#I KNOW YOU HAVE A LIT DEGREE CHRIS

[letmetellyouaboutmyfeels]

Literally what's next. Chris Pine critiquing my Xedgin fanfic.

[romanshomeonwattpad]

Girl in New York | 5

pairings - art donaldson/reader | challengers au! |

“_ _" = Y/N

masterslist | next chapter | last chapter

sypnosis - you have lunch with Art’s girlfriend and your parents….

warnings - messy blowjobs, dirty talk, slut shaming, cheating, voyuerism

word count - 2k

© elliotsblunt 2024. do not repost, modify, or translate.

You and Art….came to an understanding.

It was odd. Although it was winter—the sun was shining today. White shorts hugged your hips, showing off the curve of your ass. A black tank top let your breasts spill out just enough without flashing the entire tennis club. Birds chirped at the sudden heat, spreading their wings and able to fly away from their problems.

Sweat had gathered at the top of Art’s lip as he drank from his hydro. You two had agreed to meet on Fridays instead. He hadn’t mentioned what occurred Sunday night, diving right into your usual routine. The both of you had just finished an hour long practice—but Art didn’t seem it was long enough. “Let’s go again.”

You groaned, throwing your head back before plopping down onto one of the chairs. There were a ton of tables since there was a food court nearby and people liked to judge the players while stuffing themselves. “My legs are killing me. Can’t we just wait until tomorrow?” You kicked your legs onto another chair, looking up at him. “Matter of fact, let’s get ice cream. I’m craving it.”

“You should lay off the carbs,” Art placed his hands onto his hips, raising a brow at you. Something glinted in his eyes. “It could mess with your cardio.”

You sleep with a guy once and he thinks he could tell you what to eat.

“Whatever. I’ll get it myself.”

Art lit a cigarette, “Least you’ll be getting off your ass.”

You pushed yourself off the chair and hit his shoulder whilst passing him. As if you hadn’t just spent the last hour aggressively dodges Art’s stroke’s. You were pretty sure there were three bruises on your knee from falling to strike back. And on top of that, the concealer you applied on your neck to cover his hickeys was melting off. It was fucking December—why was it ninety degrees?

Bees buzzed around lavender colored flowers. You spotted around the corner the food truck. A familiar pair of pretty brown eyes and a charming smile popped into view. Humming to yourself, excitement flourished within you, approaching him. “Oh hey—it’s you again,” his brown orbs not so swiftly racked up and down your figure. “I was gonna text you but my phone broke. It like won’t turn on…it’s a piece of shit.”

You raised your brows, “Can’t even trust your own phones these days to not cockblock you.”

He laughed, “Literally. What can I get you? On the house.”

“A chocolate ice cream on a cone, please.”

A wink was thrown your way—shooting right down into your core. But his eyes didn’t swirl with the same hungerness as Art. This was more like desire…curiosity. It didn’t feel as exhilarating as tossing flirty banger with the gorgeous blonde. This guy was younger, and seemed like he tried too hard to impress you. Whereas Art didn’t give a fuck what you thought, he still said it regardless.

It didn’t irritate you that he wasn’t acknowledging the situation. All you knew was that it surely wasn’t a one time thing. Whether he expects it or not, he’ll eventually give in. And if he didn’t—you wished to savor his taste on your tongue for as long as possible.

“Here ya go, gorgeous.”

You snapped out your daze. There was a cutie in front of you—and were off thinking about Art. Get it together _ _.

He handed you the vanilla cone. There were sprinkles on top of the perfectly scooped ice cream. But before you could thank him, Art grabbed your arm, pulling you away from the guy. You knitted your brows, “Art what the f—thanks uh, Chase! Or Chad!”

“It’s Chris. How do you flirt with guys you don’t even know,” Art eyed you from the corner of his eye, not fully turning his head. Once you two got far enough, you tugged from his grip.

Your eyes narrowed into daggers. “Says the guy who cheated on his girlfriend.”

That shut him up. Ignoring the non-staggering death stare he was burning into the you—you licked at your ice cream. His eyes focused on the way the tip of your tongue twirled around the cream. “Perhaps I should’ve went with vanilla,” you tasted, locking eyes with his. They were hooded and cloudy, drinking in every movement you made with your mouth. No longer thinned into knives penetrating your skull.

And then it flew out your hand. You’re ice cream.

“What the fuck, Art—“

“Get behind that wall,” he sneered, shoving you anyways. You almost tripped before his hands pushed your shoulders downwards—guiding you to your knees. When you got the message, your eyes rounded up at him. “Art—we’re at the club. Your girlfriend—“

His fingers gripped your chin in a bruising hold. Taking out his cock with the other hand by pulling his sports shorts down, he then tapped the pink top onto your bottom lip. “Don’t mention her before I’m about to throat fuck you,” he smirked, before watching his head vanish between your lips. A salty undertone filled your taste buds, his thick head pulsing on your slippery tongue. Your eyes don’t leave his as you hummed, savoring the taste of his pre-cum. Sucking and swirling with your mouth, and jerking the rest with your hand, you put yourself to work.

His hips harshly snapped into your mouth. Art’s eyes were barely open, bliss taking over his features.

You couldn’t get enough of him. You wanted to see him break above you. Moaning around his dick, you felt it twitch in the warm walls of your mouth— before more of his salty liquid dribbled out. Signaling he was getting close already, your wrists began to twist the base of his cock. A patch of blonde hairs resided above it. He held his shirt up with one hand, holding the back of your head with another.

“Fuck, that’s it. Take it all like a good fucking girl.”

Sticking out your tongue, you continued to jerk off his huge cock. “I’m gonna—fuck—“

His cock twitched, blue eyes boring into your wicked ones—taking everything he had to offer. The liquid shot out all over your tongue, and on the ground.

“We would like to meet your instructor.”

You almost dropped your spoon, choked on your mashed potatoes, and screamed at the top of your lungs. Perhaps your mother had gone crazy. She took a sip of wine, shrugging her shoulders at your father. “She seems passionate about Tennis. It seems as if he inspired this newfound hobby.”

Oh…you have no idea.

“We’ll come watch you play next week. It’s set,” your father nodded, taking a bite of steak. A know it all look crossed his features. “You know—I used to dabble in the sport back in high school…”

You tuned out your father out.

Your parents were going to meet Art?

This could not fucking happen.

“How ya doing? I’m Bradford Smith, and this is my wife—Fiona Smith. _ _’s mother.”

Art’s eyes flew over to you. The sun shined without mercy, the tight long-sleeve that covered your tits due to your parent’s presence making you itchy. And to make matters worse, a high pitched hello sounded from behind. A pair of blonde pigtails came into view, and as soon as she spotted you, her arms clung to Art. “_ _! What a surprise! Speaking of those—I was planning on surprising Art. I didn’t know you were bringing your family as well.”

You laughed in disbelief that this was all happening. “Well isn’t that just strawberries and confetti throw up fun.”

Art sent you a behave look, earning an eye roll from yourself. Your mother chuckled, probably just as confused as everyone else, “_ _ wants to show us what the two of you have been working so hard doing.”

“I love watching you play, baby. Let’s do it!” La-la loopsie cheers, clapping her hands excitedly. You refrain from rolling your eyes again, grabbing your racket from the table and heading to the court. You overhead your mom tell your dad that Art’s girlfriend was cute—leading you to make a disgusted sound and warm up.

Art bounces his ball of the ground before hitting it with the racket. Just how you liked it. He started out aggressive, but you expected that, hitting it with yours quickly. The both of you dove into your skills, hearing your current audience clap every once in a while.

After about thirty minutes, you began to grow winded, and called for a break. Your father ended up talking to Art about his old tennis team. Surprisingly, the two got along—sharing a few chuckles here and there. Tiffany kept kissing your mother’s ass, asking her about the mug’s she liked to design. Just from listening to the conversation, you began to grow nauseous.

“I’m getting slushie,” you muttered, walking away from the scene. But before you could get too far, Art overheard you—his head whipping away from your still speaking father.

“I’m actually thinking about getting something too. I’ll go instead,” he offers, Tiffany noticing his sudden interest. You knit your brows together.

“I got it.”

“No seriously. I’m good friends with the dude anyway.”

“Chad?” You raise your brows, causing him to send you a glare before walking away. Tiffany followed him—wearing a painted smile. You thought the encounter was weird, but before you could think too deep into it, your mother pulled you aside.

“You should wear longer skirts, _ _.”

“Mom—I’m an adult. Please.”

Your father kissed the side of your head, “Why don’t the five of us have some lunch. There’s a cafe right there. Go let your friends know and we’ll grab a table.”

Before you could reply, they walked away to find a spot. Tiffany and Art returned back, him handing you a cherry slushie. “It was all they had.”

“That cashier guy asked about you. Is he like, your boyfriend?” Tiffany asks, sipping your Diet Coke. You didn’t see the point in diet anything if there was no sugar. It made everything taste a million times better.

Art pressed his lips together. You shrugged, sipping your slushie. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” your tone was uninterested. Being in the same vicinity made your blood boil. She had the ability to kiss him in broad daylight—and didn’t even take advantage of it. No wonder Art came to you for his sexual needs. It seemed like she was plain and simple. If a boy likes you, date him. If he doesn’t, run away.

She doesn’t know how to take care of someone like Art. Someone like you.

“Anyways,” you look at your nails, tension in the air. “My parents what us to have lunch together. I can tell them you guys are busy.”

“No that sounds fun!” Tiffany chimes in, holding onto Art’s arm again. His eyes slightly widen, face paling into a white sheet. He ground his jaw.

“I’m actually really tire—“

Tiffany tugged on his arm, whining in a tone that made you want to pierce your ears. “Please babe…”

“Yeah,” you smirk, thinking of a fun idea. Art’s eyes instantly met yours, a worried look crossing his features. While his girlfriend was looking at him, your tongue poked out and swirled around the straw—his teeth gritting at the sight. You noticed his fists ball at his sides. Tiffany looks at you, beaming excitedly. You send her a fake smile,

“You should taste this slushie I had last week. It was super creamy.”

“Alright let’s go.” Art grabs Tiffany, dragging her over to find your parents. You giggle to yourself, enjoying seeing him flustered.

“My mother is a Stanford graduate. That’s actually where Art and I met.”

Tiffany wouldn’t stop rambling about the history of her and Art. It was driving you literally insane. Your father helped himself to his club sandwich, barely listening to what she was even saying. Your mother on the other hand was absolutely ecstatic for the couple, sharing her own experiences about meeting your father.

You picked at your salad, glancing at the fair haired boy. He had been sipping his coffee—clearly uncomfortable with this entire situation. You decided to tease him a bit, taking advantage of the fact that you were seated beside him. Brushing your heel against his calf, he suddenly jerked, catching the attention of everyone at the table.

He cleared his throat, “Uh—a bee. It flew away.”

“Right. You remember that time we went to Cuba for that tournament, sweetie.”

He hummed, pulling out a cigarette from his back pocket. Tiffany made a face, “If you’re going smoke, at least go to the parking lot. Everyone’s eating.”

Jesus. What a bitch.

“I don’t mind,” your mother placed her hand on Tiffany’s. She smiled warmly at Art afterwards. “Bradford used to chain smoke those things until I eased him off then. Looks like we’ll have to do the same thing to you.”

Art returned her smile, ignoring Tiffany’s eye roll, sparking the cigarette. “_ _. Tell them about how you used to dance in the bathroom with my old tennis racket. It was the cutest thing. She’d be naked—“

“Actually, I’m gonna spark one up too. I’ll go to the parking lot though so no one complains.”

“I’ll come with you,” Art shot up, offering a nervous smile to everyone. “I just—feel so guilty.”

“Okay kids. We’ll be here.”

“What the fuck, _ _?”

You never thought it would be so hilarious to see someone smoking a cigarette whilst looking immensely frazzled. As soon as the two of you reached the back parking lot, out of sight of people, Art let you know how he truly felt. Fortunately, you weren’t in much of a talkative mood, so you listened patiently whilst finishing your cigarette.

“Not only are your parents here—but your mom loves my girlfriend. This fucked situation just got entirely more fucked.” He ran a hand through his light strands, pacing back and forth.

“I hate when she does shit like this.”

“Who?” You mumbled, leaning your back against the wall.

“Tiff!” His hands flew in the air, shaking his head. “She always pops up unannounced. I hate that kind of shit. She has no respect for my time nor schedule. I mean—what makes her think she can crash my lesson? “

“Why are you even with her?”

Art looked at you with a sudden calmness. It was as if your words urged him to think.

“I….don’t know.”

That made you pause. The cigarette burnt as the both of you stared at one another. For the first time, he was expressing his feelings. It was different than usual. “She doesn’t let you breathe. You’re a free soul, and she wants to keep it caged. You won’t stay with her for long. It’s only a matter of time.”

“I guess I like her company. She’s always there for me when I need it,” he shrugged, standing beside you. He looked away from you, “But if it came to actually being in love with her—I couldn’t tell you. She doesn’t accept me for me.”

“Then she’s a fucking idiot,” you smirk, “—because you’re like…kinda cool I guess.”

His eyes twinkled, your gaze meeting once again. You smirk was met by a sheepish smile from him.

“You’re pretty aggressive, you know that?”

“You love it.”

His eyes fell to your lips. “We should stop sneaking around, _ _. This is going too far.”

You laughed, throwing the cigarettes off the ground before crushing it with your heel. “C’mon, lover boy.”

[try-set-me-on-fire]

just really needed a hug sort of hug

for the soft prompts <3

Uhhhh this is a little angsty and vibey sorry about that! Set a few years in the future in a world where the lightning strike had bigger and longer lasting impact on Buck than it did in canon. Send me soft prompts! The rest I’ve done are on a03!

Eddie is pinching the skin by his elbow, the shiny part where it's new. Well, a few months old at this point, Chimney supposes, but he still gently smacks the man's bicep as he passes him to sit at the table.

"Quit it, Diaz."

Eddie makes a face at him but he puts his hand flat on the table. He then makes another, more stressed out face, and waves the hand in the air in a vague but emphatic motion.

"I want to call Buck again."

"You were on the phone half an hour ago."

"Yep." His palm presses into the wood again. "I am aware of that."

Chim hooks his left ankle over his right knee. "You two ever get word…"

"Every test came back fine- within normal- they didn't find anything. They have no fucking idea why his blood pressure dropped like that." Eddie crosses his arms. "Between the two of us we've funded the Los Angeles ambulance budget for the fucking year and the best advice anyone had was for him to 'rest and drink plenty of fluids.'"

"Shit."

"Mhmm." Eddie's knee is bouncing anxiously, and he looks exhausted. He has looked exhausted, frankly, since a fourth story floor went out from under him in June and he gained the dubious honor of being the first member of 118 A shift to sustain third degree burns. He doesn't pinch at it again, but he's gripping the scarred bend of his arm tight enough that it might fall under Buck's strict instructions to tell him to leave it alone. "He shouldn't have been back at work yet."

"He seemed fine, Eddie."

Eddie exhales, shaky and unpleasant. "He seemed like he was getting better from the flu, and then Chris found him on the kitchen floor. He seemed better on Thursday and then-" he shakes his head, breathes in, blows the air out slowly. "I've told myself that a lot today - he was ok when I left this morning, he’s fine, he’s texting me, it’s going to be ok. But he was ok when I left those mornings too." He blows out air again, and it whistles through his clenched teeth.

Chimney thinks Eddie wouldn't appreciate it, but he thinks very hard and loud that the universe should give the Diaz family a fucking break. He extends his leg so his boot taps into Eddie's.

"He was doing so good- he felt good in a way he hasn't in a long time." Eddie makes direct eye contact for the first time this conversation. "We were talking about him working towards recertification. Coming back here. He really does love the call center and he’s good at it, but he misses being a part of the team, still. And then-" he makes an unhappy little sound. "He exhausted himself taking care of me and now this… We can both say 'healing isn't linear' until our mouths bleed but he’s almost back to where he was right after the strike and- and he's disappointed, I know he is and just- just not knowing what life is going to be like one day to the next- It's just been… a rough fucking year." Eddie's mouth turns up in a real grimace of a smile. "But we have experience with those. So… we'll just keep getting through it."

Two memories play out in Chimney's head.

First: A beach day, sometime in the first summer after Buck and Eddie were married. The jeep had arrived first, but as Chimney did what Maddie referred to as his Dad Jog to the trunk of his own car to start unloading he noticed that none of its occupants had got out yet. From the place he was standing he could see Buck, lit up golden in the afternoon glow, twisted sideways in the passenger seat and gesturing wildly as he talked, absolute glee written all over his face. Eddie in the driver's seat and Chris, unbuckled in the back, leaned their whole bodies towards him like plants seeking photosynthesis. Chim had wondered if the sun had been lonely before it had planets to orbit it, and then laughed at himself for being poetic, and anyway he wasn't sure that's the order the universe formed in. Buck would know, he'd have to ask him.

Second: Thursday, when Buck had made it through pneumonia like a champ and then gone back to his job at dispatch only to take a nap in the break room that no one could really wake him up from. It gets more ethically dubious by the year for any of the 118 to treat each other what with their tangled web of marriages and less official family ties, but Maddie had sounded panicked over the radio, and they’d been the closest first responders, and Chimney is certain that even if they weren’t nothing could have stopped them from coming for their brother, son, husband. Chimney remembers Eddie kneeling in front of the couch, the exact quiet tone of his voice as he’d said “Honey, I’m right here,” and the lethargic movement of Buck’s hand coming to weakly grip his shoulder. But the real thing, the clip that’s going to stay in his mind forever and repeat without permission, is looking up from establishing a line in the ambulance and watching how Eddie was curled down towards his partner as he tried to keep a flash of blue appearing between fluttering eyelids. Eddie was talking and Chimney doesn’t remember any of the words because he was also stroking his thumb over Buck’s brow and Chimney can’t stop thinking that he has never seen a human being touch another that gently.

