#and I’ll have all the white squares done

[sodacowboy]

finally started blocking and joining the granny squares I made for this blanket and y’all I’m so fucking excited like I can’t wait to have this as something I can use

[discordantwritings]

Cleaning Up (Crocodile x Reader)

Warnings: NSFW 18+ MDNI, fem afab! Reader, virgin! Reader, Crocodile’s your boss, fingering, PiV sex, inappropriate use of Crocodile’s hook, belly bulge, slight overstimulation

WC: 3.6k

Summary: You’re Sir Crocodile’s maid and, if you’re honest, your uniform is an offense to feminism. Luckily you don’t really see your boss or anyone else while you work so there’s nothing to worry about.

Until you see him.

And then you start having things to worry about- mostly how attracted you are to your boss.

Notes: what can I say. Horny brain won

Tagging: @keiva1000

In the handful of weeks you’ve been Sir Crocodile’s personal maid you’ve grown to like your job. You were terrified on your first few days but quickly you found out that there was little reason to be scared. You were rarely ever in the same space as Crocodile- you worked mostly during the day while he was attending to his work- and you did your job throughly so he never had any notes for you beyond which drinks to stock up for him. Not to mention even the slight unpleasantness of how much sand you have to clean up is easily overridden by the generous pay you receive. And what you were initially the most uncomfortable with you’ve grown to like- that being the uniform.

It’s… short. And low. And so painfully stereotypical. The textbook definition of an impractical sexy maid’s outfit. For the first week you spent more time trying to make the skirt cover your ass then you spent cleaning. But when you realized there was rarely anyone in the house while you were working you quickly cared a lot less. There was something nice about putting on an outfit you didn’t have to think about picking out, and honestly there wasn’t any work so hard that you needed the coverage of pants for safety, so you developed a good relationship with the skimpy black and white number.

Maybe you did think you were a little sexy in it.

Of course, there was no one at work to see you and certainly no one at home, but it was nice to feel good about yourself. If no one else was going to objectify you, goddamn it, you were. Your boobs did look nice in the low square cut top. Your ass was cute when in peaked out from under that stupid tiny skirt.

It made coming to work each day slightly less boring. Your job was, admittedly, monotonous as you worked through your cleaning schedule. Today was an office cleaning day though- a nice break from the mopping day before. You collected all your cleaning supplies, pushed the big doors to Sir Crocodile’s office open, and nearly jumped out of your skin.

Crocodile was sitting behind his desk, leaning back as he read a newspaper. He folded down the edge of the paper as you came in, looking you up and down as you stared like a deer in the headlights, carefully constructed day flying away from you.

“I’m so sorry sir I didn’t know you would be in today-“ You had only seen him twice before this- once when he interviewed you and then another when he gave you a tour of his home. Never during work hours and certainly never in your uniform. “I’ll clean other places I’m sorry to disturb you.”

“No, it’s fine.” He says dismissively and that’s all as he unfolds the paper again to continue reading.

Okay. Time to do your job then. And try not to focus on how damn short your skirt is. It’s fine.

And really, it was. You went about your normal work and it seemed like Crocodile went about his. He looked at you from time to time but you got the feeling his was more looking at the quality of your work as opposed to your figure. Thank god you were good at your job.

After an hour or so you were done and loaded all of your supplies back onto your cart to move onto the next room. But, since he was here-

“I’m all done here unless there is something else you’d like done?” You ask politely, wanting to appease him.

“Hm…” He sits up in his chair and looks you up and down. “Who gave you that uniform?”

“Um… one of your officers sir, he had an interesting makeup style?”

“Ah. Bon Clay.” He huffs. “Well, at least your boyfriend can get some enjoyment out of this.”

“I’m not-“ This conversation has not gone anywhere near what you were expecting. “No boyfriend or anyone sir.”

“Really…” He looks you up and down again and suddenly you feel heat from his gaze. “Interesting. Well, there’s nothing else I need today, continue on.”

And just like that you were dismissed. You nod your head a silently hurry out of the room, grateful you didn’t have to continue facing down his hardened stare. It was frightening… but there was a twist in your gut that certainly wasn’t fear.

Arousal.

It followed you through the rest of your shift, his piercing grey eyes in the back of your mind as you swept and dusted. The heat from his gaze still lingered on your skin as you crawled into bed later that night. The few words he did say to you left questions for your mind to run rampant with.

But he was your boss and a terrifying pirate so you needed to shove all those thoughts and lock them away where they couldn’t be found. You could ignore how wet you’d gotten just from thinking about him looking at you.

You probably weren’t going to see him for a while so you had plenty of time to cool off and get a rational head about all this. This fleeting, lewd fantasy would be over before you knew it.

That is, of course, until he’s home the next day too.

This time he’s in the dining room, enjoying a cup of coffee and a book when you round the corner. You aren’t as startled this time, but all those lustful thoughts came crawling back into your head.

“Good afternoon sir.” You say, hoping your voice hasn’t betrayed you.

“Afternoon.” He says, only glancing up from the page when you speak.

It’s probably better this way, the less words he speaks the less of that low tone the less you have to latch onto. You sweep the floor first before moving to clean the long hardwood dining room table. At first you only clean 3/4ths of it, avoiding Crocodile’s space. But when you go to put your rags away Crocodile stops you.

“Oh, don’t let me get in your way.” He pushes himself back in his chair, taking his coffee cup with him as he sits about a foot from the table now.

“Thank you.” You go to star cleaning from the side of the table but a small tut from Crocodile stops you.

“Wouldn’t right here be a better angle?” He gestures casually with his hook to the small space between him and the table. Your brain is slow in processing what he’s saying and he simply leans back with a shrug. “But what do I know about cleaning.”

You’re not entirely convinced you’re not dreaming as you walk closer to him and turn so your back is facing him when you put yourself in between him and the table. You hear your heartbeat in your ears as you first clean off the table right in front of you, taking your time so you can work up the courage for your next action.

Slowly you lean over the table, pushing yourself up on your tip toes to get your whole torso onto the hardwood surface. You know your ass is fully on display for Crocodile, your black panties probably not doing much to hide the folds of your pussy. Behind you, you hear Crocodile suck in a breath.

“Just like that…” He murmurs and you aren’t sure but you swear you feel the fabric of your skirt move up slightly.

You take your precious time cleaning off the last bit of the table, making sure to shift your hips much more often than necessary as you keep yourself pushed up. There’s no way he isn’t staring at you the whole time, and you try not to have a giant smile on your face when you slowly stand up again and turn around. You’re still situated in that small space, your legs between his spread knees.

“Is there anything else you need sir?” You look into his eyes, using every ounce of your willpower to not look down and see if he’s hard or not.

His golden hook plays with the edges of your skirt as he looks at it thoughtfully. “I thought this thing was a little much at first, but I think I’ve come around to it.”

“It’s grown on me as well.” The attention has you flushed and your heart beating out of your chest.

“You look like you want to run.” He grins up at you and you have to grip the table behind you to keep yourself steady.

“No sir.”

“Then why are you so flushed?”

He’s playing with you. Like a cat toying with a bird before it kills it. There’s something so intoxicating about being prey.

“I guess I’m not used to attention like this sir.” You answer honestly.

“How can that be?” His flesh hand comes up and grazes along the outside of your thigh. “Pretty little thing like yourself…”

“I’m not sure. Maybe I keep too much to myself.” His touch is featherlight as he leaves goosebumps in his wake.

“No partner now… certainly there have been partners before?” His grey eyes are intense as they lock with yours and the implications of his question aren’t lost on you.

“No. No partners before.” You admit, growing more breathless by the second.

His grin shifts slightly into something that would be frightening if you weren’t dizzy with arousal. His coffee cup gets placed back on the table, long forgotten by now.

“What an absolute shame.” There’s no hint of sadness in his voice. “Poor little thing like yourself all alone late at night.”

His hand drifts under your skirt and around to your ass, palming the flesh there. “I bet you make do though.”

That was the thing though- you really didn’t. Not for lack of trying, certainly not, but every time you touched yourself you’d never been able to climax. You get in your own head and your thoughts run rampant and you can only focus on how your fingers don’t actually reach anywhere good or how you can never keep up the right pressure on your clit to push you over the edge. Something always slips at the last minute and drags you out and away from your orgasm. You enjoy the ride there, at least, but never quite get over the hill.

You take too long to respond but that in itself tells Crocodile his answer. The grip on your ass turns bruising and you bite back a moan. You watch as his tongue runs over his teeth and he’s about to say something when-

“Sir.” A voice sounds from behind you and embarrassment shoots up through your system.

