A/N: Chapter 1! I hope you guys are as excited to see this back on here and active as I am!
Pairing: Steve Trevor x F!Reader
Synopsis: You have been waiting your whole life for your soulmate, and it seems that just as you are about to give up on love, he shows up. However, he seems to be ignoring the biological, spiritual fact that the two of you are in fact meant to be.
Rated: General Audiences
Warnings: Language
“Thank you so much for doing this, Y/N.”
You placed a box down in the middle of the brightly lit room, your hands moving to your hips as you straightened up. You gave your aunt a smile, brushing a strand of hair back from your face. “It’s no trouble...Thank you for giving me a place to stay.”
“Oh…” She waved a thin hand at you. “I would let you stay here even if I didn't need your help, sweetie. You know that.”
“I know, but I would still be grateful, regardless…” You said, navigating the labyrinth of cardboard boxes to reach the small woman and wrap her in a hug.
She sighed, her arms encasing you. “I’m sorry, sweetie.”
You shrug, the smile on your lips fading. “It’s ok…Nothing we can do.”
“He’s an asshole.”
“Auntie…”
Not that you didn't agree with her.
“What? It's the truth!” She let go of you, moving towards the bedroom door.
“But he’ll be your son-in-law one day,” you murmured, bending down and picking up the wonky pair of scissors you had found in one of the kitchen drawers.
“I know…” she groaned, placing a hand on her side and looking about the room. “You have a lot of stuff, Y/N. Didn't you get rid of anything?”
You did, but this bedroom was the size of the closet in your old apartment. Luckily, your aunt had never gotten around to seeing where you used to call “home”.
“A few things…” you shrugged as you opened the box labeled “Spring Clothes” knowing she would feel terrible if she heard the truth. “I put some stuff in storage, and, if need be, I can put more in.”
“Alright...You get settled in, then. I’m going to go take a nap.” She opened the door a bit more to allow her some space to walk through before turning back to you. “Also...could you be a dear and go across the hall for me? I water his plants when he’s away, and, lately, I’ve been a terrible house sitter.”
“Sure thing, Auntie,” you gave her a smile, lifting some of your neatly folded tops from the box and placing them in your white dresser.
“Thank you.”
It was late afternoon when you finally finished most of your unpacking. Your aunt was still sound asleep in her room; you could hear her soft snores through the thin wall separating your space from hers.
You headed into the main living area, a great room with large windows overlooking the street. Your aunt had it set up so that the sitting area was by the view, the kitchen in the back of the room, and a square kitchenette with seating for four in the corner, close to your room.
There was only one bathroom in the apartment, and you had to go through your aunt’s room to get to it. It was a problem you pointed out when she suggested becoming housemates; you woke up early for work and were a morning shower person, and you didn't want to end up waking her up at the crack of butthole every weekday morning.
She assured you that she slept like a rock, and you were too desperate to leave your own place that you didn't even question the legitimacy of that excuse.
Funny, your mother used to tell stories of how light a sleeper your aunt was. Maybe things had changed?
You walked over to the front door as you pondered that thought, your eyes getting caught by the colors of the floral calendar your aunt had hung next to the key rack.
Today’s date was circled in red; “Y/N Moves In!”
You grinned at her antics, but when you noticed the date…
Oh.
You let out a sigh, grabbing the keys your aunt had specified as the ones for the apartment next door. She had the owner copy his key with a kitty pattern on it because he reminded her of a kitten. You didn't know what that meant, and you assumed he didn't either.
You opened the front door, closing it behind you but leaving it unlocked. You crossed the hall, tried the key, and turned the knob.
The place was...well, not what you expected. You weren't sure what you had thought the place would look like, but you suppose you underestimated how long this man would leave for. The place looked as if no one ever came home to it, even occasionally.
It was scarcely furnished, although it resembled your aunt’s layout. There was a couch. No television. Dusty counters with no appliances other than what came with the apartment. The doors to the back two bedrooms were closed, and you wouldn't dare open them, respecting his privacy and all.
You spotted the watering can through the window, realizing that this apartment also had a small balcony. Next to it were the plants your aunt had mentioned, along with giving specific instructions on how to water each one.
You climbed out into the cool, early spring air, the slight breeze causing you to shiver a bit in your thin leggings and tee. You picked up the watering can to find it full, probably from the rain yesterday, and began to water the plants.
You were almost done when you heard voices outside the front door.
“I told you, George, it's not a good idea…”
“But the journal clearly states…”
The door to the apartment swung open, hitting the wall with a bang and making you jump, clear liquid splashing onto your shoes and soaking your socks.
You only had a minute to feel sorry for yourself before you heard…
“Who the hell are you?”
Your head shot up, eyes wide like a deer in headlights, taking in the owner of the baritone, and his companion. And when you did, your wrist felt as if it had burst into flames.
Summary: What started as a simple date ended as a failed romance. Or has it truly failed?
Warnings: Cursing, as per use.
Author’s note: This chapter is short, i know. I’m sorry. Next chapter is definitely going to be much longer.
Tags: @mitaputri0412 @wolflhards
Masterlist
It’s clearly an overreaction or coincidence, it’s a coincidence, a really oddly timed coincidence. You keep telling yourself as Chris succumbs to slumber, the doctor warning earlier that the medication he was given might make him drowsy.
Beau was crazy but he wasn’t that crazy. He wouldn’t try to kill Chris to win the girl... to win you. There was no way.
Slowly, you moved away from Chris, clenching your jaw as he groans in pain when his head lays flat on the pillow. You leave the small area and search for the doctor, hoping to shed some insight on your wild belief.
"Doctor Valdez?" You say, finding him at the nurses station.
He greets you with a tired smile. "Did your boyfriend need anything?" He asks.
"No. He's fine, asleep." You take a deep breath. "What happen to the other driver?" The question comes out quicker than normal, you save yourself by asking another. "Are they okay?"
The doctor raises an eyebrow and looks down at your body, noticing your favoring one side more than the other. "Are you hurt?" He asks.
"Just a sprained ankle, is all." You respond, giving him a smile.
"Have you gotten it looked at?" Suddenly, he's giving you his arm and helping you over to an empty 'room' where he doesn't wait to help you sit on the bed and look at your leg. It's swollen and blue, worse than it was earlier.
"When did you do this?" He asks.
"A day ago."
He nods, gently applying pressure to spots on your ankle, awaiting a reaction. "The other driver fled the scene." He says without a second thought. "You really shouldn't be walking on this."
"They left?"
"I'm going to recommend you get a brace and keep ice on it. No strenuous activities." He smiles, pulling out his prescription pad. "I'm going to write you a prescription for some pain pills because something tells me you may not listen to my suggestions." He quickly hands you a piece of paper and smiles. "The person who was driving the vehicle seems to have fled the scene, the police were here earlier speaking to your boyfriend."
"Oh..."
"No strenuous activities." He repeats and quietly leaves, giving you a small nod and wave.
It was Beau. It had to be Beau. There was no one else in the world that had a green challenger who would have hit Chris and left the scene.
You’re therapist, whose name you’ve finally learned is Joseph, taps his pen on the cushion of his chair. Inhaling deeply he lets his eyes drift to the window every few seconds watching as the birds gathering nesting supplies. It’s your last session, session number three, court ordered session number three technically and according to Mr. Joseph; the most he's learned about you is: “You’re as uncooperative as a toddler.” Which you find insulting at the end of the day but have no argument to change his opinion.
He repeats that phrase nearly every session, once at the beginning and then at the end when the little bell chimes letting you know the session was over. Yet even with that dangling over your head, he still managed to sign off that you were 100% on your paperwork. "Therapy often works better for those who seek it versus those who are forced." He doesn't want to keep you here if that's what you don't want, even watching him sign off on the work, he told you so. "Now that this is signed, you're more than welcome to leave... If that's what you want." Of course that last statement made you refuse to leave, believing it was a trick. One foot out the door and suddenly the paperwork would have disappeared.
It’s tenth time in five minutes that Joseph has looked out the window and the seventh time his pencil has clashed with his notepad harder , “Do you want to be here?” You are the first to speak out of annoyance, your tone rude and hostile.
Joseph’s eyes meet yours with a hint of curiosity, “Do you?”
You scoff and cross your arms over your chest. “Don’t shrink me.”
Joseph chuckles, biting the eraser on his pencil. “Anything I say as of now, will have no bearing on your life after this session.”