Eddie’s phone buzzes and he looks at it, huffing a laugh and scrubbing a hand over his face. “He’s asking about pasta shapes. Wait- is he in the kitchen?” He frowns and hits dial, and the phone only gets out a single ring before Buck picks up.

“Hey,” his voice drifts, tinny, into the room and Chimney feels some tight little thing in his chest relax a little.

“You better not be cooking, Buck, you’re on speaker so I have back up if I need to yell at you.”

“I’m not, I’m not,” Buck laughs. “I’m exploiting child labor.”

Distantly, Christopher says “Hi, dad.”

“And you’re not helping at all?” Eddie raises his eyebrow and Chimney bets Buck can see it, miles away at their home.

“Chris is doing all the work, I swear, and we’re just gonna dump on the sauce I made, uh- Wednesday? Tuesday? Whatever, I can supervise boiling water. I didn’t even pick a pasta shape, c’mon, farfalle or fusilli?”

“Fusilli. You should be resting, Buck.”

Buck sighs, staticky over the speakers. “All I did today was move from the couch to the kitchen table, and I walked very slowly. I’m wrapped in a blanket and everything.” There’s a faint rustling sound and then Buck continues in a quieter voice. “I promised I’d tell you if something felt wrong. I’m alright, Eddie.”

Eddie bites his lips, and then takes the call off speaker and steps towards the kitchen. “You’re ok? You feel alright?” He spins his silicone wedding band around his finger as he listens. “Yeah. Yeah, before you wake up, probably.” He says “Buck” and Chimney always wondered how Eddie said that name and made it mean so much, folding in care and exasperation and adoration like he’s laminating butter between layers of dough. “Alright, I love you. I love you. Yeah. Tomorrow.”

He hangs up and as he exhales the alarm goes off overhead, because of course it does. Eddie starts towards the stairs but Chimney hurries forward and grabs him first and pulls him into the tightest hug he can. Eddie clings onto him for a moment, and they can only spare seconds for this attempt at comfort but he looks grateful when he pulls back, looks a little less tense.

"I love you, bud," Chimney says, and Eddie actually laughs at him as they head down the stairs. Chim swipes at the back of his brother in-law in-law's head as they pull on their gear and load into the engine and Eddie dodges with the practiced ease of a man with siblings. When they're in their seats and headed to the scene, though, Eddie leans forward and knocks his elbow into Chimney's knee.

"Love you, too." Eddie smiles. Three silhouettes in a car. A gentle touch. Things are going to be ok.

[haptureratch]

Bitch, You Need Therapy

Pairing: Johnny Knoxville x Reader (afab)

Others: Chris Pontius, Steve-O

Word count: approx. 4.5k

Synopsis: You’re part of the crew, temporarily filling in and enjoying it immensely. You are filming something overseas. Knoxville finds out you have a crush on him and decides to fuck with your stressed little self until he gets carried away in the moment.

WARNINGS/tags: NC-17, minors DNI, adult language, alcohol (technical lack of consent), soft allusions to hard drugs, oral sex, genital penetration, THE DOUBLE MEANING OF LIPS, kinks galore (praise, rough, petnames, things I don’t have a word for)

Notes from the author: Yeah idk he just seems like a playful bastard that might be hiding a kinky streak. Not tied to any specific period of Jackass filming so reader can take some creative liberties (the least I can do when I am dictating reader’s entire personality lmao). Knoxville is single in this world; it’s all fun & fantasy. This work has not been officially reviewed apart from one of my best friends giving enthusiastic approval early on. But I’ve read over it a hundred times while writing it SO DAMN SLOWLY, so hopefully it is okay. There are purposeful tense changes and I hope they hit the way I'm intending. Is the whole thing cringe? Maybe; maybe not. Pls let loose & enjoy! I am a long time reader and I’ve had ideas here and there; finally decided it was time to fuck around and find out myself. It’s been way harder than I thought and I have even more respect for my fave fic authors out there. If you know me irl, no you don’t. WITHOUT FURTHER ADIEU~~

Night has been falling earlier and earlier as weeks peel away from Autumn toward the year’s end. It is 7 o’clock in the evening but feels more like 11. Outside the darkness is interrupted by numerous streetlamps along the sidewalk. The lights glow a golden orange, reminding you of the crackling fire in the pub, and you dig your hands into your coat pockets seeking warmth.

“HEY ASSHOLE, why did we leave that cozy fucking place?!” you shout over the wind at one of your walking companions with some frustration. Only some. You’ve had a couple drinks and your speech seems to come out in demanding exclamations regardless of any real anger at that point. And you’re fairly certain any frustration stems from unmet desires directed toward this man and his stupid glinty purple-tinted sunglasses. Sunglasses, which he wore inside the intimately lit pub and which he is still wearing outside at night. What a jackass.

A different, unsunglasses’d man answered. “Because adventure calls! Sure, it’s cold out. But not cold enough to get frostbite. The call to adventure must be heeded even in the face of Ice Queen Mother Nature. Like the Russian Police, she’s stern. Stern…but fair,” he announced with omnipotence. Everyone in the group seemed dead set on committing crimes this evening. This one was guilty of venturing out in 20-some degree weather without a coat or sweater or torso cover of any kind. Just a fluffy scarf and a Santa hat. Another jackass, you thought. But that’s why you jumped at the chance to work with these people. It was an invigorating break from the mundane. And the group oozed fun; to be in the same room as any of them was to know friendship and laughter.

You smiled genuinely at him. Despite the cold and questionable decisions, he still inspired affection. “Thanks, as always, Pontius, for the exceptional pep talk but I think I was asking—”

“DUDE WHERE IS MY SKATEBOARD?!?!!” screeched a third man’s voice. He’d definitely had the most to drink out of the group so far this evening and crime was written all over him. Good ol’ Steve-O. Nothing more to be said about him.

Sunglasses finally spoke up. “I decided against anything with wheels for this and threw it in the back of the van, Steve-O. We can come back in the daytime tomorrow for skate shots. There are a lot less lights the farther in the park we go.”

“Knox, you IDIOT, I’m planning on being so fucking hungover tomorrow! I’m on my GAME now, man, you shoulda brought it!” He bent down to gather up two fists of snow, mash them together, and hurl the mass toward Johnny.

“If you want it so bad, go back an’ get it!” He grinned while dodging the poorly aimed snowball and jumped over to rap Steve-O on the ass with the back of his hand. This garnered a slow, deep, huffy giggling from Pontius. It was less of a giggle, more of a devious huh-huh-huh. It sounded like something you’d hear in the boys’ locker room but if it came from the throat of a grown man.

The little spanking sparked a quick scuffle between Steve-O and Johnny. After nearly slipping and falling, he gave up on trying to fuck with the taller man and hardened his resolve to skate in the snow. “UGH! I’ll be back…” After a beat of wily consideration he added, “Or not!” Steve-O then darted off in the direction of the pub, almost slipped again, and slowed his stumbling gait. If he was headed toward booze he was probably going to get another round. A round of…something.

Chris and Johnny shared a look and the Santa-hatted one asked, “Who’s going with him? It’s law that we use the buddy system in all foreign lands, especially when we don’t want to get arrested. More arrested than we get when the cameras are rolling. Those times are okay.”

Johnny spoke first. “I’ll stay to map out where Jeff thinks we can get the money shots. Y/N probably needs to mess with the camera settings.”

“Actually, yeah,” you uttered, reviving from a slight stupor of quiet observation and remembering your role in all of this. “This would be our first night footage of the trip and I haven’t experimented with the exposure or what type of flash I can—”

“Okay nerd on, genius, I’ll go,” Chris interrupted. He smiled and bowed himself out in the direction of Steve-O and the pub.

“Better hurry, Pontius! Something tells me the board ain’t the priority now,” Johnny called out. You watched as the smoke from his breath dissipated into the cold and the two of you continued away from what seemed like the rest of civilization.

********

The other men gone from sight, your physical awareness of Johnny dialed up. Though he was lean, he seemed to exude heat through his black peacoat. Maybe you were imagining things. But you dared to draw a couple inches closer to assess. He slowed his gait and you veered right back over and even sped up a little. You thought you heard a quiet laugh come from his side of the path.

‘Dammit, Y/N, fucking stay focused,’ you thought to yourself. You can’t give them anything to get you on; it was more important to you than any legal trouble. You were here to relieve Lance after one too many trips involving vomit-on-the-camera incidents. You had a job to do, you had creative input to offer, and you didn’t have to let on that you found one of the guys so hot you couldn’t stand it. That fact could be kept firmly TO YOURSELF. The need to keep it a secret almost hyped it up to an obsession. You found yourself stealing photos during planning sessions, when you were 95% certain that no one would notice. Since you were such a dedicated crew member, the team assumed you were experimenting with angles or compiling a look-book or something.

Sure, you took candids of everyone. But the most recurring subject by far was Johnny Knoxville. There were the obvious features that caught your eye, mostly when he laughed, all white teeth and crow’s feet. After a while you noticed how he stood kind of funny, whether that was from past back injuries, weak glutes, or a touch of valgus knee deformity you weren’t sure. It didn’t at all detract from the beauty of those long legs or the defined torso they led up to. Certainly didn’t ruin his painfully (for you) deep iliac furrows smack dab in the middle of it all. And you weren’t going to get started on his arms or shoulders or jawline. He really took your love for anatomy and smacked you upside the head with it. He was art and you were insane.

Your stupid little fangirl crush even had you calling him ‘Johnny Knoxville’ in your head instead of PJ. It was like how you still called your teachers ‘Mr/Ms/Mx’ after graduating from school, even though they gave you permission to be on a first-name basis. It was hard to get comfortable with others like that. Another reason why you wanted this chance at a different work environment even if it was just temporary. You sorely needed to relax, Y/N. Unclench your jaw, take a breath, stop the shoulders from migrating upwards, and just keep walking. Sometimes the set of Jackass was not the ideal setting to work on those goals—all of those damn pranks—but…

“Lost in thought, puddin’?” you heard in your ear. You didn’t so much hear them as felt the words slap your skin from behind, the shock of wet heat in the cold air startling you. The streetlamps brightened in your peripheral vision.

You spun around and couldn’t help the nervous fake-laugh that escaped. “Oh, uh, yeah, you could say that. Just handling a lot of little things right now. Like the jet-lag, that European alcohol hitting a little stronger, the cold being colder here somehow, filming schedule, the list goes on, man." You hoped adding 'man’ would lend the illusion of you being chill, cool, totally not in fight-or-flight mode a moment ago.

It didn’t. There was an awkward silence as he stood facing you. Behind the shades you couldn’t see the mischief in his eyes as he planned out where he was going to take this. To you it just looked like staring. ‘Fucking dammit,’ you swore at yourself, ‘I don’t know if he KNOWS knows but he knows something is up. Agh, focus on work, FOCUS ON WORK.’

You cleared your throat, pulled namaste out of your ass, and shifted the power of the interaction back on your side with, “Hey, why don’t you stand over by that statue and help me with shot composition.”

“Yes, boss, on the double!” His tone was playfully condescending as he headed over to the metal figure, an unknown man outlined in snow. “Anything for you, sweetheart.” He let the last word drag out lower and slower than the rest. You had to fight your dead brain to let you breathe again. He was going to fuck with you, alright, and it was going to happen tonight. But for his own fun, no cameras in sight other than yours. There was always a chance of one of those goofy assholes hiding in a bush, but your gut told you there were none. No one else was going to be around for this, but you weren’t sure how thankful you were. You were flooded with several thoughts at once. How far would he go? How far did you want him to go? Did Jackass have HR? What was their policy on a creator/actor doing unspeakable things to a camera person with his mouth? Could the van be moved for about 90 minutes tonight without anyone knowing? Was he all dom or a switch? How easy would it be to get him to giggle during a blowjob?

Fuck. Focus.

‘FUCK,’ you thought as, for some ungodly reason, Knox put his tongue to the statue’s ear. The side of your neck began to tingle where his breath had been several minutes ago; memory is a powerful thing. You shook your head to regroup.

“Better pray you don’t end up like that kid in A Christmas Story,” you deadpanned.

He looked away and called out toward the woods at the edge of the park, “Nah, I’m too wet for that. That…that’s the secret.” You saw his back shuddering slightly, probably with laughter, and tried to see deeper into the trees. Not a soul was detected.

“You’ll be wetter when that statue comes to life and throws you in the river.”

He turned back toward you. “Naw, I think he likes it,” he grinned as wedged his body even closer to the metal and began to run a hand slowly down its torso. For the first time he made eye contact with you over his glasses and you dared not break it while his hand migrated further and further south. “And I think he’s not the only one, darlin’,” he drawled, his tone growing deeper and darker by the second. Two fingers began to lazily graze between the statue’s legs. And, as if that wasn’t enough, his hips ground into what had to be extremely cold and extremely hard metal. He let out a low sigh into the winter air.

This probably lasted just a moment but it felt like an eternity as you stood watching him, unable to do anything else, not quite believing what you were seeing. Your eyes were glued to where you thought his dick was, where you thought you saw an outline begin to show. He kept at it, grinding and sighing and caressing against that fucking statue, only averting his gaze to let his eyes roll back into his head and flutter shut. Which he made sure you could see with the shades slid all the way down the bridge of his nose. The whole thing was insane but you could not stop the cascade of heat and desire from building inside you. It’s like the more it shouldn’t be happening, the more you were into it. You wanted to look around and check for the crew for the umpteenth time but couldn’t tear your eyes from him. Johnny Knoxville was getting freaky on a statue to tease you and you were simmering in your own juices.

Like.

What the actual fuck?

Okay, case closed, he definitely knew.

Uhh… Just try to own it now?

“You know what, you whore?! It’s gonna be really fucking awkward when my underwear freezes out here!”

He finally broke, fell away from the statue, and dissolved into laughter on the ground. You hoped your boldness would recuperate a bit of your cred and he’d back off. (You hoped he wouldn’t back off.)

“The working conditions, here, honestly…” you said as your hands came to your hips.

His maniacal glee, normally adorable when it wasn’t tied up in such a stressful and sexy situation, died out and he regained upright footing. He didn’t bother to brush the snow off his coat or shake out what had peppered his hair. He took off his sunglasses and folded them into the inner pocket of his coat. He smiled down at you and you felt him gently grab your shoulders. “You’re so wound up, Y/N,” he remarked with genuine care in his voice.

The touch and proximity made you stiffen; your arms dropped to your sides. His breath smelled like booze and you wanted to drown in it.

His fingers laced together behind your shoulders and slid down to rest at the small of your back; you instinctively grabbed at his forearms. “Gotta learn how to relax, baby.” He jerked your lower half into him and you could feel that you had not, in fact, been imagining that dick. With that, you felt the last of your good sense rocket away, leaving a long-imprisoned whine in its wake.

He dipped his head down to your ear and growled, “How loud does that kitty purr?”

No words.

No thoughts.

Your head threatened to crack off of your spine but he caught the back of it with one hand, the other snaked firmly around the rest of you, as his lips made contact with your neck. Soft kisses were syncopated with nibbles, the heat of his mouth searing your skin in contrast to the chilly air. His tongue was so wet and so warm against your flesh. You all but dripped for him.

“Van,” you demand.

He takes your hand, grins, and leads you out of the park toward the town.

The two of you make it to the van and he takes space in the driver’s seat. The engine comes to life relatively quietly—thank god for hybrids—and he maneuvers it onto a darkened side street several blocks down. You seem to be surrounded by a bunch of businesses closed down for the night but you also don’t have a single fuck to give now. You slide a hand over the rod in his pants and his lips part with a groan.

Hunger takes hold and you lunge over the console to catch his mouth in a voracious kiss. Tongue and teeth everywhere. Even the smallest hints of pleasure out of this man are going to drive you wild tonight. But you want—you NEED—to savor the experience. The movements of your jaw slow and the space between your lips closes as you center yourself. His lips come together but his breath continues hard and deep through his nose. His eyes are shut tight as if he's exercising control as well. You pepper kisses across his cheek, down his neck, and back up to his ear where you sigh your contentment.

“Mmm, sweetheart, I’m gonna need to hear more of that,” he says low in your ear. Your belly flutters up into your chest and you think you might fall in love, like an idiot.

He kisses you deeply and pulls you with him into the back of the van. The heat of the exchange melts off both your coats. A sleeping bag is found, unzipped, and laid down. Not that the two of you notice the cold all that much, it just seems like the right thing to do in a van that carts around the Jackass crew. He is a bit more discerning than some of his co-stars.

He unzips your pants and slides them down your legs. You sit up to help kick them off along with your shoes. He takes off your shirt, leaving you just in your bra, socks, and panties. You love how exposed you must look and how vulnerable you feel. He looks you in the eye, smirks, looks down at your hips, licks his lips. Your thighs squeeze together with anticipation and your moan spells out your need.

He lowers himself down, still clothed, onto your nearly naked body and lays his lips all over your skin. He slides across you lazily and you can’t stand how good his clothes feel against you. You can’t wait for that dick to be out and in your mouth. It’s how you want to show him how good he’s making you feel. The way he takes the fabric of your panties in his fingertips tells you he has his own priorities.

“May I?”

“May you what?”

He smiles and toys with the bows stitched to the elastic around your hips. He takes the band in his teeth and looks you in the eye as he lets it snap against you.

“Eat out that pretty pussy of yours, doll. It’s all wrapped up for me like a present under the tree.”

You’re not able to make a joke about stealing Chris’s Santa hat. You can only reach down and start to wiggle the remaining cotton off, with which Knox happily helps. The bra and socks follow suit and a cheeky kiss to your foot garners a giggle.

Things get very serious again when he positions his face in front of your heat. He hugs your hips to him and rests his large hands down on you. You can’t help but buck up into the contact when his lips meet yours. His soft, wet tongue feels so fucking good. Your hands find his hair and you rake your nails through it. Every time you look down he’s either got his eyes closed, lids fluttering in the prettiest way, or he’s looking right back at you. Each moan from your mouth elicits self-assured hums from his and it drives you to desperately need more.