“What?” Crocodile’s voice is sharp and mean as he glares past you at whoever is interrupting.

“There’s been Marine movement counter to what our intelligence has told us-“

“How bad?” Crocodile cuts him off and you look and see Crocodile’s hook slowly crushing into the table next to you.

“Bad.”

“Fuck.” His hook full imbeds in the table with a slam and you can’t help but jump. “I’ll be there in a second. Go!”

You hear hurried footsteps leaving the room and there’s a heavy pause as you both collect yourselves. You hear the sound of splintered wood as he pulls his hook out of the table and stands up, towering over you.

“Don’t worry about the table.” His hand slowly leaves you and you bite back a whine. “Do you think you could stay late today? My bedroom is a mess and could use your attention.”

You nod furiously but he tuts.

“Use your words sweetheart.”

“Yes sir.” You manage and are rewarded with the surprisingly soft brush of his fingers on your cheek.

“That’s my girl.”

And with that he leaves you, breathless and gripping the broken table. You take a deep breath and calm yourself down so you can finish your work for the day.

Once you figure out how to make your legs work again.

You clean just about every square inch of the house you have access to before slipping into Crocodile’s bedroom as the sun went down. Of course, there was absolutely nothing to clean in his room- honestly you weren’t confident he even slept in here with how pristine it was.

You smile as you get a devious thought, walking over to the neatly made bed. You slip your panties off before sitting on the edge of the bed and then nicely lay them out next to you. Now to wait.

And wait.

And wait some more.

You’re half asleep by the time the bedroom door startles you awake. You shoot upright and try to look poised but you quickly realize he probably doesn’t care.

He looks tired and aggravated. His eyebrows furrowed as he slams the door behind him and for a second you think you’re going to be asked to leave- that is until he sees you. His shoulders visibly relax as he stalks over to you, looking you up and down.

“Sorry I had to keep you waiting I-“ He stops in his tracks as he sees your panties sitting next to you on the bed. That predatory grin from earlier sneaks back on his face. His hook picks up the black fabric and holds it out in front of both of you.

“What’s this?” He asks, looking down at you.

“I-“ All the courage you had worked up earlier fizzled out by now, embarrassment raking over your body as you avoided his gaze. “Just wanted to be ready for you.”

“So here you were on my bed- bare, alone- what a cruel man I am. Fuck if I had known-“ His body towers over you and you lean back, arms straight behind you supporting you on the bed.

“You’re here now.” You still can’t quite meet his eyes but hearing all the need in his voice has your confidence slowly creeping back.

“Yes.” His hand comes up and his thumb rubs your cheek as he gently moves your face so you’re looking in his eyes. “Back to the headboard and spread your legs for me.”

You quickly push yourself back until you hit the headboard and let your legs lay open, earning you an appreciative hum from Crocodile. He walks around the bed before sitting next to you, hand grazing up your thigh. Leaning in he nudges your jaw with his nose and you tilt your head, letting him have full access to your neck. Teeth graze along your jugular as he pushes your skirt fully up.

“You might have ruined my sheets already, you’re absolutely dripping…” You whine as his large fingers push apart your folds.

He bites down right as he pushes a finger inside you, pain and pleasure mixing as you writhe against the bed. His finger pumps slowly in and out as he licks over the bite he just made. A second finger slips easily inside you while his thumb rubs against your clit.

“How do my fingers feel? Hm?” He whispers as he nips at your earlobe.

“Feels so good sir- I’m-“ You press your head back into the headboard as you feel the coil tightening inside you.

This is always where you get in your own way and you feel that self scrutiny rearing its head. Suddenly you’re worried about how you look, how you sound, how your inexperience is going to eventually ruin the night. You’re quickly sliding away from your orgasm and Crocodile catches on fast.

“Hey.” His hook goes under your chin and directs your face to his. “Focus here.”

His lips are on yours and his body leans in, pressing you down further into the bed. The kiss is so consuming you don’t notice this hook leave your chin until it’s slicing clean down the middle of your top and bra. Fabric falls away and your yelp at the action is easily swallowed by Crocodile. He doesn’t give you a moment to breathe as the cold metal of his hook drags against one of your nipples.

“I guess I’m not too upset you won’t cum on my fingers.” His voice is husky as he pulls away, hand quickly shoving his pants down. “Your first orgasm should be on my cock anyways.”

Your head is swimming at his words and as he pulls his cock out you realize you’re in over your head. He’s big- too big you’re afraid. Crocodile must see the gears turning in your head and he chuckles.

“Oh don’t worry darling- it’ll fit.” He moves back over you, caging you in with his large body.

He drags his tip through your folds, teasing you as he presses kisses along your neck and collarbone. The gold of his hook drags down between your breasts, somehow still cold despite its constant presence on your body. His tip presses into you and you already feel the stretch and you hands fly to his back and shoulders to anchor yourself.

“Shhhh- just relax baby-“ He pushes in slowly but relentlessly and it’s hard to follow his instructions when you feel like you’re getting split in half.

As your nails dig into the skin of his back he leans down and takes one of your breasts into his mouth, his tongue swirling around your nipple as his hook presses into your other nipple. There’s nothing you can do but take what you’re being given, letting the painful yet pleasurable sensations overwhelm you until finally- finally- your brain empties of all thoughts.

“That’s it- such a good girl for me-“ You don’t miss how breathless he is, forehead pressed to your collarbone as he pushes his last few inches into you. “So fucking tight-“

One of your hands moves up and tangles in his black hair. “Please- need-“

“Hm? Need more already?” He starts to move his hips, pace still slow as you still struggle to accommodate his girth. “I knew you were going to be such a good little whore for me.”

He sits up and pulls your thighs up further around his waist, shifting his angle and making you see stars. You feel his hand pressing against your stomach and when you look down you can see the slight budge of his tip pressing up through the skin. It’s enough to make you dizzy.

“You see that don’t you?” He picks up his pace, hand moving down to hold your hips in place. “You’re taking me so well- I’m going to fucking ruin you for anyone else. Do you think anyone else could possibly fuck you like this? Huh?”

“No- fuck- I’m-“ You claw at whatever skin of his you can reach as you feel your orgasm rushing up on you and for once you’re not afraid it’s going to creep away.

“That’s right baby- cum all over my cock. I know you can do it.” His pace is brutal and his hand moves from your hip so his thumb can circle your clit and just like that you’re gone.

White hot pleasure rakes down your spine as you come undone on his cock, the release nearly making you cry. Crocodile has moved to press kisses against your neck again, slowly moving back up to your lips as he rocks into you at a slowed pace. The kiss is less intense than before but no less intimate.

“Think you can give me another one?” He asks, breathe fanning over your face.

“I don’t-“ You’re quickly cut off by him flipping you onto your stomach.

You feel his hand press down against the space between your shoulder blades as the outer curve of his hook presses your hips up. Despite his slowed pace the pleasure is still the same- body still reeling from your last orgasm.

“I can’t help being a greedy man.” He grunts out, the sound of his hips hitting your ass filling the room.

You hold onto the sheets for dear life as you do your best to keep your ass in the air as he fucks you into the mattress. The bed does little to muffle your debauched moans and whines as his cock hits spots you didn’t know existed.

“C’mon baby be a good girl for me- milk my cock-“ His thrusts are rougher now and you have no choice but to obey his command.

You cry out into the bed as you cum, only just able to hear Crocodile groan behind you as you feel the sudden loss of his length inside you. Not a second later you feel warm ropes of cum hit you ass.

“Hold still for me for just a bit more baby-“ Crocodile is breathless as you feel his hand grab at your asscheek, fingers smearing his cum into you skin. “Fuck you look so beautiful all gaping for me- next time I’m going to fill you up, you’d like that wouldn’t you?”

You can only offer a weak moan, completely worn out as you focus all your energy on not fully collapsing onto the bed. Of course the thought was wonderful, but you’re not sure when your body would recover from this.

“Alright love, you can relax.” At his words you melt, body falling into the bed as the haze of exhaustion washes over you.

You feel Crocodile’s weight leave the bed but he’s only gone for a minute. He returns with a glass of water and a damp cloth, cleaning you off with a surprising softness.

“I don’t think I can walk let alone make it home.” You admit after you take a drink of water.

“Did you really think I’d let you go home after that? Darling, you never have to leave again if you don’t want to.” Crocodile joins you on the bed again, hook sitting on his bedside table.

As he pulls you into his chest, chin resting on top of your head, you don’t think that’s such a bad idea.

