stress levels. We need you all to listen to what Spence and I have to tell you; then you can ask questions, okay?” Hope speaks her line with a hint of nervousness and uncertainty in her voice; Henry suspected she wanted to convey ‘Livvy's’ feelings. She turns her head to look at him, and Henry moves closer to Hope so that their thighs are touching.
“Ready, sweetheart?” Henry asks, and Hope nods.
Henry places both their mugs on the coffee table and wraps his right arm around Hope’s waist. He rests his hand on her baby bump, running soothing circles over her tummy.
“For the last few months, at least the last five for certain, I’ve…” Hope pauses. Henry takes her hand with his own and entwines their fingers, giving her hand a supportive squeeze.
“Okay?” He asks, and Hope nods again, her eyes darting from his face to the direction of the sofa.
“We’re being stalked.” Hope’s voice trails off, showing ‘Livvy’s’ distress, and tears fall from her eyes.
“It’s Livvy who is his main focus. Whoever this guy is, he has an infatuation with Livvy. Etta and I happen to be in some of the pictures.” Henry delivers probably one of the most important pieces of dialogue for the scene.
The sound of Owen shouting ‘Cut’ fills the room. The scenes pause and reset for the delivery of the next several lines.
“The only thing we know about him is that he always ends his message with the same line: ‘You’ll always be pursued.’” Hope speaks with clarity, but a deep tone of sadness resonates in her voice.
Henry squeezes their entwined fingers.
“What does that even mean?” Hermione asks, looking directly at her on-screen daughter.
“We don’t know, Mum. We have been trying for weeks to work out who he is and what he wants. We have no clue, and that’s what makes the whole situation even more unnerving.” Hope bites her bottom lip, trying to convey the emotional struggle that her character was trying to control.
“Whatever you need. We are here for you. We can take Etta for you if that helps, or you can come to stay at ours; he might not know where we live.” Kenneth speaks his line with the air of calmness and eloquence of a seasoned performer.
Hope does as the screen directions ask and shakes her head at his suggestion.
“No, Dad. We can’t do that. There is no way we would ever risk putting any of you in danger. I’m his target. It’s me he seems to be fixated on. It’s terrifying enough that he knows what Spence and Etta look like. I wouldn’t want him to know where you live as well, and as for Etta. I can’t have her somewhere else other than with us, not yet anyway.” Hope recites her lines with a firm voice, implying that no one dares to disagree or question ‘Livvy’s’ decision.
Dean brings the camera in towards Hope’s face, getting a close-up to show the shadow of emotions across her tired face.
“Whatever you need. We are here for you, all of you.” Nigel speaks, looking between Henry and Hope with an expression of disbelief on his face. They continue the scene with extra reshoots.
When they are finished, Hope makes her way to her trailer for a costume change and a make-up session with Joss, who had just arrived on set with the girls. Ready for their scenes with Henry and their fictional grandparents. Henry takes the girls for an introduction with the four adults before everyone goes for their own costume changes.
*An hour and a half later *
After everyone had received a costume change and a hair and make-up refresh. It was time for Hope to be bump-free and unveil her rather brilliant, yet realistic, graphic make-up done by Joss. The brunette finishes smudging the mixed blue, green, yellow, and black make-up under Hope’s eyes.
“You’re all done,” Joss says as she cleans her fingers with a make-up wipe.
“Do you want to take a look now or when you get on set?” Joss asks, and Hope sees the look of concern on her best friend’s face.
“Now, if that’s okay? I’d rather know what reaction to expect from the others.” Hope looks up at the brunette, who stood beside the make-up chair Hope sat in. Joss spins the mirror over to reveal the glass, and Hope finally sees her reflection.
“Bloody hell, Joss, that looks scary but realistic! You’re incredible.” Hope reaches out to touch Joss’s hand.
“It has to be the hardest piece of make-up I’ve ever done. I’m not sure I’m going to enjoy doing this to you week in, week out.” Joss reveals.
Hope squeezes the brunette's hand again at the look of displeasure in Joss’s sky-blue eyes.
“You can, and you will, Joss, because there is no one I trust more to make me look like this.” Hope speaks firmly. Giving Joss a slither of a smile. Whilst trying not to damage the hard work she had just finished completing on her face.
“I need to take a pic so Poppy has a reference for consistency,” Joss explains, picking up her phone from the make-up table and pressing a button on the screen.
“Can you look straight ahead, please?” Joss asks, and Hope does as instructed as the flash goes off three times. “Perfect, all done.”
There’s a knock on the make-up trailer door. Hope and Joss look at each other silently, questioning who could be at the door. Poppy and other members of Joss’s small team were busy doing the hair and make-up for the four actors portraying Livvy and Spencer’s parents. Joss had completed Henry’s touch-up over half an hour earlier. So he had been looking after the girls, whilst Joss focused on Hope’s make-up.
“Who is it?” Joss asks, shouting through the door.
“It’s Henry; if you’re still busy, I’ll come back in a bit.” The two women hear the deep tone of his voice reply.
“It’s okay, Hun, let him in.” Hope looks up at her best friend, who nods at her before walking the three steps to the door, Hope standing as she hears the door open.
“The girls are back on set with Kal; Felicity is with the three of them.” Henry looks at Joss, informing her of the location of her daughters.
“Thanks for taking them whilst I did this, Henry. I’ll give you both a couple of minutes alone. I'll shout when we’re radioed back onto the set.” Joss speaks softly, and Hope hears Henry say thank you.
Henry enters and closes the trailer door behind him. Once she knows they are alone, Hope turns around in the swivel chair and stands up. Henry sees her for the first time, and Hope catches a hint of shock flicker in Henry’s blue eyes. They stand in silence as Henry takes in Hope’s battered and bruised appearance.
“I don’t know whether I want to hug you or punch the nearest wall. Fucking hell, Joss is incredible at her job.” Henry mumbles as his eyes continue to scan over Hope’s face.
Hope glances down to see Henry’s right hand clench and unclench three times. She reaches out, taking his hand in hers, giving him a reassuring squeeze. Hope lifts her hand, placing it over Henry’s cheek, her fingers going through his untamed beard.
Henry had been reluctant at first to not trim for a couple of days, in case it affected the continuity of filming. With Owen and Rachel’s reassurance and explanation for the need to have ‘Spencer's’ beard unkempt, he had agreed. Thus, for the next few days, he was planning on not trimming his beard and embracing ‘wild Henry’, as Lucy had called him when she had seen him look this way for the first time.
“I’ll take the hug.”
Henry moves and puts his body flush against hers. His strong arms slide around her body, his left arm around her lower back and his right around her shoulders. Hope feels Henry bend down, his beard-dusted chin resting on her shoulder, and his warm breath tickles the skin of her neck. They stand in silence, taking in the support that the warm embrace offers them both.
“Are you ready to see Lucy? Fuck, if I’m a shaking mess seeing you like this, how is a three-year-old going to cope?” Henry asks, lifting his head off Hope’s shoulder and raising his hand to show it was trembling.
“Joss and I have both explained to Lucy about me pretending to have ouchies at some point. I heard you with Lucy as Joss and I were leaving to do the make-up. What you said to her. How you explained Mummy was going to make me look a little sad, as if I’d had a fall and got ouchies on my face. But they were not real and were part of acting. Like how she pretends you and I are her Mummy and Daddy. It was perfect, Henry.” Hope compliments Henry, cupping his beard cheek.
“She’ll be okay, and if she’s not. We will explain it to her again, together.” Hope rubs her hand up and down Henry’s lower back.
“Come on, let's go and get these scenes filmed. We need to see that beautiful face of yours A.S.A.P.” Henry gives Hope a squeeze.
Henry moves away from their embrace and opens the trailer door, holding out his hand to help Hope down the stairs. She takes the offered hand. Squeezing it so he knows she appreciates the gesture.
Hope’s left eye was made up so much it made her eye look almost closed. She was grateful for the help since it made the contact in her eye a little blurry.
Hope and Henry slowly make their way over to the filming studios. Henry, insisting they take their time. Despite Hope’s assurance, she was fine walking without holding onto the arm Henry had offered her. She could feel his large palm resting on the small of her back, reminding her the offer to assist her was still there if she changed her mind. A kind gesture she greatly appreciated.