“Need you in me, Knox,” you demand.

He looks up at you again with those deep brown eyes and doesn’t say a word.

“Want you in my mouth first. I want to taste that dick.”

He pulls himself up and you all but tear the black and white KNOXVILLE belt through the loops of his Dickies. He frees his hard cock and you pause to take it in with your eyes first.

“It may not be the biggest but right now you got me harder than—aaughh..” The whole rest of him stiffens up and he bites into his knuckles as you take in the tip. He relaxes with a deep sigh as you try to swallow the shaft down and gag when your lips meet his hilt.

‘That’ll do just fine,’ you think to yourself.

You keep it slow to draw it out, slow but deliberate with licking and sucking. You work his cock with your mouth until you lose yourself in the act. You love every single sound this man is making and commit them to memory. And his taste, how the pre-cum doesn’t stop oozing. The way his head is thrown back with his mouth wide open, gasping. How he can’t touch you enough right now. Every few moments you turn your attention to his balls and thighs and that delicious V leading down to it all. The feel and scent of his skin is intoxicating and you’re biting light marks into his flesh. You get so far gone you stop murmuring his name and start to call him Daddy. His cock twitches every time.

He takes a deep, clarifying breath before taking your chin in his hand and speaking, “I’m so ready to slide right in, baby. Will you let Daddy fill you up?”

“Fuck me.”

The van space is tight but you lie down and he holds himself over you, cock at your entrance. You’re practically vibrating with anticipation.

Finally.

He drives the head of his cock slowly into your pussy and the feeling is so warm and sweet and intimate. Birth control be damned; you’ll get emergency contraception in the morning. Your arms and legs wrap around him possessively as he works into a rhythm. You rock your hips with his to catch his cock at the right angle. He finds your mouth in the dark and moans into you as he thrusts. He’s downright fucking you into the floor of the van and strangely you haven’t felt this whole and alive in a long time. Your orgasm is building and building but you want even more of him before you come.

“I wanna ride you, Johnny,” you gasp.

“Thought you’d never ask. Be my guest, doll,” he answers as he pulls out of you and arranges the sleeping bag across the van’s bench. He takes a seat and slaps his thighs with a grin, erection bobbing around invitingly.

You climb on top of him, legs quivering with eagerness, and take just a moment to pause before sinking slowly down onto his cock.

His answering groan draws you against his chest, sighing into him, as you get to work riding. It’s your turn to fuck him into the van.

You both wrap your arms around each other, but no one can get close enough. Thrusting, humping, clawing, kissing, biting, sucking, moaning—the two of you going at each other like animals. (His glutes are NOT, in fact, weak.) Your legs are tiring but you push yourself to keep going. Closer and closer your end nears. He knows it because his teeth are clenching as your pussy is tightening around him. He’s fighting to not cum before you.

“Don’t stop, baby, don’t stop. Keep on riding me. Keep grinding that sweet little thing on my cock.”

You pick up speed.

“Come for me, sweetheart.”

He squeezes your ass tighter.

“Good girl, I can feel it. Come for Daddy…”

That’s it. Your cunt squeezes up inside of you and smashes down around his dick in a primal, undulating frenzy. There’s an explosion of stars behind your eyelids. He’s yelling out your name and digging his fingers deeper into your hips as his orgasm spills hot inside you.

********

After unmeasured moments, breaths began to slow and a contented stillness fell over the van like snow upon the ground. The two of you wrapped each other up in an embrace and held on tight without a word. It wasn’t much longer until your brain woke back up and began to wander. You knew you were going to think back on this night many, many times when you were back home alone. You’d feel the ghost of his breath and his lips on your skin. You’d ache to hear him moan your name again. AND, FUCK, THE PLAN B--

Gentle laughter broke out, as if he could read your mind. He couldn’t, of course. But it was so very easy to tell when you were uneasy. And Knox was an excellent people reader.

“Just don’t think about anything right now, sweetheart,” he assured you.

“Johnny, I…” You began and trailed off, unsure of what to voice first.

“Call me PJ,” he smiled and placed a kiss on your head. “And don’t you worry about a thing. I’ll stop by a pharmacy soon as they open. The guys are gonna need some Tylenol, too, I bet. I’ll get us all sorted.” And he sealed his promise shut with a squeeze of your shoulders. Not a mind reader, but definitely thoughtful and at times very practical. Always aware of what’s going on around him.

You trusted him. Probably more than you should, but you did. And you gave whatever energy you had left over to the effort of not thinking. You had no idea how long it had been since you checked the time, when the sun was coming up, or what the two of you would do next. What this would mean for the rest of the shoot. But, if you’re gonna be dumb….

----------------------------------------------------------------

Several hours post-coupling in the van, after the sun came out for vengeance, you found yourself hanging with Pontius at a near-by café. You felt calmest around him out of all the crew and were happy to listen to his stories for distraction. Distraction from your anxiety and the various aches in your body. What you had really wanted was a diner that served greasy food and heinously strong coffee, but they didn’t have those here. Chris must share the need. He was still sporting the Santa hat and some serious bags under his eyes. There was what appeared to be lipstick smeared down his neck, but it was…stippled? From…the only idea that came to mind was another man’s stubble. But he never asked about the way you weren’t walking right, so you paid the favor forward.

His words drifted away from big cats and other wildlife, and he shifted conversation topics. “Crazy night last night, huh,” he said.

“Lord. You bet,” you answered. Oh, here we go.

“What time did you turn in last night? Or this morning?” He batted his lashes and played with the cotton puff at the end of his hat before flipping it to the other side. It invoked the atmosphere of girlies at a sleepover sharing the latest gossip.

“Oh, you know…” Your face reddened a little and you looked down into your steaming coffee mug.

He brought his up to his mouth for a sip and stared you down over it. “Do you happen to know where—"

Your phone buzzed in your back pocket and you pulled it out automatically.

“Hey, doll, where did you run off to?” Your heartbeat quickened and you smirked despite yourself. You didn’t need to look up at the sender to know who it was from.

“Know where what,” you offered with no doubt a dazed look in your eyes.

You were definitely going to need a therapist after this job was through.

[yours-etc]

Pancakes For Dinner

Short little ficlet based on this song <3

Pt. 1, Pt. 2 (coming soon)

————————————

Eddie is pacing his living room back and forth back and forth back and forth back and—

“Dude will you sit down you’re making yourself more stressed!!” Chrissy yells at him from their couch. 

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me Chris, I'm a writer this is what I do! So why is it so fucking hard to write a best man speech for my best friend, besides you of course Chris” Eddie adds to the end in quickly to cover his ass. 

“probably because you’ve been in love with him since high school eds! And you need to tell him, because if you don’t he will marry that stupid rich bitch his mommy set him up with who he’s only marrying to make her happy and because he thinks he has no shot with you! And somewhere down the line probably 6-10 years in they’ll get a terrible divorce and he’ll have an early midlife crisis and buy a boat or a condo in Florida. he’s settling and he knows it and you are ignoring it.” 

Eddie stops in his tracks and looks at Chrissy. they grew up together, practically siblings. eddie’s mom nannied for her family and eventually, Eddie was born and so was Chrissy. Raised together like siblings as Chrissy was the youngest of 3 sisters who were all moved out by the time Chris could walk. she has been here through every broken bone (4), every school play (6), a gay crisis, and one big fat crush on his guy best friend.

Steve and Eddie meet in freshman year English class. well, not Eddie’s freshman year, Steve’s. Eddie was two years older than Steve and so ended up being his English tutor to get extra credit in his own lit class. Eddie was smart, he just hated school. And yeah he repeated senior year twice making him and Steve graduate at the same time, but they both got the same degree in the end. 

“I just don’t get it!” Steve would yell about Romeo and Juliet and Huckleberry Finn and Frankenstein and Dracula and pretty much any book he had to read…

Eddie would always smile and say “Don't worry steve-o, that’s what I'm here for”

Eventually tutor sessions turned into to hang out sessions turned into smoke sessions turned into crashing on one another’s couch. and yeah they’ve woken up a few times in… not totally platonic positions, but they were high and half asleep, no one could be blamed, so they didn’t talk about it. but Eddie and Chrissy did. 

“Chris he doesn’t like me like that!” Eddie finally says responding to her. 

“Bullshit! If he’s not in love with you then Robin and I are a straight couple!”

“That doesn’t make sense—“

“Shut up it doesn’t matter. how about you write two speeches. one where you pore you’re heart and soul out to him declaring your undying gay love, and then write the one that’s appropriate to say at his wedding. I would say just tell him now, but you know it’s your life, all I know is you need to get it off your chest one way or another.”

She was right. Eddie kissed her on the head and walked to his room and locked the door. 

————————————

Eddie didn’t even make it two steps into the bar before Lucas, Dustin, Mike, and Will, some kids Steve started babysitting in high school to make some extra cash who grew up to be both of their favorite gaggle of kids, cornered him by the door. 

“so what are you going to do?” Dustin asks

Eddie looked at all four of them, “I plan to get him shitfaced, hold his hair back when he eventually throws it all up, and have the perfect hangover cure for him waiting in the morning so he can… make it down the aisle.” 

Mike rolls his eyes, “You know that’s not what we are talking about.”

“We are talking about you stopping Steve from marrying the Richie Bitch!” will whisper yells. 

The envelope in Eddie’s coat pocket suddenly weighs about 100 tons. He didn’t know why he brought it. The letter is about three pages long with lots of chicken scratch and eraser marks, but it’s all of Eddie on paper. And maybe he’ll give it to Steve, maybe he won’t. He hadn’t quite decided yet. “What makes you think I can stop him?” Eddie asks. 

“Because you’re the only one he listens to, besides Robin, but even she’s getting desperate!” Lucas pipes in. 

“Guys, I’ve tried, We’ve all tried. He’s not budging, all we can do is be there for him through all of it. Eventually, it will crash and burn but until then, we put on fake ass smiles and we are happy for him.” Eddie says addressing all of them, “Now I’m going to grab a table, order a round of drinks, and I expect all of you to just focus on making Steve’s party the best part it possibly could be.”

He shoved past them to grab a booth, set his jacket down, and went to the bar. And yeah he downed a couple, maybe a few, okay a handful of shots, for confidence, that's all. The longer he sat there the more he wanted to pull his hair out individually by each strand. He knew he couldn’t let Steve go through with it, but he didn’t want to lose Steve completely, because that would break him. Like completely and totally shatter him into a million pieces that would get scattered into the wind. And yes, Eddie was aware of how cliche he was starting to sound. 

Eventually, he made it back to the table with a round of drinks for everyone, Steve walked in looking, well looking gorgeous. It’s like that moment in the movies where the whole room disappears and it is just the two main characters. There’s a love song playing, except this is a crowded dive bar and they are playing some Zeppelin song that Eddie can’t take the time to name because Steve walks in with too tight a shirt and too tight pants and Eddie is only a man. 

And suddenly the envelope in his pocket is not only 100 tons but also on fire.

————————————

Pt.2 coming soon...

[forensicated]

Conviction - Part 2 - To The Limit

Max and Stevie attend the scene the next morning when the fire is finally out. Sally reports a witness spotted a woman matching Abbie's description running away the time the fire started. The only one hurt in the fire was the barman, Pete, who lives above in one of the flats.

Men! Genuinely think Chris was about to laugh & had to hide his face 😂😂 (also she clearly hasn't done much in a pristine white top 😉)

Officer White Top tells them traces of accelerant were found on the stairs and in other places - most likely petrol. Whoever set it seemed intent on getting the flat and bar. Stevie jibes all three men for having their tongues out in the presence of Officer White Top.

Smithy and Callum attend the hospital and tell Pete that the fire was lit on purpose. He tells them that he doesn't know much about the big boss, Matthew Devlin, but his son has a history of rubbing people up the wrong way and is proud of the fact that no one likes him. Pete claims he was simply in the wrong place at the wrong time and that he knows of no reason why anyone would target him.

Matthew Devlin attends the station. Max tells him the bar is a crime scene and there'll be no entry until they finish. Devlin Snr says he was at home at the time of the fire and was entertaining guests, including a councillor if they need proof. Devlin Jnr was not present, he was at a party in Kent and is still travelling back. He'll help anyway he can because they are the victims and he expects to be treated as such. He walks into Smithy and Callum as he leaves. Callum doesn't move as the two men stare at each other, though Smithy steps to the side. "If looks could kill..." Stevie smirks. "Yeah... he doesn't like us does he..." Stevie's smirk grows. "I was talking about you!" She tells Callum.

Eddie is not impressed with the fire investigation crew pulling down the ceiling onto his 'nice clean crime scene!' but he changes his tune when he spots Officer White Top and flirts up a storm. (Stevie: "Is there a woman with a heartbeat Eddie hasn't cracked onto?" Max: "Actually... he's never hit on you, has he?") Both he and Officer White Top seem to now think the accelerant on the stairs could be a run off from what was poured outside the flat. Perhaps it was Pete and the flat that were the targets?

The bouncer who lives next door to Pete, Carl Fox, arrives at the cordon and tells them he'd stayed at his girlfriends the night before. Sally arrives with the CCTV that shows the blonde who matched Abbie's description running away from the bar was infact... Abbie!

Smithy reminds Callum the Devlin's are the victims until they get evidence to the contrary they have to treat them as such, as much as it pisses both of them off. They spot Abbie outside the hospital, she yelps when Smithy takes her arm and it's revealed that she has burns. Later they tell her they have her running away from the fire on CCTV and that the FME has confirmed she has second degree burns. She admits that she was there but denies starting it. She got the burns trying to get up the stairs to alert Pete. She admits that she and Pete are good friends and begs them not to tell Devlin. Smithy asks her how she's going to explain the burns and she says she'll tell Devlin that she went to the bar to look for him and that despite appearances Jason does look after her and pays the rent for her flat but she can't help her feelings for Pete and she admits being terrified of Jason.

Pete tells Smithy and Callum that he and Abbie have been seeing each other for a couple of months and that Jason treats her like a slave and knocks her around. He's saving up to get them both away somewhere safe. He says he didn't lie earlier, he's just taking every opportunity to stop Jason from finding out. Smithy floats the idea that he might already know given it seems the flat could have been the target and the rest accidental.

Callum and Max attend Devlin's flat now he's returned from Kent. "I can't wait to see the look on Devlin's face." Callum says. "You're an evil man!" Devlin is not happy to see them. "This is just about the fire, Mr Devlin." Max tells him. "I'm shocked you think it could be about anything else!" Callum adds, in a tone that suggests he is not at all shocked. Devlin says he was at a party miles away with many witnesses, he doesn't know who it was, he didn't start it and he has many enemies who could. Callum asks when he heard about it and he says that morning as his phone was switched off. He's heard Pete was hurt but his dad told him that he's alright and he hasn't spoken to Abbie. Max tells him that Abbie hurt herself trying to get into the bar looking for him. He admits he didn't tell her he'd be away all night. He attends the station to pick her up and calls her a 'silly cow' and to use the phone if she doesn't know where he is or to call his dad. How romantic and caring of him. His act is enough to prove that he doesn't know about her affair with Pete.

Eddie reports that he found coke on Pete's bedside table and that his bedroom door was almost kicked in before the fire brigade arrived. He's also found some forged European documents with an imperfection that matches other forgeries he's found floating around lately. It raises suspicions Abbie might not be an illegal immigrant.

Pete claims he knows nothing about the forged documents or the door. Callum threatens to tell Devlin but Pete can tell from Ben's reaction that Callum is bluffing. He tells him to nick him if he suspects him. Callum choses to place him under observation instead.

A printer admits that the Devlin's owe him over £1000 but insists he didn't set the fire as they've always paid up in the past. He tells them he knows they have dodgy businesses but won't be drawn into what they are. "You're the detectives... detect." Mickey finds out that they're landlords but there are no names of tenants on a list of creditors that Matthew Devlin handed over that morning so it's definitely something they don't want to advertise. He visits the nearest one with Smithy. It's not exactly high class living and the smell is horrendous. It's an illegal house of multiple occupancy and filled with most likely illegal immigrants who are terrified. There appear to be approximately 30 people living in the house if not more. Smithy reports it to the council. The house is a death trap with bare electrics, no working fire alarms and fire exits blocked up with stuff.

Ben and Callum follow Pete to Abi's and can tell from his body language that something isn't right. He enters and immediately runs out. They enter the house and find Abbie unconscious and beaten. Pete accuses him of telling Devlin and tells Rachel that he wants to make a formal complaint. Ben tells Rachel he heard nothing threatening said by Callum and she clearly doesn't believe him.

Smithy is furious when he hears and accuses Callum of trying to force the result or even telling Jason. He insists he's done nothing wrong, even when Smithy points out that Abbie and Pete were their best bets to getting information about the Devlin's and their empire. Stevie calms the men down and airs something that has been bothering her... what if it wasn't Jason who attacked Abbie? Stevie has found out there is no record of her entering the country legally.

Unfortunately despite the inhospitable conditions of the house, there's no law against renting to illegal immigrants so without one of them talking out against the Devlin's they can't prosecute them for it. Max suggests it could be one of the tenants who set the fire which opens up a huge amount of suspects. It does also add weight to the Devlin's being behind the forged documents however given they have their own captive market in at least one of their properties.

Smithy and Stevie attend Matthew's house and ask him where he was when Abbie was attacked. He tries to storm out but his father makes him stay and answer the questions. Devlin Snr tells his son that Abbie has been cheating with Pete and that is why they're asking all the questions. Jason is clearly shocked and growls to his dad that he'll kill her. Matthew tells him he'd told him she'd bring trouble to their door but he's now going to stay away from her. Smithy urges him to listen to his father. Stevie asks how Matthew knows and he tells them he saw them and to now focus on finding who set fire to the bar. Smithy tells him it was likely one of the tenants. Matthew claims he knew nothing about them being illegal and that it's them who 'imported half their village to live with them' and he knew nothing about it.