[patrollingboston]

141 Beach Episode // Cod x Reader

You know how in every good show there's a beach episode? Yeah this is theirs.

The 5 of you were sat in a truck with the aircon blasting. Price was dramatically fanning himself with his boonie hat. With one hand placed on the steering wheel. You had just finished a week-long mission and it left you all somewhere on the east coast with the sun beating down with no mercy. You were so uncomfortable, dressed head to toe in full gear practically sweltering in it.

“Not used to this bloody heat.”

  Soap sighed placing a hand to his forehead to relieve his brow of sweat.

“I’ve got the aircon.”

 Gaz smirked, of course he was fine he was sat in the front seat with cold air blasting directly onto him. You were squished between Ghost and Soap, plus he always wore a sunhat and sunglasses even in the rain.

“How ghost isn’t a puddle yet I have no clue.”

You stated, glancing over at ghost who was dressed in all black with his mask still pinned down onto his face yet he didn’t show a single sign of discomfort.

“Can you even breathe? Isn’t it like being trapped under a blanket?”

“I can breathe fine.”

He grunted not sounding amused by your questions.

“Look at tha’ ain’t it a pretty view.”

Soap said tapping on the truck window, everyone’s eyes glanced to meet where he was pointing. You were greeted with the sight of a gorgeous white sandy beach with the clearest sea water you had ever seen with families playing in the sand and surfers utilizing the waves.

“The things I would give to dive in those waves.”

 You said groaning, resting your head back in the seat knowing you had a hot and uncomfortable 6+ flight ahead of you to get back to base in England not to mention the drive to even get to the airport.

“Can’t we stop for a bit? The missions all done and dusted, surely, they don’t need us back that hastily.”

Gaz asked turning to face the captain with a cheesy grin plastered across his face.

“I could use a pint. I’m sweating like a fucking pig. We only have a few hours but I think we could all use a break.”

“Make that two.”

 Ghost’s gruff voice chimed in his mood perking up at the promise of a cold beer.

“I think everyone here wants a bloody pint.”

A few moments later the 5 of you were all stood on the beach boardwalk, you removed your boots and placed them by the railing before stepping onto the soft, warm sand.

“I have never ever stepped on sand so soft oh my-“

You wondered how long it had been before you stood barefoot on a beach. Probably not since you were a child on a day trip with your family.

“Shit the sands a bit hot ain’t it?”

Soap said as she stepped onto the sand beside you, shifting from foot to foot as he complained about the temperature once again.

“I’ll go grab us some drinks, find a spot I’ll come find you all.”

 Price said before stepping up the stairs and walking towards the crowded beach bar on the boardwalk.

Ghost, who was still dressed fully in his gear stomped behind you scouting the beach for a place to sit like it was the toughest decision he ever had to make.

“Here.”

He said pointing to a peaceful square of the beach, not too far from the shore.

You all placed your backpacks down and set a towel down for yourself. Ghost was wrestling with the beach umbrella to get it stood up.

“Whose going for a swim?”

Soap said with a huge smile on his face as he stripped off his t shirt leaving him in his cargo shorts.

“You go first mate, tell us how cold it is eh?”

Gaz joked, pushing soap slightly closer the seafront.

“Don’t be a pussy.”

“I’ll go!”

 You said, removing your jacket and vest leaving you in a tank top and some old cargo shorts dumping by your backpack them away from the shore so the waves didn’t steal them.

You jogged down to the water front stood beside Soap and Gaz.

“Whose going to make the first move then?”

You all stood in a line, hands on hips inspecting the water as it broke in front of you. As you spoke Soap dived headfirst into a wave like a goofy dolphin. He stuck his head up like an seal, running his hands through his mohawk and wiping the salty water off his face.

“Is it cold?”

 You shouted through the crashing waves.

“Nah, its refreshing.”

He shouted back before running through the water back onto the shore to stand beside the two of you.

“I don’t know if I’m that hot anymore you know-“

You said backing off after feeling the  ‘refreshing’ water splash over your feet and ankles sending little shockwaves through you.

With that statement Soap placed two hands on your waist and lifted you up into the air before placing you over his shoulder like a fireman would carrying someone out a burning building.

“DON’T YOU DARE SOAP, I MEAN IT.”

You screamed thumping his back in fear as he stepped into the freezing ocean once again. Gaz stood on the shore filming the entire situation laughing at your misfortune. Ghost sat watching from afar under a big shady umbrella pint in hand with Price sat beside him reading something, smoking one of his cigars as per usual.

“Ready?”

Soap teased as he began to hoist you up even further before throwing you into the sea with a huge splash. The cold water shocked you at first but after a few seconds, soap was right. It was kind of refreshing. You popped your head up out the water with a frown.

“I hate you asshole.”

“You weren’t going to get in I had no choice-“

You pushed a big wave of water his way aiming for his face secretly hoping the salt would burn his eyes.

“GAZ GET IN.”

Gaz stepped into the water with haste joining you and soap.

“We going play mermaids or what?”

You asked with a chuckle as the 3 of you treaded water in a circle.

“I would prefer to drown Soap.”

Gaz said before dunking soaps head back under the water.

About an hour later you sat on the beach wrapped in your towel, drying off in the sun.

“Been a while since I’ve been able to relax on a beach.”

Price spoke, he was leant back on a sun lounger his hat placed over his face shielding his eyes from the setting sun.

“Thought you were asleep old man.”

Ghost chuckled.

“Can we take a photo?”

You asked bringing out your super old digital camera you dragged around on every single mission.

The 5 of you gathered in closer. Gaz throwing up a peace sign. Soaps arm slung around ghost and a beer held loosely in the other. Captain Price sat up placing his hands on your shoulders. Your smiles were all wide (you would like to believe ghost’s was too) as the light of the setting sun glowed on your faces.

That day was a good day.

[queen-of-deans-booty]

Don't Fight It

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~2.3k

Warnings: angst, gun violence, murder, fluff

Request by @jessicalynnann: Dean standing by a window and he is a multi millionaire mob boss… any ways. Standing by the window with a glass of whiskey waiting for the reader who he keeps denying his feelings for…. Any ways her best friend calls says that someone is bothering the reader and won’t leave them alone. Well he rushes down and saves the reader after he finds her in the alley almost being attacked and then he confesses everything 😂☺️

Summary: You work for not only a successful businessman but also a man who does less than legal things in his spare time. He hopes to never have to bring you into that side of his life but when your ex makes an appearance, he has no choice but to use his deadly skills to get you out of trouble alive.

Square Filled: “it’s not an addiction. it’s a coping mechanism.” (2023) for @spnaubingo

Author’s Note: any and all comments are appreciated <3

x

Never in your professional career have you ever been late except for today. Your car didn’t want to start this morning so you had to jumpstart it using a portable charger you had lying around from the last time your brother was staying with you. He claims he forgot it but you know he left it there intentionally. He’s always looking out for you whether you want him to or not.

You walk into work clutching your purse and water cup to your chest as you make your way to your desk. Due to the darkness coming from underneath your boss’ door, you assume he’s not in right now. Thank God. You don’t have to confront him after being late. You quickly get settled in and immediately pull up your emails to see what kind of day you’re going to have today.

As the personal assistant to the CEO of Winchester Industries, you always have a lot on your plate. There is seldom any time for yourself at work which is a good thing because that means the day goes by faster. You admire Dean for what he does and the impact he has made not only on the town you live in but in towns across America. He is involved with environmental technologies, medical devices, and the telecommunications sector. He cares so much about the environment that he develops equipment that helps farmers, medical devices mostly for animals, and strengthens the telecommunication sector across America.

He had an idea one day and decided to do something about it instead of waiting for someone else to do it. Now, he’s one of the richest men in the country because of it.

Speaking of the devil, when Dean walks out of the elevator, you’re already halfway through your emails.

“Good morning, Y/N,” he drawls.

“Good morning, Dean.”

“Hey, did you happen to get the contracts for--”

“Already on your desk.”

“What about the proposal for--”

“Already done, waiting for your seal of approval. I also have reached out to Phoenix Zoo and set up a Zoom meeting at ten since their medical equipment broke for their gorilla.”

Dean leans against your desk with a sexy smirk on his face. What you wouldn’t give to see that smirk behind closed doors. If you put aside the fact that you’re his personal assistant, there is one reason why you shouldn’t fall for a man like Dean Winchester. He’s a successful CEO but you know he’s involved with shady shit on the side. You’re not sure what his deal is but you know it isn’t legal. You turn a blind eye to the many times he’s come into work with bloodstains on his stark white shirt.