"What do you mean?"
"You're paperwork is sign, clearing you of any mental incapacity. Anything you say from now until the end of the session stays between us in a separate file for my eyes only."
“Why is that?”
“Y/N, every time we discuss the events that occured at the hospital, you deny everything or I'm given some half-assed excuse. It wasn’t as bad as it seems, people overreacted, you were at fault; the excuses go own.” He shakes his head and lets out a deep breathe. “I can’t help you.”
“You’re giving up on me?” The drop of your voice is evident, it feels like a break up. He doesn’t respond for good reason, it’s a death trap. There is no good response or way to make any response end this conversation on civil terms. “Just like that? You’re just leaving?”
Joseph let out a deep sigh, tossing his pencil and notepad onto the coffee table between them. “Are you going back to Beau?” He asks, defeated.
“What?”
“Given everything that has happened, tomorrow morning when you wake up will you be alone... or with Beau?”
Your mouth quivers, the air around you fills with static, the hair on your arms standing and your body suddenly getting cold. “I-” The sentence never finishes not that there was much a sentence to finish. You didn’t know the answer anymore than he did. Your experiencing a internal conflict, how dare he ask that question. You're an adult, fully capable of making your own decisions even If they were the wrong ones.
Joseph rises to his feet, adjusting his sweater. "That's why I can't help you. No answer is worse than one." He returns to his desk, turning off the bell and begins focusing on his computer. "You're more than welcome to see yourself out." He adds in a distant tone.
That's it. He's kicking you out, stabbing the knife even further into your back and leaving you to bleed out on the floor. Maybe it's the feeling of dread in the room or the urge to not end a conversation like this but you speak.
"I can't be... without him."
"Impossible." The typing stops and he looks up to meet you, his brown eyes starring uncomfortably into your eyes. "A man like that, what he's done, it is more than possible, necessary even that don't need him."
"You don't know-"
"Him? What he is? You're scared out of your mind to speak about him, any mention of him and you turn into a small mouse who defends him. That man locked you in your hospital room where you were admitted because of him only to threaten you more." The volume of his voice grows louder with each word, his anger bubbling up inside of him at your refusal to see the bigger picture. "He's going to kill you. You're lucky he hasn't already."
You're fist collides with Beau’s solid wooden door, loud and hard. Using every fiber of your being to slam into the door as hard as you can. As expected, the door opens quickly revealing a bruised Beau with the trademark cigarette behind his ear and a slight smile on his face.
"Hi." He says like he's innocent as if he hadn’t been expecting you to show up.
"What the hell is wrong with you! You asshole!" You shout slamming your fists into his chest and forcing him to stumble. You enter his apartment, continuing your assault on him, barely doing any damage aside from garnering the surprised look on his face. “You could have killed him!” It’s a miracle there is enough strength and will power in your body to do this, prior to the accident you would have chickened out. You wouldn't have even made it to his apartment.
You explosion doesn’t last long, all it takes is one heavy hand on your wrist and you’re frozen, fear courses through your body. Finding yourself stuck in the abundance of past memories all ending badly. “That’s not a way to say hi ta’ someone.” He whispers, sending chills down your spine but it’s not threatening; oddly enough.
“Y--you’re one to talk.” You’ve lost your strength.
“I always kissed you when I came home.”
You scoff, “Yeah, you're right. It was always nice to kiss your after you were done kissing someone else.”
Ignoring your comment, he redirects the conversation. "What happened to us?" His tone is troublesome, his voice falters. It reminds you of the boy you met years ago, the sweet loving guy that stole your heart not the monster he became.
You had to fight the urge to drop your guard, to give into his charade. It’s a slippery slope one that at any given moment you could find yourself in his arms, telling yourself that he’s changed. "Beau..." You intend to say with anger but it falls from your lips softly.
“You and me together, we were good, yeah? Gonna get married, put a few kids in ya.”
“And how did you expect to do that? Conjugal visits?” You remark in a low voice, the sarcasm fails to come through.
“For you, I would’ve stopped.” The amount of sincerity in his voice is almost believable. "You can't go back ta' him." He whispers, dropping his eyes. "I'll change for you. I miss ya'. I never should've fucked up. Never should've hurt you." He caresses your cheek, trying to be as lovingly as possible.
"Beau." You say sternly, pushing at his shoulders to gain more distances between you two. "You crashed into Chris's car. You could have killed him."
"I didn't.."
You shake your head. "Where's your car then? How'd you get all these cuts on you?" You find the strength in both your voice and body, managing to push him away. This could work, you can do this. You try to stand taller, trying to hold your ground as much as possible.
"Deal gone wrong."
“Right.” You mock, letting out a little laugh. “And let me guess someone stole your car. Right?” He nods. "You just told me you were sorry that you were changing and now you're doing deals? God you're pathetic."
You shouldn't have said that. You really shouldn't have said that. Panic runs through you at the sudden change of his behavior, he straightens, swallowing hard and there is a dark cloud that appears in his eyes.
Apologize. Just come out with it. Say you're sorry and leave. Go back to the hospital. Go anywhere. Your mind shouts at yourself, desperate to protect you from whatever consequences you may suffer because of your lack of brains.
In a split second, his hand grabs your wrist again, threateningly now and tugs you inside, forcing you against the nearby wall as he slams the door closed. "I'm pathetic?" Beau asks, grinding his teeth. "Pathetic?" His face is inches from yours, teeth gnawing at his lower lip and breathe heavy of nicotine.
"I..." Your voice is caught in your throat. The simple letter word barely sounds like one, it resembles more of a gasp than anything.
"If I'm so pathetic, ya' really think everything that happened just did?" He asks, cocking his head.
"Wha--?" Another failed word.
"Running inta his ex? Place being robbed? Boy toy getting cut? Gifts at ya' door when he's in ya bed?" He asks with a wicked smile. "Getting inta a wreck?"
You can't speak, you don't even know where to begin or how. He did it. He did it all.
I Gift Thee Chris and Karl || @goingknowherewastaken Birthday Challenge, Flower Shop AU
Word Count: 3.2K
Characters: Franklin “FDR” Foster, Alexus (OC), Nana, Tuck, the kid with a bucket on his head from the movie.
Warnings: I think like one cuss word?
Summary: When FDR’s florist moves away, he is forced to find another person to buy flowers for dinner on Saturday nights at Nana’s. Luckily he found you.
A/N: Hey, you guys! I wrote this fic for Katie’s birthday challenge! Sorry it’s a day late, but i’m suck at finishing things on time. I hope you had a fun day and that you like this fic!
This is my first time writing FDR, and I’ve only seen the movie like once, so I hope it’s not too OOC for ya! So without further adieu, let’s get into it!
masterlist
The shop is relatively empty for a Saturday afternoon, but you don’t mind much. You bob your head to the music playing over the loudspeakers as you gather some freesia blossoms to add to a bouquet that’s being prepared for a client’s order. The only other people inside your corner flower shop is a couple looking for flowers for their wedding reception, browsing through a book of your arrangements.
You check on the couple, Tom and Jess, you remember as you’re walking away, to make sure they don’t need anything from you before going back to your task. You’re just wrapping up a group of flowers a few minutes later when you hear the bell above the door chime with a new customer arriving.
“Just a minute,” you call out and receive a “no rush” in return. The bouquet you were finishing up now in the cooler and waiting to be picked up, you make your way back out into the main area of the shop. The buckets that line the shelves are full of beautiful blooms and you take a moment to appreciate their scents on your way to where you heard the man’s voice come from.
“Hi, welcome to Wild Blooms. Can I help you with anything today,” you ask in your pleasant customer voice.
The customer is looking at a bucket of pink carnations with mild interest but turns around at your voice. When he turns his eyes to you, the bright blue blue color stuns you for a moment, his light brown hair falling onto his forehead. Breaking out of your trance, you await his response.
“I’m just looking for some flowers to take to dinner,” he replies, his voice smooth as honey.
“I can help with that. Would you like a custom bunch, a vase, or there are pre-made bouquets that you can choose from,” you offer.
“I may get a pre-made one for today.”
You nod and lead him back to the glass-front cooler where you keep the already made arrangements, some of them made just this morning. “This is what we have for right now. Are you looking for anything in particular?”
“I just want it to be special, can you recommend something?” The man looks at you for your opinion, and he brushes a piece of blond hair from his forehead.