Max, Smithy and Stevie go to Abbie's flat to see if Eddie has found anymore information. He's found more than that - in the extra act of cruelty in pulling the phone line out the wall to stop Abbie calling for help after her beating, her attacker has left behind a partial print in her blood. Stevie offers to buy him a drink to congratulate him and he tells her he appreciates and loves her but she's 'not his type', much to the amusement of Max and Smithy.

Smithy apologises to Callum for accusing him of telling Jason. Rachel takes Callum into her office and tells him she's going to ask Pete to withdraw his complaint. She's disappointed that it happened in the first place. She allows him to work the case again but tells him to stay away from Pete and Abbie.

St Hugh's call and let the officers know that Abbie has regained consciousness and will be able to talk soon. Stevie's unsure if she'd want to but Max says she must if she wants her attacker caught now Jason is out of the frame but aware of her and Pete's relationship. Eddie has a match on the partial print from Gollum lookalike, Donny Blake. Mickey has history with him and says he's a nasty piece of work with a large amount of violent offences in his back catalogue as well as dealing. He has no known links to the Devlin's.

Abbie refuses to talk to Smithy and Stevie so they tell her what they know and suspect. They know she's there illegally, they know it was Donny Blake who did it, they know he's a violent drug dealer and the fact that she and Pete are trying to raise money to leave together suggests that they made some sort of deal with him that has fallen through. They think the forged documents they found are hers and that it was Blake who set the fire and tried to break into the flat. Smithy says without cooperation they'll have to arrest her and hand her over to immigration. Abbie finally talks, admitting that Donny did a deal with Pete to get drugs on credit. He would sell them through the bar, pay Donny back and keep the profit but the drugs were stolen. She suspects it's Donny trying to double cross them.

Pete tells Smithy and Max the same story in interview and offers to tell them where he got the forged paperwork from AND hand them the Devlin's in return for help. He got the paperwork from a Polish printer - the one Mickey spoke to earlier. Matthew Devlin got in touch with him that afternoon and offered 5K in cash to him and identity paperwork for Abbie to disappear. He said he'd get Donny off their backs too. Pete thinks they're finding her an embarrassment because she's an illegal immigrant. The call came before Donny got to Abbie so as far as Pete is aware the offer still stands.

Max and Smithy take it to Jack who calls a station briefing. He agrees to contact Matthew Devlin as part of a sting and agree to meet him at the print shop. At the same time, Callum will lead a search on Donny Blake's house with TSG and uniform. They've had a tip off that he's likely to try flush the drugs so they are not taking any chances. Donny does indeed try to flush them so they break the water pipe and are waiting with a black bag to catch the rest. Ben and Callum manage to overpower him and Sally arrests his girlfriend.

At the print shop carpark it's Jason who arrives instead of Matthew. Max thinks it's a bad sign but Smithy reckons it could work to their advantage as it's natural Pete would be nervous around him after sleeping with his girlfriend. They watch Jason push a package at Pete and pull his wallet out before charging over. The package is menu's and the money is £300. Jason claims he's paying him outstanding wages because he wants rid of him and that he knows nothing about any other deal. He literally laughs in a furious Smithy's face. At the station, Carl - the bouncer - is waiting with Matthew Devlin. It fits into place - Carl tipped them off as he was with Pete when he visited Abbie and found Smithy and Stevie there.

In interview, Matthew Devlin reads a short statement he prepared with his solicitor. It reads that he found out about the affair and asked Carl to keep an eye on Pete. Carl reported back that Pete was planning a drug deal. The Devlin's did not want that on their premises. They asked Carl to report it to the police but he didn't as he couldn't verify the information. They realised that afternoon that the fire was likely linked to Pete's activities and came forward at the earliest of opportunities. He admits Jason is a loose cannon and that he went to the print shop to meet Pete to look him in the eye after he'd been lying to him and sleeping with his girlfriend. If Pete has told them that he was being bought off with offers of cash and documents then it is a vicious smear. They met at the print shop so he could pay the printer the outstanding invoice and collect the menus. Smithy calls him out for lying and that they used the printer for forged documents and wanted rid of Abbie for fear she might know something damaging to them. He simply shrugs and points out that Abbie is an illegal immigrant who has been dealing with hard drugs and is a known liar - making out that they'd lied about the 5K and documents. "Who's going to believe anything she has to say?"

Callum reports that Abbie was right, they found Pete's holdall in Donny's flat and they've brought him in. Max and Smithy don't have any good news. Matthew has an answer for everything even if it's rubbish. Max points out they have an ace up their sleeve - the printer.

The printer claims morally he's done nothing wrong. His grandfather created false documents during the war for the Resistance and refugees. He saved lives and so is he - he only produces paperwork for people who are desperate to get away from the likes of the Devlin's - he does NOT sell them to the Devlin's and that's why they stopped using him and did not pay the invoice because they'd found out. They don't want their illegal immigrants to get paperwork as it means they can move around freely and aren't' forced to pay top whack to stay in their slums.

Mickey feeds this back to the three Sergeants who are fuming they have nothing to prosecute the Devlin's for. At best they have a housing act violation and will be fined. Max takes Abbie to see Pete and they drop the allegation against Callum. Abbie tells them that she tried not to listen to what the Devlin's said as she didn't want to know how bad it really was for her.

Devlin tries to wind Smithy up by insisting on an apology when he sees him out of custody. "Dream on." He forces Devlin down the ramp and pushes him away at the bottom before growling 'I need to go wash my hands." Devlin smirks and nods at the camera, insinuating he's going to report him. Smithy isn't bothered in the slightest, squaring up to him at the bottom of the ramp with a low growl 'I'll be seeing you around.' as Callum watches from the top of the ramp. Devlin blows him a kiss and walks off.

Smithy turns and sees Callum. "Got a knack of getting under your skin, don't they." Callum smirks. "What's this? Your way of suggesting I'm no better than you?" Smithy glares. "Who knows what any of us are capable of given the right circumstances?" "I know what the line is, whatever the circumstances." "Do ya?" Callum ponders.

Me thinks it might be a rather prophetic conversation almost, boys...

[nelllover]

i have a very weird question that i would love to hear your take on. in a au where lorelai & chris got married and died in a car crash, what made emily & richard to raise rory as their own daughter, what her relationship with jess would be like? and mostly with her grandparents?

Ooh, that's interesting.

So in this au, you would have to take into count that Rory would have been raised by Lorelai and Chris (not sure if we're talking about them dying when she's a baby or when she's like 10 or something) and I think that in itself would change Rory a lot. Not having Chris in her life was a big thing for Rory growing up, and unknowingly shaped her and her views on relationships a lot.

I'm not sure in what way being raised by Emily and Richard would affect Rory (obv it would I just don't think it would mean that she'd become all mean and spoiled but then what?) I feel like in this au she wouldn't feel the pressure to make up for "ruining Lorelai's future" but obviously with her parents dead (I'm going off the assumption that Rory knows that she's their grandaughter for now) she would feel a kind of pressure to live up to their memory (and she'd probably blame herself to some degree for their death bc this is Rory we're talking about)

Now there are two options 1: Rory tries so badly to live up to Lorelai that she starts to become her (as we know in canon Richard and Emily both saw Rory as the daughter they never had who they wished Lorelai was and Rory being the people pleaser that she is would 100% let them) but becoming Lorelai means realizing that the life that her parents planned for her isn't what she wants and then comes rebelling against them (honestly rebelling doesn't sound like teenage Rory that much but teens with dead parents are known for doing just that so I think it works) and what rhymes with rebelling better than getting a bf your parents hates and that's where Jess could come in now in this au I have no idea how they could meet seeing as obviously Rory would be living in Hartford but idk maybe she wants to visit the cute town close to home or something or they meet at a concert? I'm not sure that's up to you!

Now I have two ideas for what way they could get together either it's love at first sight and all that cute shit (boring but cute) bc without her bond with Lorelai her and Jess's relationship probably would've happened quicker OR (and that's the one I like more) they meet become friends and fake date Rory itches a plan that she knows will make Emily and Richard mad aka date the cute guy that is everything that they hate. (honestly, this is just bc they're aren't enough fake dating lit au's)

Now option 2: Rory stays in the perfect daughter role (and is slowly having a nervous breakdown but hey what's new?) she's probably dating someone handpicked by Emily a Chris2.0 if you will (so basically Logan) and is wildly unhappy but again she's a people pleaser so she'd never say. in this version, I think Rory would be a little less aware of her privilege and when she meets Jess she would probably come off as some spoiled little rich girl and after spending so much with Emily she would probably be judgemental of him too (and the meet ugly ensues) and slowly but surely they would realize that they're not so different become friends fall in love and all that!

Now seeing as this Rory would be at her peek people pleaser attitude it would be even harder to break up with her bf and to go against her mother's opinion (and as we know if there is anyone that dislikes Jess more than Lorelai it's Emily) but in this case, surprisingly I think Richard would be of great help while also having ridiculously high expectations of Rory he always had a soft spot for her and I think after losing his daughter that soft spot would only grow and seeing her miserable he would try his best to help her in changing Emily's mind! (plus I always thought that Richard would have loved Jess now granted when I think that I'm talking s6 Jess and not before but still!)

ok now on to just her relationship with Richard and Emily so far I've been going off the assumption that she knew who her real parents were but if she doesn't that obv had on a new layer to it does she even know about Lorelai's existence (does she see her as some big sister that she never got to know and nobody dares to talk about) or does she not even know that? I think her relationship with both would still be pretty similar to the one in the first situation just maybe without her giving herself the same crazy amount of pressure to be just like Lorelai. Emily would probably try her best to be more relaxed (without much success but still) I definitely think that if Lorelai died that young both Emily and Richard would feel guilty for it somehow and this would result in them sheltering Rory as best as they could (which is obviously not the way to raise a kid) which would result in her being very non-self-aware and well sheltered.

I'm gonna stop the post here but I honestly still have so many thoughts about this so just tell me if you want more bc I gladly will<3

[bewitchingbaker]

❣ <3 <3 <3

It's a relaxing Saturday morning in Sedona.

The temperature hasn't reached it's predicted 90 degrees yet. The senior members of the community are up and at em for their morning walk. The local businesses are slowly opening their doors and preparing for the late morning rush of the city.

Lord Quas finds himself walking next to Beth.

A bit of a change of pace for the hellhound. Usually Chris would begin their Saturdays with a walk but Abuela Julia needs help restocking Lunas and as always, Chris is voluntold to help out. In between his making their morning coffee and a Spanish filtered phone conversation, the young Luna asks his love for a favor.

"Esperá Abuela...Do you mind going with Quas on his walk? He likes to start the day with a walk around the neighborhood. I would but..."

He motions to his ranting grandmother.

The hellhound's crimson hues met the jade eyes of Beth, offering an excited nod. Already grabbing his leash off the door, that tail already wagging in excitement. The sight of the excited Quas and the matching puppy dog eyes of Chris, Beth agreed to join Lord Quas.

Lord Quas had came into the baker's life 3 years before the nurse's return. Chris had discovered the hellhound wandering the streets of Arizona causing a few small fires. After an awkward meeting involving a fire extinguisher, the young Luna had learned that the nameless hellhound was abaondoned by a traveling warlock.

Though the baker told Beth that he just had a small debate with the warlock, Quas would reveal that Chris not only cussed out a centuries old warlock but he also threw what he considered the best haymaker he'd ever seen in his centuries of life. All because of the Warlock's treatment of Quas. They didn't even give him a name!

So when Chris brought him into his life along with the eldritch kitten Dee, he not only gave him a loving home he also gave him the name Lord Quas.

With a name and new life, the hellhound discovered true warmth.

Quas had heard many tales of Elizabeth Riley from the baker. From the heart warming story of their sweet first sighting, comfortable walks to school and even his embarrassing first kiss. The hellhound noticed quite a few things whenever he would listen to tales of Beth.

Those soft brown hues often lit up with exciement at there mere mention of her name. His rich voice would often hit a certain crescendo when he talked about running into her at the bakery. Even though the hellhound hadn't been around long even he could tell the baker's heart belonged to Beth. If she brought this much joy to his friend's life, Quas was happy to have the nurse in his life.

They're walk was relaxed and solitary. An occasional story or two from Quas of his adventures before Chris. In return, Beth told stories of her time in college and a few silly tales of Chris's teenage years. The hellhounds ears however perked up at the slight increase in the nurse's hearbeat when it came to Chris. There was something on ehr mind.

"aDVAntaGES aND DisadVanTAGes oF a ROmance wiTh cHriS? QuesTIOns likE thAT coME wiTH A priCe."

He lets out a knowing chuckle. If it's one thing Lord Quas was going to do, he would happily play matchmaker for Chris. Even if they were already dating.

"First, as yOu kNOw, the BAKer shoWERs yoU in AFFECtion. THe TImE mAttERS Not. You shaLL NevER bE wiTHout aN EmBRACE or Kiss. IF yoUr mORNIng RituALS are TO belIEVED yOu HavE nOt mISseD A kiSS nOR A hUg."

Lord Quas offers a smile before looking up in thought.

"sEcOND, YoU ShalL be Fed LikE RoyalTY. hE wILL alwAYS COok fOR you. moRNIng, nOon, or Night. If yOu arE noT in THe MooD for a CooKED meAL, HE shall HAppiLY order A dELIvery SeRVIce."

"thIRd, hmm. hOw SHall I pHRAse tHis? ChRIS is Very..."

Lord Quas pauses, his cheeks glowing a little red.

"OpEN sExuALLY. As he IS aTTENtive To hIS pARtNER bOTh IN aND ouT of BeD. He WouLD dEnY it...But ThE Baker is QuitE OkaY with...UsiNG a KniFE In BeD wiTH yOU."

He offers a nod as they get closer to to his favorite ice cream parlor,Rocky Ds Ice Cream Co, that pitch black tail wagging back and forth. Those volcanic red eyes stared pleadingly at the Rokea descendent with that wagging tail. She could only chuckle, thinking about his earlier comment about a price for such information.

"nOw...liKE aLL thIngS, fOR eVerY AdvantAGE tHERe IS a diSADVaNTagE..."

He sighs.

"...YoU haVE knOWn hiM mUCH longER tHAn I, BuT yoU kNOw how HE is wiTH thOse...ProblEms. hE bELieVes He mUSt sOLVe thEm On HiS oWn...pErhaps you CoulD gIVe me SOme inSight as to whY? hAS he ALwaYs thAT wAy?"

"hE iS MuCh toO kIND at tIMes....as NicE as It is...ChRis sTruGGles tO aRgUe wiTH thOSe he LOVes. cOnfLICt iS noRMAl buT hE Will StrUGGle To StANd hIS gRoUnd wiTH those he lOVes."

"...FinAlly...He bURies hIMseLF in his WorK whEn thiNGs bECOme...overwhelming EmoTionallY. I BeliEve thAt is FooLish As hE Gets EvEn mORE OverWhelmEd....peRhaps he Will listEn to YoU iF you Tell hIm to StoP..."

A nod of confirmation soon follows before he realizes they are at Rocky D's Ice Cream Co.

"nOW i BeliEVe mY answeRs hAVe earNED me tWo Scoops oF mINT ChoCO ChIp!"

[ @brooklynislandgirl ]

[mollydastoertchen]

Also since I think the question is quite funky you get a survival scenario: You and the five last OCs you designed (must be new, not old babes that got a polish/redesign/new form) crashland in the middle of nowhere last thing you remember seeing from above were miles and miles of a sheer endless forest and high mountaintops. You are surrounded by dense tall trees that reach so far in the sky that you can barely see the top of their crowns and there are so many that the light barely touches the ground. In the distance you hear the quiet murmuring of a stream, but curiously enough, this is the only thing you hear, no birdcalls, no rustling of little critters flitting around. It's definitely too quiet. You need to get out of these woods and try to find your way back to civilization. How much / how little is your crew and you fucked and would you make it alive out of the endless forest? How. (if you feel like it u could include scribbles of character reactions in there :D)

I really thought about including some sketches to illuminate better, buuuut my uncreative brain was too low to come up with anything nice xD

So here it goes! My most recent 5 OCs are: Nathan, Dezel, Willow, Chris and Tucker - my whole furry gang so to say.

And we'd be fucked.

First of all, none of the boys, and neither me have great survival abilities. Nathan can steal and sneak and thats about it. He knows how to live in a rough world, but he's not fit to really survive in the wilderness. Tucker is waaaay too clumsy to go hunting, Chris might be a bit of help but he would be a very anxious wreck in a scenario like that. Dezel is a smart cookie, he'd absolutely save our asses multiple times when the rest of us goes out to eat the dangerous berries. And Willow? Well, he's good at exploring stuff and he has a bachelor degree in physics and biology. Chances are he can help us out with a bit of the flora and fauna of the place. And me? Oh, I'd be ballin my eyes out like a toddler. I#m not physically healthy enough to survive such a scenario for sure. Maybe, if Willow would be so kind, he'd carry me everywhere so my feet and hip and back dont start to randomly explode.

But yeah. We'd kind of awkwardly and unprofessionally stumble around, probably get the idea to climb a tree and see if we can spot something from further up, and then go back to stumbling around. Chances are, the forest gets lit up, hoping that a forest fire attracts help. (Also I'd nearly die at that thought because of my severe phobia of open flames.)

Thanks for askin :') I need to make a survivalist OC now I think lol.

[wiypt-writes]

25 Days Of CHRIS-Mas

Day 11: It Works

Summary: You and Nick spend your first Christmas together in Hong Kong

Pairing: Nick Gant (Push) x Reader

Warnings: Bad Language, smut (NSFW, 18+)

W/C: 1.5k

Disclaimer: This is a pure work of fiction, any likeness to any persons or events in real life are purely co-incidental. I do not own any characters contained herein bar the reader and/or any original characters. I do not give consent for my work to be copied and posted/translated onto any other sites. If you see this fiction anywhere other than Tumblr, it has been taken without permission.By reading beyond this point you understand and accept the terms of this disclaimer and ALL warnings posted here.