“Auntie Hope, Auntie Hope,” Lucy calls out the moment she sees them enter Studio B, where the scenes in the dining area were being filmed. The three-year-old runs towards them, Kal following behind his current favourite human. They meet halfway, and Hope bends down to crouch on the balls of her feet to be at eye level with Lucy and Kal. Henry crouches down, copying Hope.
“You have ouchies. Do you want me to kiss them better?” Lucy asks, and Hope’s heart melts at the thoughtfulness of her goddaughter.
“Do you remember what Mummy, Henry, and I said earlier about my ouchies not being real?” Hope questions the little girl, placing her hands on Lucy’s legging-covered hips. The little girl nods her brown curls bouncing around.
“That the ouchies are preeeetend.” Lucy replies, dragging out the last word as she nips at her bottom lip.
“That’s right, sweetie. The ouchies don’t hurt, so I don’t need kisses to make them better. But I’ll still have a big cuddle.” Hope suggests, and Lucy gives her a big smile and flings her arms around her neck, hugging Hope tightly, causing her to get a mouthful of Lucy’s curls, making the blonde giggle.
As they hug, she feels the softness of Kal’s nose prod her left elbow. Hope moves away from her cuddle with Lucy as Kal nudges his large head into the small space between the two. Hope sees Henry place his hand on Lucy’s back, ensuring the large dog’s nudges didn’t leave the little girl unsteady on her feet. Kal looks at Hope, making eye contact with her. She can tell that the large dog, who was so clever at reading people’s emotions, was studying her face to see if her new appearance was causing her any distress. Kal then turns his head to the side slightly to give Henry a questioning glance.
“It's okay, Kal, Mummy’s face doesn't really hurt, see.” Hope finds Henry’s choice of words a little strange. Yes, she was ‘mummy’ on set for the girls. She wasn’t sure why Henry chose to refer to her as Mummy to Kal. She’s pulled from her thoughts as Henry's hand reaches her cheek, cupping the side of her face gently. Hope tries to smile at the gesture.
Henry removes his hand, and Kal nudges his head into Hope’s chest. She wraps her arms around his neck and places her hand on the side of his large face, giving him a few reassuring rubs.
“You’re a sweetie, Kal. I’m okay, I promise.” Hope presses a kiss to the fur at the top of Kal’s head.
“I do hope Kal isn’t licking off Hope’s make-up.” Hope hears Owen say, as he approaches them with a relaxed smile on his features,. Although Luke was officially directing the family scene, that did not stop him or Rachel from observing their work being created.
“Of course, he isn’t. Our Kal is a good boy.” Hope strokes Kal’s head whilst glancing at Henry, who has a glimmer of a smile on his soft lips.
“There’s Mummy and our littlest leading lady.” Owen declares. Hope turns her head to the right to see Joss entering the recording studio, pushing Grace in her pram. Returning from giving the baby a feed.
“Sorry about that. She’s all fed, burped, and changed; hopefully, she’s full. She seems to need bigger feeds now.” Joss explains with an apologetic smile. Hope and Henry both stand, and Hope sees Owen reach out to give Joss a reassuring pat on the shoulder.
“Joss, what have we said about apologising for feeding Grace? You must never justify needing to nurture your baby. We work around you and the girls; yours and the girls' health and happiness are our priority. You do whatever the girls need; we can always wait.” Owen gives Joss a kind smile and removes his hand from her shoulder. Hope really liked how everyone in the crew was so supportive of her best friend caring for her baby.
Henry moves from beside Hope and walks over to where Grace is lying in her pram.
“Come on, my littlest princess, cuddle time.” Henry speaks to the baby as he leans into the pram to scoop her out. It was scripted for Henry to hold Grace throughout the scene. As ‘Livvy’ would be in a lot of pain, recovering from her injuries suffered from her kidnapping and rape.
The two sets of parents were already sitting around the kitchen table, where they were talking amongst themselves. Kal, who had somehow known where he needed to be, was resting in the corner of the room. Having a little snooze, much to Henry’s delight. Henry sees his four co-stars all turn their heads at the sound of Lucy’s voice as she continues to do what she does best: bombard Henry with questions.
Once Henry and his three leading ladies reach the kitchen and stand by the kitchen table next to Nigel, who is placed in the seat closest to where the three of them were standing. Henry crouches down, holding Gracie securely to his chest using his right arm; he reaches out with his free hand to place it gently onto Lucy’s cheek.
“Luce, you’re going to be sitting on Nigel’s lap for this scene, okay? When it’s time for your lines, Luke will shout ‘cut’, and I will whisper your lines to you. Like me and Auntie Hope usually do, okay, princess?” He asks the little girl, who nods against his hand. Her brown curls bop up and down as she moves her head to confirm she understands. Henry smiles at the toddler and removes his hand from her face.
“Up you get, Lucy.” Nigel speaks softly to the little girl, who glances at the older man, then turns to look at Henry for reassurance.
Henry nods to confirm it was okay and stands.
Nigel scoops Lucy up by the waist and sits her sideways on his lap so she is facing the cameras, and Henry is still in her line of view. Nigel begins talking to his on-screen granddaughter. Once Henry sees Lucy lift her head up and give him a smile, he looks over to Luke and gives him the thumbs up, and the scene starts.
Ethan holds the large fluffy microphone over the middle of the table, whilst Katie and Dean, with cameras in hand, settle into their positions. Katie’s sitting on a runner to pan around the table, and Dean’s to the side of Henry. Ready to capture him and Gracie leaning on one of the kitchen worktops, opposite the dining room/kitchen table, where Lucy and the on-screen grandparents are sitting.
Henry glances over to the open kitchen door, where a bruised-looking Hope is standing, waiting to enter the scene.
Luke shouts ‘Action’, and Dean moves his camera closer to Henry to capture his reaction to the dialogue taking place at the table.
“Has Livvy said much since she came home, Spencer? Hermione, his on-screen mother-in-law, asks, a look of worry on her face.
“Not much. Other than when she is asleep. She refuses to leave the girls alone, and I don’t blame her. Although that does mean we haven’t had an opportunity to talk about what happened. That’s even if she actually remembers.” Henry looks down and moves his head closer to Gracie’s to portray that Spencer was getting comfort from holding his baby at this difficult time.
“The doctors did say she was likely drugged and suffered at least two blows to the head and a concussion. It might take a couple of weeks for her memory to come back.” Nigel speaks his line whilst looking up at Henry, giving him a look of reassurance.
“I’m not sure I want Livvy to get her memory back. Maybe it’s for the best that she doesn’t remember.” Kenneth answers with a deep feeling of anger and sadness in his voice. Which makes Lucy look over at her other fictional grandfather. A sense of pride washes over Henry that Lucy had remembered her scene directions.
“Cut!” Luke shouts, and Henry bends down, making sure to support Grace’s tiny head.
He goes eye level with Lucy and tells her the couple of lines she needs to say. Reassuring her that she can ask him if she forgets any of them. Henry gives the thumbs up, and the scene starts again. Katie tilts her camera towards Lucy, who looks up at Nigel. Luke calls “Action”, and Lucy starts repeating the words Henry has told her.
“Grandpa, why is Pa sad?” Lucy questions as Katie moves the camera in for a close-up.
“Pa is worried about Mummy. She’s got a nasty bump on her head, so she can’t remember things very well.”Nigel explains softly as he tilts his head close to Lucy's, rubbing her back to try and comfort her.
“Does she remember me?” Lucy questions, looking directly at Nigel, who gives her a smile.
“Nothing will ever make Mummy forget her Etta and Millie.” Nigel delivers his line with a soothing expression on his face, and Lucy looks at him with her ‘remembering look’. Henry and the crew had named it to explain facial expressions to the three-year-old.
“Does Mummy remember Daddy?” She asks, and that was Amanda’s cue to deliver her line.
“Of course, she remembers Daddy too! You three are Mummy’s precious ones. She will always remember you, Millie, and Daddy, no matter what.” Amanda reaches out, placing her hand onto Lucy’s cheek.
“Cut.” Luke calls from his director's chair. ”Great job, Lucy.” Lucy waves at him; it seems she loved getting praise from their director.
“Once more to do the angles, please.” Luke instructs, and the cameras are shifted into their new positions, and they deliver the lines with ease.