“Well, roses are usually safe. Or if you want something different, this one is pretty special,” you say, pointing out a particular arrangement. It’s beautiful, anemones and blue ranunculus interspersed with Alister roses and sprigs of greenery. He smiles brightly at the colorful flowers.
“These are beautiful! I’ll take them.”
“Alright, I’ll get these and check you out. Come with me,” you nod toward the counter in the back where the register sits, already grabbing the flowers from the cooler and heading in that direction. You pull some brown paper from a roll on the wall and wrap the bouquet neatly, tying red twine across the stems when you were done and ringing the man up. When he’s done paying, you give a large smile to the attractive man. “All done here, I hope you enjoy them…” you trail off, hoping to get his name.
“FDR. It’s nice to meet you…Y/N.” He trails off, looking to your name tag. “Thank you for the flowers, she’s gonna love them,” he smiles, looking down at the arrangement sitting on the counter.
Your face falls at the realization, but you cover it quickly with a smile. Of course a man as handsome as him isn’t single. You pick up the flowers, handing them to him. “Have a nice day,” you wave before getting back to work.
For weeks, almost like clockwork, FDR would come into the shop on late Saturday afternoons and buy a bouquet, leaving with a flirty comment and a parting wink, so you’re not expecting it when the man shows up on a Friday. You’ve just removed yourself from the storage room with a new shipment of flowers, your hands full of bright sunflowers when you see him. He’s making his way to the back of the store, to the cash register stand.
“FDR,” you say with slight confusion in your tone. He turns around at the mention of his name and smiles when he sees you, his bright blue eyes lighting up. “Y/N, hey!”
“You’re a little early,” you say lightly, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear. You didn’t know that the man you have a slight crush on would be in today, so you’re just wearing jeans and a tank top with your hair up in a messy bun. FDR thinks you look good though, running an appreciative eye down your figure as you’re distracted, sitting down the container of flowers you were previously holding.
“Yeah, I am. I am here to pick out a bouquet but I have to go into work tomorrow, so I thought I’d come in today and have them delivered. As long as that’s okay,” he trails off. You nod, perhaps a little too quickly, and that is confirmation enough for him. “I really wanna do something special this time. Do you think you’re up for helping me put together an arrangement?”
“Of course,” you exclaim, and FDR chuckles at the way your whole face lights up at all the possibilities. “Where would you like to start?”
“I wanted something a little different, maybe something I haven’t gotten. I was looking at those last time I was here.” FDR points to the corner filled with peonies, the large blooms having caught his eye before. The two of you walk over, where FDR cups one of the peach blooms softly in one hand.
“You like these? I just got this batch in yesterday.”
“They’re gorgeous,” FDR says and you get to work. He tells you that he has something big in mind, so you pick out some blooms on the larger side.
With the peach peonies in your work bucket, you make rounds around the shop picking out complimentary blossoms, the container full of orange, white, and bright pink roses respectively, baby’s breath, begonias, and small tufts of yarrow.
You bring FDR to a workstation and he sits down the bucket that he had insisted on carrying as it was filled up. You take a break, grabbing two cold water bottles from the fridge and handing one to him. You sit on a bench for a few minutes, looking around.
“You know I opened this shop almost two years ago,” you say in reminiscence, distracted by the memory of receiving your first customer.
FDR turns his head to look at you from where he’s sitting beside you. “Really? I didn’t know you owned this place,” he hums.
“Yep,” you say, popping the p. “My mom loves flowers. Our house was surrounded by them growing up and I would always look up the names so I could remember them later. I guess that stuck with me, flowers are my passion now. I like making people happy too, seeing a smile on someone’s face as they receive a bouquet, that’s why I make my own deliveries sometimes.”
FDR watches as you talk and look back, the smile on your face coming easily to you as his own lips stretch into a matching grin. The overwhelming urge to kiss you comes to him, and not since the first time he’s met you. As soon as he saw the enthusiasm that you approach your work with, FDR was hooked and knew that he wanted to know more about you. Thinking back on it, Franklin Foster is so happy that his old florist moved away.
His attention is drawn back to you when the sound of your laugh reaches his ears, fingers snapping in front of his nose. It’s a sound that he hasn’t heard nearly enough, and the corners of his mouth turn up instantly.
“You still with me,” you ask through giggles.
“Always,” he chuckles.
“Let’s get to work, you goof.” You sit down your water bottle and turn to the table, looking through the bucket of flowers and deciding on a game plan. “You said you wanted them in a vase, right?” He agrees and you help him pick one out from the shelf along the wall before getting to work.
Two sets of hands work quicker than one, and soon enough you’re finishing up, wrapping a pretty pink ribbon around the vase to be delivered tomorrow. You try to get the bow just right, absolutely /not/ trying to stall. When you’re done, FDR will leave and you’ll be left alone with your work and a skipping heartbeat just like many times before. As you’re adjusting one of the rose blossoms, making sure that it’s turned right, you feel more than see someone coming up behind you.
“Perfect,” a low voice murmurs next to your ear and you smile. Lifting your head from examining the arrangement, you turn your head to meet your gaze with FDR, a soft expression in his eyes.
You smile and giggle softly, looking back at the vase. “Yes, well, I can’t take all the credit. You did help.”
“Right, the flowers,” he clears his throat, “yeah, they look amazing.” A crease forms between your brows as you try to figure out what he means by that, but he’s talking before you can think too much about it. “Can these be here at seven o’clock tomorrow night,” he asks, handing you a slip of paper with an address written on it.
“Yeah, of course,” you say, and your voice comes out less than enthused, so you put on your customer service smile to try and make up for it. FDR looks at you with scrutiny, recognizing the look on your face.
“You don’t have to do that, put on a fake expression. You can be you around me, I hope you know that, Y/N.”
Your eyebrows draw upwards in surprise that he noticed, but you soothe your face back down to normal. You clear your throat and speak, your voice coming out quieter than you expected. “Thank you, FDR. You too,” and you mean it, a small smile lifting your mouth. He leaves not long after that, promising to speak to you soon.
The next day you’re going through some papers in your office when one of your delivery people Alexus sticks her head in the open doorway. “Hey boss, I’m about to head out for my evening run. Is this everything,” she asks, gesturing to the line of flowers waiting to be loaded into the van. You look over them, nodding your head and then stopping when your eyes land on the peony bouquet that you and FDR put together the night before.
“Yeah Lex, I’ll take this one though. Let me help you load these up.” You help Alexus with the flowers and make sure the vase is secure in the car before checking yourself over. You may not even see FDR, but your minimal makeup, casual white and black striped dress, and flats look passable with your hair down in waves. It’s better to be prepared, right? You check the address slip that’s attached to a vase and get ready to head to the house outside of town.
When you pull up to the address, you think that it’s not what you were expecting. The farmhouse and the surrounding land is beautiful, but you were surprised by the number of vehicles parked outside. There must be an event going on inside, you think to yourself.
You pick the vase up and carry it carefully to the front door lest it break, and make sure to pocket the address and billing information so the person on the receiving end doesn’t see it. There’s a card attached that you hadn’t seen before, FDR must have written it while you weren’t paying attention. You ring the doorbell by the front door and hear the chimes sound throughout the large house. While you wait, your curiosity gets the better of you and you peek down at the card that reads
Happy birthday Nana, you’re a Saint for putting up with me for all these years.
You barely have time to process this new information when the door opens in front of you and you bring your lips into a shy smile. You come to face an elderly woman, her white hair tucked back into an elegant updo, a dress and heels adding to the air of sophistication. She looks to you and her red lips pull into a bright grin when she spots the flowers in your hands.
“Oh my, such lovely flowers,” she says excitedly in a British accent. “Are these from my Franklin?”
“Franklin,” you mutter confusedly, tilting your head, and before you can open your mouth again to ask who that is, you hear your name being called and you turn around.
“Y/N! I didn’t know you would be here,” FDR says as he walks closer to you, having just arrived.
“I told you that I make deliveries sometimes,” you say sheepishly, shrugging a shoulder.
You glance uneasily back to the front door that’s still open and FDR smacks himself on the forehead, walking over and embracing the woman, who is still standing there.
“Nana, this is Y/N. Y/N, this is my Nana. This woman raised me, and I can’t thank her enough.”
“It’s so nice to meet you, and I’m guessing these are for you,” you say with a genuine smile this time.