Maybe you should run. Any sane, logical person would but you’ve never been the one to listen to that side of you.

“What would I do without you?”

“Cry, maybe. This business would crumble without me.”

“Don’t I know it,” he chuckles.

“So, I have two interviews coming in today, both for the marketing department, Dalton Martinez wants to schedule a meeting with you, and--”

“How about this,” he cuts you off, “you take care of the interviews today and I’ll take care of everything else.”

“Okay.”

He walks into his office and you can’t help but watch him leave. He’s such a good-looking man that it’s hard not to fall for his charm. You tried asking what he does in his free time when you saw his bloody shirt for the first time but he refused to talk about it. You haven’t asked him about it since even though you want to.

The two interviews come and go and now you’re stuck at your desk replying to emails, drafting up contracts for Dean, and planning his next work trip. Right when the clock strikes twelve, Dean comes out of his office without his jacket on. He rolled his sleeves up to his elbows, and you vermouth waters at the sight of his white shirt stretching across his broad chest.

“Hey, are you busy for lunch?”

“No.”

“Want to have lunch with me? I’ll be stuck in this office all day.”

“Sure,” you smile. You log out of your computer and grab your lunch bag from the fridge you have underneath your desk. You pass by one of the other ladies on the floor and she tsks when you approach her desk. “What?”

“Be careful not to get involved with him.”

“I’m not. It’s just lunch.”

You walk into Dean’s office who is standing by this floor-length windows with a glass of whiskey in hand.

“Don’t tell me that glass is your lunch.”

“No.” He walks over to his desk, reaches into the mini-fridge, and pulls out a meatball sandwich he made before coming to work. “So, tell me about your day.”

You eye the glass of whiskey on his desk. “Maybe we should talk about your day. Addiction can ruin someone’s life.”

“It’s not an addiction. It’s a coping mechanism.”

“Want to talk about it?”

“I’d rather talk about you. Any plans this weekend?”

“I might need something stronger than water if I’m going to talk about that,” you chuckle.

“Don’t let me stop you.”

You get up and pour yourself a strong drink before downing it in one go. That will be a mistake later but you don’t care. You pour yourself another glass before sitting back down across from him.

“Let me know if this is unprofessional but I haven’t had a date in two years. In the last relationship I was in, he tried to have me killed. I come from very old money but I like to work hard for what I have instead of using what my family gives me every week.”

“I understand,” Dean nods, leaning back in his chair as he listens intently.

“When my ex-boyfriend found out about my money, he wanted it. He wanted to be rich and powerful, but I realized that all he ever wanted from me was money. I was done giving it to him so I broke things off which is when he tried to kill me. I tried to move on but he’s always there to ruin things for me. I kind of gave up on romance and having friends. So, the answer to your question is no, I don’t have any plans this weekend. He won’t let me.”

“What’s his name?”

“Like I’m going to tell you that,” you scoff. “Don’t think I don’t know you’re into some shady shit. I might not know what you do in your free time but I know it’s not legal.” He raises an eyebrow at you. “Am I wrong?”

“No,” he shakes his head.

“Don’t worry about me. I can handle him, but it’d be really nice if I could just wake up one day and feel free.”

Dean leans forward and rubs his hands together. All he can think about is your life in danger and the mere thought sends him into a rage.

“Listen to me. I want you to call me any time of the day and I will help you if you need it.” You nod. “I need you to promise me.”

“Okay, I promise.”

“Cherry is my safe word.”

You immediately choke on your water and almost spit it out on the ground. You cough as you try to regain your composure while Dean watches with an amused look.

“Excuse me?” you cough.

“When someone I know is in danger, they tell me cherry and I know to drop everything for them. That includes you, too.”

“I don’t think I’ll need it,” you clear your throat, “but I promise to use it if I do.”

The rest of the day goes by smoothly and without issue. Dean has been working hard to get everything done before his work trip to Europe, and you’re working hard to make sure he has everything he needs. He asked you to come but you haven’t given him an answer yet. A whole trip with Dean by yourself? That’s a mistake waiting to happen but it would be nice to go to Europe for a week.

Every day for the remainder of the week, you and Dean have lunch in his office and talk about anything and everything. If you didn’t know him as your boss, you two would have made such great friends… maybe something more. He’s leaving for Europe on Monday so you have at least three days to give him an answer on if you’re going or not. Everything will be paid for so all you have to do is show up at the airport at four in the morning if you want to go.

Maybe…

Friday comes around and you’re staying a bit later than normal to finalize everything he needs for his trip. It’s past eight when you finally get done and you shut your computer down for the weekend. Dean is still in his office when you leave, and you head to the carport where your car is. You’re looking at your phone and not paying attention when someone steps in your way. You stop feeling a set of eyes on you and you look up to see your ex-boyfriend at the entrance of the carport.

“Hey, Y/N, long time no see,” he grins.

You immediately turn and head back to work when you see two of his friends blocking that way. The only way you’re going to get out of this is to use the alleyway next to the building. If you can cut through it, you’ll be on the other side of the carport where your car is. You might be able to make it if you’re quick. Elijah must know what you’re going to do because he starts walking over to you. You jump into action and sprint into the alley with your phone clutched in your hand.

Cherry! Cherry! CHERRY!

You almost run into Elijah because you’re texting Dean, and you nearly fall on your ass while stumbling away from him.

“Why are you running from me? I just want to talk.”

You look behind you and see his two friends right blocking the only other way out of the alley. You turn back to Elijah and notice something black glinting in his hands. He has a gun. Your heart starts to race but you force yourself to keep a clear head.

“What do you want, Elijah? I made myself clear the last time I saw you. I don’t want anything to do with you. Please leave.”

“I will when you give what you owe me.”

“What I owe you?”

“You know the trouble you caused the day you left me? You know me pretty well so you know I don’t tolerate bratty behavior. I think two million dollars will make me forget how you left me. Right, boys?”

One of his friends steps to your back and you freeze in fear when you feel his hot breath on your neck.

“Look at her, Eli, she looks like she’s about to cry,” he grins.

“She’s always been a crybaby.”

“I don’t have what you’re asking. Just leave me alone.” His friend grabs your hand and yanks your head back. “You son of a bitch!”

“Give me what I want and I’ll get out of your hair,” Elijah says and steps closer to you.

“Until you need your next fix, huh? Bite me,” you growl.

His friend lets your hair go and steps back to allow Elijah to deal with you.

“Leave her alone.”

All four of you look at the entrance of the alley to see Dean standing there with a deadly look on his face. He came. He got your message and he’s here. You’re scared that Elijah is going to hurt him even though Dean doesn’t seem the type to be scared of a gun.

“Beat it, old man,” Elijah growls.

“I don’t think you heard me,” Dean chuckles. “Get. Away. From. Her.”

“Yeah? What are you going to do about it?” Elijah waves his gun around and you stiffen in fear. “You don’t know what you’re dealing with so just leave before you get put into a body bag.”

“It’s you who will leave in a body bag. Not me.”

Dean takes out a gun from his suit jacket and points it at Elijah. Your ex panics and jumps behind you to use you as a shield, and he presses the barrel of the gun into the side of your head.

“Yeah? What about now?”

“Dean,” you whimper in fear.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart, I’m very good at what I do.”

“Get back! I’ll shoot her!” Elijah yells. “She’ll be dead and it’ll be because of you!”

Dean aims his gun at Elijah and pulls the trigger. The shot causes both of his friends to scatter knowing you’re not worth the trouble. Blood sprays on your neck just as you scream in terror. Elijah’s grip on you loosens and he falls back onto the ground. You’re about to fall yourself but Dean is quick to catch you. You’re shaking like a leaf in his arms, and he uses the sleeves of his white shirt to wipe the blood off your neck.

“You’re safe, sweetheart.” You look around frantically, having not heard him. “You’re in shock right now but you’re safe. I didn’t shoot you.”

“What?” you ask and finally look at him.

“I didn't shoot you. You’re safe. He will never bother you again.” You try to look at your ex on the ground behind you but Dean grabs the sides of your face to stop you from doing so. “I told you, I’m very good at my job.” You put your head on his chest and cry, and he smooths down your hair. “Do you live alone?”

“Yeah.”

“Not tonight, you won’t. You’ll stay with me.”

“Okay,” you whisper.

“Come on, sweetheart. Let’s get you cleaned up.”

“Thank you,” you say as Dean is bringing you back to his office.

“You don’t ever have to thank me. I will always be here if you need me.”