When the scene is over, the cameras are shifted, and a little while later, the filming resumes with Hope entering the kitchen.
“Sweetheart, you shouldn’t be attempting the stairs by yourself.” Henry says, walking over to where Hope is standing by the door.
“You should have rung your bell by the bed. I would have come and helped you downstairs.” He places his arm around Hope’s shoulders, and they walk back to where he and Gracie had been.
“I can walk down a flight of stairs by myself, Spence!” Hope delivers with the sharp tone that it requires. Hope then winces, holding the left side of her stomach, and reaches out with her hand to rub Henry’s bicep. “I’m sorry, Spence, it’s the pain meds. I didn’t mean to snap.”
Henry gives her a reassuring nod of his head. He reaches out with his hand to take Hope’s and gives her hand a gentle squeeze.
The scene’s cut so cameras can be repositioned. Henry bends down to talk to Lucy, telling her the next few lines and scene direction. After a few minutes, Luke shouts “Action”, and the scene starts again.
“Mummy, Mummy!” Lucy shouts, trying to wiggle out of Nigel’s lap, but he stops her as per the scene directions.
“Not yet, Etta. Mummy might need to sit down before you can give her a cuddle. She has lots of ouchies at the moment.” Nigel speaks softly to Lucy, rubbing her back gently.
“Come and take a seat, Liv; you might still get dizzy from standing up.” Kenneth speaks as he stands up and gestures to his on-screen daughter to take a seat.
Katie takes three steps back to allow her to follow Hope and Kenneth’s movements. Kenneth places his hand on Hope’s shoulder, making her flinch at the touch. Kenneth conveys an emotional look of heartbreak.
“Sorry, Dad.” Hope replies with sadness in her voice and tears filling her bruised-covered eyes.
“It’s okay, Livvy. You sit down next to Mum and rest.” Kenneth places his hand on Hope’s shoulder and guides her into the empty seat. Henry watches as Hermonie reaches out and takes Hope’s hand.
“Are you hungry? Do you want a cuppa?” Kenneth asks, delivering his next line as Hope shakes her head.
“Sweetheart, you need to at least have something to drink. Especially if you want to continue breastfeeding Millie. Remember what the doctors said: you need to keep hydrated to produce milk.” Henry looks over to Hope, who nods.
“Okay, I’ll have some water. I don’t think my mouth can handle hot drinks yet.” Hope replies, sadness lacing her voice. Dean moves the camera further towards Hope’s face to capture her expressions.
Kenneth grabs a glass from the side cupboard and goes to the sink, filling it. He comes back and passes it to Hope, who takes it with shaking hands. The scene’s cut and restarted several times, giving Henry the chance to tell Lucy her next lines.
“Grandpa, can I sit on Mummy’s lap now, or will her ouchies hurt?” Lucy asks, looking up at Nigel, her bright sky-blue eyes sparkling as she speaks.
“I’m sure Mummy would love cuddles, but remember Mummy has ouchies on her tummy, so don’t squeeze too tight.” Nigel glances over to Hope, who nods at what he says. Nigel lifts Lucy off his lap, and she walks the short distance to stand next to Hope.
“Pa will help you up, Etta.” Kenneth tells Lucy, who puts her arms out, ready to be lifted. Kenneth picks her up, placing the toddler onto Hope’s lap. Hope lets out a painful wince to emphasise Livvy’s hidden injuries. The scene is cut, and Hope tells Lucy her next set of lines.
“Why do you have ouchies, Mummy?” Lucy asks, lifting a hand to touch Hope’s bruised cheek.
“I had an accident whilst I was away.” Hope replies with ‘Livvy’s’ half-truth.
“Did you fall down?” Lucy plays with Hope’s hair as she says her line.
“It was a different type of accident. But every day I'm back home with you, Millie, and Daddy. I feel better.” Lucy smiles at Hope’s words. Just how Hope had asked her to.
“We will look after you, Mummy.” Lucy places an unscripted kiss on Hope’s cheek.
The conversion moves on, and the scene is completed, taking a little over two hours to film.
Later In The Afternoon*
“Did Joss and the little ones get off okay? Lucy looked exhausted.” Hermione asks Hope.
The pair are sitting in their respective cast seats, chatting as the crew finish rearranging the cameras, microphones and other pieces of equipment for the next scene, which would take place in ‘Millie’s’ nursery set. They were moving things around to make it easier for Dean, Ethan and Katie to have better access to film the scene between Kenneth and Henry.
For their afternoon shoot, Hope, Hermonie and the two men had been filming in a variety of combinations, some as the four of them or a trio, and now in pairs. Hope and Hermonie had finished a mother/daughter scene in Spencer and Livvy’s bedroom.
Although they were currently finished for at least the next hour. Both women had gone for costume changes and toilet breaks before meeting back up fifteen minutes later. They had decided to grab a quick cuppa and a couple of biscuits and bring them back to the set. Giving them the opportunity to watch the two men share one of their longest scenes together. Hope bends down, reaching out to stroke Kal’s soft fur, whilst he relaxed on his blanket with his head resting against Hope’s outstretched legs.
“Yes, they did. Lucy was already asleep by the time I got her placed in the car seat. She tired herself out today.” Hope reveals with a fond smile, holding a sleeping Lucy and Grace was still one of her favourite things to do. She would never tire of cuddling her ‘nieces’.
“I’m not surprised. I don’t think many three-year-olds have as much acting and lines to do as Lucy has.” Hermione speaks in a hushed tone, turning to look at Hope. "I have to say, I do admire how you and Henry are able to get little Lucy to deliver her lines the way she does. It's very impressive.”
“Thank you. She may be my family, but it’s been much easier for me because of Henry. He’s the one that deserves the praise for how he has developed such a strong bond with her before I came to the show. It’s the sole reason Lucy is able to do what she does so well. Joss thinks the hours Henry spent talking and playing with Lucy in-between takes and their time together during lunch breaks have built a stronger connection between them. Now we and the show are reaping the rewards of Henry’s time and effort.”
Every word of praise was true. Hope had spent many telephone conversations with Joss, where her best friend had told her how amazing Henry had been with Lucy.
“I’m predicting it now; Lucy will be a scene stealer; both girls will be.” Hermione declares, and Hope nods in agreement.
“I have a feeling you’ll be right.” Hope sees Owen walk from the nursery set and go to his director's chair. Where he had taken over from Luke to direct the next scene.
Hope hadn't actually been needed on set and had been at the restaurant getting a cup of tea at the time. Upon her return, she didn't know where they had got to in the recording of the scenes. Owen calls action, and Hope watches the scene between her on-screen husband and father unfold.
When the scene starts, Hope realises this is the scene that had caught her eye when she had first read the scripts. She never thought she would actually be on set to witness it being filmed. It’s when the scene restarts for the fourth segment of the dialogue that Hope hears the emotional tone in Henry’s usually calm, deep voice that draws her full attention.
“Spencer, you don’t need to be folding clothes and rearranging Millie’s nappy drawer. She has more than a month's worth there. Why don’t you come downstairs? Have some lunch and play with Etta before Millie wakes up, Livvy needing another feed.” Kenneth speaks softly. He reaches out to place his hand onto Henry’s shoulder, and Hope sees Henry flinch.
“I need to get Millie’s clothes organised for the next couple of days so that Livvy won’t need to move around too much. Then I need to sort the dirty laundry into piles. You head down and get yourself and Mum some drinks. I’ll be down in a bit to get Etta’s lunch organised.” Henry's voice sounded soft and as if on autopilot.
Kenneth squeezes Henry’s shoulder; it was scripted for both Spencer and Livvy to refer to each other’s parents as Mum and Dad, emphasising how close they were with each other’s families.
“Spencer, please stop. This can all wait. Mum and I can do things like this for you. We are here to help you too, Spence, not just to help out with the girls. You need to stop and rest, or you’ll burn out, and then you’ll be no good for any of your girls.” Kenneth squeezes Henry’s shoulder again, and Katie moves her camera up slightly. A cue for Henry to lift his head. He glides his hand through his soft, messy curls.
It’s then, for the first time, Hope and the camera see Henry’s blue eyes full of tears.
“I need to be doing things, Dad, please just…” Henry’s voice cracks, and tears flow out of both Henry’s eyes. Kenneth uses his hand on Henry’s shoulder to manoeuvre the younger man around to face him.