Nana accepts the flowers readily and pulls them up to her face to smell, taking the time to appreciate their beauty.
“Thank you for bringing these,” FDR puts a hand on your back and leans a little closer to you as Nana is otherwise occupied, though she doesn’t miss the exchange.
“Of course,” you reply, suddenly bashful.
“We are having a little celebration out back, would you like to stay for the party? You can keep Franklin company,” Nana speaks up.
FDR groans inwardly at her meddling, but he still smiles when you look to him for reassurance. “That sounds nice.”
The two of you follow Nana inside, your shoulders brushing as she leads you through the impressive house to a fenced-in area of the backyard.
“Look what this sweet girl brought me,” she announces to anyone listening and you hear back a few praises on the arrangement.
“Thank you, Nana, but FDR helped me,” you didn’t want to take all the credit for the flowers.
“Oh please, all I did was point out one flower. You matched the rest and put them together beautifully,” he replies affectionately. You bite your lip at the compliment.
After a few minutes of chatting between the two of you, you are interrupted by a loud voice nearby speaking in a British accent. “Look who finally showed up,” is heard before a shorter man comes over to FDR and wraps him in a warm, albeit rough hug.
“Collins had me come in today, I told you that yesterday.”
“Yes, well, you failed to mention that you would be bringing a date to Nana’s birthday.” The man turns to you, putting out a hand for you to shake and you do. You can’t help but notice that FDR doesn’t correct him about you being his date. “My name is Tuck, I’m his brother,” he says with a thumb pointed towards your companion.
“Y/N, it’s nice to meet you, Tuck. So I’m guessing you could tell me a bunch of embarrassing stories about Franklin,” you say, putting a teasing emphasis on his real name. FDR groans, and is that a blush painting his cheeks? You giggle at this.
“You have no idea, love. There was this one time, in Bangladesh-” Tuck starts but is cut off by FDR interrupting him.
“Let’s not do this right now, Tuck. Another topic please, any other topic?” You smirk at how flustered this confident charmer has become.
Tuck laughs before turning the conversation. “So how did you meet Frank?”
You tilt your head to look up at him with a smile, thinking to the first time you met him. “I’m a florist, I own a flower shop in town. FDR came in one day, clueless about what to buy, so I helped him. He’s come in every Saturday since. I actually brought an arrangement here today.”
“Oh you’re the cute florist he’s always going on about. It was getting annoying, but I can’t say I blame him.”
You hear a strangled sort of noise and look beside you to where it seems to have come from. “You okay,” you question, concerned but still amused.
“I’m fine.”
Tuck leaves after this, going off to sit with his wife and son, leaving you to your own devices, promising to tell you all of Franklin’s terrible and funny stories. You plan to take him up on it.
FDR walks with you over to an empty table that’s been set up, and you sit down, him following. He looks at you, a shy smile on his face. “I’m sorry about my family. They can be a little much, at times.” FDR shakes his head affectionately.
You laugh, looking over at him with a smile. “I like them, they’re fun.”
He shrugs, watching a little boy run by with a bucket over his head. A laugh escapes his lips at the boy’s antics. “Yeah, sometimes.”
After a little while, dinner is served and you sit with FDR, chatting about your lives, learning more about each other. “So Nana raised you?”
“Yeah, yeah she did. What that woman must have went through, I was a bit of a troublemaker growing up.”
“I don’t know, I think you grew up pretty well,” you say with a faux thoughtful smile, teasing. FDR rolls his eyes good-naturedly and you giggle. “No, but really. It’s great of you to get her flowers every week, that’s so sweet. Not many people do that lately. I make my living off of people trying to make up for mistakes, and the occasional wedding. But not you.” You duck your head as you realize that you’ve been talking for too long. You shrug, “I don’t know, I think you’re pretty special.”
FDR reaches a hand out to touch your cheek, his thumb running over your cheekbone, and as you lift your head up, your eyes are met with his brilliant blue ones.
“I think you’re pretty special, too.” You feel your cheeks flush and lean into his touch, looking up at him from under your eyelashes. “I don’t know if I’m reading this wrong, but… can I see you sometime, outside of Wild Blooms?”
You can’t help but giggle, nodding your head happily. “Of course you can.”
“Good,” FDR nods. “How about dinner tomorrow night, I’ll pick you up at your place?” The hopeful look in his eyes makes you melt inside, and suddenly you can’t wait for tomorrow night.
Feeling brave, you lean forward quickly and confidently, placing your lips on his cheek and lingering before pulling away slowly. The goofy grin that takes over FDR’s face makes your expression match, his happiness infectious.
From across the yard, Nana stands with Tuck, watching the two of you with fondness. “I think Y/N is good for him,” Nana observes.
“Yeah, she is,” Tuck nods, and then laughs. “Now we’ve just got to break it to her what he does for a living.”
summary: Learning how to steal from a young age, you used this skill to help provide for your family. However, after trying to steal a watch from a certain Air Force Pilot/Spy, he comes to with a proposal.
pairing: Steve Trevor x Fem!Reader
words: 2,080 (whoop im back in the +2k zone)
warnings: stealing (dont steal kids), mentions of drinking
taglist: @sebastianstanfoundmymixtape
a/n: it’s been a while, sorry guys. but we finally have an imagine other than marvel! this is gonna be a mini series, im thinking like three parts. i’ll try to have this series finished before school. remember y’all that imagines are open and so is tagging if you wanna be on the tag list!
I heard there was a secret chord that David played and it pleased the Lord.
But you don't really care for music, do you?
Well, it goes like this; the fourth, the fifth, the minor fall, and the major lift.
The baffled king composing: Hallelujah.
You didn't care how dangerous your job was, it was important. Not many people, let alone women, would grow up to become a spy.
However, you, (Y/N) (Y/L/N), are different from other women.
Before the war broke out, you and your family immigrated from (Y/H/T) to London. In your hometown, you were quite the scholar, despite you being a girl. You learned a lot about science in school, but you also learned how to steal, fight, and survive in the streets.
That's how Steve Trevor found you. Or rather, you found him.
After immigrating to England, your family sacrificed more than you could've ever imagined. Long story short; promises were broken, money was lost, and the landlord evicted your family from your small apartment. Now, both of your parents and your younger brother Jack lived on the dingy top floor to the three story building that housed a bakery that both your parents worked in on the bottom floor. They didn't bring much loot home, only whatever they were tipped, the nearly stale loafs of bread that weren't sold the past three days, and a couple of fruits if they were lucky. They don't even get paid regularly, but the bakery owner assured your family that you could stay on the third floor of their building as long as they worked.
Believe it or not, that was the most generous anyone has been to your family since you've arrived in London.
So, being the scrappy, deceiving girl you were, you sneaked out during the day while your parents were working and your brother was learning to read from some old books you brought from your old house, and during the night while everyone was asleep to steal whatever you could find.
Like today.
After double checking that your parents were asleep in their small room, you tiptoed to your brother who lays on his cot in your shared room. Snuggled in his cheap, ratty sleeping bag, his head pokes out to look at you as you pull own your long khaki coloured trench coat, thrifted from a thrift shop down the street. Jack was the only person who knows what you do while you sneak out of the house. The first time you brought home goods (a couple of dollars and a pocket watch), your mother had questioned the source. You told her that you were working as a tailor's apprentice.
As you put on a wide brimmed hat to cover your eyes (it was stolen of course), Jack props himself up with his elbows.
"What are you gonna come back with this time?" Jack says with wide, innocent eyes.
You walk closer to him and press a soft kiss on the top of his forehead. You whisper back, "Dunno yet, Jack. I actually got someone's extra change, so maybe I'll get you some more ink so you can practise writing. I might even stop by the pub and flatter some of the lads up and maybe get a few bucks, maybe a watch."
He frowns a bit, "But your coming back, right?"
You smile at him before slipping on some plain black flats, "I always come back, don't I?"
You blow a kiss to Jack one last time before sliding open the window and hopping onto the fire escape. You slide the window shut behind you and you begin to climb down the creaky steps of the fire escape.
After reaching the ground, you head in the direction of the market. During the day, it's filled with vendors selling goods, but at night, it's pub's are filled with people of all ages, very drunk. It's not the safest place for girls, but it was the perfect place to coax a few drinks out of some younger men and pick up some extra cash, or some watches. You walk into your first pub, one of the nicer pubs on the block. The dimly lit pub was filled people of all ages; some seniors having drinks with their friends, couples going on late night dates, and of course, lonely, moping men.