25 Days Of Chris-mas Masterlist / Main Masterlist

Day 10: Jimmy Dobyne (LOATDD)

It was one of the warmest and driest days in December. 73 degrees on Christmas Eve. It annoyed Nick. He missed New York Christmas', he missed the chilly weather, the snow, and fireplaces. It never felt like Christmas in Hong Kong. But Hong Kong was where he lived, New York simply not an option, not after everything that had happened. Division wasn't gone, but their presence in Hong Kong had been diminished and for months, Nick was focused on just living.

He heard a knock and glanced at the time. It was after seven and he'd spent the afternoon trying to make something presentable of the shack he lived in. Brushing his hands on his thighs, the denim rough on his palms, he wandered over the small living space. A quick look through the spy hole confirmed it was safe to answer and he opened it with a soft smile.

"Hi," he said softly, stepping aside to let you in. You had a gift bag in your hand and you were dressed in a festive top and jeans yourself.

“Hi,” you smiled as you walked in, your eyes scanning around. It was far tidier than last time you’d been round, not that you’d paid much attention given the fact you were too busy bouncing off every surface as the pair of you ripped one another’s clothes off.

The main living area was softly lit, a small tree standing in the corner, ropes of fairy lights strung up and there was a pleasant pine and spice smell from a candle that was burning on the small coffee table.

"You decorated," you smirked, popping a kiss to his cheek.

"I tried," he laughed. "American Christmas is different from Hong Kong."

“Tell me about it,” you sighed, watching as he shut the door, “this is about the only time of year I miss Washington. Rest of the time, well, the less said about it the better.”

"I know the feeling," Nick sighed. "Anyway, want a drink?"

"Sure, but, here, this is for you," you handed him the bag. "Merry Christmas, babe."

You and Nick had been seeing each other for six months now, having met one night by literally bowling each other over in the busy street market.

Nick took the bag and smiled, “yours is in the bedroom.”

At that you arched a brow and Nick groaned, “I didn’t mean…I meant the present is…you know what, just wait here.”

You couldn't help but smirk. After all this time, it was cute to watch him get flustered over you still. He disappeared and came back momentarily with a perfectly wrapped little box.

“Did you wrap this?” You asked him, suspicion lacing your tone.

"Nope." He chuckled. "I asked Mrs Chen."

You laughed, as he gave you a cheeky grin, “that woman is a saint.”

"Do you want to open them now or wait?" Nick stammered. "I mean I don't care, it's okay, whatever you want...."

You closed your eyes and took a deep breath. 'Calm down,' you whispered inside his head.

You heard him exhale, and when you looked back at him, he was standing, shoulders slightly less tense.

“Sorry, it’s been a while.” He gave you an apologetic smile,

"It's okay," you stepped closer to him. "Six months, Nick, we're good, you don't have to be nervous around me."

“I know, I’m just an idiot,” he gave you another little smile, “but an idiot who loves you.”

The phrase had only recently been tossed around between the two of you, but every time you heard it you couldn't help but feel a flutter inside.

"I love you, too." You titled up your chin and kissed his jaw. "Relax, please, it's just me. Let's fix dinner and just.... Hang out."

“Dinner is actually already fixed,” he looked at you, “it’s not really traditional Christmas fare but, well, Mrs Chen swears by it and from what I tried before it’s pretty good.”

"Works for me," you giggled, taking a seat at the dilapidated table he had.

With nervous anticipation, Nick grabbed your drinks, a beer each and set them down at the table in front of you. You watched as he headed back to the kitchen and pulled the lid off a pot, and suddenly a wonderful aroma hit your nostrils.

“Is that…lobster yi mein?” You asked excitedly. You’d had that dish once before, a grand finale to a Cantonese seafood banquet you and Nick had been to on a date. You recalled watching as the whole lobster was sliced up at your table, before being tossed in a cheese sauce before being added to the crunchy stir-fried veg noodles.

“Yup.” He grinned, “can’t promise it will be as good as the one we had but…”

"I don't care, it's the thought," you beamed. "Nick, really!"

He served up the delightful dish and set the two bowls in front of you both, taking his seat. "Merry Christmas, babe.”

“Merry Christmas, Nicky,” you beamed before you tucked in.

You couldn’t help the small groan of satisfaction. Nick was actually a pretty decent cook, you’d noticed that when you’d first started dating. When he had opened up a little he’d explained he’d picked it up from Mrs Chen, his boss. She ran a food stall in the local market, Nick providing the muscle so to speak for the heavy lifting and things she wasn’t really capable of doing anymore. It didn’t pay much, but he supplemented it with shifts in one of the local bars, which was where he had met you. You were entering, he was exiting and smack, the two of you hit the wet market Street.

You knew he was different from the beginning, like you, gifted. You sensed it, but you never were sure what his gift was. Not until you were toddling more than you could carry one afternoon and his gift presented itself, catching the falling items, allowing them to freely float above you. At that point you’d thanked him, your voice speaking directly in his head and he’d looked at you, a soft smile on his face.

And the rest was history.

You ate, you laughed, you drank. After dinner music played from the shabby and staticky radio Nick had near his bed.

"Dance with me." He asked, extending his hand and cocking his head to the side a little.

The Christmas Waltz was playing on the American station and you beamed up at him, taking his hand as you slid off the edge of his bed. He pulled you into a close hold, steering you gracefully around the small space of his apartment.

“You’re quite good at this,” you chuckled,

He chuckled and popped a shoulder. "Hardly!" He spun you around.

“You are!” You giggled, as he pulled you back to him.

Comfortable silence filled your dance as the music continued, your head resting on his shoulder as your right hand grasped his left, Nick's right hand splayed across the small of your back. You didn't mean to do it, in fact you tried really hard to not use your powers on him, but your mind caught his thought and you gasped.

“Y/N?” He looked down at you and you blinked up at him, a little sheepishly. “Oh, babe! You didn’t!”

"I didn't mean to. You let your guard down." You sighed. "I'm so sorry."

Nick groaned, “you… shit, you weren’t supposed to…”

"Nicky...." You cupped his face, "yes."

He blinked, “what?”

You coyly blushed, "my answer is yes."

“Oh, I… shit!” He laughed, “that’s not how I wanted to ask!”

"I know. I'm sorry. I ruined it, I did. But, it doesn't change my answer."

Nick smiled at you as his hands cupped your face, “so the next question is, do we move into yours or here?”

"Here, it's closer to the market!" You giggled.

He grinned and nodded, and then fell silent, his eyes flashing. With a quirk of your brow, you latched onto his thought. He smirked at you as your cheeks went warm and you bit your lip.

“Pervert.”

"That's why I got you your gift." He quirked.

You smacked him and grabbed the present from the bed. "Let me go change," you smirked. "Enjoy yours, Mover."

Nick plucked the tissue from the gift bag and pulled his gift out. In his palm sat a snowglobe of Hong Kong Harbor, the market where they met clearly visible inside. With a smile he flattened his hand, the item held in his palm as he elevated it ever so slightly, shaking it to send the snow swirling. With a final chuckle he set it down on the nightstand.

The bathroom door creaked and out you slid, a shy look on your face. "I feel so...."

“Words, babe.”

"Pretty," you smirked at the feeling of the silk robe around your body.

“Pretty isn’t where my mind went but,” Nick grinned as you crossed towards him, “it works.”

"I love it, thank you," you sat in his lap, your hands gliding over the deep red and gold embroidered silk robe.

"Merry Christmas, Y/N," he said softly as he cupped your face, pulling you to his lips.

He kissed you tenderly, the sweetest and most romantic kiss he'd probably ever given you. "Merry Christmas," you whispered.

🎄🎄🎄🎄

Day 12: Jake Jensen (The Losers)

[thefanficmonster]

I may or may not have just sent the 3 word challenge in my real account instead of anon... I'm sorry. Please don't answer there. :)

When you post, post answering here please.

Again, much love,

📚🌻

Don't worry dear! Your identity shall remain a secret 🥰 Here's yet another fic with my Resident Evil OC: Gwen Winters (she’s an adult guys, don’t worry. However this is still an Older Man/Younger Woman relationship)

The words dear  📚🌻 Anon gave me in their previous ask were: Unruly, endurable and system. Please enjoy!

What happens in the gym....

Pairing: Chris Redfield x Female OC

Warnings: Swearing, Spoiler Free 😊

Genre: Angsty Romance

“Sure, throw me in the fire like you always do, Leon!“ Chris snaps, clenching his fists tightly as he glares at his best friend while the two stand in the dimly lit gym.

“Chris, you’re a BSAA captain, for the love of God! You should know better than to complain about something as little as this!“ Leon, while significantly calmer tone and demeanor-wise, is glaring daggers of his own.

“Why me, damn it?! And why her?!“ Chris is not done with his attempts to get out of the situation Leon’s trying to land him in and his partner’s honestly done with it.

“And why not?! You see the same potential I see, why would it be so hard to train her? She’s a quick learner, she’s disciplined when she wants to be and she’s already skilled to a certain degree. You’ve made soldiers out of total wimps before, why is she such a hassle to you?!“

“Because she’s disciplined when she wants to be and I guarantee she won’t want to when she’s around me. She’s unruly, selfish, arrogant and a Chris-phobe. I’m telling you, she hates me!“

It’s about time Leon’s had enough of this conversation. To be honest, he was done with it as soon as it started but he stayed, thinking he’d be able to change Chris’ mind but seeing as how this is a hopeless case, he’s just been wasting his time. “Does she? Or are you projecting your hate for her onto her?” Slinging his duffel bag containing his training gear over his shoulder, Leon finally makes that realization that these are ten minutes of his life he’ll never get back and storms out of the gym without another word.

Chris doesn’t attempt to stop him, in fact, he’s relieved he left. He sighs, silently hating himself for all the shit he said and how he meant none of it. It was all hard bullshit and he doesn’t know whether to be thankful or disappointed that Leon didn’t realize. Either way, he’s been cleared of possible suspicion, even if training the newest BSAA rookie still remains as his task.

Gwen Winters, she’s such a fucking handful. One cannot tell if it’s because she’s angry with the world, angry with herself or just straight up picked up on the habits of the family that took her in when she was rescued from Raccoon City where she was held as an experiment hamster. A chemistry project basically. Ethan and Mia were recovering from the events back in Louisiana at the time, still probably are, that is not some shit you get over, so they thought having another person in the house would help them. And help Gwen did. See, Gwen isn’t a handful with everyone. In fact, she’s a real sweetheart and Chris knows it too, despite his bogus claims. He knows she’s got a heart and soul of gold and is built with the will of a BSAA soldier already. All she needs is a bit better fighting skills and she’s good to go. 

He sees how she acts with everyone around him. She’s been quick to make friends with Jill and his sister Claire and she’s even got Leon’s liking and trust which is hella hard to get, especially after all the shit with Ada. She’s overall a super sweet and lovely girl, even with him from time to time. He’s seen her welcoming, friendly smiles whenever he stops by the Winters’ home. He’s heard her laugh at the jokes he rarely cracks.

Then why does she act like she hates him so often? And why does he claim he hates her?

Chris is snapped back to reality by the sound of rough impact. It’s a very distinct noise, one he places immediately: the sound of fists hitting a punching bag. It’s the middle of the night, almost midnight actually, and knowing how lazy the soldiers on his team are, he can only assume it’s either his sister or Jill, given that Leon just left. However, they’ve had people sneak in to train for free before, so it’d be for the best if he went to check who was releasing some pent up energy on the poor punching bag. Judging by the intensity of the punches being thrown, sounds like the person might be angry as well.

And they have every right to be. Because they are Gwen.

Chris’ face goes a bit red at the sight of the infuriated rookie giving the punching bag her all, punishing it the way she’d want to do to her superior she just heard call her all the names she hates being referred by.

“Winters I-“

“Unruly?“ Punch “Selfish?” Punch “Arrogant?” Punch

She stills herself, sighing and wiping the droplets of sweat from her forehead with the back of her hand, “You say all that and expect me not to be a Chris-phobe?” She lets out a bitter laugh, rolling her shoulders before continuing her wrath over the piece of equipment she’s threatening to destroy. She hasn’t spared him a single look yet, something he’s rather grateful for because the last thing he wants to see is whatever her gaze is hiding right now. “I’ll talk to Leon.” She says, her voice leveled and breathy, far from the pissed off tone she was just using. This calmness is a lot scarier though. “I’ll tell him I don’t want you to be my trainer. To be perfectly clear, I never wanted you to train me in the first place. I’m just not the type to complain, you know. I’m not picky. Beggers can’t be choosers. I take what I can get. And you were all I was offered, but...” she trails off, delivering a particularly hard punch, “It’s not gonna work. I may not be picky, but I know when to draw the line. I know when I deserve better.”

“Kid, you really have no idea what the case really is here.“ He attempts desperately, taunted by the thought of acting on his instincts and approaching her even if that means being the recipient of one of those hard punches.

“You know, I’m strong. I’m skilled. I can hold my own in a fight quite nicely. I’m endurable. I’m not afraid to work my ass off and sweat and pant like a dog after workouts. There’s not a line I wouldn’t cross, but you still choose to make me feel lesser than any soldier you’ve ever come across, that’s really lovely of you, Captain Redfield.“

“Winters, please...“

“It’s ok, I won’t tell Ethan and Mia. I’m sure they’ll send you to hell over it. I’m not petty like that.“

He’s had enough. He’s had enough of hearing that hurt tone in her voice. He’s done hearing these words she’s so certain are true but aren’t. He’s done lying to her and to himself. Before he can even think twice about it, he grabs her by the arms gently but firmly, turning her to face him despite her hostile attempts to free herself from his hold like a wild animal caught in a trap. He’s surprised when she relaxes, probably seeing that as a quicker way out of the situation rather than struggling though if she tried to free herself any longer he would’ve probably let her go.

“Fucking hell, Gwen, listen to me.“ He looks her dead in the eyes, catching onto the spark of shock created by his use of her first name. But he also sees something else, something that looks dangerously a lot like tears. He knows she won’t cry, especially not in front of him, but knowing that he’s the cause behind the welling of those crystal droplets in her always shiny, always smiling eyes breaks him. When she doesn’t look away nor protest, he continues, “I can’t be your captain. I can’t be your trainer. I can’t be any of that. I’m a strictly professional man, and it’d be highly unprofessional of me to take you in as my soldier.”

“But why?“ She’s fully aware she sounds like a whiny kid - exactly how she thinks he envisions her sometimes - but she couldn’t care less. She wants and needs answers. She knows she won’t be able to fall asleep or keep coming back to the training center if she doesn’t get them.

It’s blatantly clear this is far from easy for Chris. His first instinct is to look away, let go of her, run away like he always does - not that she’d let him do such a thing but still. He’s finds the words impossible to spit out yet he oh so desperately feels the need to get them out of his system. And so, he gathers all the strength within him and finally forces himself to say it.

“Because a captain isn’t supposed to look at a soldier the way I look at you.“

Sure, it sounds cryptic as heck but he has no doubt she’ll catch on. Gwen is a smart and sharp girl, among many other things. She confirms this when barely three seconds after he’s said it, he notices her eyes widening

“Sir, I-“

“Don’t.“ He says simply, a small, regretful smile playing across his lips as his hand slides down her arm to take hold of hers, “I just admitted my dirtiest secret to you and you are still gonna remind me how unprofessional I am by using my title, Kid?“

She purses her lips, the shock momentarily replaced by her signature mild glare, “Well, you just admitted your biggest secret to me and yet you still choose to call me ‘Kid’, huh?”

He chuckles, letting his other hand repeat the movements of the first, “Sorry, force of habit.” His thumbs brush against her knuckles briefly as his head falls, his gaze fixating on where their bodies are connected, “You know, I didn’t tell you this to get myself any pity or anything. I just wanted you to understand and....wanted to get it off my chest. Ethan will kill me if he finds out, won’t he?” He suddenly asks, regaining the courage to look up at her once again.

She giggles, “Who says he’s gonna find out?”

Chris bites the inside of his cheek, shaking his head, “You’re right, there’s nothing really to find out abo-”

Gwen has never been a chatter nor can she tolerate when people beat around the bush so she’s quick to cut them off sometimes, no matter how rude that may seem or sound. However, just to clarify, her chosen method of cutting a person off isn’t always kissing them. Just saying - this is a special situation requiring special methods.

Taken aback by the sudden feeling of her lips on his, Chris’ eyes close automatically but not even a second later he responds to the kiss properly: wrapping his arms around Gwen’s waist as her hands travel up to cup his face. The kiss is short - too short if either of them is to be asked - but it’s worth all the words they didn’t say despite wanting to.

When they pull away, Gwen gives him a mischievous smile, “Now he could find out about that and then shit would go south. That’d suck, wouldn’t it Chris?“

He’s only ever heard her say his name twice, once in passing conversation with Claire and once earlier when she paraphrased his term ‘Chris-phobe’, both time spoken with some dose of dislike he now realizes was a cover-up all along. Turns out the two are a lot more alike than they initially thought. Regardless, hearing her say his name with fondness instead of bitterness makes his heart flutter, his body yearn to have her closer, his lips wanting to be in contact with hers again. But he’s a patient and self-controlled man, he’s nothing if not willpower sculpted in a human body, so he keeps his distance, waiting for her to pick the moves, waiting for her to make the decisions just like she’s his captain.

“Big time.“ He manages to say, voice coarse all of a sudden, barely able to leave his throat. “So it stays here, right?”

She giggles again, bringing her lips within an inch or two away from his, taunting him, threatening to break his self-control, “What happens in the gym stays in the gym, Redfield.”

Golden rules of discretion, ones he mustn’t break ever. Especially not when his captain - Captain Gwen Winters - holds so much power over him.

[angryschnauzer]

Imagine you're Henry's neighbour, you've heard his conquests, have to admit you're a little jealous as they all sound happy. But it make you wonder if they are faking it.