“Cut.” Owen’s voice breaks through the silence, and the cameras and sound equipment are rearranged. Once completed, Owen shouts ‘action’ again.
“Come on, Spence, sit down for a minute.” Kenneth delivers his line; the shorter man guides Henry to take a seat on the large single armchair.
Katie bends down onto her knees, moving her camera to be level with Henry’s face. Lewis remains standing, capturing their movements and facial expressions from a side view. His brother, Dean, was at his side, holding the large microphone above Henry’s and Kenneth’s heads.
“Cut!” Owen calls out.
Hope hears Henry sniff, knowing the noise would be caught on the microphones. Owen lets out “hmmms” and “yes” as he watches the playback of what had been recorded so far.
“Need a tissue, Henry?”
Hope looks back over to the set at the sound of Kenneth’s voice, and she sees Henry shake his head. He reaches into the front pocket of his jeans and pulls out a tissue. Hope guesses he had placed it there in preparation for the scene. She was surprised at how Henry could cry with such ease. She knew he was a great actor from the little she had managed to watch of his work. But she had not seen him have to portray such emotion before.
Hope notices he chooses not to wipe the tears away. Choosing to instead blow his nose. He stands, walking to where the changing table is, and throws the tissue in the small wicker bin that’s beside it. He goes and sits back down, ready to start the scene again. Hope sees him take a deep breath and close his eyes, no doubt readying his salty tears.
Everyone replies with a variety of “yes” or “yes, boss”.
The scene starts again. Hope finds herself immersed in the acting masterclass she’s lucky enough to witness.
“I should have done more. I should have never let Livvy out of my sight. I wanted to stay at home that day but didn’t. ” Henry looks straight into the camera, ‘Spencer’ too ashamed and upset to look his father-in-law in the eye.
“I should have made sure she didn’t need to go to the shop when I was gone. I should have known not to leave her alone. Everything that has happened – it’s all my fault, Dad. I’m so sorry for failing your daughter, for failing your granddaughters. I hope, one day, you’ll be able to forgive me.” Henry speaks with heartfelt emotion as tears continue to stream from his eyes in a steady flow.
“Spencer, you can’t keep thinking of the should-haves. We all wish we could have done more; no one blames you for what happened to Livvy.” Kenneth says, his voice calm and steady.
“You couldn’t be there every second of every day; you haven’t failed Liv or your girls. You were there for your daughters when they needed you the most, and for Livvy. You've been there for all of us, for that matter. We are proud of you, Spencer.” Kenneth pats Henry on the shoulder, a gesture not in the script, and Henry turns his head to look up at his co-star.
“I should have insisted that we leave town as soon as we knew he was stalking Livvy. What that prick has done to my wife, your daughter… It's unforgivable. Our vows said love and protect. Look at what he did… I should have done something to prevent it, Dad. I fail…” Hope sees Henry turn his head to look directly into the camera to give them a clear and full shot of his face, his eyes red and tears streaming down his cheeks.
“Cut!” Owen shouts. After the fourth time filming the shot, Owen speaks again.
“We are going to film until the end of the scene for a continuity shot. Are you okay to keep tearing up, Henry?” He asks, and Hope feels Kal nudge her knees. Hope suspected he was concerned at seeing his Daddy crying. She bends down, rubbing the soft fur on his neck.
“It’s okay, Kal. Daddy’s only pretending.” She whispers into Kal’s black fur-covered ear, kissing the top of the dog's head. He rests the left side of his head into her calves as she continues to stroke him, to offer Kal some reassurance.
“Starting from the last line, please.” Owen instructs as the scene restarts and Hope, Hermonie and Kal continue to watch.
“I should have done something to prevent it, Dad. I failed her.” Henry repeats the last line as he looks straight ahead at the camera in front of him.
“I don’t know how we’re supposed to get past this. What he’s done to Livvy. I don’t know how I’m meant to help her. She’s in so much pain, not just physically, but emotionally.” Hope’s heart ached at the depth of emotion Henry was putting into the scene. His voice sounded so deep and raw, the weight of ‘Spencer’s’ turmoil seeping through.
“Hearing her tell the detectives what he put her through, the things he did to her. Livvy can barely look at me; she flinches at my touch. I hear her crying in her sleep. I reach out to comfort her, and she shakes at my touch. How am I supposed to help my wife if I can’t even give her the comfort of being held in my arms without terrifying her?”
Henry lets out a heart-wrenching sob, tears falling down his already tear-stained cheeks as he buries his head in his hands.
Hope feels tears prick at her own eyes as she watches Kenneth squeeze his fictional son-in-law's shoulder and Henry continues to cry. After several long minutes, Owen shouts ‘cut’, and Henry and Kenneth leave the set and make their way over to where she and Hermonie are sitting.
Kal is up in seconds, instantly nudging at his Daddy’s legs to check if he’s okay. Hope glances down to see Henry giving the large dog a reassuring stroke. She watches Henry turn and look at Kenneth.
“I pray I never have any reason to have that conversation in real life. Any husband that has to say those words to his wife’s father, well, I respect and pity them. It’s awful.” Henry says, wiping his cheek.
Hope tries to tilt her head away from Henry as he goes to take his seat beside her. He stops in his tracks and looks at her. Hope glances down for a moment but soon feels Henry’s index finger under her chin. Lifting her head up to look at him as his blue orbs scan her very watery green eyes.
“Sweetheart, are you crying?” Henry looks at her with concern etched on his face, making Hope feel guilty for worrying her co-star.
She nods as another tear spills from her eye. Before it has a chance to fall down her cheek, she feels Henry’s thumb go under her eye and capture the stray tear. Wiping it away. Hope allows Henry to cup her cheeks in both his hands, and he brushes away the remaining tears with his thumbs.
“Are you okay, Hope?” Kenneth asks from his position standing by his own chair, water bottle in hand.
“I’m fine; you ridiculously talented bastards made me cry and gave me goosebumps.” Hope reveals, lifting her arm to show the goosebumps on her skin.
“What you both did out there was incredible. I don’t think I’ve had the opportunity to witness anything like it before. I know you’re one hell of an actor, Ken. But what you did in that scene together was something else. As for you, Henry, I’ve not had the chance to see you portray such emotion on screen before. It was an honour to watch, even if you’ve turned me into a blubbering mess.” She feels a couple more tears fall from her eyes, and Henry wipes them.
“That’s very kind of you, Hope; thank you.” Kenneth says, giving her shoulder a gentle rub.
“Thank you, Hope, and I’m sorry I made you cry. I don’t like seeing those pretty green eyes spilling tears.” Henry wipes another tear from her cheek with the pad of his warm thumb.
“I’m glad you were not here earlier. I fear my scenes with Nigel would have set you off too, and I’d have hated to be responsible for making you cry twice.” Henry looks at her with an apologetic look.
Henry put his arms around her shoulders, pulling her towards him.
Hope snakes her arms around his muscular waist and rests her head on his equally toned stomach. She feels the fingers of his hand run through the back of her loose blonde hair.
“Thank you for letting me stay and watch the scene, Hen.” Hope mumbles softly into his stomach.
“Anytime, sweetheart.” Henry places a kiss onto her hairline and rests his chin on the top of her head as they continue to hug. If the scene had made Hope cry watching it being filmed, she suspected it would be an emotional scene for the audience too.
A visual of what ‘Spencer’ looks like…. because why not?
Loki's fingers trailed over your bare thigh then paused to gently squeeze the soft flesh. You wore a lazy smile as Loki lay stretched next to you, until you suddenly winced and gasped. You cried out in pain and flinched away. Startled, Loki sat up quickly, trying to find the source of your distress. He looked down at his hand. It was blue. Your skin where he touched you was burned. "Darling, I-" he looked to your face. It was twisted in fear. You were afraid of him.
Loki woke in his bed. His bed. He was alone. It had been one of the rare nights he didn't stay with you, and for once he was grateful. He shut his eyes and tried to push the dream away. It was hard to forget the fear in your eyes. He glanced out the window. It was early morning. He might as well get up.
While his tea steeped Loki wallowed in his shame. He had never told you what he was. He should have made it known. It felt deceitful. Norns, he had taken you to bed without telling you what he was. You certainly deserved better than that.