Yeah, falling for him is inevitable. It’s going to happen whether you want it to or not so may as well run with it instead of fight it.

x

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[queen-of-the-avengers]

Office Romance

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~1.2k

Warnings: making out in elevators

Summary: How do you expect to get any work done if your boss is none other than Natasha Romanoff? Does she feel the same about you?

Squares Filled: secret romance (2021) for @avengersbingo

Author’s Note: any and all comments are appreciated <3

x

It’s hard to concentrate on the words you’re trying to type when the most beautiful woman is sitting in the office next to you. Your eyes keep drifting over your computer to look at her through the small glass window next to her door. She is causally chewing on a piece of gum and popping it every so often. Her pretty red lips form a perfect O when she blows the piece of gum. 

What you wouldn’t give to be on the receiving end of that mouth.

“Bitch, are you listening?”

Your coworker, Wanda, throws a wadded piece of paper at your head. You snap out of your trance and look into her knowing eyes. She has a smirk on her face that doesn’t leave even as she goes back to her job.

“What?”

“I need those files over ASAP. I can’t do my job if you don’t do yours.”

“Right,” you mumble and focus on your computer instead.

“Thank you,” she says once you send her the files she needs, “now you can get back to daydreaming about the boss.”

“Shut up.” Your phone rings and you start to sweat when you see your boss is trying to conference you into her call. You smooth back your hair as if you’re going to see her and pick up the phone. “Yes, ma’am?”

“I need you to come into my office.”

“Of course.” you hang up. “She wants me in her office. How do I look?”

“Pull your shirt down a bit. Make the girlies pop.” You do as she says. “Now button your shirt up because you look ridiculous.”

“Fuck you.”

You get up without adjusting your shirt and walk the twenty feet over to Natasha’s office. You knock once even though she asked you to come in and open the door.

“You called?”

Your eyes can’t help but drift lower to her breasts. Everything she wears makes them look bigger than they are, so they are spilling over the top in a classy way. She is wearing a black pencil skirt with a white button-up that has the first three buttons undone because her shirt wouldn’t close otherwise. You quickly look up in hopes she didn’t see you checking her out.

“I need you to get these files sent over to purchasing right away.” You grab the files and are about to make your exit when she stops you. “Wait, I forgot one.”

You turn to see her walk over to her file cabinet and open the bottom drawer. She bends down with her ass sticking out towards you. Of course, you’re going to look. It’s like she wants you to look at how perfect her ass is. You bite your lower lip to stop the sinful thoughts from coming out. When she stands and turns, you snap back into reality and look as if you weren't checking her out.

“Thank you,” you say and grab the other file.

“No, thank you,” she smiles flirtatiously.

You quickly head back to your desk not missing the sly smirk Wanda gives you. It’s very hard to get your job done when your boss has an office right next to your desk, but it’s even harder when she makes a show of eating her lunch as if she wants you to look at her. There are times when you think she might be into you, but then you think that she’s your boss and that would be inappropriate.

The only work you get done is sending the files over to purchasing while the rest of your time is spent fantasizing about what you’d do if you got her into your bed. The end of the day comes quicker without you staring at the clock every hour. It’s time to go home and have a really long and cold shower.

“I’ll meet you down at the car, okay?” Wanda says as she packs her things up.

“Yeah, I’ll be right there.”

You and Wanda live together and often ride in the same car. The only way you won’t is if one of you needs to leave early or do something after work. Natasha gets done with her work at the same time as you, so you two meet just as you’re leaving your cubicle and she is leaving her office.

“You know, I’m really proud of you and the work you’ve been doing.” You and Natasha walk to the elevators together. “Keep it up and I’ll put in a good work to the board about a raise.”

“Thank you, ma’am,” you grin.

“Please, call me Natasha or Nat. Whatever you prefer. Ma’am makes me feel so old,” she chuckles and walks onto the elevator with you.

“Okay, Nat.”

You and Natasha are standing so close together in the already small elevator, that you can practically feel the heat radiating off her skin. The air is thick with tension, the kind of tension only touching might relieve. All you want to do is kiss her. Does she feel it? If she does, does she feel the same? You look at the digital number at the top of the elevator that tells you what floor you’re on, and it’s counting down very slowly. Has it always been this slow? You sneak a peek at Natasha to see her already looking at you. You quickly look away in hopes she didn’t see you checking her out, but the damage has been done.

Fuck it, Natasha thinks. She drops her bag onto the ground and grabs both sides of your face. She pulls you into her and kisses you like she was always meant to be there. You drop your bag in shock but you kiss her back like you’ve always wanted to. You’ve imagined this scenario ten different ways and all of them involved with you taking her back to your place regardless if Wanda is there or not.

You back up into the wall with her lips still attached to yours, and she slides her hands into your hair to get a better grip on you. The universe has it so that as soon as Natasha gets her lips on you, the digital number picks up speed because before you know it, you’re at the ground level. Natasha pulls away from you and grabs her bag as if nothing happened.

She looks perfect as always while your hair is a bit disheveled, your clothes are a bit wrinkled, and you’re pretty sure your lips are swollen.

“Tomorrow, come in a little earlier. I need to have a meeting with you.”

The elevator doors open and Natasha is the first one to step off.

“Yes, ma’am,” you whisper.

Wanda is waiting there with an impatient look on her face but once she sees you and Natasha, that disappears. Your boss doesn’t give Wanda a lick of attention as she walks by, and Wanda smiles widely when she sees the look on your face. She reaches into her purse to grab her small compact, opens it, and shoves it in your face. Natasha’s red lipstick is all over your mouth. It’s clear what you two were doing in there.

“Shit,” you gasp and fix as much of yourself as possible.

“If you’re gonna fuck her, at least give me some of the perks.”

“Shut up,” you chuckle, unable to stop the blush from spreading up your cheeks.

x

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[thecordelialetters]

I’ll love you in every multiverse Pt. 2 I Five Hargreeves x Reader

Post Apocalypse Au! WC: 1.8k Pt. 1 Pt.2 Pt.3 Pt.4

Summary: The Umbrella’s can understand jumping through time and all its rules, yeah fuck with the timeline and it’ll fuck you right back. But what happens when a portal opens up in the middle of the academy and outfalls a girl who claims to be Five’s wife from a different universe.

It had been four hours since you and Five arrived at the library. Piles and piles of books surrounded the two of you, none of which seemed to have the answers you needed. Equations were littered across the table and papers were strewn about. Five spoke up a few feet away from where you were sitting. "Im getting nowhere. I think we need to start from square one with my formula for time travel and superimpose that on the multiversal possibility." You looked at him ready to ask for a simpler explanation but when you saw his eyes focused on the paper ahead of him, you couldn't help but feel a throb in your chest. You missed your Five. The feel of his skin, the look of love in his eyes, the tone of his voice when he said he loved you. Five noticed your silence and looked up. "Are you okay?" You looked away blinking back tears. "Yeah I'm fine, let's just keep looking." But Five sensed you were no longer in the mood to research, so he got up and held his hand to you.

"Come on, staring at these pages too long will fry your brain, let's get some food." You grabbed his hand and savored the warmth it held. Each callous represented the number of missions he went through, though it was clean of the blood he shed it felt like home. If this was home, if this was before the fight, you and Five might be sitting together, not 5 feet apart, reading books. Perhaps the two of you would be in comfortable silence, your feet in his lap and his hand massaging your ankle every once in a while. Maybe he would look over, and you would glance back, peaking over the words of little women, one of your faves. Possibly he would put his book down and climb over to you . He would kiss your cheek, then your neck, and then settle in a comfortable spot beside you.

A cough from this universe's Five pulled you out of your reverie. The two of you ended up in a small Chinese takeout place that was decorated to the brim with gaudy oriental lanterns and curtains. It wasn't too busy, the noise mostly consisted of the cooking in the back and the occasional ring of the phone. Five brought over two containers, pork and white rice with steamed vegetables for himself and beef broccoli lo main for you. Surprisingly even this Five subconsciously knew what you wanted.

“How,” he looked uncomfortable, as if he didn’t know how to talk anymore. “How have you uh been so far?” He put a big spoonful of rice in his mouth as if it were to stop him from asking another bland question.

Awkwardly you looked to the side, “I’ve been fine, missing home, worried about how my husbands doing, worried how I'll be able to get back, if I could get back.” You paused for a second, pursing your lips at the thought. “Wondering what I’ll do if I can’t get back.”

The sentence brought tears to your eyes, as if saying it out loud only solidified the possibility of it.