That's how you had met Steve.
He was sitting in a table alone, head hung low while he rolled a glass of whiskey on rocks. Your heart ached for him, as he looked very sad. But you needed the money.
So you approached him.
You slid in the seat in front of him, placing your arms on the table. He doesn't notice you at first, so you decide to speak. "Are you all right?" you ask in a mock British accent. After trial and error, you found that using an accent makes people trust you faster.
The man looks up and you stare in a pair of the bluest eyes you have ever seen. His dirty blonde messily falls on top of his forehead as he moves.
He's very handsome, you note.
The man looks at you, dumbfounded. "Who are you?" he questions.
"Megan Danning. At your service," you blurt out. It was the first fake name that popped into your head.
"Steve, Steve Trevor. What's a pretty dame like you doing in a place like this alone at night?" he inquires while leaning forward.
"Well Mr. Trevor, who ever said I was alone?" you say while smirking slightly. You had silently wished you had applied some of that cheap red lipstick you had stolen from the store on the corner of the block. You rest your hand on top of his and bite your lip. You fiddle with the clasp on the his watch. You manage to unclasp it and you slide it into you coat sleeve without him noticing.
Steve scoffs, but stares you down anyways. "Late night, pretty girl targeting a lonely lad like me, hand on top of mine. You think I'm stupid, but I know what you're doing." He finishes while pulling his hand away from underneath yours. He pulls down his wrist and reveals empty skin where a watch would normally be.
He smirks a little, "My watch please, Megan Danning. But that isn't your name, is it?"
Shit, you think to yourself. No one has caught you before, so you were beyond surprised.
Without warning, you stand up and bolt. Without looking back, you sprint out of the pub. You can't tell if Steve (if that even is his real name) is following or not. Your flats make a little tapping sound as you sprint down the cobblestone streets, trying to avoid cars.
"Hey!" you hear someone call out from behind you. You immediately recognise it as Steve's voice.
Quickly, you slip into the alley closest to you, hoping that he didn't see you. You slightly peak your head from the wall of the alley that your back is pressed on to see Steve standing a few blocks away in the middle of the street. You watch as he cups his hand around his mouth and lets out a scream.
"I'll find you, Megan Danning! I promise you," he finishes, getting strange looks from passersby.
You furrow your eyebrows and watch him turn around and walk back to the pub. Only after he became out of sight, you slip back onto the road and saunter in the shadows until you reach the house. You silently climb the fire escape, slipping the watch into your coat pocket. Once you reach the third floor, you slide the window open and step inside the room. Jack is still wrapped in his sleeping bag in his corner of the room, but this time he is asleep. You place a kiss on top of his head before stripping yourself from your attire before changing into sleepwear and climbing into bed.
You lay wide awake for what seems like hours, still high on adrenaline. Finally, you succumb to your exhaustion and fall asleep.
When morning came around, you found yourself groggy. You sat up on your ratty cot and rubbed the sleep from your eyes.
"Morning (Y/N)," Jack says from the other side of the room. He had put on some trousers and an old blue button up.
"Morning Jacky," you say while rolling out of bed.
"Ma and Pa went down to the bakery already, but the brought up some jam and bread for breakfast." he says before walking out the room, probably to get food.
You find a plain yellow dress made from old fabric. It's the only thing left in your closet so you slip it on along with your flats. You pull your (Y/H/C) in a low ponytail as you walk out of the room into the kitchen.
"I made some toast for you," Jack says.
"Thanks, Jack."
As you munch on the nearly stale bread with the strawberry, Jack finishes his slice and asks, "Did you get anything last night?"
You nearly choke on your bread.
"No, I didn't," you lie. You didn't want your little brother worrying about you.
"That's too bad. Are you going again this afternoon?" The afternoon was usually the time were you would usually go into the market and slip fruits and vegetables into your purse and jacket.
"I don't think so. We still got a little bit of potatoes from yesterday. Besides, I haven't read with in a while."
Jack's mouth goes wide, a smile forming on his face. He leaps up from his seat and hugs you. "That would be nice," he mumbles into you. You laugh at the boy's enthusiasm.
"I'll clean this up, and you go find a book to read." He nods and runs of to the bookshelf in the corner of the room, eyes scanning for a book.
You finish washing up the dishes as Jack already begins to read his book. As you dry the dishes, you hear someone knock on the door. Assuming it's your mother (she makes visits throughout the day) you yell out, "Coming Ma! Just finishing up the dishes." Instead of a reply, the person at the door knocks again.
You sigh but walk to the door anyways and open it. "Sorry Ma, if you were in a rush. I was ju--"
"Hello."
Your eyes widen in utter shock and your jaw drops.
It was Steve.
Steve Trevor.
"(Y/N)? Who's at the door?" you hear Jack say from behind.
Steve smiles a little, "So your name is (Y/N), huh?"
You push him into the hallway and call out, "Jack, stay inside."
You slam the door shut and spin to face Steve. "How do you know where I live? Did you follow me home? If you like your watch so much, I'll give it back to you. Just, don't hurt my brother."
Steve furrows his eyebrows and shakes his head rapidly, "No, no! You got it all wrong. I'm not here to hurt anyone! You can keep the watch, you probably need it more than I do." he says while gesturing to you.
You scoff, "Excuse me?! What's that supposed to mean?!"
His eyes widen, "Nothing! That's not the point. The point is, I have a proposal."
"I don't care about your damn proposal! Is your name really Steve Trevor? How do you know where I live!?"
"Listen, I'm Captain Steve Trevor of the United States Air Force."
"Then what are you doing in London? I don't know if you've noticed, but a war is about to break out."
"That's why I'm here. They sent me here as a spy for the British, that's how I found out where you lived. They needed all the help they could get."
"So?!" you screech. "That doesn't explain why you're at my house."
"Like I said, they need all the help they can get. That's where you come in."
"Huh?"
"You're really skilled. You almost sneaked away with my watch last night without me noticing. We could really use someone like you, they'd never see it coming."
You cross your arms, "What's in it for me?"
"Security for your family when the war breaks out, a stable job and income, serving your country, y'know, the whole nine yards."
"One request, though."
"Huh?"
"I have one request, and I'll do it."
"Your not really in the position to request anythi--"
"Put my brother in school. Not a bad one, a private one. He deserves an education."
Steve inhales deeply, "I'll see what I can do."
You smile a little, "Great."
Steve smiles slightly and sticks his hand out to shake, "Let's try that introduction again. Steve Trevor."
You smile back and shake his hand, "(Y/N) (Y/L/N). Nice to meet you."
A/N: So...re-post of the prologue. I remember writing this back in 2017. I was at work, doing secretary things, and I’d take a break every so often just to type up a few paragraphs on my phone. The Google Docs app became my best friend, and I got so much writing done during work--which, isn’t setting a good example. Don’t do what I did unless you know for certain that you can get away with it and you’re bored out of your mind.
I also lost my tag list because I was being stupid. Please feel free to add yourself to my Google Doc or ask me to add you.
Pairing: Steve Trevor x Reader
Synopsis: You have been waiting your whole life for your soulmate, and it seems that just as you are about to give up on love, he shows up. However, he seems to be ignoring the biological, spiritual fact that the two of you are in fact meant to be.
Rated: Teen & Up
Warnings: Angst, Funerals, Mention of Character Death
You were the type of person that never cried. You didn't tear up while watching those sappy commercials or bittersweet moments in movies. You didn’t break down and sob for joy when you got that promotion. You didn’t sniffle when the kids would bully you at school.
You didn't even shed a drop when your boyfriend of two and a half years broke up with you or when you realized he had cheated on you with your cousin.
You didn't cry when your soulmate said he could never love you.
But now, several days later, at a funeral, you found yourself behind a weeping willow--how ironic--bawling your eyes out, the priest’s voice in the background the only thing to offer some comfort.
It was raining. Misting was a better word. Your hair was a mess. Your makeup was ruined.
You were becoming the total opposite of your usually composed self. And god, you hated it.
You hated this funeral. You hated that you would have to go to the reception afterwards and smile and pretend everything is so fucking wonderful in your perfect put-together life. You hated that you’d have to mingle and hear your family swoon over your cousin and her new fiancé--your ex--and how they are soulmates.