Thor came down the stairs and found Loki still at the table, now with a cold cup of tea. They passed their normal morning greetings and Loki watched his brother rifle through their cabinets for breakfast.
"Thor, I need to ask you something."
"Yes?" Thor did not look up from the cereal he was pouring.
"How did you react, when you found out about my true heritage?"
Thor chuckled. "To tell you the truth, I was much more distraught over your recent death."
Loki sighed. "Yes, certainly, but aside from that?"
Thor looked over at Loki. "Why do you ask?"
Loki looked at Thor and there was only silence.
Thor's shoulders slumped. "Oh, Loki."
He rubbed his forehead. "I know."
Thor's brow twisted in confusion. "How is it even possible, after all this time?"
Loki shrugged. "It simply never came up."
Thor shot him a skeptical look.
"Perhaps I guided our conversations away from certain topics." Loki muttered and fiddled with his idle tea.
Thor stood pensive for a moment. "Don't worry yourself over it."
"I lied to her."
Thor scoffed. "You didn't. And besides, are you not the God of Lies? I imagine she is willing to forgive some dishonesty."
Loki glowered at the table. "I should have told her what I am."
"She knows what you are. It's your lineage she's made some assumptions about." Thor stated firmly as he sat down across from Loki. "To answer your question, it didn't change the way I thought of you. It changed the way I thought of the Jötnar." He took a bite of his breakfast. "Though it did shed some light on a few of your actions."
Loki couldn't bring himself to look at his brother. The wasted tea held his attention instead.
"I think, perhaps, you should see her this morning. I can do without you for a few hours."
Loki's heart wrenched at the thought of facing you with this. However, he recognized he couldn't avoid it. You should have known already. "I think that's wise."
**
As Loki trudged down the road to your home he tried to identify exactly how he was feeling. He knew, deep down beneath everything else, that you would love him regardless. Somehow that made it worse. You wouldn't have the context to understand what he had kept from you. He wouldn't be able to explain how despicable it was, and you would dismiss it like was nothing.
Despite knowing logically that you would still have him, there was still a part of him that feared you wouldn't. He remembered your terror from his dream. A small, ugly voice in his mind said you would be right to fear him. He deserved to lose you. He never deserved to have you in the first place.
He stood on your porch and hesitated for a moment at the door. He took a breath then stepped inside. You startled on the couch, but your surprise quickly gave way to a smile.
"Loki?" You set your coffee down and stood. "What are you doing here? I wasn't expecting to see you until dinner."
He kept his distance and avoided your touch. "I needed to speak with you."
Worry crossed your face. "Okay."
He gestured to the couch and you took your seat. After a moment of deliberation he sat beside you. "I haven't told you everything about myself."
"Well, that's a relief. I haven't told you everything about myself either." You attempted a weak smile.
Loki shook his head. "This is something important." His voice stalled out. He suddenly wasn't sure where to begin.
"I think you should just tell me." You said quietly.
He nodded and pushed forward. "Do you recall, I told you of the time I fell from Asgard, into the abyss?"
You nodded.
"My fall, I didn't-" He looked down. "It was... intentional."
Your face fell and your hands reached out, grasping him, as if you could catch him now. You dear creature.
"It's alright, it's alright." He gathered your hands as you clung to him. You started to say something but he stopped you with a shake of his head. "The reason for my fall is what I need to tell you." He found himself looking down at your hands, turning them over in his. "There were many reasons, I suppose. But I had traveled down a sort of spiral into madness. This spiral was triggered, largely, by a revelation about my heritage." He finally found the wherewithal to meet your eyes. "I am not Asgardian."
Your brows were knitted as you processed this. "So... Thor?"
"We are not brothers by blood. Odin found me abandoned as an infant and raised me as his son. I was born on Jötunheim." He swallowed. "I am Jötunn."
"Oh." You ruminated on this for a moment. "Okay."
He looked down again. "Forgive me. I should have told you sooner."
"Hey, it's fine." You bent in an attempt to meet his line of sight. "It's really okay. I came to terms with having feelings for an alien a long time ago. It's really not much of an adjustment to switch from one alien to another."
He shook his head. "You don't understand. The Jötnar, they are savages. Enemies of Asgard. The monster in every children's story."
You grabbed his face and forced him to look your way. "You are not a monster."
"I tried to kill them." He was surprised by the weakness in his voice. "I meant to destroy the entire race. I would have, if Thor hadn't stopped me. Is that not something a monster would do?"
He expected to receive your disgust. Or possibly your fear or your anger. Instead your face bent in sympathy. "Destroy the enemy of Asgard? It sounds like something an Asgardian would do."
Loki closed his eyes.
You settled back against the couch, pulling him with you. "Obviously the stories are wrong, Loki. You bought into the propaganda. I'd expect more from a god of lies."
He allowed you to bring his head to rest against yours, against the back of the couch. "Your clemency is too easily granted. This should have ended with you sending me away."
"Loki, the first time I saw your face was on television, attempting to subjugate my planet."
"All the more reason."
"Hm."
He rested with you in silence, your fingers stroking his hair.
You eventually ventured a question. "I didn't think Jötuns looked like Asgardians."
Loki winced. This was something he had hoped to avoid, at least for now. "They don't. What you see is shape-shifted. This isn't the form I was born to."
There was another beat of silence. "Can I see?"
He had hoped you wouldn't ask, it was the last thing he wanted, but he certainly couldn't deny you. "You may not look at me the same way."
"Don't be ridiculous."
He dreaded the thought of you seeing him in that form. Still, you had been deceived, and you deserved the truth. He sighed and sat up, facing you. "I did warn you."
You straightened and watched him with anticipation.
He closed his eyes and felt his form shift. He expected to hear a response from you. A gasp, or a flinch. There was only silence. Eventually, he found the courage to look at you, with eyes he knew were now blood red.
You were looking at him with wonder, and reached out to trace a raised line on his cheek. "It's a lovely shade."
"It's hideous." He muttered.
You pursed your lips. "Loki, I think you might be racist."
"If it weren't for my magic," he spoke sadly, the memory of his dream resurfacing, "my touch would burn you with cold."
You took his hand and brought it to your lips, placing a kiss to his fingertips with a slight smile. "Then I'm very grateful for your magic."
He found the sight of his blue skin against yours too unsettling, and shifted back to his usual shape. "How can you be so unfazed by all of this?"
"Oh, I'm fazed, for sure. We definitely have a lot to talk about. But like I said, I had already come to terms with the alien thing. I assumed there would be a few surprises."
That sounded rational enough, even if part of him still struggled to believe it. He leaned back, and this time you followed him until the both of you were reclined on the couch. He threw an arm around you and sighed. "It is unreasonable to be this tired so early in the day." He looked down at you. "Do you have work to do?"
"It can wait. What about you?"
"It can wait." He echoed.
You settled in against him. "So, you're only a prince by adoption?"
A smirk curled his lip, despite himself. "Actually, I'm the rightful king of Jötunheim."
"Oh, that's great news." He heard the smile creep into your voice. "I thought I would have to kill Thor to become a queen."
That drew a chuckle from him, and he could sense you were pleased with yourself for it.
He looked up at your ceiling and his mind swam. You had given him a lot to think about. There were things that needed to be addressed. Deep-seated beliefs. Ideas of who he was. His concentration was pulled away by your fingers toying with a strand of his hair. It drew his focus to you instead. You were still his. He felt a deep gratitude for your reassuring weight against him. Yes, there were important matters left unresolved, without question.
They could wait.
Previous Chapter | Masterlist | Next Chapter
Thrown Tag List If you would like to be added or removed from the tag list please leave a comment or send me a message/ask.
I guess I should make an actual masterlist since I have three whole titles now. Maybe one day I'll even make it look nice with a header or gifs or something.
I write for Loki, my fics will be reader inserts and will have happy endings unless otherwise stated in the summary or tags.
AO3 Link
Series
Thrown (complete)
Fluff, Comfort, Mutual Pining, Mild Angst
After freeing the timelines Loki steals a tempad and joins Thor in New Asgard. He does his best to avoid the humans who live nearby but there is one human making that difficult.
Oneshots
What Ails You (3.4k words)
Tooth-rotting fluff, Pining
Living in the Avengers tower, Loki is your closest friend. You struggle with your feelings when you want more than friendship.