Despite thinking you’d flinch back, Five hesitantly reached over to touch your hand. But you didn’t, it was an action he had done a million times over. "I will do everything I can to help you." His eyes held so much sincerity at that moment. Behind the relief you felt at that statement, you felt a question poke your subconscious. Maybe it was the fact that he was another version of your husband, but he looked so handsome and sweet in that moment, that you actually thought about leaning over to kiss him. Five looked at you deeply after promising to help you get home, but he wasn't sure if he even meant what he said. Some part of him enjoyed having you around. You already knew him and he was still shocked that in another world he was able to have you. The two of you finished up your food while making some small talk about your old life, and what his previous plans were. Walking back home was a comfortable silence, two hands occasionally brushed up against one another without the confidence to fully connect.

It was late when you arrived at the academy, a tired look adorning your face with sleepy yawns escaping your mouth. Five gingerly led you through the entrance to his room. He left you sitting on the bed and brought back an assortment of things. "I grabbed you a towel, toothbrush, and an extra set of pajamas. There is a bathroom right outside to your left and if you need anything I'll be sleeping in Vanya's old room." You peeked up at him through thick lashes, "Thanks Five." He closed the door and left the room to clean up for bed. As he was changing he imagined yourself helping him get ready, maybe playfully joking while the two of you brushed your teeth. What were you like in bed, not in that way, but how did you sleep? Did you cuddle him? Did you prefer to be big spoon or little spoon, did you snore? It was 2 hours and he was still imagining the life the two of you would have, did have. His wife. He had Delores and his family, but settling down with a real woman and being able to live a peaceful domestic life was something he thought was a farfetched dream in this world.

Meanwhile, as you got ready for bed you started to look around Five’s room. Everything from his childhood was here. He definitely had a knack for math seeing the equations everywhere and the toy trains on his dresser. You couldn’t imagine young Five being too different from older Five, probably a smart ass. Lifting the covers you slid into the bed engulfed by his scent. Closing your eyes you swore you felt a ghost of an arm reaching around you.

The lights from the window hitting your eyes woke you up. You laid under the covers relishing the warmth, your hand moved over to your left, a cold spot where Five would have been. Your heart yearned for him like crazy, and wondered what he was doing right now and if he was okay. Getting up you got ready for the day, brushed your teeth washed your face before digging through Allison's closet for more normal clothes. Deciding on a pair of jeans and a tank top you made your way down the stairs where you were greeted by Five accompanied by an all-American breakfast, bacon eggs, and toast. "There's some coffee in the pot, creamer in the fridge, and sugar here." He gestured to the counter with a cup in his hand. "Thank you Five, this smells delicious." You let your hair fall over your face to hide your smile. Sweet. That was sweet of him. "Where uh is everyone else?" You hadn't seen anyone at the estate since you arrived. "Im not sure they usually like to go off on their own." Short and sweet, Okay probably wouldn't be getting much help from them. You made yourself a cup and sat down at the counter across from him. He stood there staring at his notebook and occasionally sipped his drink. You probably stared at him longer than necessary because he looked up at you. Green eyes met brown until yours flickered away. "Sorry It's just, you," you paused to think of the right words. "You're him, I can't stop thinking about him."

It looked like Five was having an inner conflict before one side eventually won. He swiftly rounded the corner, face hovering just above your head. "I'm not him...but I hope this helps." He wrapped his arms around your body. Your nose buried in his shirt, the feel, the smell it was all so overwhelming. You brought your hands around him and clung back, eyes clenched so tight as if he would disappear the minute they opened. "Please don't go" you whispered. "I would never." He replied. An outsider, upon looking at the two, would never guess they were strangers. This was a lover's embrace. Surprisingly you were the first to let go while Five continued to squish you. Slowly he loosened his grip, but not before pressing a kiss to the crown of your head. "Do... Do you think I'll find her? My (y/n)?" He pulled away to look at you. You bite your lip, you didn't want to give him false hope nor want to crush him. "I don't know, there's no way to tell for sure. Maybe one day you'll cross paths. But know this." You grabbed his hand and put it over your wedding ring. "You'll make her the happiest girl in the world. And she will love you, all of you, for everything you are." It took everything in him to not kiss you, you weren't really his. The walk back to the library was quiet. Not a comfortable silence like before but there felt like there was an elephant in the room. The tension between the two of you was like a thick block of concrete. You pulled out 4 books from across the library and brought it over to the table the two of you sat at. "Here this one deals with multiversal theories, this one deals with the quantum realm, and this one is about space-time and math." The last book unbeknownst to Five was actually Viktor's memoir. You had seen it discarded in a "free book!" bin and was curious about what information it contained. While your study partner was busy with equations, you silently skimmed the book under the table. You read about the pain Reginald Hargreeves inflicted on the children, how Viktor felt like an outsider in his own home, how the children struggled with the lack of love at home, and the day Five jumped. There wasn't much about the actual day but what happened after, and Viktor's grief coming to terms with it. It was heartbreaking to read, even more so when you read about Ben's death.

Before you could read any further a cough snapped you out of your concentration. "So from what I gathered...we are going to need a lot of equipment. Now there's a lot of inheritance money left from my father but it's going to take a while." He grimaced, Five felt bad. He felt bad that you were probably suffering. “Don’t worry I’m going to help you, we’ll work day and night to get this thing going. It'll take having to use our powers and though, are you okay with that?” He knew that using your powers siphoned your life force and he didn’t want to risk that. “If that's what it'll take for me to get home then so be it.” You nodded comfortably. “I’ll try as much as I can to make sure you don’t use too much, but nothing's certain.”

He would make it certain. In the few days he'd spent with you, it wasn't hard to imagine eternity. No matter what he would make sure you could get home safely.

⋆｡‧˚ʚ♡ɞ˚‧｡⋆⋆｡‧˚ʚ♡ɞ˚‧｡⋆⋆｡‧˚ʚ♡ɞ˚‧｡⋆⋆｡‧˚ʚ♡ɞ˚‧｡⋆⋆｡‧˚ʚ♡ɞ˚‧｡⋆⋆｡‧˚ʚ♡ɞ˚‧｡⋆⋆｡‧˚

Author's note: I know I haven't posted in forever but I have like so many chapters in my draft sooooo... be on the look out for She's my angel as well ! She's my Angel Pt1. Shes my Angel Pt2.

Taglist : @cialovesklopp , @lovehatekill

[munsonsmixtapes]

With Gerrard coming in as the captain, I was wondering if you could write an Eddie Diaz x paramedic reader imagine where Gerrard is throwing the reader sexist and misogynistic shade, maybe borderline slut shaming her for having the men of the team wrapped around her fingers because they are all family and love the reader and are a little protective of her because she is the youngest member of the team. Eddie steps in between Gerrard and the reader protecting his girl and a little after fluff of him comforting the reader.

Eddie Diaz x fem!reader

word count: 1.5k

cw: Gerrard makes a sexist comment

You sat with the rest of the 118 at the table in the firehouse and you could practically hear all of their hearts racing as you all awaited your new captain’s arrival. You hadn’t had the displeasure of meeting Gerrard beforehand, but according to Hen and Chimney, the guy was a real piece of work. He didn’t seem to like anyone who wasn’t a straight white man and you were ready to stand up for anyone whoever you had to. 

Eddie turned to you as he sipped on his coffee, not even having to ask what was going through your head. He knew that you could hold your own just fine, but he knew that he couldn’t just let Gerrard treat you like shit if he had something to say. Eddie was normally very respectful to whoever was in charge, but when it came to the people he loved, he couldn’t just stand by and watch. 

He was more afraid though, of what you were going to do if you were a target. You may have been the youngest of the team and everyone may have been protective of you for exactly that reason, but that didn’t mean that you couldn’t hold your own. Eddie had seen you punch men for being too handsy with you at the bar and he knew that if it came down to it, you’d have no problem hitting Gerrard as well. 

Feeling his eyes on you, you turned to Eddie, putting on a warm smile. You could see that crease between his eyebrows that signified that it was thinking hard. Thinking hard about you. He was always worrying about you even though you kept telling him that he didn’t have to. Even though you secretly liked it. 

“Don’t worry, Diaz,” you gave his cheek a light pat. “I’ll be on my best behavior.” He gave you a look in return that you knew all too well. The one that told you that he didn’t believe you in the slightest. You rested your hands on his cheeks and pulled his face to yours, pressing your lips to his in a brief kiss. 

You heard someone clear their throat from behind you and noticed that everyone was standing for their chairs, looking like they just saw a ghost. You turned to where they were giving their attention and a man was standing right behind yours and Eddie’s seats, staring down at you with a skeptical look. 