It didn't matter that he cheated on you. It didn't matter that your best friend in the whole wide world just died. It didn't matter that your soulmate rejected you. It didn't matter that you would continue to be alone while everyone else found their own happiness.
You had to move on with your life and somehow live with yourself.
And maybe it was a good thing your soulmate didn't want to share it with you. He was an asshole through and through, but you thought he would be decent enough to show up to this funeral.
But what did you know about him?
Nothing, apparently.
You thought back over the past year. Year? Had it really been that long? You couldn't believe it...and the fact it had been such a span of time made you croak, another sob ripping through your throat.
God, it was the best and worst year of your existence. You were sure of it, even if you were only a quarter of a century old. Sure, your soul was much older than that...and you couldn't remember the events of your past lives...or what kind of role your soulmate played in them.
Did he reject you then, too? Were you destined to live each life with a soulmate that did not love you? His soul was tied to yours for all eternity, and while both of you could love others, no amount of passion or affection could compare to what was between the two of you.
So why? Why was he so cruel?
Had you done something to him in a past life? But even if you had, he wouldn't be able to remember. He shouldn't be able to remember.
No soulmate can until…
You glanced down at your wrist, sniffling as you slowly lifted the bandage to reveal the small cut you had given yourself...It was meant to cut through the date so you wouldn't have to see it, but you weren’t able to bring yourself to cut deep enough to cause a scar…
The date would still haunt you. That beautiful early spring day would be a permanent thorn in your heart.
And so would he, your elusive, enigmatic soulmate.
Summary: What started as a simple date ended as a failed romance. Or has it truly failed?
Warnings: Cursing, as per use.
Author’s note: Yes, i know, it’s been a long time. Writer's block hit me hard for this one but thank the gods, my mind sprung an idea!
Masterlist
Tags: @mitaputri0412 @wolflhards
A few years ago
“Why do you think you have these feelings?” The question appears as if you’ve entered a dream sequence or a really lousy drug experience that creates this inability to feel oneself. The room is spinning and your body is spinning at two different speeds, two different directions. It is entirely fucked. It’s a dissociative state, you’re there, your body is but your mind isn’t. You can see but you can’t figure out where you are. Fucked. “Y/N, are you there?”
The question acts as a fishing line, reeling you back to reality but still managing to leave you dangling from the hook on full display. “What?”
“This is the fourth time in the last hour, you’ve been inattentive.” The man says as he checks his watch, his name ceases to come back to you. He’s nameless, his identity hidden beneath the layers of time loss. “Have you taken your medication today?”
“I don’t need medication.” The first real sentence you’ve spoken today.
“From the comprehensive review of your file, I think it would be wise if you did.” You’re lost. Physically and mentally, you don’t know where you are, what you’re doing or why you’re sitting on this scratchy green couch. “Y/N, you’ve suffered a traumatic experience most of which the details are sketchy also the reason you seem to have suffered a mental breakdown. In order to properly help you overcome these issues, I need you to be present.”
Each word seems to hit harder than the last, pulling at your heart and only making it harder to concentrate. “Tell me about that night.”
The tick of the clock is beginning to create a headache, each noise seems to be heighten with the intent to create pain. “Nothing happened.”
There’s a sharp inhale of breath from the other body. “According to the report, you were brought to the emergency room with what resembled a case of domestic violence.” There’s a sound of shuffling paperwork before he speaks again, the voice is male. Definitely male. "The hospital staff noticed who they believed to be the person responsible enter the hospital and then barricaded himself in your hospital room, essentially holding you hostage."
You roll your eyes, it's unbelievable. It's completely false, as if someone was writing a book or playing a game of make-believe. "It sounds worse than it was." Not a denial but not the truth. It's got just enough to possibly satisfy him.
"Hmm... Which part has been an exaggeration? Being locked inside your hospital room with your abusive boyfriend who held a gun to your head or covered in bruises with your refusal to testify against him?" It's the kind of snarky comment that ends with a raised eyebrow and a satisfied look that says one thing: 'Ha, take that.'
"I have to go."
"You have been court ordered to attend a one-hour session that was productive, which you have not been. You are unable to leave until I am satisfied that we have had a conductive session." It's defeat. Complete and utter defeat. “Y/N, I know this is difficult and I don’t wish to make you stay here any longer than you need to be but you have to meet me halfway.” It sounds like a plea. He’s truly trying to work with you. "I know it doesn't seem like it but I'm trying to help you."
“It got out of hand." A partial truth. He doesn't respond. "Is there a such thing as craving the negativity?" The question changes the conversation but he's happy to oblige on the fact that you're finally speaking.
His brow arches as he begins tapping his pen on the cushion of the chair he's sitting in. "There are some people who feel comfortable in a negative environment, no matter how hectic or unsafe, there are those who seek it out. It’s familiar and to them all they know. Is that what you believe you do?"
You swallow hard, "No."
"Is Beau surrounded with negativity?" He ask, immediately making you regret you question.
"At times."
"Mmm... Was he surrounded with negativity when you were at the hospital?"
"Yes."
"If there is a negative aura that he emits, why are you so unwilling to rid yourself of him?" He questions and suddenly you have the urge to slap him. "I'm glad you're aware your in a negative situation but I want you to do something about it. Realizing the danger and hostility you’re in is only step one. Step two is doing something about it."
With every passing minute, you panic, you’re sitting in the living room with your eyes glued to the door. Waiting for him to return, he hasn’t called and it’s been an hour. He should have called by now. You tell yourself. What if he lied? If he just up and left? He could be the one getting rid of his apartment and leaving you instead.
Finally, you’re cell phone rings and his name lights up the screen, “Chris… you were supposed to call an hour ago.” You say quickly into the phone but you’re met with silence. “Chris? …Chris?”
You could have counted the hours before someone spoke and the first sound of someone breathing. “This is Dr. Luke Valdez at Good Samaritan Hospital, I found your number on Mr. Pine’s recent contacts list. There has been an accident.” Your heart stopped and now your body feels light, as if you’ll pass out any second. “Mr. Pine was in a car accident.”
You’re moving on auto-pilot, the pain in your foot is non-existent now as you gather your keys and phone before quickly heading out the door. By the time you make it to the hospital, your eyes are full of tears and your thinking the worst, he’s dead, but they can’t tell you that over the phone. He’s been killed. The fear doesn’t stop when you enter the hospital, the emergency room is full of tears, shouts of pain and panicked doctors shouting colors and ordering more test. It's chaotic and for a brief second you contemplate leaving.
“Can I help you?” A woman in a white coat asks, noticing the panic on your face.
“Ye--yeah, I’m looking for Chris--Christopher Pine. He was brought in a while ago.”
She nods, walking over to the desk and glancing at the computer. “Oh, he’s right here. I’ll take you.” Each step you take feel worse than the last, it’s like an anxiety attack is beginning. You feel your arms slowly getting cold, your extremely aware of your breathing and you can’t focus on one thing. The lines on the floor are to overpowering, the sounds are morphing into one loud sound and suddenly the pain your foot is back with a vengeance.
“He’s right here.” The woman says, pulling the privacy curtain back just enough to allow you entrance and closing.
“Jesus.” The harsh whisper pushes past your lips, involuntarily. Chris is sitting up in the bed, currently getting stitches in his head while a nurse wraps his right hand in a bandage.
“Oh god, I told--” Chris looks at the doctor besides him. “I told you not to call anyone.” he smiles. “I’m fine.”
“Fine? You’re covered in blood.” You say slowly walking towards the end of the bed, trying to reach out to touch only to change your mind.
“It’s looks worse than it is.” he lets out a small groan in pain as the nurse sets his hand down. “But you, you shouldn’t be standing or even walking, come sit down.”
The doctor finishes Chris’ head and explains his injuries and the medication he’s being prescribed for the pain.It’s doctor jumble and rather than listen all you can do is stare at Chris, he looks broken, worse than the night Beau got ahold of him. Covered in dried blood with pain in his eyes.
“Are you okay?” You ask when the doctor leaves. He nods, sucking on his lower lip. “Are you sure?”
“Yes.” He chuckles. “Come here.” He holds out his uninjured arm for you to sit next to him seeking comfort that will help not only him but you as well.
There’s a slight feeling of fear that runs through your spine as you approach him, you sit next to him, trying to keep most of your weight away from him so he doesn't get hurt but he won't have it. Pain or no pain, he instantly pulls you into him, stifling a groan as he does.