The Cold-Blooded Prince (1.7k words)
Pining, Humor
You are hopelessly infatuated with the younger prince of Asgard. He doesn't seem to be aware that you exist.
Tag list beneath the cut.
Loki Fic Tag List
If you would like to be added or removed from the tag list please leave a comment or send me a message/ask.
After the timelines have broken free, Loki decides that all he wants is to join Thor in New Asgard. With a stolen tempad he travels to a timeline where the previous Loki died at the hands of Thanos. Now Loki helps his brother in rebuilding a home for the displaced people of Asgard while simultaneously learning to live a universe where it feels like this is the last place he should be. He wants nothing to do with the humans living nearby, but one in particular is not getting the message.
****
Takes place after the events of Season 1 of the Loki series, in a timeline where the Snap was prevented. Slow burn female reader insert fic.
This story is complete.
Loki Fic Masterlist
AO3 Link
Chapter 1: New Neighbors
Chapter 2: A Ride and a Wager
Chapter 3: Fighting Words
Chapter 4: A New Perspective
Chapter 5: A Lie and a Secret
Chapter 6: What Others Make of Us
Chapter 7: Sea legs
Chapter 8: Summer Rain
Chapter 9: A Long Day
Chapter 10: An Excuse to Indulge
Chapter 11: The Witching Hour
Chapter 12: Any Port in a Storm
Chapter 13: Work and Leisure
Chapter 14: Stars and Stories
Chapter 15: Earthen
Chapter 16: Selecting Titles
Chapter 17: Retaliation
Chapter 18: Chill
Chapter 19: The Tempering Flame
Chapter 20: The Rabbit and the Tree
Chapter 21: Moving Forward
Chapter 22: Worthwhile Confrontation
Chapter 23: Lodestar
Chapter 24: Ensnared
Chapter 25: A Fire Within
Chapter 26: The Longest Nights
Chapter 27: Resolve
Chapter 28: The Light in the Dark
Chapter 29: Storm and Shelter
Chapter 30: Two Sides of a Coin
Chapter 31: A Failing Strategy
Chapter 32: Guilty Pleasures
Chapter 33: The Tales We Tell
Chapter 34: Under the Weather
Chapter 35: Twisting Branches
Chapter 36: Lessons
Chapter 37: The Rainbow Bridge
Chapter 38: A Feat of Strength
Chapter 39: A Quiet Life
Chapter 40: Foolish Mortal
Chapter 41: Eating Crow
Chapter 42: Cautious Restraint
Chapter 43: A Perfect Fit
Chapter 44: Birthright
Chapter 45: Absence
Chapter 46: Lokabrenna
Chapter 47: A Winding Path
Chapter 48: Myth and Mortal
Chapter 49: This Could be Home
Chapter 50: Threads of Fate
Chapter 51: Solstice
Chapter 52: World Enough and Time
Blurbs
Little vignettes that didn't fit in the main story.
#1: Pop-Tarts (originally posted between Ch. 12 & Ch. 13)
#2: Image Manipulation (originally posted between Ch. 18 & Ch. 19)
#3: Card Shark (originally posted between Ch. 33 & Ch. 34)
#4: Fanfiction (originally posted between Ch. 44 & Ch. 45)
Now with its own concept album! Thanks to @loopsisloops for this wonderful Thrown soundtrack.
Taglist beneath the cut.
Thrown Tag List
If you would like to be added or removed from the tag list please leave a comment or send me a message/ask.
Pairing: Alpha Curtis Everett x Omega Female Reader
Word Count: ~4.5k
Summary: Curtis has been volunteering as a foster alpha for three years now. He's never seen a case this bad...
Warnings: Heavy angst (with an eventual happy ending), past abuse (not Curtis), alpha/beta/omega dynamics, physical scarring, extreme sexism (both external and internal), adult themes, self-coercion, non/dubcon elements (no sex), therapy, trauma, explicit language, the slowest burn I've done yet. I really struggled to warn for this one, so please let me know if I missed anything! All of my work is 18+ - Minors DNI
Dividers by me this time!
Series Masterlist
Masterlist
A/N: Please don't hate me! 🫣
A huge thanks to @bigtreefest for talking through so much of this with me. The crux of this chapter is something I've been thinking/talking about since the very beginning.
Any comment, reblog, or ask to let me know what you think will be greatly appreciated. And if you need to come scream at me, that's ok too!
As always, thank you so much for reading! 💜
He was staring at you, this male omega. A small notebook was poised on his knee, and he balanced a pen between his fingers on top of it. He had a neat, pretty bite mark on his neck. You wondered what sort of alpha he must have. There’d never been any male omegas at either of the compounds you’d lived at. Nor female alphas. Real alphas were male. Real omegas were female. That’s just the way it was.
You didn’t say anything to him. Your eyes were on the clock. You just needed to make it to the end of the hour.
Yona called this omega, David, a therapist and said he was someone you could talk to. Sure. He (or more likely, his alpha) just wanted to get your secrets. They all did. You weren’t sure what exactly he was after, whether it was the compound, or the one you grew up in, or maybe the alpha you were with now. Whichever it was, it didn’t matter. You weren’t going to say anything. Good omegas never revealed their alpha’s business, whether that was your father, Franco, or Curtis.
Curtis. That was the alpha’s name, and you were allowed to use it. You were allowed to do so many things. You could go anywhere in his house that you wanted. You could eat any of his food, whenever you wanted. You could choose what to do with your days. And when you cleaned or helped him cook, he said thank you. And he’d never punished you. Not once in two weeks. He was the best alpha you’d ever met. This was the best place you’d ever been.
So, of course, you’d spent the last week trying to figure out how to stay here. No one had less power than an unbonded omega. Not that you’d ever had much power in Franco’s house, but at least he’d bitten you. At least he’d claimed you as his. That’s what you needed from Curtis to truly become comfortable in his home.
You’d expected it a thousand different times during your first week with him. And when nothing had happened, you started to worry. You didn’t have any frame of reference for an alpha who didn’t take his omega (or really, any omega) immediately. But when you’d finally asked him (after you’d attacked Claude and somehow, someway, you hadn’t been punished), Curtis’s answer had floored you.
He’d told you that he saw you as a person, and that you should get to decide what happened with your body. He wanted it to be your decision, when you were ready, to give yourself to him. You’d never even imagined anything like that. You wondered if this was what respect felt like.
But that begged the question, were you ready? It was all you’d been able to think about for the past week. You weren’t sure. You’d never had to know that about yourself before. But you could make yourself ready, couldn’t you, if it meant you got to stay here with this kind alpha?
Your thoughts were interrupted by the sound of David flipping the cover shut on his little notebook. “Alright,” he said softly, with a gentle smile you wouldn’t fall for. “That’s our time for today. I understand that it’s going to take some time to build up enough trust for you to feel comfortable sharing your thoughts and feelings with me. There’s no rush on that. But I hope you believe me when I say that I genuinely want to help you through what must be a very difficult transition. I’m sure you have a lot to process, but you don’t have to do it alone. I want this to be a safe space to work through these things together.”
You had no idea what to say to that, barely knew what it meant, so you just stood up when he did and let him guide you out to the hall where Yona was waiting for you. She led you back to the waiting room, where you’d left Curtis. He stood up as soon as he saw you, greeted you with a smile. You couldn’t help but smile back. You were so lucky.
“How’d it go?” Curtis asked once Yona had left the two of you alone, his hand ghosting your back, but never touching, as he guided you back to his truck.
“Good, Curtis,” you said, not exactly sure what he wanted to hear.
But you must have answered right, because he responded with a bright smile. “That’s great. I really hope it’ll be helpful.”
You nodded absently, ready to be back at his house.
That evening found you quietly humming to yourself as you helped Curtis make dinner. It would never stop being strange to you that this alpha really seemed to enjoy his time in the kitchen and preferred to be responsible for mealtime, but you wouldn’t complain. One of your failures as an omega was that you’d always hated cooking. You’d gotten your hand slapped by your mother, and then Martha and Emmy, numerous times for complaining about it. It was just another thing that made being with Curtis so wonderful.
“What are you humming?” he asked as he set down several freshly rinsed tomatoes on the chopping board in front of you.
You hadn’t realized you were doing it loudly enough for him to hear. You ducked your head in embarrassment. “Nothing,” you said quietly. “I’m sorry, Curtis.”