“So sorry, sir!” Eddie apologized, standing from the table, pulling you up with him. “I’m Edmundo,” he said in a panic. He almost never introduced himself with his full first name, but Gerrard made him nervous. 

More nervous than he’d ever admit. Bobby was someone that Eddie had gotten really comfortable around and now that he was no longer the captain, he was having to start at square one. 

You reached for his hand and gave him a squeeze, knowing that you were going to speak for the both of you, but that didn’t bother you. You would have done anything for Eddie, especially if I was standing up to a racist, homophobic man. It didn’t matter if he was your boss no one was going to treat your family like shit. Especially not Gerrard. 

“I’m y/n,” you put your hand out to shake and Gerrard just looked at it then back up at you, not even bothering to pull his hands out from behind his back. Well, that was definitely off to a great start. 

Gerrard looked around the station, his eyes locking onto every single person, some he recognized, but most he didn’t. He knew Chimney and Hen, but the rest were a total mystery, a big fat question mark and that concerned him. 

Nonetheless, he was going to make you all fall in line. He knew how Bobby worked and there was absolutely not going to be any funny business anymore. Gerrard thought Bobby let his emotions get in the way by forming bonds with his employees. And there was absolutely no way he was doing that. You all were going to treat him with nothing but respect. 

“I am your captain, Vincent Gerrard and I’m just going to start off by saying that I am not here to be your friend.” Well, that much was obvious. “I am here to be your captain and your captain only. If you’re looking for a shoulder to cry on or a hug when a call is particularly difficult, you can go to Captain Nash.” 

This man has barely said anything and you were already starting to hate him. You had heard a lot about the guy from others in the department and now you were really seeing his true colors. How was he actually worse than what Chim and Hen had described?

You wanted to say something but then remembered your promise to Eddie. So, you bit your tongue and squeezed Eddie’s hand that you were still holding instead. You weren’t even aware that you were hurting him until you heard him wince and immediately let go. You turned to him, watching him rub his hand as he listened to whatever Gerrard was saying. You didn’t want to hear what he was saying, though. You didn’t give a single fuck. 

You stepped closer to Eddie and took his hand on yours, pressing a kiss to the skin, mumbling and apology as you did so. Gerrard’s speech was cut off as he stared at the two of you giggling. Yeah, he was going to have to nip that in the bud as soon as possible. 

“Are you two together?” He asked and you both turned to look at him. 

“Yes,” you responded, already not liking where the conversation was going. 

“Then you should probably know that romantic relationships between two firefighters in the same firehouse is forbidden.” He seemed a little too happy to have been relaying that information to you. 

“Says who?” You asked, stepping forward and Eddie had to pull you back. He wasn’t going to let you get in even more trouble for punching Gerrard like he knew you really wanted to. 

“The state of California,” Gerrard replied, crossing his arms over his chest, speaking in a “that’s final” kind of tone. The two of you had been together for months and no one had said anything, not even Bobby. No, he didn’t follow all of the rules, but that was definitely one that he would have. 

“And what would happen if we don’t break up?” You asked, crossing your own arms over your chest. 

“Then I’d have choice but to transfer one or both of you.”

“Well I’d transfer first because working under you is already proving to be hell.” Everyone froze when the words left your mouth. They all had their own thoughts about Gerrard, but none of them seemed to want to stand up to him. None of them except for you, of course. 

“Well that’s not very nice is it?” He replied. “I bet you don’t talk to Captain Nash like that, do you?” 

“No, I don’t. But Captain Nash isn’t a dick.” You heard gasps from the rest of the 118 and immediately regretted what you had said. Your opinion still stood, but maybe you should have said it differently. You were so used to speaking your mind that you weren’t even thinking about the fact that the man was your captain. 

“I see,” Gerrard nodded like he had everything figured out. “Considering that nobody has corrected you for your very obvious error, I’m going to assume that you’re very well liked here.” Everyone did like you, but you wouldn’t have said that you were popular. And the other were quick to correct you when you did something they didn’t agree with, but you assumed that they were just too stunned to say anything.

“Well-“ 

“That wasn’t a question. It’s very clear. You seem to be popular, clearly with the opposite sex,” he referred to Eddie who was already angry for how you were being spoken to, but it was as if something had broken in him. Now he was seeing red. 

No one talked to his girl like that. Not even his boss. Sure, Eddie could be a kissass sometimes, but not right now. He was going to stand up for you no matter how much it scared him. You were his girlfriend and clearly Gerrard was in the wrong. Sure, maybe what you had said was out of line, but he had started it. At that point, you were just defending yourself. 

Eddie stood in front of you, trying to put some space between you and the new captain, pushing you further behind himself so he could act as a metaphorical shield. He stared Gerrard down, daring him to say something as rude as the things he had said to you. 

“You may have been able to get away with speaking to your employees like that a few years ago,” Eddie spoke. “But that ends now. As long as I’m here, you will treat us with respect, but yours? That has to be earned. Another out of line comment and I won’t hesitate to speak to the higher ups about your inappropriate behavior.” 

Gerrard was silent after that. He had never been rendered speechless like that and not one of his employees had been so bold as to have spoken like that to his face. He had scared them, made them want to earn his respect.

You all watch him head to the office and close the door behind him. As soon as he was out of earshot, the rest of the 118 rushed over to the two of you as Eddie pulled you into his arms. They all pat him on the back, congratulating him for what he had done. Who would have thought that it would have been Eddie to be the one to stand up to Gerrard. He supposed that it was because of you. He’d do anything for his girl.

[amateurvoltaire]

Summer holidays are over, and if you’re anything like me—still pretending that your inbox full of emails doesn’t exist (Yes, Sharon, I’ll get to your spreadsheet eventually!) and scrolling through holiday snaps on repeat—here’s something to help ease the pain: Robespierre’s Journey to Carvin, the ultimate travel blog (1).

In June 1783, a 25-year-old Maximilien Robespierre embarked on a modest 35 km trip from Arras to Carvin to visit his relatives. He wrote a delightfully dramatic account of this journey, addressed to Antoine Buissart, his friend, mentor, and his wife Charlotte.

For anyone who thinks of Robespierre as some cold, humourless figure, I present this letter as evidence to the contrary. His wit, self-mockery, and unexpected humour shine through. He likens himself to Aeneas, takes jabs at his own inflated sense of importance, and, of course, waxes lyrical about tarts (2). Absolutely brilliant!

As always, this is my own translation, and honestly, there are more polished ones out there. Robespierre is in full show-off mode, packing the text with references to Greek and Roman history and mythology—because why not? I’ve done my best to explain them all, but it’s possible I may have missed a few...

Translation: Impressions of a Journey to Carvin (3)

Monsieur,  

There are no pleasures truly agreeable unless shared with one’s friends. I shall therefore impart to you a description of those I have lately enjoyed.

Expect not an account of my journey, for such works have been so prodigiously multiplied of late years that the public must surely be sated with them. I know of an author who, having travelled but five leagues (4), immortalised the event in both verse and prose.

But what, pray, is such an endeavour compared to the one I have undertaken? I have not merely travelled five leagues; I have covered six—and six good leagues, I assure you—so much so that, by the reckoning of the locals, they are worth at least seven ordinary leagues. Yet, I shall not say a word of my journey. I lament for your sake, for it would have afforded you the most infinitely interesting adventures—those of Ulysses and Telemachus (5)  would pale in comparison.

It was at five o'clock in the morning when we set out; the carriage which bore us passed through the city gates at the very moment the chariot of the Sun rose from the bosom of the Ocean. Our vehicle was adorned with a cloth of dazzling whiteness, a portion of which fluttered freely in the breath of the zephyrs. In this manner, we passed in triumph before the customs house. You may imagine that I could not resist turning my gaze in that direction, eager to see whether the sentinels of the excise office would betray their ancient reputation for courtesy. Filled with noble emulation, I dared aspire to outshine them in politeness, should it be possible. Leaning over the side of the carriage, I doffed my new hat and saluted them with a gracious smile. I had expected a courteous return. Would you believe it? These officials, motionless as statues at the entrance to their hut, fixed their eyes upon me, offering no return of my greeting. Ever possessed of an infinite sense of pride, I was deeply wounded by this sign of disdain, and it soured my temper for the remainder of the day (6).