You chat to friend on the phone whilst in the garden, not realising he can hear you.

The knock on your door later that evening was unexpected but when you see your hot neighbour there you have no idea why.

Until he offers to show you just why those other women were so happy

Okay so i decided to continue my PE Teacher Henry series with this one, previous parts below:

Thigh Riding,  Jingle My Bells , An Epic Quickie

Warnings: Fluff, a little bit of Angst, talk of breakups, young idiots in love.

The Boy Next Door

The sun was shining and the sounds of late summer could be heard as the four of you settled on dining chairs that had been pulled out onto the ramshackle patio so you could celebrate moving into the shared house for your last year of Uni and doing Post-Graduate for teaching. Opening a chilled bottle of Echo Falls Rose Zinfandel, Marie sloshed it into the four waiting glasses, handing on to each of you;

“Here’s to just one more year of Uni, then we can be set free onto the world of teaching education rather than being taught!”

The four of you had all done your degree’s together, and by the end of your 3rd year you had moved into a shared house to save on halls of residence costs. When you’d all decided to attend the same Uni for your Post Graduates qualification it was the easy choice to decide to rent together, and you’d manage to snag a gorgeous multi level Victorian town house to rent for the year. The landlord had admitted a few things needed to be updated, but it was a short walk from campus so in exchange for a reduction in rent you’d found the perfect place. 

By the time the 3rd bottle of Zinfandel was opened you were all pleasantly merry, and from the advantage point of the raised patio where the garden dipped away as it went downhill you could see the road that ran alongside the house next door that yours was connected to. The corner house had looked a lot more appealing, but the rent had been considerably higher, so the compromise was that you’d rented the one away from the street corner. Just at that moment another Removals Truck pulled up alongside the corner house, and you could hear various cars park behind it, the sound of young male voices easily heard. It was obvious you had a group of male students living next door.

-

Three weeks into term and you were sat at the desk in your room, glaring at the wall in front of you. No matter how hard you tried to concentrate on how to teach fronted adverbials, the screams of the woman obviously on the verge on an orgasm from the guys house next door just reminded you of your lack of love life. With a sigh you set your pencil down and headed downstairs, away from the obvious now orgasming woman.

“Oh hey Hunny, thought you were catching up on some English Lit stuff?” Marie smiled as she poked at an egg she was attempting to fry on the small electric cooker.

“I was… until there was another screamer next door”

“Oh… another one?” she winced, knowing that from the 2nd day the guys next door had moved in, the one that was in the room next to you had been able to bed a different girl about every three nights or so.

You grabbed a glass of water and stepped outside, letting the sunshine warm your face. Opening your Motorolla Flip Phone you scrolled through your texts, smiling as you saw messages from last years classmates, checking in on how everyone was doing. You were vaguely aware of Marie coming outside, setting a plate down on the patio wall and the click of her lighter as she lit a Royals cigarette.

“You still miss him, don’t you?” she asked.

Pulling your gaze up to her, your eyes immediately growing wet. Nodding you swallowed the lump in your throat. Wrapping your arms around your body you looked out over the garden;

“I know… it’s stupid. Its been two years, and it was a mutual decision to part ways, but Henry was my first, you know? He was my first everything. We got together when we were sixteen, we made it through our A-Levels together, we even managed a year doing long distance when we didn’t get into the same Uni…”

“What about that dude… Chris? Didn’t you two have a thing a while back”

You let out a laugh;

“He loves his politics too much to commit to a relationship. If i had to listen to one more rant about Tony Blair whilst we tried to go out for dinner i would have screamed…”

You looked at Marie who was now halfway through her fried egg sandwich whilst her cigarette sat smouldering in the petunias that had mostly gone over for the season, and she gave you the ‘sad puppy eyes’ as she chewed. You let out a grunt of frustration;

“FUCK! I just want to not feel like this anymore! I’ve spent two years moping over Henry-fucking-Cavill, i just want to be able to get on with my post graduate and move on with my life without being constantly reminded of his skills every time i try to do any work in my room!”

-

Henry smiled and waved as Monica, no Michelle, no… wait… whoever made their way down the front steps of the house, closing the door with a sigh of relief. 

“Another one dude?”

Looking at where Anthony was coming down the stairs he nodded;

“Yup. Sorry about the noise” 

He followed his housemate through to the kitchen, switching the kettle on. He was now used to Henry’s conquests screaming the house down, but it was still fun to taunt Henry about the noise they would make;

“So, this was was faking it again?”

Henry looked at him in mock-shock;

“I can assure you none of them fake it”

Chucking teabags into two mugs Anthony chuckled;

“I know man. But i also know you’re still trying to fill the void she left. Its been two years man”

“Yeah, but she’s long gone, i’m her past, i’d only drag her down. She’s probably got some hot politics graduate about to propose to her. She wouldn’t want some dumb physical education ass like me anymore”

Handing him the strong cup of tea Anthony nodded;

“Whatever man, but i still think you should message her, you haven’t spoken in two years and you’re still hung up on her, one last try, huh?”

Heading out to the garden Henry sat on the patio wall and lit a cigarette. He’d sworn he’d never smoke again, what with being a physical education student, but there were still times when he buckled to his nerves and stresses. Lighting up he inhaled deeply, enjoying the quiet of the garden before he heard his neighbours come out onto the patio next door. Through the trellis covered in a thick layer of ivy he could hear everything, as although it did a great job at giving visual privacy, the clear voices of the young women next door carried easily through the greenery.

Ten minutes later Henry almost knocked Anthony over as he bolted up the stairs;

“Sorry man, got something to do… gotta get my Blackberry”

-

The next morning you were on your way to class when your phone chimed, looking at the screen you felt your blood run hot then cold at the name on the display;

“What does he want?” you muttered to yourself, before with a sigh you pushed the phone back into your bag, deciding to look at it later once you had finished your class. The last thing you needed to get your mind off of Henry was a text from him.

-

Making your way out to the patio, you threw your bag onto the sofa and smiled as you saw the rest of the girls already out enjoying the last of the days sunshine;

“Heeeyyyyy there she is” Janelle called, sipping from a bottle of Becks

“Is there any more of those? I need a drink”

Handing you a bottle Marie smiled as you smashed the cap off using the top brick of the wall, sipping the tart bubbles of Lager you let out a sigh;

“Henry texted me today”

The three girls went quiet before Jo spoke;

“What did he say?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t read it. I’m trying to get over him, the last thing i need is getting my hopes up. He’s hundreds of miles away, no doubt doing something super sporty that only makes him look even better, probably coaching kids rugby or something. He’s not gonna want some boring English teacher wannabe like me”

At the mere mention of the word ‘Wannabe’ the others broke into a poor rendition of the Spice Girls song, unaware of the silent frustration happening the other side of the ivy trellis.

-

After one beer you’d excused yourself, deciding to take advantage of the quiet to get some coursework done, thankful that your room neighbour on the other side of the wall wasn’t entertaining any female guests again, but you had no idea how long that would last so the sooner you got some work done the better. With your bedroom window open you got back to work, getting in a full hour before your phone chimed again with another text. Glancing at the little screen on the front you scowled, another text from Henry.

Setting the phone down you went back to your work, frowning as you struggled to concentrate, until five minutes later your phone chimed again, your eyes going wide when you saw it was yet another text from Henry;

“WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU WANT?!” you yelled at your phone.

“A REPLY!”

You sat at your desk, surely your ears were now playing tricks on you, you could have sworn you’d heard Henry’s voice. With a sigh you set your pencil down and opened your phone, reading the messages;

Received 8.46am: Hi. I know its been a long time but i’d love to call you at some point. Would be good to hear your voice. Hen. x

Received 4.55pm: Miss you. Can I call you? Hen. x

The phone beeped whilst you held it, another text coming in;

Received 4.59pm:

Look outside.

Glancing at your window you moved to it and looked out, before a voice so familiar it sent chills down your spine shouted out;

“Down here!”

-

Janelle shouted out as you flew down the stairs, Jo and Marie both staring at the blur you made as you ran past the lounge and out the front door, letting it swing on its hinges;

“Where is she going so fast?”

The three girls stood at the window and smiled as they wanted to run into Henry’s arms;

“Into her future Husband’s embrace” Marie sighed, the three watching as the young lovers fell back into each other's arms.

“Wait, is he the ‘loud’ one?” Jo asked to no-one in particular

“Unfortunately… i spoke to one of the other guys - Anthony - last week, he apologised for his housemates noises”

“Oh well… guess she can get us some ear plugs then”

[sif-the-tsunami]

When you fall apart

But this ain’t my mama’s broken heart. 

Warnings: Yes, all of them. No smut all angst. and no promise of a happy ending. gallows humor, pregnancy loss, infidelity, self medication, spicy language. 

Summary: Sy is a cheating bastard and his wife has had enough. 

Pairing: Syverson, now a Colonel and his long suffering wife Josephine. (marriage is great guys, I promise.)

Just over 3,300 words.

This might not have been what you were expecting @oddsnendsfanfics​

My mother was a genuine Southern debutante, I grew up with pictures of her on the walls with her gorgeous smile and pretty pearl necklaces. Blonde hair and green eyed, she was the most beautiful little slice of American apple pie. Her daddy was the ‘Old Money’ type, and she was his finest accomplishment, she looked, behaved, spoke perfectly. Never once have I heard that woman raise her voice to a man. Hell, I never heard her pass gas in front of anyone for that matter. She is the picture of privilege, she went from her daddy’s house to her sorority house to her husband’s house. Some how, even though she smokes a pack a day, she still looks like she could pass for being forty instead of almost sixty. The last time we saw each other, my friends told me they didn’t know I had an older sister.

Mama married a gentleman who had the good sense to enlist in the military to help support the lifestyle she demanded he provide for her. He was never around much but he gave her a nice house with a lovely front yard, and two little perfect children. He was another one of the old Southern types, I don’t think he ever outright said “I love you, Josephine,” or “I’m proud of you, girl.” Looking back, I don’t think anyone ever did that for him either, so he probably didn’t know how to tell that to me or my brother Theodore. I’m almost sure that he and Mama loved each other once upon a time. Daddy worked hard, he broke his body serving his country, and when he couldn’t do that anymore he broke his own heart trying to please Mama. She must have been disappointed in how her life turned out. She might have had dreams once, when she was younger. I’m pretty sure the last of them were crushed when Daddy died balls deep in the woman who used to perm my Mama’s hair.

Mama played the grieving widow perfectly, not a single person knew that they had been miserable for years. She has worn black out in public ever since. I think the only thing that has really changed is that she has started day drinking now because she’s lonely. I don’t blame her really. She pushed us really hard to be as perfect outwardly as she is, so it is safe to say that she is really disappointed in your truly.

You might be wondering why this all matters, dear reader. However, I find that it is important for you to know this when I tell you I’m remembering this sitting here in the county sheriff’s office, waiting on my Mama to come pick me up because my probably soon to be ex-husband and I got into screaming match, and I may have drunkenly thrown my bottle of tequila at my probably soon to be ex-husband’s head. The details are a little fuzzy at the moment.

“Josephine Syverson, your mother is here to pick you up.” The Sheriff’s deputy starts in his slow drawl, “Now don’t you go pickin’ no fights with your husband. You’re lucky he ain’t pressing charges. Go sleep it off now, Ma’am. I’m sure you two kids will work it out.”

I wait until he can’t see my face to roll my eyes. And low and behold, there she is, my Mama drove four hours to come and pick me up. She’s in a black vintage driving coat, and her hair is covered by a dark gray satin bonnet. It doesn’t matter that it is half past midnight, she is still the beauty queen she has always been. I drank enough Jose Cuervo tonight that my head is still swimming, but I walk with the grace and dignity she taught me.

“Oh my Lord, Josie, what have you done to yourself?” She asks. “Thank you, officers, I’ll get her back on track.”

We make our way out to the car and Mama unlocks the door for me. I slide in and as soon as my butt hits the leather of her seats, I start crying all over again. She gives me the packet of tissues she keeps in her purse then hands a little make-up bag.

“So, what was is this time, Josie, I swear to Lord Jesus that if he laid a hand on you, your brother and I will bury him in the back yard.” She says turning on her Cadillac. “Get cleaned up, you are coming home with me. Maybe James will be smart enough to figure out where you went.”

“Mama?” Who was this woman? She never talks like this.

“Come on, your mama isn’t as dumb as she looks. Although he evidently is.” She lights up a cigarette and offers me one.

“I quit when we started trying… Even after… well… everything, I didn’t start back up.”

She pats my leg. I unzip the bag to find makeup wipes, mascara, face powder and some brick red lipstick. We might not get along all the time but she is a damn life saver. I have black rivers of my own eyeliner and mascara from earlier today streaking my face. I clean myself up as much as I can and then reapply some make-up. “There, now that you are looking better, tell me what happened...”

“Where do you want me to start? I swear this started after his first deployment.”

“Okay, Josie, start there.”

James Syverson is an Army Ranger, I met him after he finished officers school. Because of the nature of military special forces, they deploy more often than most jobs in the military. I understand that they are under a lot of pressure during these deployments and because he is in a position in leadership I opted to give him as much room as he needed. The other officer’s wives informed me that I needed to recalibrate my expectations of what could happen. They warned me that what happens on deployment shouldn’t be held against him when he gets home. And I didn’t, until a girl barely old enough to visit a bar came up to my door asking for my husband with a hand on her belly. She was just as surprised to see me as I was to see her.

“I’m sorry, Ma’am. I just looked up Syverson in the phone book, and I didn’t know he was married.”

“Is it his?”

“Ma’am?”

“I can see that you are pregnant. Is. It. His?”

“I… I don’t know…” She said quietly.

“He is still over there. Do not come here again unless you are requesting a paternity test.” And I slammed the door shut. She did come back for the test results when he came home. Turned out that the baby wasn’t his. Small favors, right?

I never faulted the women who fell in love with him. I knew how special he could make them feel, its how I fell in love with him in the first place. After everything he’s put me through it almost doesn’t matter when it is just the two of us. All I have ever wanted was for it to be just the two of us again, but I don’t know think I can wait for him to retire.

“How many times do you think he’s done it?”

“At least once a deployment. The most recent one saw us at the movies last night. He was holding my hand like nothing had ever happened. When he was coming back from the concession stand, a little redhead stopped him and asked who he was here with. When she saw me, she looked like she saw a ghost. He came back up, handed me my pop, kissed my cheek and wrapped his arm around me. He said ‘I promise you, it is not what it looks like.’ but the bitch and her friend kept looking over their shoulders to peek at us. I saw her texting someone and then his phone vibrated, but he didn’t look at his phone until I wasn’t with him.”

“Jesus, Mary and Joseph.” She lit up again. “And you’ve just been sitting on this, the entire time?”

“Yeah, I learned from the best, Mama. I didn’t want to let you down. You taught me to never let them see me cry.”

“Oh, my baby girl...”

The rest of the night at the movies, I kept it to myself, I’ve had enough. The boiling, seething hatred I was feeling for both of them. I hate that they are always younger than me. I hate that it always makes me like I’m not enough. When I woke up this morning had a beer in the shower. I always save the last one for him, so taking the last one was a big “fuck you” to him. He tried to climb in with me until he saw me drinking in the shower.

“Woman, what are you doing?” He asked. Like he wasn’t the one who introduced me to the idea of a shower beer.

“I’m going to keep drinking ‘til my heart stops hurting, Sy. I don’t know what else to do. But whatever it is that we keep doing, I can’t keep it up anymore. Get out.” I have never denied him, no matter what he wanted. And up until this morning, I had been an amazing wife to him. In the fifteen years of marriage, he has only had to do his own laundry when he was away from home. And even then, he probable conned someone into doing it for him. I have lost almost every friend I have made from relocating so often. I have started and stopped working on my Master’s degree more times than I can count. And now here I am, mid-thirties with none of my own goals accomplished to show for all of the work I have done over the years. If I had opened my mouth, even once, about his indiscretions, he never would have made it to Colonel. Not once have I complained.

After I dried my body off, I walked into the kitchen, naked as the day I was born and grabbed my trusty kitchen sheers. I needed a change. He paused the game he was playing long enough to watch me walk past him with my scissors and the bottle of margaritas.

“Jo, it’s nine in the morning. Being a little dramatic, aren’t we? We going to church today?”

“Why, James? You’ve been yelling ‘Oh my god,’ between some whore’s legs fairly regularly, I’m sure he knows you are a big fan.” I walked away before he could reply, locking the door behind me to our bedroom. He pounded on the door a few times but got the hint that I was not in the mood to be talked to when I turned up Chris LeDoux as loud as I could play it. Then I went to go give myself bangs.

When the music fades, the house is silent. No video games, no football, nothing. I continue to drink from my bottle and the world becomes a little more tolerable. Now, I am not a heavy drinker. Sy teases me all the time about how cheap of a date I am.

“Josephine!” He snaps at me in his soldier voice and I drop the margaritas.

“Jesus fuck, Sy, why you gotta scare me like that.”

“Oh, you are the one getting scared, woman, I have never seen you act like this before.”

“That’s because you ain’t here every time one of your indiscretions comes knocking on the door of my house. Never once have I expected sainthood from you, James, I learned better after your first deployment,” he won’t look me in the eye, either he’s ashamed of what he’s been doing or he is going to punch a whole in the wall tonight. “You would have seen this if you had been around after my daddy died. This is your wife, Syverson, she goes a little crazy from time to time.

“You know how hard I tried to come home for that, that is not fair Josephine.”

“I’m sure you did try. I wish you would try a little harder when it comes to picking out these dumb sluts who think that you are just going to run away from home as soon as you come back from the sandbox. I have received notes on my car windshield telling me that you were going to leave me for them. How you loved them and you were just suffering with me. That I’m hateful, and spiteful, and they could treat you so much better then I ever could. What have you been telling these girls, James, for them to think I am some kind of monster? Haven’t I been a good wife to you? What did I do to you to make you hate me this much?”