“Hey, nothing to apologize for,” he said gently, going back to check on the pan he had sizzling on the stove. He said that a lot. “You just–” he cleared his throat. “Seems like you’ve been in a pretty good mood the last few days. It’s really nice. I’m so glad you’re starting to feel better.”
You didn’t lift your head or look at him, but you beamed down at the counter as you started chopping the tomatoes. It made him happy when you were happy! You couldn’t wait any longer. You would make yourself ready. It was time to give yourself to him. You’d do it tonight.
The house was quiet. You were standing in the little bedroom he’d given you, frozen. Curtis had gone to bed a few hours before. You should have done it then; you knew that. But the prospect of seeing him face-to-face when you did this was too terrifying. It’d be better, easier, this way. But you’d still spent the last few hours trying to hype yourself up, muster up some bravery.
Not that you had anything to be afraid of. You knew that. If he was kind to you out of bed, then he’d be kind to you in bed. Right? Wouldn’t he? And even if he wasn’t, even if he used you like every alpha you’d ever known used omegas, then it would be worth it for everything else. It had to be. This was the best place you’d ever been. You needed to stay here, and this was how you’d do that. This was what he wanted you to do.
With a deep breath, you lifted your T-shirt over your head. You pushed down your leggings and underwear and stepped out of them. With shaking hands, you folded your clothes neatly and placed them in the hamper. Then you just stood there, staring at your cracked-open door. Do it do it do it. This would be good. This is what omegas were for.
The walk across the hall to his room felt never-ending, even though you knew it was only a few feet. You froze again when your hand clasped his doorknob. But just for a moment. Then you forced yourself to quietly open his door and step into his room.
It was dark, and you couldn’t see much. But there was an overwhelming warmth, and you were immediately engulfed by his scent, which had seeped into every fiber of the room. It didn’t choke you like Franco’s or Wilford’s scent used to. You’d almost say it was comforting. Another sign that this was the right thing to do. Another sign that you shouldn’t be so terrified.
You waited a moment for your eyes to adjust and then carefully made your way to his bed. He slept in the center of the large mattress, on his side, facing the door. You paused at the edge of the bed to look at him. His face was completely relaxed in sleep, peaceful. He seemed smaller, maybe, than when he was awake and filling this house. There was no hint of cruelty here, like Franco had always seemed to have, even in sleep. It would be alright. You could do this.
With one last fortifying breath, you pulled back the covers and crawled onto the bed, very careful not to disturb him. When he didn’t stir, you let yourself go closer, turning around so that your back was to him, on your side just like he was. You were close enough now that you could feel his breath on the back of your neck, slow and steady, still asleep. After a few long moments, one of his arms fell over your hip, and his head dropped to lightly nuzzle into your neck. His beard was rough against your skin. The arm over you moved so that his hand gripped your hip, and he let out a sleepy little hum. You didn’t breathe. It was starting. You braced yourself to be flipped over and taken however he wanted. You were ready. You could do this.
But then– You felt his whole body go stiff behind you. He let out another sleepy noise, but this one sounded confused. And then, suddenly, the warmth of his body was gone, and he was scrambling wildly off the foot of the bed, one of the sheets caught on his leg until he shook it off. He flipped on a lamp and turned to stare at you, eyes blinking in shock. “What the fuck?” he breathed out.
You sat up, forcing yourself to let the covers drop, exposing yourself to him. “Alpha,” you whispered, your eyes deferentially glued to his blue and gray striped comforter.
“What– What the fuck?” he mumbled to himself and then, to you, “What are you doing in here?”
“I’m ready, Alpha,” you said, your head still bowed, trying to force as much confidence as you could into your voice.
“Ready for what?” and it was the panic in his tone that finally had you looking up. He was backed up against his dresser on the opposite side of the room. Both of his hands were on his head, and while his eyes were wide, they weren’t focused on you, seemingly trying to look anywhere else.
You rose up into a kneel, the sheets now pooled around your knees. You wanted to grab for them, to cover yourself as much as you could, but you didn’t. Even as he wouldn’t look at you. “You–” You started, stumbled, and tried again, your voice coming out small, pleading. “You didn’t want to claim me, mate me, until I was ready. I’m ready now, Alpha.”
“Oh my god!” Curtis’s hands moved to cover his face, and he shook his head. “What? I– When di– No, this– This–” He inhaled deeply and turned toward the digital clock on his dresser. It read 2:32. “Oh my god. I can’t deal with this right now. I can’t think–” He finally looked at you, but only your eyes. His gaze wouldn’t move any lower. “Please go back to your room. We’ll talk about this in the morning.”
Panic rose up in your throat. It squeezed your chest. What did he mean? What was there to talk about? Why wouldn’t he take you? You crawled forward to the edge of the bed. “No, no, Alpha. It’s okay. It’s okay. I’ll be so good for you. I’ll make it good! I will!”
He held up one hand to stop you, shaking his head and looking away again. “No, stop. I– I need you to go to your room. Please.”
Tears started to gather in your eyes. How was this all falling apart? You needed him to take you so you could be safe here. “Alpha, Alpha, please. I– I want it– I–”
His head whipped back to you and his voice dropped terrifyingly low. “Omega, go to your room. Now.”
And as hard as you tried to resist it, you were powerless against the alpha command. Your legs moved without your permission, taking you off the bed and out of the room. A broken sob escaped your throat. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Curtis drop his head into his hands. You didn’t understand what had just happened. Why didn’t he want you?
The moment you were across the hall and in the room he’d called yours, the door to his room slammed shut, and you heard through the wall a loud, frustrated “Fuck!” It made you shrink into yourself even more.
You stared at his door and then the way yours hung open. You lifted your hand slowly and, after a long beat, hesitantly closed it. Nothing happened. The alpha didn’t come pound on it. He didn’t do anything. He wouldn’t. He didn’t want you. So you reached out again and flipped the lock. You let out another sob as you did it.
You pulled the top blanket off the bed and dragged it behind you, moving to the corner of the room. You stopped at the desk and grabbed the friendship bracelet that you’d delicately placed there when you’d first come to this house, the only thing you had in the whole world that was yours. The only thing you had that Grace had given you. You collapsed onto the floor in the corner and wrapped the blanket around you as tightly as you could. Your fingers carefully traced the little ballerina charm on the bracelet. You missed your sister so much. Now more than ever. You’d never felt so alone. What was going to happen to you?
Your head was resting against the wall, eyelids dropped low but not quite closed. You hadn’t slept at all. You’d spent the last however many hours in a strange liminal space, not awake, not asleep. Just there. It was still dark out, but you could tell through the windows that the sky was becoming a little more gray, a little less black. The birds were starting to wake, their calls coming from the trees outside the window. You didn’t want the new day to come.
But it did. A quiet knock startled you out of your stupor. “Hey,” Curtis’s gruff voice carried through the door. “I know it's early, but I'm pretty sure we're both awake. I'm gonna make breakfast, and I'd appreciate it if you came out so we can talk.”
There was a long pause in which neither of you said anything. You didn’t know what to do. You didn’t want to face him. Would he force you out of the room if you didn’t respond? Would he command you again? Franco had thrown out alpha commands left and right without much thought. You shouldn’t be so surprised that Curtis might do the same. Letting your guard down was your own fault. You shouldn’t be so upset.
You waited for Curtis to react to your silence, assert his dominance in some way, but after a moment that seemed to stretch on forever, you heard him slowly move down the hall. You wanted to breathe a sigh of relief, but you knew it would be hollow. As much as you wanted to burrow back inside the blanket, stay there forever, you couldn’t. The blanket wouldn’t protect you, nor would this room. Hiding couldn’t change whatever was about to happen to you. So, slowly but surely, you got up. You placed the blanket back on the bed. You put on a pair of leggings and your comfiest sweater. You gave Grace’s ballerina charm one final squeeze, for luck, then gently placed it back on the desk. There was no sense in delaying the inevitable, so you unlocked the door and forced yourself out of the room and down the hall, trying so hard not to drag your feet as you went.
When you got to the kitchen, you expected Curtis to be halfway through making breakfast, but nothing was cooking. There was no food out, or pots and pans or anything. Just Curtis, standing in the middle of the room, his hands braced on the island, his eyes staring down at nothing. He was in rumpled pajamas, his shoulders slumped. You’d never seen him look like this.