Your eyes are tearing up and all you want to do is curl up into a ball and cry. This was your fault, if you hadn’t of been stubborn and hurt your foot; Chris never would have been on the road, the car never would have hit him and he wouldn’t be here looking like he just survived a round with Mike Tyson.
“What happen?” You finally crack out.
“I was on the way to your place and this car in front of me lost control and hit me head on. I’m lucky I didn’t break my leg. Few stitches in my head, glass in my hand and busted face but I’m fine.”
“God, Chris...” You sigh.
“It’s fine.” He reaches his hands out, gently holding your face, forcing your swollen eyes to face him. “Relax, I’m fine, A little banged up. Just think about it this way, now it’s your turn to play doctor.”
There was no stopping the fit of laughter you both break out into. “What happened to the other driver?”
“Oh, I don’t know.” He says, bringing his hands down and rubbing soothing circles on your back. “Poor guy is probably more upset about his car than anything.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Guy had a nice green challenger.” He remarked, shaking his head. “That now has regular black paint on it thanks to my car.”
You shake your head and scoff, “You could have died and you’re talking about a car.”
“It was a nice car.” As Chris lays his head on your shoulder, gently resting his eyes.
You don't know what comes over or why you brain decided this was your next comment. "So, I suppose this is a bad time to ask if you got my stuff?" Chris stifles a chuckle.
"No, the other car prevented me from achieving that goal." He responds in a low whisper, gently kissing your shoulder. "Just don't go to your place, okay? When I get out of here, I'll go. My card is in my wallet, whatever you need just buy it brand new."
There goes your independency, not only were you seeking refugee in his house but now he was giving his credit card to support you. You had jumped fifteen to twenty steps in terms of of your relationship, living together and financial responsibility. If it wasn't for the bruised man besides you, seeking your comfort, you'd probably be one step from freaking out. Too much was going on all at once but right now, it felt normal.
Just as your slumber starts to creep in, the startling realization hits you. 'Nice green Challenger.' A green Challenger hit Chris head on in the middle of the night, a green Challenger like the one Beau owned.
The sound of the doorbell ringing snaps Olivia out of her trance, she was sitting on the couch half asleep, dozing off to the sounds of the home improvement channel. A guilty pleasure that came more out of boredom. With a small groan, she shuts off the television tossing the remote beside her and stands up, heading for the door. It’s seven thirty, not exactly late but late enough that it’s odd receiving a visitor at this time.
She looks through the peephole, resting her hand on the door for leverage and her confusion only grows. It’s Chris, in a wrinkled blue shirt with his hands buried in his pocket. She opens the door slowly, unsure what was going on.
“Chris... Are you okay?” Olivia asks, looking at him up and down, searching for any signs of an injury. He’s stressed and chewing on his bottom lip.
“Yeah, I’m fine,” he says shrugging his shoulders, giving her a small smile that disappears shortly after.
She squints at him, not believing a word out of his mouth. “Di-Did you want to come in?”
“Uh... Yeah,” he smiles again. “If you don’t mind.”
Olivia steps aside, letting her ex-husband enter the house into the living room, his fingers twitching as he lets out a deep breathe. She closes the door quietly, walking behind him, not sure what is going on. It’s amazing how much he's changed in the last few years, his hair is longer accessorized with grey highlights matching his beard. There are more lines on his face and a lighter coloring to his eyes but it’s small changes. She probably wouldn’t have noticed if she hadn’t of been with him for a long time. He could still pass as being in his early thirties but there’s something different about him tonight. Something she can’t quite put her finger on.
He's worried, practically jumping out of his skin when he turns to face her.
“I have something to tell you.” He says in a rushed tone, rubbing his hands together. She raises an eyebrow, ignoring the urge she has, to ask a question but before she can do anything, he walks away, heading into the kitchen and grabbing the glass of water that was on the counter, quickly drinking it. It was like the water held his courage in it because seconds of drinking it with a deep exhale, he speaks again. “I’m seeing someone.”
Olivia chuckles, waving her hand at him. “Do you want some tea?” She asks, not giving him any time to answer before she’s headed to her counter, reaching down to grab a metal pot. “You came over here at six o’clock at night, to tell me you’re seeing someone.” She stifles a chuckle as she fills the pot with water, carefully bringing it over to the stove when she's finished, The gas clicks three times before the flames erupt, heating the bottom of the pot. “Honey, we’re divorced. We’ve been divorced for a few years now.” She turns to face him, pushing her hair out of her face. “besides that, I’ve dated someone since we’ve gotten a divorce, you don't need to tell me when you’re seeing someone.”
She expects Chris to let out a sigh of relief but it looks like he’s struggling for air instead. She looks at him concerned, they hadn’t exactly kept in touch after they had signed the divorce papers. Occasionally running into one another but nothing major, maybe this was his first real relationship. Maybe one he actually saw becoming something and didn't want her to be hurt. They’re standing in silence, waiting for the other to speak but he‘s prolonging it and Olivia doesn't know what to say.
“it’s not that.” He says pulling her from her thoughts.
She smiles, glancing at the stove behind her as the water begins to bubbles. “Okay?”
“It’s serious.” Olivia rolls her eyes, quickly turning off the stove and reaching for the pot. “It’s... It’s Mikayla.”
The sound of Olivia dropping the pot onto the stove followed by the water sizzling as it splashes out of the pot, breaks his heart, her shoulders drop and she refuses to turn around. He watches her, his mouth opening and closing as he contemplates saying something. He’s speechless.
“Oh...” She inhales deeply, resting her hands on the counter. “Please tell me that this a dream.” She says in a humorous tone to herself. “This has to be a dream.” Olivia lets out a chuckle that scares Chris. He's never seen her like this. “You didn’t come all this way to tell me you’re seeing Mikayla. It’s a terrible joke. A crude joke.”
Chris’ eyes fall to the floor, “No. It’s true, Livvy.”
She bits her bottom lip and chuckles again. “No...” She shakes her head. “No, you wouldn’t do that to me.” It comes out like a plead with a small sob.
“Liv...”
“No...” Olivia turns around, facing him for the first time. “You...” She takes a deep breath. “When?”
“What?”
“When did it start?”
“A couple of months ago.”
“How?”
He shrugs his shoulders, “She got my number from a friend.”
Olivia chuckles again. “Of course she did.”
“Liv...”
A tear drops from her eyes and she’s not even sure why she’s starting to cry, it feels like betrayal or like being cheated. She’d even go as far as to say that it feels like Chris was shoving a knife into her gut and gently twisting it. It’s cruel. “It’s... uh...” She clears her throat, running her hand along the countertop heading towards the door. “It’s time for you to go.”
Chris sighs, shaking his head. No... Liv, we--”
“We what?” She asks louder and harsher than she intended.
“We can’t leave it like this.” He says quietly, his eyes searching hers for... something.
She chews her lip, sniffling. “End it what way, Chris?” Her tone is full of humor and just on the brink of insulting as she turns to face him. “What way do you see this ending that is anything but horrible? Tell me?” She steps closer to him. “You were scared to death just a few minutes ago, which means you must have had some insight that this would end badly? Or that I would react badly...” She swallows hard. “and you want this to end with both parties happy?”
“It’s wrong of me, I know...”
“No, you don’t know. We got divorced because of that woman...” She shakes her head, trying to force her tears away. She wishes she was capable of being angry with her words rather than her emotions, tears always managed to get the best of her. “She made it her duty to get between us and she did. We ended our marriage because I knew she was trying to ruin us, she wanted between us I just didn’t think she wanted in your pants.”
“It’s not like that.” Chris raises his voice.
“Of course it is, you idiot!” She matches his tone, raising her voice just as he did. “I dated after you, before you and every one of them she had to get a hold of or-or say she had a claim on them.” Tear after tear falls from her eyes. “You’re the only one... the only one she hadn’t been with.”
“Olivia, we met by chance. Nothing more than chance.” he reaches his hand out, gently reaching for her hand which she rejects. “I promise you this means nothing for you.”
“Just wait, six months from now, maybe three, she’s gonna do something... say something and the next thing you know. It’ll be a witch hunt for my head.” To deaf ears, it sounds petty. “I’ll get into another relationship and there she’ll be waiting to ruin it after she drops you.”
Chris shakes his head in disbelief. “Olivia, you’re being childish.”
She scoffs. “Oh, I’m being childish? I told you this would happen. I said she would either try to fuck you or break us up and she’d succeeded in doing both.”