“I had no idea that they were doing that. I don’t hate you, baby. You have been a better wife than I probably could have ever deserved. Is that what you want to hear? I know I’m a rotten bastard. How long have you been holding this in, Josie?” His face darkens, I can see all the rage boiling up in him too.

“Don’t you call me that name, you son of a bitch.” I spit at him.

“How long?”

“Since Cassandra came up holding her belly, waiting to tell you that she made you a daddy. Too bad it wasn’t the first time, or I actually might have been worried that you’d leave. I hadn’t even stopped bleeding yet before she tried to take you.” I snarled back at him. And he face drops. Twelve years ago, we tried. I was seven months pregnant when I lost our son. Sy’s squad was wiped out after a night of heavy combat. He barely made it out alive himself. I got a phone call about his injuries and I must have made a deal with the devil himself. I would put up with the womanizing, the long distance, the heartache, just please have him come up to me. I would give anything to save him, I had thought. An hour after I got the call that he had woken up and was safely on a ship in the Mediterranean sea, I started to go into early labor.

“Oh, fuck me. That long?” He whispers. He rubs his face, the stubble was getting long, unless he was out in the field, he kept himself within regulations. He reached out to hold me but I shrug off his touch. He walked away from me, thinking that maybe he might let me calm down and we would go back to being a picture perfect couple again. He could just do whatever he wanted and I will grin and bare it.

I cleaned up the mess I made then went back to the bedroom to put on something on me other than shame. We gave each other space until the evening came around. He came in to ask if I had any plans for dinner. Wrong question, buddy. I walked to the kitchen in my tight black yoga pants and a tank top, went to the liquor cabinet, grabbed my favorite bottle of tequila and took three long gulps.

“That’s my plan, worry about yourself.”

“You haven’t had any real food today, you need to eat something.”

“Eat my ass, Colonel.” With that he pins me to the wall, the room spins around me and I start thrashing against him. He’s got probably 100lbs on me and more combative training than I can remember, so as you can well imagine this is going super great for me. I stop long enough to see the tears forming in his eyes. “Was there ever anything special between us, did you keep any part of yourself just for me?”

“Josephine, you are the only woman I have ever loved. I never even implied that I had any feelings towards them. They knew from the beginning it was simply recreational. Jo, you know you are my best friend.”

“Then why do you keep hurting me? Why am I not enough, Sy? Why do they keep getting you at your best, and I have to put all of your broken pieces back together again when you finally do come home.” Remember every time he woke up screaming the names of his fallen friends. When we have to leave BBQ’s early on the 4th of July because the fireworks remind him of mortar shells.

“You are enough. You are more than enough. I couldn’t have made it this far without you. It has never been anything other than stress relief with them.” The first tear rolls down his cheek. “I love you, Pussycat, now please lets get some food in you. Are you going to be good?”

“Haven’t I always been good. Been good, but not good enough.” I whine and slide down the wall once his hands are off of me. Good lord, where the hell is my dignity. 

He lets me go gently and leaves to make me a peanut butter sandwich. While his back is turned, I grab the bottle one more time and take another long swig. This is where the rest of my night is very fuzzy until I came to in the back of the squad car.

He evidently tried to take the bottle from me, I threw it at him, it went wide and smashed against the wall. He took me to the ground, just tried to keep me from hurting either of us and I screamed at him every vile thing I could think of until the sheriff showed up. They tried to take him in, seeing that I was a sobbing mess on the floor. I told them I tried to hurt him, so they handcuffed me and took me in. Before they drove off, James brought a sweater and my purse out for me. I watched a couple of nosy housewives standing at the end of their drive ways. I’m pretty sure I flipped them the bird and they looked at me with disgust.

Now I’m sitting here, in Mama’s Cadillac, licking my wounds.

“Why in the name of God have you not told me about any of this?” Mama asks, this is now her sixth cigarette. I think she’s trying not to turn the car around.

“I thought you would have told me to get over myself and save face.” I say as we pull to her house.

“No, baby girl, I wouldn’t have. No one, especially not my daughter, deserves to be treated like that. Ooo I never liked the boy. Your daddy used to say that cowboy was all hat and no cattle. Let’s get some sleep, Princess. We will go get your stuff in the morning.”

I make my way to my childhood bedroom and collapse down on the bed. Before I close my eyes for the night, I finally check my phone. He had been blowing up my text messages.

I realize that I have never apologized to you about my short comings. But I swear to you, I will get out of the army if you want me to. We can move anywhere you want to, we can start over, just the two of us. I’m so sorry I hurt you, I’m sorry that you kept this all from me. I’m sorry I made you feel like I didn’t love you. These where from six hours ago.

I don’t know when you will get your phone back, I love you. This was from before my mom collected me.

They told me you have been released from custody but didn’t say to who. Who ever picked you up asked them not to tell me. Are you safe?

I love you. Please. Let me know where you are, I’ll come get you. I hope that you are just ignoring me because you are asleep.

I reply to him with a simple Mama picked me up. Get some sleep. We will talk in the morning.

No ‘I love you’ from me tonight although it killed me not to tell him. Tomorrow, I will figure out if what we have can be saved. But that is tomorrow Josie’s problem.

[herondaleholly31]

The Book Swap  Chris Evans X Reader

Overview: You and Chris read your favourite books to each other 

A/N.....It’s been 84 years. No seriously it has been a LONG time since I’ve put something on here, but I’ve been taking a break writing imagines and I am beginning to love writing bigger projects. I’ve had lots of inspiration during lockdown however so those should start to come on here at some point. Thank you for continuing to show love to the rest of my imagines and I hope you like this one. If there’s any requests for both scenarios and people keep sending them to me and I’ll make sure to keep wokring through them :) 

Like and Reblog! 

Word Count: 2400

“Can we eat this in bed?” You jiggle the bowl of steaming pasta as you deliberately shuffle towards the bedroom. Chris looked up through his eyelashes and raised an eyebrow. 

“You want our bed to smell like meatballs?”

“But it will just make all of this perfect.” You pointed to the large windows which were dark and splattered with rain just as a flash of lightning lit up the skyline. Dodger whimpered nervously from his bed and gnawed further into the neck of his lion toy. “Dodger can hang out with us, and we can watch TV in bed and be nice and warm. You’d like that, wouldn’t you Dodger?” You cooed and bent down to rub behind the dog’s ears, holding your food high so he couldn’t eat any of it. Dodger stretched and padded to Chris’ feet. Chris looked at you both and smiled with fake reluctance. “Okay, fine. Come on Bubba,” he picked up his bowl and slowly walked towards the door, making sure not to trip over Dodger’s bounding in delight. 

“Let’s just both promise we’re not going to spill anything,” Chris said jokingly, widening his eyes in a telling expression. 

You rolled your eyes. “It was one hot chocolate.” 

“And now there’s a stain that looks like someone pooed on one of the sheets.” Chris took your bowl and motioned his head for you the get into bed first. You turned on the fairy lights and lamps and dived underneath the puffy white duvet, wrapping it around your legs and hips while shifting it, so it was easy for him to get in too. Dodger sat at the end, his tail thwacking the air out of the duvet, eyes wide and staring at the food with longing. “No Bubba,” Chris warned as he gave you back your meal, “this isn’t for you. I’ve saved you some already.” 

“You made extra meatballs for the dog?” You shook your head in disbelief. Chris shrugged as if to to say of course I would and then gently pushed Dodgers sniffling nose away. You ate in silence watching the TV, the storm growing louder outside. As stomach full, you sank into the pillows, feeling so comfortable you never wanted to leave. Chris left only once to take the bowls away and bring in cups of coffee, but apart from that, he seemed to sink beside you.

“Is it alright If we turn off the TV?” You asked a little while later, “I’m in the mood to read.” 

“Yea, ‘course.” The TV went off, and you leaned over to your bedside table, shuffling further into the pillows as you got yourself comfortable to read. You had only read a few lines when Chris asked what you were reading. 

“A room with a view,” you showed him the cover. 

“Didn’t you read that at Christmas?” 

“Yea, but I was in the mood to reread it. Is that okay?” You jokingly confronted him, leaning closer to him feign intimidation. Chris copied you and gently pushed you on the forehead, so your head moved back. “I never understood the fun about classics.”

“Because they’re amazing stories.” 

“You can’t even understand them.” 

“Only smart people can.” 

“Oh, so are you saying I’m not smart?” 

“I don’t see your degree,” you pointed at your framed degree hung proudly by the bookshelf. 

“You mean the degree that’s next to my THREE shelves of awards?” Chris smiled cheekily as he pointed at the collection of statues glimmering in the soft light. “I don’t see your shelves there?” He laughed when you smacked him playfully with the book, leaning down to kiss you on the shoulder a couple of times. “We know you’re smarter than me.” 

“Thank you.” You moved closer to him, so he stayed propped up near you, breathing steadily as you went back to the story. He kept his head by your shoulder, sighing deliberately, so a gush of breath tickled the loose hairs around your neck. After a few minutes, you instinctively crumpled your ear into your shoulder, whinging at him to stop. 

“Sorry, sorry,” but his tone was edged with mirth. You tried to immerse yourself again, although this time Chris was starting to read lines out, intentionally dotting around the page, so your head began to swim. 

“…Was she was wrong in this, she asked herself, reviewing her conduct for the past week or two…” 

“Chris.”

“…she reflected, feeling rather sinister again, making Minta marry Paul…” 

“Please stop.” 

“….There was always a woman dying of cancer.” He frowned and shook his head. “This sounds so depressing.” You clapped a hand over his mouth, gritting your teeth as you smiled but muttering threats into his ear as he widened his eyes in phantom shock. “I swear you better shut up I’m trying to read.”

 “I love it when you talk dirty,” Chris mumbled behind your hand. 

“Are you going to stop?” You frowned. Chris nodded. Slowly, you pulled your hand away. Chris opened his mouth as if he was going to speak, but with a quick “NO,” he closed it again. He halted for a moment, then spoke again. 

“What is it about this book that makes you love it so much?” 

“The writing is beautiful,” you sighed with content, “you don’t have to fully understand what E.M Forster’s saying because you FEEL what he’s saying through his words. He can perfectly describe a feeling which I’ve never been able to put into words. Like here,” you rapidly thumbed through the pages, stopping and jabbing at a line underlined in smudged pencil. “For that reason, knowing what was before them – love and ambition and being wretched alone on dreary places – she often had the feeling, why must they grow up and lose it all?” You shook the book in delight, expecting Chris to be just as excited. When he didn’t, your jaw slacked. “Isn’t that wonderful?” 

‘If you think it’s wonderful, then it must be,’ Chris shrugged. He pointed at the multitude of lines underlined in silver, gently moving underneath your hands to peer at the next few pages. “Why do you underline so much?” 

You bit the side of your cheek in an attempt to not sound embarrassed. “It depends. Sometimes it’s lines that are written really well or things that made me laugh; mostly it’s moments which make me love the book in particular. Like first kisses or when two people are reunited. Like here.’ Flipping the page, you read “‘this is not what we want; there is nothing more tedious, puerile, and inhumane than love; yet it is also beautiful and necessary.’ Forster could’ve just said love is excellent, but this means so much more.”

“Uh, huh.” Chris was pretending to doze off on you, but when you retaliated by starting to shuffle away, he held you back. “Stop moving! you know I like how you pick up on those things.” He held his hand out as an invitation for the book, and when you handed it over, he flipped through the pages, reading the lines you’d memorised for so many years. “Is this how you feel? The way he writes?”

“Maybe not exactly. But I knew exactly what Forster meant by that last line because it made me think of you.” You enjoyed the way Chris’ face softened, the usually prominent bone structure hiding as his cheeks filled with a smile. 

“Maybe I should read it sometime if it means this much to you,” he mused, nodding slowly. “Even if it is all about ladies dying with cancer.” 

“Please do.” You half rolled over, your eyes drying out as you tried to look pleadingly at him. “I would die if you did that for me. I’ll read your favourite book if that persuades you.” You frowned. “I don’t even know what your favourite book is.” 

“Easy,” Chris said “Ferdinand the Bull.” 

“That’s a children’s book.” 

“So?”

“Well, it’s not exactly emotionally challenging.” 

“Hey, I cried at Ferdinand when I was a kid. Mom used to read it to us all the time. Didn’t you have Ferdinand in England?” 

“Probably, but my parents didn’t read loads to me.” 

“Aw man, you gotta read Ferdinand.” Chris swung out of bed, and half walked half skidded out of the room, Dodger tearing after him in excitement. You heard doors opening, lights being flicked on and bound books being dragged against wooden shelves, and then Chris came back down the corridor, turning to pick up the leg of Dodger’s stuffed lion and pulling both toy and dog back through the door. Dodger easily winning the tug of war sat underneath your vanity, chewing on his prize and Chris climbed back into bed, holding a battered picture book in triumph. It was obviously ancient. The red front cover had faded at the spine and at the edges due to sun exposure and a faint green stain which looked like paint coated the bottom. Chris still held it like it was a photo album and as he opened to the first page, he emitted a small gasp in wonder. 

“Oh my God, I haven’t read this in so long! Look, there’s my name.” He pointed at a scribble in the corner of the page, barely eligible. You smiled and nodded, not having the heart to tell him that he could’ve written a swear word and you wouldn’t have been able to tell. “It’s exactly how I remembered it,” Chris spoke fondly, and he adjusted the lamp by his head, so it shone brighter on the pages. “I’ve got to read this to Stella next time I see her,” at the mention of his niece he softened even more, and his expression went slightly gooey. 

“You can read it to me if you want,” you offered.

“You sure you don’t wanna keep reading your book?”

“Nah, I want to see what all the hype is about.” You gently closed A Room With A View and tapped on Chris’s arm, to which he lifted it up so you could lie between the pillow and his side. He shifted himself up so he could read and pushed your head to rest on his collarbone. “Can you see the pictures?” He spoke in a mocking baby voice but didn’t start until you’d stop shuffling and were comfy. Then he began to read, soft and slow at first but a couple of pages in he seemed to forget you were there. His voice started to rise and fall and get more expressive as he told the story of the bull who loved to smell flowers, and he laughed at the spindly drawings. You felt your eyes becoming droopy, and you shook your head to stay awake as he started to stroke your arm with the back of his hand, propping the book upon his knee so he could keep turning the pages. 

“…And for all, I know he is sitting there still, under his favourite cork tree, smelling the flowers just quietly.” Chris nodded once in satisfaction, and the story was over. Putting the book on the floor, Chris shifted you slightly to rest back into him, smiling. “Did you like it?” 

“I loved it,” you nodded, my head bobbling slightly as it bumped over his collarbone, “I especially loved your animated voice halfway through.”

“Stella insists on giving each person a different voice, even if none of them actually speak. Apparently, it helps her ‘become friends with them.’”

“That’s going to be fun when you start reading her Harry Potter.” 

“Eh, it’s good to practise.” 

“For what?”

“When I get to read it to my own kids.” He laughed at your widened eyes and lips which had now pouted out in surprised, “are you getting a little emotional thinking about me with children?”

“No,” you lied. 

“Sorry, not my kids, OUR kids,” Chris’ eyes twinkled mischievously. You had to turn away then as a wave of motherly instinct you didn’t know was there filled your stomach, and your breath caught momentarily. “With their little curly hair and Boston accents.” 

“I’m going to have to sleep after this.”

“And we can read to them loads and eat spaghetti with them…”

 “you’re really mean, you know that,” you scowled, but you couldn’t help but see these children, running around in your mind in that teetering away all toddlers do on their chubby legs. 

“You know what will be great too?” 

“I swear if what you’re about to say is going to taunt me in my dreams-“

“Disney-world trips.” 

“For God’s sake, Chris!”

“They’ll be so cute though!” 

“Yeah well, now I’m going to dream about that.” You rolled over as if to try and sleep, but Chris rolled with you so now you were spooning, his knuckles continuing to stroke your skin in half soothing, half taunting way. “Our kids will be adorable,” you mumbled as you smiled into your pillow, “and they’ll love Ferdinand.”

 “And I hope they see the world like you do,” Chris peppered a couple of kisses behind your ear and down your neck and then turned off the last light, so the room plunged into darkness. Dodger was finally settled and asleep, and there was a moment of creaking as Chris settled back into the spot he was lying in. For a moment, there were only the sounds of breathing, but you were now wide awake. You felt your mind whirring away, and you didn’t know if you wanted to punch the man next to you or kiss him. 

“Okay so technically,” you spoke into the dark “we don’t want to have kids for a while.” 

“Right.” Chris agreed. 

“But there’s nothing wrong with practising.” You felt the arm around you tense suddenly, and his shadow popped up like an excited dog.

“No!” He cleared his throat. “No, there isn’t at all.”

“You said the Disney comment on purpose didn’t you?” You held a finger out as he leaned forward. Chris shrugged unapologetically and grabbed your arm to pull you on top of him, his chest already rising and falling quickly with anticipation.

“I might have done.” 

“Ooo, maybe I should go sleep in the spare room then,” you teased and started to wriggle off him, but with a low laugh, Chris’ hand moved from your arm to the back of your legs.

 “You’re not going anywhere,” his voice was gravelly as you became lost in each other. 

[florenceandthemachine]

BROKEN TUMBLR ASKS PART ??: ELECTRIC BOOGALOO

@boys-love-or-bust-19507 asked: I LOVE your buddie fics! Can yo write a fic where Buck has a really tough day and Eddie and Chris take care of him?

“Alright, Special Agent Christopher, target is almost in sight. Are you ready for action?”

“Yeah!”

Eddie grinned down to his son, basking in the childlike excitement mirrored back at him for a hot second, knowing that very few things would ever compare to these moments again. He had never seen Chris click as well with anyone as he had Buck—even Carla was a close second to that, not that Eddie was about to tell her that—and honestly, there should have never been any question in his mind as to what Chris would say when Eddie told him Buck needed some help.