You paused several feet away from him, unsure of what to do. His gaze flicked to you, then back to the counter immediately. He sighed with his whole body. “I’m not actually hungry,” he said, his voice low, rough. Tired. “How about you?”
You silently shook your head. You were too nauseous to be hungry. Too afraid. Too sad.
Even though he still wouldn’t look at you, he must have sensed your movement. He raised his head just enough to nod. “Yeah,” he sighed. “Let’s– Let’s sit down.”
He waited for you to move to the table first and take a seat in the chair by the wall. Then once you’d sat, he sat himself in a chair opposite from you, scooted away from the table. Keeping his distance. You curled in on yourself. “I’m sorry,” you whispered, still unsure of what you’d done wrong. Aside from just not being what he wanted. You supposed that was enough.
He cleared his throat roughly. “Uh, yeah. Thank you. We’ll– We’ll talk about that in a minute. But first, I really need to apologize too.” Your head whipped up at that, finally making eye contact with him. His eyes were so sad. “I’m so sorry,” he continued, every word dripping with sincerity, “for using an alpha command on you. I never should have done that. I– It was the middle of the night, and I was very surprised, but that’s no excuse. It wasn’t okay, and I’m very, very sorry that I did it.”
All you could do was stare at him. You didn’t think you’d ever been apologized to before. Definitely not by an alpha. Alphas never apologized. For anything. Certainly not to omegas. And for something as commonplace as an alpha command! If alphas weren’t supposed to use commands, then it wouldn’t be a thing they were able to do. And omegas wouldn’t be weak enough to be susceptible to it. It was just another biological sign that alphas were superior. Once again, Curtis wasn’t making any sense.
He was clearly waiting for a response, but you didn’t know what to do. So you just nodded once, as his words repeated on a loop in your head.
He waited a long beat and when you didn’t say anything, he just nodded to himself. “Alright,” he began slowly, “let's–” He frowned and shook his head, then let out another sigh. “I really need you to explain to me what you were doing last night.”
You shrank back in your chair. You really didn't want to detail your humiliation, your rejection. You just wanted to find out what was going to happen to you now.
But he was staring, his eyes pleading. “Please,” he said. “I just need to understand.”
You took a deep breath and looked away. The only way you could do this was if you didn’t have to look at him. “I–” You tried to start, but the words got caught in your throat. “I thought–” You shook your head. Why was he making you do this? Your eyes started to burn, the telltale sign that tears were on their way. Deep breath. “I– I was showing you I was ready to be claimed, like you wanted. Like you said.”
“Like I said?!” The incredulity in his voice had you looking back at him. His eyebrows were at his hairline, his mouth pursed. “When did I say that?” The question was rushed, urgent.
You let your own confusion show. How could he not remember? “At the center. After Claude.” When that didn’t seem to jog anything, you continued. “You said that you hadn’t touched me yet because it was my body and you wanted it to be my choice. You wanted me to come to you. When I was ready.”
For a very long moment, he just sat there and blinked at you. And then, his eyes got very, very wide. “Oh my god,” he whispered. Then, a little louder, “Oh my god. Holy shit.” He dragged his hands down his face and just sat there for another moment. Then, with a deep breath, he scooted closer to the table. Putting his forearms across the table top, he leaned forward. “Okay,” he said. “I think there are some things that we need to clear up, that, uh, seem to have gotten lost in translation.” He locked eyes with you, and his face softened dramatically. In the gentlest voice you’d ever heard, he said, “Honey, I’m not going to claim you.”
You had no excuse for the way your heart split in two at those words. You already knew that. He’d made it clear that night. But still, hearing it said so definitively… The tears were no longer just a threat. They had begun spilling over your eyelashes onto your cheeks. With a broken little cry, you asked, “Why not?”
Curtis gave you a pained look, his fingers twitching on the table. “Because,” he started, but then stopped. Another sigh. “I will explain it as best as I can,” he said slowly, “but first, can I ask why you want me to claim you?”
You just looked at him, confused. What did he mean? You wanted him to claim you because you were an omega, and omegas needed to be claimed. That– That was just how it worked. And as an alpha, he should know that. Was this another test? Was he asking you to prove that you knew an omega’s place? If it were any other alpha, you’d be sure that that’s what this was. But Curtis… Curtis was kind to you. You’d yet to walk into any of the traps you’d expected from him. Maybe– Maybe, the traps just weren’t there. You took a deep breath, wiped the tears from your eyes, and said, as sure as you could manage, “So I can stay here.”
“Honey, I promise, you can stay here as long as you need. I don’t need to claim you to make that happen.”
That didn’t make sense. This conversation was just leaving you more confused. “Yes, you do. I’m an omega. I need an alpha.” You didn’t understand why he needed you to explain this to him.
You watched some sort of understanding dawn on his face. “Have you ever known an omega without an alpha?” he asked gently.
“No,” you said firmly, shaking your head. It was a ridiculous thought.
He hummed quietly to himself. Then, “You have, though. Yona, at the center. You’ve seen her neck. You know she’s unclaimed. She doesn’t have an alpha.”
“Well, then her father’s her alpha,” you growled out, getting frustrated at having to state the obvious. Why was he being so obtuse?
But Curtis just shook his head. “Yona’s an adult. Her alpha parent hasn’t had any legal claim on her since she was eighteen.”
“No–why–” You stuttered. You could feel something crashing down inside your mind that you couldn’t put into words. A panic was rising in your chest that you didn’t understand.
Curtis just continued on, speaking softly. “I’ve spoken to her enough to know that she isn’t looking for an alpha. She prefers being on her own. And that’s just fine. Just because she’s an omega doesn’t automatically mean that she needs an alpha.” Then he caught your eye, making sure he had your attention. “Just because you’re an omega doesn’t mean you need an alpha.”
“What?” you breathed out. That didn’t make sense. That wasn’t how things were. You closed your eyes tightly as the panic spread through your body. “I'm not going to have an alpha?!”
“No,” he said, with a calmness you couldn’t wrap your head around, “not in the way you mean. Not right now. When you mate with someone, if you ever do again, it should be because they make you happy. Not just safe or secure, but happy. It should be a decision that you both make together. That’s why I didn’t claim you last night.
“But just because I’m not your alpha, doesn’t mean I’m not here for you. I want to help you in any way I can. I’m very serious about that. And I promise you that you can stay here as long as you want. No one is going to make you leave until you’re ready.” When he paused, you opened your eyes to find him looking at you with such sadness. “The way you’ve been treated, that’s not how it’s supposed to be. That’s not how it is in most of the world. It’s– You deserve so much better than that.”
It was the sincerity and conviction in his words that finally did it, that finally broke you. You’d spent your whole awful life knowing that there was no use in being sad or hoping for something different, because this was just how things were for omegas. But if that hadn’t been true? If that wasn’t just how things were for omegas? If there was a different, better life out there that you just hadn’t gotten to have because you were so unlucky? You didn’t think that you could even begin to understand what you’d lost. But you felt it. You felt it right in your chest. It was your heart being torn into pieces.
A sob wracked through your body as you let your head fall to your knees. Your whole body shook as you cried. You heard the scrape of Curtis’s chair being pushed back from the table and then felt the warmth of his body as he crouched in front of you.
“Can I–” he started hesitantly. You could barely hear him over the sound of your sobs. “Can I touch you? Can I hold you?”
The “No,” tumbled out of your mouth before you’d even really had a chance to think it. But you didn’t regret it. You were sure that if he touched you now, you’d completely shatter. But you also weren’t afraid of saying no. If everything he’d said was true, then you wouldn’t be punished for this. If he really wanted to help you, then he would let you say no. It felt like the first real choice you’d ever made.
“Yeah, okay,” he said, his voice startlingly small. “That’s fine. But I’m– I’m right here. I’m right here. You aren’t alone.”
i love how in 2025 he's still living by his "eat as much cake as you want" mantra. all while trying to killshot us with a mango alert wee woo while doing it 🥴
the scribble on one of the images is intentional and from me because it's highly plausible that that's his car. and while i know that nobody in the SAS would do anything untoward, it would be mentally irresponsible of me to believe that these posts are only seen by my besties & fellow whores in SAS 🫠