“It’s not like that.” He says again.
“Really? The woman who ruined our relationship just managed to somehow start dating you?”
Chris sighs. “Olivia, you couldn’t handle being in an adult relationship. It’s not my fault that you let someone get between us when they weren’t even trying. If I happened to fall for her it’s your fault. You’re the one who pushed me towards her.”
The color drained from Olivia’s face, it’s a battle between fury and sadness that takes hold of her. She wanted to slap him, throw him down a flight of stairs but also curl up into a ball and cry her self to sleep. She does nothing, she swallows hard, blinks away her tears and walks past him. Be tough, she reminds herself; tough act.
“Goodbye, Christopher.” She says with a strong tone.
“There you go again, instead of talking like an adult you are going to kick me out.”
She looks up at the ceiling, smiling. “Yes, I’m going to kick you out because we’re standing in my kitchen and if you don’t get out, I’m going to stab you.”
“Not that we should but what if we invited you to dinner to prove it’s real?”
“Oh, you mean so that she can poison my food?”
“Liv, stop.”
“You, stop!” She shouts. “You came over because you knew this would be a problem, not because you were being nice.” Olivia scoffs. “You expected me to be angry over this, That makes sense, showing up this late, stuttering, panicking over telling me this. God.” Olivia approaches the door, grabbing the doorknob with anger.
“Yes, I was scared to tell you because I knew you would react this way.”
“The rational way?”
“This is rational?” He questions.
“You know what, marry who you want, fuck who you want and be with her, it's not my life. If you want to be with that she-devil be with her but do me a favor and get the hell out of my house!” Her voice raises, something she hadn’t done in a long time.
Chris breathes in deeply and walks to the door. “Liv, if you would just move on, try to find someone to be with this might be easier. I promise we’re not doing this to hurt you, that’s the last thing I would do.”
Olivia nods, forcing a smile on her face. Trying to be the bigger person. “It was nice to see you.” There’s no emotion in her voice. It’s bleak.
Chris nods, chewing his lip and walking towards the door as she opens it. “Alright.” He says walking out of the door. The second he’s out of the door, she slams it closed, letting out a deep frustrated breath.
It may be an overreaction or a lousy judgment call but all she can think about is confronting Mikayla. A quick grab of her jacket and keys she’s out the door.
Finding out what hotel she was staying at wasn’t the hardest part, it was finding the nerves to go up to her room and confront her. She had everything planned out, how she would start, burst through the doors, detective style, shouting unladylike words at her and punch her right in her pretty little face for nice measure. Of course, the second she burst through the door, her plan went right out the window.
Her voice began to fade, starting off strong and loud only to fall broken and shaky. “Mikayla how could you..” was all she could get out.
Mikayla is seated at her vanity, covering her face in layers of makeup. “I was wondering when you’d show up,” Mikayla says expecting her visit. “How have you been, Olivia?”
Olivia could slap the look of satisfaction off her face. “What the hell is your problem? Do you enjoy ruining my life?” She’d found her voice, thankfully.
“Oh, Is this about Chris?”
“Is this about Chris?” Olivia mocks. “Of course it fucking is! You can have anyone in this goddamn world and you decide you want him?”
Mikayla uses a small napkin to dab the side of her lip, fixing the cherry red lipstick. “Love wants what love wants. She shrugs her shoulders. “Right?” She cocks her head catching Olivia’s eyes in the mirror. “You would know all about that. How are you and Tom?” She smiles.
“That’s what this is about? Tom?” She shakes her head in annoyance. “I’m not with Tom anymore.”
‘“Oh, yeah. That’s right that lovely excuse. Just like you weren’t with Jake either?”
“I did not sleep with Jake! Nothing happened that night!” She’s sure to clarify the actions of that night. That night they didn’t sleep together. That night. Just so long as she doesn’t ask about any other night she’s fine, It’s not a lie.
She chuckles. “Oh, honey I know that. I just like watching you squirm. I gotta say you hooking up with Tommy was the icing on the cake.”
“That’s what this is to you? A game? Using Chris to get back at me?”
She shrugs with an evil smile.
“You know what, this is ridiculous. I got set up on a date with Jake which could have been completely prevented if you had told people about you two! If Jake meant that fucking much to you, you could have told the world. Instead, you would rather be a child and instead of seeking out love you would rather destroy my life and anyone else's.”
“Honey, this is adulthood; if you can’t put on your big boy pants, you shouldn’t play the game.”
Olivia chuckles, “Why do you do this?” She asks, dropping the tone of her voice. “Chris is a good man, a very good man who doesn’t deserve to be dredged through the mud because of your stupidity.”
“A good man can be easily fooled by sex.”
Olivia shakes her head, “Fine, you win! Is that what you want to hear? I fucked your boyfriend. After dinner, Jake and I took a cab to my place and he screwed my brains out. We did it against the wall, on the couch, the counter and the bed. There wasn’t a goddamn spot in my house where we didn’t fuck.” It’s a last resort, something Mikayla has wanted to hear since that damn date.
Mikayla slowly rises to her feet and turns to face her. There’s a softness to her her expression now. “Do you see how easy that was? How all of this could have been prevented by this simple reveal of the truth?”
“You’re pathetic.”
“Be that as it may, you lied to me. You slept with Jake and telling me that would have been so much easier.”
“That’s it? That’s what you have wanted all this time? Every fucked up thing you did to me was because of that?” Olivia can barely breath. “Alright, listen here and listen carefully. That night, I had dinner with Jake. He said he was seeing someone and I backed off. A few nights later after everything that happened, he came back over drunk, angry. He stayed over for a few hours and then we slept together. It meant nothing, absolutely nothing. Hell, I haven’t spoken to him since that night and I don’t plan to.”
Mikayla lets out a deep breathe, nodding. “This still doesn’t fix anything.”
“What about Chris? Are you going to stop this? Call off this phony wedding?”
“No.”
“Are you serious? You got what you wanted?”
“Not entirely. I took your greatest love because you took mine. The second I marry Chris, is the moment that you feel exactly how I felt when you were with Jake.” Olivia can’t even begin to understand how that makes sense or is fair to either of them. Explaining to Chris even in a civil way that he was being used wouldn’t work, he had love blinders on.
“You won.” She says in a low voice, feeling defeated. “I give up. I don’t care anymore. You want Chris you can have him but you know what? At least I can say that I tried to find love instead of spending ten years of my life seeking out revenge on someone who wasn’t even trying to hurt them. Or apologized when it first happened and tried to explain it.” She doesn’t let or allow Mikayla to add anything else before she quickly leaves the room, slamming the door behind her and heading to the elevator.
Inside of the elevator, she has a startling realization. Mikayla may have ruined her relationships, trashed her name in the media and threatened to take away her greatest love but she had failed. Chris wasn’t her greatest love. He wasn’t even on the list of great loves, their marriage had proved that; their relationship before marriage had proved that.
Her greatest love was someone she left in fear of what Mikayla would do not because of what Mikayla had did. Someone she protected from her silly games, someone she still missed and wished things would have been different.
Characters: Jake Gyllenhaal, Tom Hiddleston; Chris Pine. (Alternating OFC characters)
Warnings: Vary by each chapter. Most include Language a warning.
Rating: T. (Possible varying between chapters)
Summary: Olivia’s love life has two things in common with every relationship she attempts to have, her sworn enemy Mikayla and heartbreak. It’s a difficult battle she has faced in her life and it doesn’t seem to be getting easier as time passes.
Chapter 1: Don’t Make Enemies. (Featuring Jake Gyllenhaal W/ mentions of Chris Pine)
Chapter 1½: The Moment We Don’t Talk About. (Featuring Jake Gyllenhaal)
Chapter 2: Don’t Antagonize Your Enemy. (Featuring Chris Pine)
Chapter 2½: Can We Erase Us? (Featuring Chris Pine)
Chapter 3: Don’t Screw With Your Enemy. (Featuring Tom Hiddleston W/ Mentions of Jake Gyllenhaal)
Chapter 3½: And Down It Goes. (Mentions of Tom Hiddleston.)
Chapter 4: Don’t Fuck With Your Enemy. (Featuring Chris Pine W/ mentions of Tom Hiddleston, Mentions of Jake Gyllenhaal)
Chapter 5: Don’t Care About Your Enemy. (Featuring Tom Hiddleston)