His smile only softened as he looked around the house—there was dinner in the oven (courtesy of Carla) and Chris had taken the initiative to pull out some of his favorite board games, stacking them neatly on the counter. Eddie had asked Bobby to rearrange their schedules for the week, and they were both going to be off the next two days, to give Buck plenty of time to recover; Chris had pulled nearly every pillow and blanket they owned into the living room, creating a huge nest with surprising skill.

The past few months had been… rough on the 118, between the bomb, the lawsuit, the accidental robbery, the list just kind of went on and on. As bad as things were for the house, though, they all weighed ten times heavier on Bucks shoulders—not for no reason, but fuck if it felt like the poor boy couldn’t catch a break.

The most recent issue had resurfaced about a month ago. They had just been wrapping up a 24 hour shift, idly shooting the shit, and Chim had mentioned that he and Maddie had a group therapy appointment. The 118 were no stranger to therapy as a whole—Eddie had gone through it, Bobby was still in it, Hen and her old life coach still met once a month after they re-connected.

“Eh, therapy doesn’t really work for me.” Buck had said, kicking his feet up and over Eddie’s lap, a move that Eddie secretly loved even if he wasn’t about to mention it. “But then again, the one session that I actually had wound up with the both of us on her couch before she would clear me to return to service, so…”

You could have heard a pin drop in the moments that followed, and Buck’s easy grin was quickly tightened into something more serious, more nervous, like he wasn’t aware of what he had said.

“Buck…” Hen spoke first, her voice low and slow, like she were talking to an animal about to flee—and if the sudden tightness of Buck’s legs beneath Eddies hands meant anything, it showed how close to the truth that analogy was. “Buck, are you saying that your therapist made you sleep with her before she cleared you?”

Buck looked honest to god confused, and Eddie just wanted to shake him.

“I mean, she didn’t force me, it just kind of… happened. That was during my Buck 1.0 days, though. You guys know I’m better than that now, Buck 2.0 is here to stay. Right? You… You guys know I’m better now, right?”

“Buck, he, no.” Eddie spoke now, his hand gently squeezing Buck’s good leg, shaking his head slowly. “If I’m understanding this, that is not on you. She took advantage of you like that, that’s… that ain’t right.” he said simply, shrugging his shoulders. Before he could speak again, offer some reassuring words, Bobby spoke up, his face tight with concern.

“Buck, why didn’t you tell any of us about that?”

Which, apparently, was the wrong thing to say.

Eddie felt Buck tense up like a snapped rubber band before he pulled himself back into an upright position, and though he missed the warmth across his lap, he was far more concerned with bracing for whatever was about to happen. Buck snorted, shaking his head, his voice clipped as he stood up, a sure sign he was in defensive mode. “Bobby, you had fired me the week before for… my indiscretions while in uniform. Forgive me if I didn’t feel like I wanted to risk my job again.”

“Buck, hang on, I didn’t mean—Buck, come back! Eddie!”

Buck had turned on his heel and almost ran out of the loft, and Eddie was quick on his tail, keeping a safe distance until they were both in the locker room. Buck whirled on him when the door closed, the anger drained out of his face, leaving a shell of panic in its place.

“Eddie, cmon, you know that I’m not like that anymore, right? I don’t do that! I’m good, I promise, I—“

Any other words were drowned out when Eddie pulled him into a hug—a risky move in and of itself, but he knew that Buck was one of the most tactile (and touch starved) people on the planet. His gamble paid off, thankfully; he immediately felt Buck’s arms encircle him, body going lax against his chest. “Buck, no one is blaming you. I’m sorry that it might seem that way. I wasn’t even here for Buck 1.0 but I still know that was not your fault, okay?”

Eddie paused, waiting until he got a muffled sound out of Buck to pull back from the hug, looking at him dead in the eye.

“Listen… Buck, I really think you should report this. She’s a doctor, she can’t just continue on like that. What she did to you wasn’t just bad, or wrong, it was illegal.”

--

In the end, five other men and two women had stepped forward after Buck made his complaint. Two cops, four firefighters, and one paramedic, all with similar stories and similar outcomes.

The only good thing about it was because they were all state employees, they were able to opt for a closed door hearing, investigation, and trial.

Buck had spent the day behind closed doors, giving his statement to a camera, then to the prosecutor, then in a closed courtroom, in front of a jury, a judge, and a very unhappy looking Dr Wells… well, Ms. Wells, now that she had her license revoked.

Eddie knew that a lot had happened, but he also knew Buck and knew that the last thing Buck would want to do all day would be continue to talk about it; so between he and Special Agent Christopher, Eddie felt sure they had a way to keep Buck’s mind far from the past all night long.

“Target inbound!”

Eddie shook away his thoughts as he heard Chris’ little voice wavering with excitement—sure enough, Buck’s Jeep had parked out front, and while they were both fully obvious from the curtains, Eddie still turned his head and made a big shushing gesture to Chris, who started to giggle.

Once they heard Buck’s key turning in the lock (yeah, Eddie had given him a key, so what?) they both pulled back, and Eddie almost burst out laughing at the faux look of shock on Buck’s face when he and Chris both yelled “surprise!”

The shock may have been fake, but there was no pretending when Buck smiled at them, the sheer joy on his face making Eddie’s shoulders sag in relief. He looked a little tired around the eyes, maybe, but he was glad that Buck was still Buck, and that this hopefully wouldn’t be weighing on him for much longer.

Chris was off, immediately, talking a mile a minute while he started to set up one of his favorite board games, and Eddie had to smiles he took Buck’s coat, resolutely ignoring how good the other male really looked in a suit. “Sorry. The only way I could really get him on board without telling him the full details was telling him you needed a surprise party to make you feel better.”

Buck put his hand up on Eddie’s shoulder, and while Eddie could have basked happily in the glow from his smile for an age and a half, he lit up like the Fourth of July when Buck leaned in, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek.

Fully aware he looked like a love struck teenager, Eddie rose a hand to his cheek when Buck pulled away, the smile on his lips shocked but pleased all at once. “What was that for?”

“For this. This is perfect, Eddie. Thank you for… well, just thanks.”

--

They had made it a few rounds into whatever the card game that Chris had picked out—Eddie still couldn’t quite wrap his mind around it, but Chris and Buck seemed to be having a good time—when the oven chirped, signaling the start of dinner; and just like that, the game was forgotten. Chris basically launched out of his chair and into the living room, announcing that it was Movie Time, and far be it for Buck or Eddie to disagree with him.

Eddie scooped out some of the baked pasta in to three different bowls while Buck raided the pantry for movie snacks, and by the time that they made it to the living room, Chris was 90% buried in blankets and pillows on the floor.

It wasn’t easy to get settled in behind him, but by the opening credits to The Incredibles were rolling, Eddie and Buck were wedged in behind Christopher in the blanket pile, relaxing against the couch, snacks disbursed between them. Chris was lost to the world outside of the movie, but Eddie could almost feel Buck tensing up beside him, winding himself back up like a spring, and well... that wouldn’t do at all.

It was amazing how much they could say without saying anything at all. Eddie raised one of his arms and gave Buck an expectant look, to which Buck shook his head, looking at Eddie like he was crazy (and blushing too, and wow, that was a treat). Eddie only rose a brow, gesturing to his now open side, and Buck stared at him, before giving up with a sigh, slowly rearranging himself as to not disturb Chris.

He slotted himself in against Eddie’s side like he fit there, and Eddie felt more than just a smug sense of victory as he put his arm around Buck, tugging him closer, gently leaning their heads together. Once Buck started to relax, he leaned in—knowing full well that Buck’s attention was anywhere but the movie—and kissed his temple, right above his birthmark.

“You did a really hard thing today, and it brought a lot of good into the world. I’m really, really proud of you, Buck.”

Buck didn’t respond—not verbally, anyway, but Eddie could feel the thousand degree stare Buck gave him when he turned his head, like he was going to stare directly into Eddies soul, search for any sign he was being sarcastic, or patronizing, not that Eddie cared. He was being completely honest, and he could see Buck’s expression falter as he realized that.

Eddie’s smile only grew as Buck scanned over his face again, though it was his turn to look surprised when Buck pulled a hand up to rest against Eddie’s cheek. Eddie leaned into it instinctively as he felt his eyes half lid, because Buck was moving again, pulling himself closer, and it was all Eddie could do to remain perfectly still, give Buck the chance to move closer or pull away, even if he wanted to flip them over right now and kiss Buck within an inch of his life.

As it was, their first kiss was perfect—Buck in his arms, Chris buried in blankets, and Edna Mode in the background. And even if the road to get there was rough, Eddie wouldn’t have changed it for the world.

[tripleaxeldiaz]

you play, and everything else goes away

for @extasiswings <3

read on ao3

It’s all very familiar as he enters the store — the smell of wood and rosin, the instruments hanging on the walls, the snippets of music coming from the practice rooms along the back wall. There’s music playing from speakers behind the front desk too, a familiar piece that he’s forgotten the composer of. As he adjusts the case straps on his shoulders, watching a group of kids warm up in the corner, he’s suddenly nervous, anticipation rolling in his stomach like it did before his very first lesson.

Eddie didn’t start with the cello — every kid in the neighborhood was taking piano lessons, so his mother signed him and his sisters up too. Sophia was good, played through sophomore year, did a few solo and ensemble competitions. Adriana quit after a month so she could focus on dance. Eddie liked it fine, but he didn’t feel any passion for it. The keys felt too cold, too impersonal, and he couldn’t feel the music anywhere but in his hands, didn’t feel like he could control it.

His teacher must have noticed too, because she turned to him one day mid-lesson and asked, “Eddie, what do you really want to play?”

He’d thought about it, of course. He’d watched kids warm up and tune every instrument imaginable while waiting for lessons to start, but he always felt himself drawn to the strings. They were beautiful, looked elegant and commanding no matter who was playing them, and although they only had four strings, there were infinite notes that could be played, microtonalities and variations that the 88 keys of the piano just couldn’t replicate. Every violinist he watched seemed to put their whole body into their pieces, swaying as the music changed, bows ebbing and flowing. He told his teacher the simplified version of that and she nodded, leaving the room and coming back a few minutes later with two cases, one double the size of the other.

She handed him the violin first. Twisting his arm to hold it under his chin was awkward, and the shrill tone of the E string wasn’t something he was sure he wanted to listen to day in and day out. His teacher showed him some basic fingerings and helped him play a scale, but something still felt wrong.

The cello, though. As soon as he sat down with it securely between his knees, he knew this was different. Better. The tones were lower, warmer, and he could feel them in every inch of him, felt in command of the music he was playing. All he played was a D major scale, but it was enough to know this was it for him. His parents agreed, happy enough that he still wanted to play something, and bought him his own cello that same day. He was a little worried on the day of his first lesson that he wouldn’t love it as much as he hoped, but one hour and one sawed out version of “Hot Cross Buns” later, he was completely enamored.

He continued with lessons, joining his school’s orchestra in fifth grade, and Eddie continued falling in love with the cello, now learning how to love how it sounded as part of a whole rather than just a single instrument. Cello parts weren’t always the melody or particularly fun, but they supported the sound of the whole piece, enriching it, sometimes making it so intense he could feel the notes in his bones as he played. He was first chair by sophomore year, playing solos and in the chamber orchestra. He listened to the pieces his director recommended outside of school, and fell down rabbit holes of his own, finding particular comfort in the repetition and minimalism of Glass and Richter, in the picturesque melodies of Einaudi. By the time he was a senior, it was clear that he wouldn’t be able to play much if at all after graduation — his parents were pushing so hard for pre-med, the Army kept sending him letters about his potential as a recruit, and all the best music programs were out of state anyway, away from Shannon, from his family, everything he knew.

He packed up his cello after his orchestra’s senior concert, fully expecting to never touch it again, watch it gather dust in the corner of his childhood bedroom while the world moved on around it. It hurt Eddie deeply to leave this thing he loved so much behind, but he still had recordings to listen to, where he could close his eyes and pretend he was playing too, fingering along silently on his arm.

It wasn’t the same, but it would have to be enough.

But fast forward 15 years and here Eddie is, waiting for his new teacher to call him into their room, foot tapping with nervous energy. He sees a door open, a girl walking out with her case on her back, waving as she heads out of the store. A man maybe 10 years older than him sticks his head out.

“Edmundo?” he calls. Eddie walks over to the room, shutting the door behind him as they shake hands.

“Eddie is fine,” he says.

“Nice to meet you, I’m Steve,” Steve says, his smile warm and paternal. “I take it this isn’t your first rodeo?”

Eddie stops, bow in his hand frozen mid-rosin. He hadn’t even realized he had unpacked, it just...happened. Like muscle memory.

“It’s not,” he laughs, blushing lightly. “But it has been a while.”

“Well that’s okay, it’s never too late to start playing again,” Steve says as Eddie settles in the plastic chair, locking his endpin and placing it in the rock stop. “Do you have any music with you? I’d like to get an idea of where your technique is at right now.”

“I don’t, but I have a piece memorized I can play?”

Steve waves his hand out as he sits in the chair across from Eddie. “Whenever you’re ready.”

Eddie places the bow on the strings and takes a deep breath. It’s been ages, but it’s all so familiar that he’s not nervous anymore. The weight of the cello is comforting, like hugging an old friend, and he’s relaxed. Excited, even, to be back in this mindset that was an escape to him for so long. As he begins to play, the familiar arpeggios flow out of him like rain water, the bow gliding along with them. He closes his eyes and feels it, the slurs and scales, the crescendos and diminuendos, every rest, every string crossing. This was the first piece he ever memorized, the first one he ever played in front of people at a recital, and to know that it’s still so much a part of him, ingrained in his mind, makes him kind of want to cry.

He finishes, let’s the last chord linger, his eyes still closed. He knows it wasn’t perfect — he was flat in places, he missed a bowing change and was backwards for a few bars, and his fingertips started hurting toward the end, calluses no longer there to protect him. But none of that matters to him, really, because he’s back, back in this home he didn’t realize he had missed so much.

He opens his eyes as Steve claps softly, still smiling. “That was really great, Eddie. You have some things to brush up on, but you really are a natural. Shall we work through it from the top?”

He picks up his bow, heart close to bursting with happiness, and he starts again.

~~~~~~~~~~

Eddie peaks through the crack in the curtain, scanning the audience for his family. He spots them — they’re kind of hard to miss, taking up the entire third row — and he feels his stomach drop, more nervous than he ever is running into a burning building.

It was their doing, really, his getting back into playing. Sophia had been in town and had dropped by the station one day, and everyone took full advantage of grilling her for childhood memories of Eddie. He hadn’t minded when she let slip that he played cello once upon a time, because he wasn’t ashamed of it. It just wasn’t something he talked about often because it still stung, even all these years later, remembering the feeling he used to get mastering a tricky fingering or learning a new piece, knowing he’d probably never have that same joy again. He didn’t really think anything of the way Buck’s eyes lit up when he said he wouldn’t mind taking lessons again, or the way he pulled everyone but Eddie aside in the weeks leading up to Christmas.

At their yearly gift exchange, Eddie had been presented with a huge, oddly wrapped package with a tag reading “To: our favorite musician, From: all of us”. His breath caught as he unwrapped it, revealing familiar, curved black plastic. He opened the case, tearing up at the sight of the used but clearly loved cello and a coupon for a year’s worth of lessons from a local teacher. He croaked out a “thank you” and was quickly enveloped in a group hug, feeling beyond grateful for these people that knew him so well and loved him so much.

He practiced as often as he could in between lessons and work and everything else. Sometimes he was alone, working through difficult passages with varying degrees of frustration. Sometimes Chris laid on the ground next to him doing homework, sometimes Buck sat on the couch and read, both listening intently, not caring when Eddie played the same four bars over and over and over to get them right. As annoying as it was, he never felt like giving up, like picking cello up again had been a mistake. If anything, it just made him work harder, in honor of 18 year old Eddie that had to leave his passion behind.

The audience claps as the pianist before him finishes. Eddie feels a hand on his shoulder, turns to see Steve behind him, holding his folder of music.

“You’ve worked hard this year, Eddie. You’re going to be great. And if not, that just means you have to keep practicing.”

Eddie nods, stomach still swirling. He and Steve walk on stage as his name is announced, and he hears Buck and Chimney’s unmistakable hollers. He sets up his chair and music stand in front of the piano, looking at the audience again. He can see everyone’s face clearly from here, all smiles, Bobby holding up his phone to record the performance. He catches Buck’s eye, who sends him a wink and a smile, and he’s ready.

He places his bow on the strings, nods to Steve, and he’s lost in the music almost immediately. It’s a melancholic piece, full of sorrow and intensity that fills Eddie as he plays. He picked this piece because it’s beautiful in it’s sadness and simplicity, and today, he plays it for all that he’s lost. For his Army friends, for Shannon, for his younger, more optimistic self. He mourns for them through his music in a way that he’s never been able to without it, and as it swells into the final melodic section, he swears he feels some weight lift off his soul.

He finishes, and there’s a breath before the audience applauds. It’s mostly polite, but the third row is on its feet, Athena passing Maddie a pack of tissues as they wipe their eyes. He smiles and bows before heading offstage with Steve, feeling giddy, the same we he always remembered feeling after a good performance. It didn’t matter that he missed a few notes or rushed a few bars — he made people feel something, and that was a better reward than perfection.

Another round of applause from his family greets him as he enters the lobby, Chris barreling into his legs, all smiles and congratulations. There’s hugs and pats on the back and flowers from Hen and Karen, and Eddie doesn’t know if he’ll stop smiling. As they leave, headed to a nearby restaurant to celebrate, Buck falls in step next to Eddie, tangles their fingers together.

“You were beautiful up there, Eds,” he says as he presses a kiss to the back of Eddie’s hand. “I’ve never seen you look so in your element.”

Eddie just smiles, kissing Buck’s cheek before tugging him toward the car, Chris already there, yelling at them to get a move on.

Because Buck’s right. On stage, playing music, he is in his element. Behind a cello, he’s home.