Nonetheless, our steeds bore us with a swiftness that defies imagination. They appeared as if they sought to rival the Sun’s own horses (7) flying above us. Just as I had endeavoured to surpass the customs officials at the Méaulens gate in civility, our horses leapt over the suburb of Sainte-Catherine with a single bound (8), and with a second, we found ourselves upon the square in Lens (9). There we paused briefly. I took advantage of this respite to survey the beauties of the town that might engage the curiosity of travellers. While the rest of the company breakfasted, I stole away and ascended the hill upon which stands the Calvary. From this vantage, I cast my gaze, with mingled sentiments of tenderness and admiration, over the vast plain where Condé, at the tender age of twenty, won that famous victory over the Spaniards, saving the fatherland (10) . Yet a more compelling object drew my attention: the Town Hall. Though neither remarkable in size nor magnificence, it still had every claim to inspire my keenest interest. “This modest edifice,” I mused as I gazed upon it, “is the very sanctuary wherein Mayor T..., with a round wig and the scales of Themis (11) in hand, once weighed with impartial justice the rights of his fellow citizens. A minister of justice, favoured by Aesculapius (12), after pronouncing sentence, he would immediately dictate a medical prescription. Both criminal and patient alike trembled at his presence, and this great man, by virtue of dual authority, wielded the most extensive power ever exercised by one man over his compatriots.”

In the fervour of my enthusiasm, I could not rest until I had penetrated the precincts of the Town Hall. I was determined to see the courtroom and the tribunal where the aldermen sit. I had the porter sought throughout the town; at length he came, unlocked the doors, and I rushed into the courtroom. Seized by a religious reverence, I fell to my knees within this august temple and passionately kissed the seat that had once been pressed by the posterior of the great T....

Thus did Alexander prostrate himself before the tomb of Achilles (13), and thus did Caesar render homage to the monument which housed the ashes of the conqueror of Asia (14).

We resumed our journey; scarce had I settled upon my bundle of straw when Carvin came into view. At the sight of this fortunate land, we all let out a cry of joy, much like the Trojans, escaped from the ruin of Ilium, upon first sighting the shores of Italy (15).

The good folk of this village gave us a reception which amply compensated for the indifference we had endured from the officials at the Méaulens gate. Citizens of all ranks vied with one another in their eagerness to behold us. The cobbler paused, tool in hand, on the verge of piercing a sole, so that he might gaze at us at leisure; the barber, abandoning a half-shaven beard, rushed towards us, razor still in hand; the housewife, in her curiosity, risked the burning of her tarts. I beheld three gossips interrupt a most animated conversation to fly to their windows. Alas, the journey was all too brief, but during that time, we savoured the flattering pleasure of being the sole object of the populace’s attention. “How sweet it is to travel!” I mused. Indeed, they say that no man is a prophet in his own land; at the gates of one’s own city, one is scorned; six leagues further, one becomes a figure of public curiosity.

I was lost in these reflections when we arrived at the house that marked the end of our journey. I shall make no attempt to describe to you the outpouring of tenderness that accompanied our embraces—such a scene would have moved you to tears. Indeed, I know of but one comparable moment in all of history: when Aeneas, having fled the ruins of Troy, arrived in Epirus with his fleet and was reunited with Helenus and Andromache, whom fate had placed on the throne of Pyrrhus (16). Their reunion, it is said, was one of the tenderest on record. I do not doubt it. Aeneas, with his excellent heart, Helenus, the finest Trojan, and Andromache, the sensitive widow of Hector, surely shed many tears and heaved many sighs upon that occasion. I am willing to believe that their emotion was equal to ours; but after Helenus, Aeneas, Andromache, and ourselves, one must draw the line.

Since our arrival, our days have been filled with nothing but pleasures. Since last Saturday, I have been indulging in tarts, undeterred by others’ envy. By fate’s decree, my bed was placed in a chamber that serves as a storeroom for pastries, thus exposing me to the temptation of indulging all night. But I reflected that it is noble to master one’s passions, and so I slept, surrounded by these seductive objects. It is true, however, that I made up for this long abstinence during the day.

I give thanks to thee, O skilled hand,  

That first shaped pliant dough  

And offered to mortals this delicious dish.  

But have they honoured thee as they ought?  

Have they raised altars to thy glory?  

Hundreds of peoples, offering incense and vows,  

Have filled the earth with temples and gods,  

Yet all have forgotten that sublime genius  

Who brought ambrosia to mankind.  

The tart, with due honour, graces their feasts,  

But do they think of its first creator?  

Of all the acts of ingratitude for which mankind has been guilty toward its benefactors, this has always shocked me the most. It is the people of Artois who must atone for it, for by the judgement of all Europe, they know the worth of tarts better than any other people in the world. Their honour demands that they erect a temple to its inventor. I must tell you, in confidence, that I have a project in mind, which I propose to present to the Estates of Artois (17). I fully expect it will be strongly supported by the clergy.

But it is not enough to eat tart; one must also eat it in good company. I have had this pleasure. Yesterday, I was granted the highest honour to which I could ever aspire: I dined with three lieutenants and the son of a bailiff. All the magistrates of the neighbouring villages were assembled at our table. At the centre of this Senate, shone the Lieutenant of Carvin, like Calypso amongst her nymphs(18). Ah! Had you but seen with what graciousness he conversed with the rest of the company, like an ordinary man! How indulgently he judged the champagne poured for him, and with what satisfaction he smiled at his reflection in his glass! I witnessed all this with my own eyes... And yet, see how difficult it is to content the human heart. Not all my desires have been fulfilled; I am soon to return to Arras, where I hope, upon seeing you, to find a pleasure far more genuine than those of which I have spoken. We shall meet again with the same joy that Ulysses and Telemachus felt after twenty years of absence. I shall have no trouble forgetting my bailiffs and lieutenants. However charming a lieutenant may be, believe me, Madame, he can never rival you.

His figure, even when the champagne lends it a soft blush, cannot approach the natural charms that are yours, and no company of bailiffs in the world could ever compensate me for the pleasure of your delightful conversation.

I remain, with the utmost sincerity, Monsieur, your most humble and obedient servant,  

Robespierre.

Carvin, 12 June 1783.

Notes

1) I’m also working on my own “travel blog” about frolicking through the Vendée, but—procrastination, you know. 

(2) If you ever find yourself in Northern France, eat the tarts. They are sensational.

(3) This describes his  journey from Arras to Carvin

(4) 1 league = around 5 km

(5) Ulysses (Odysseus) and his son, Telemachus, are central figures in The Odyssey, known for their epic and legendary adventures  filled with mythological dangers, gods, and heroic feats over many years. Ulysses faces numerous trials, including battles with monsters like the Cyclops, the Sirens, and the struggles against divine wrath, while Telemachus embarks on his own perilous journey to find his father.

(6) Robespierre’s original line, “J'ai toujours eu infiniment d'amour-propre,” reveals quite a bit of self-reflection and perhaps a healthy dose of self-awareness.

(7) In Greek mythology, the Sun (often represented by either the titan Helios or god Apollo) is said to ride across the sky in a chariot drawn by powerful horses that pull the Sun from east to west each day. These horses are often imagined as swift and unstoppable forces.

(8) Méaulens is a gate, and Sainte-Catherine is a neighbourhood, both in Arras.

(9) Lens is a village about 20km from Arras

(10) I assume Robespierre is referring to the Battle of Lens here (since he is in Lens), which occurred on 20 August 1648 and was significant because it helped solidify France’s position at the end of the Thirty Years' War. But Condé was 26 at the time, and Robespierre might be confusing it with the Battle of Rocroi, which Condé won at 22. Does Max suck at history? Maybe!

(11) Themis is the Greek goddess of justice who is often depicted holding scales

(12) Aesculapius is the Roman god of medicine

(13) Alexander the Great, the Macedonian conqueror, greatly admired Achilles, the legendary hero of the Iliad. During his military campaigns, Alexander visited the supposed tomb of Achilles near Troy. According to historical accounts, he prostrated himself (knelt or bowed) before Achilles' tomb as a sign of deep reverence, honouring the warrior he aspired to emulate. Alexander saw himself as a successor to Achilles, carrying the mantle of Greek heroism into his conquests.

(14)  Caesar, like many Romans, admired Alexander's achievements, particularly his conquests in Asia (which included vast territories from Greece to India). Caesar visited Alexander’s tomb in Alexandria, Egypt, where he reportedly paid homage to the great conqueror.  Obviously Robespierre is being ironic by comparing his kneeling in the town hall and kissing the seat of a local magistrate) to these monumental moments of history.

(15) This refers to Virgil’s Aeneid, where Aeneas and the surviving Trojans are filled with hope and relief upon reaching Italy after enduring numerous trials and suffering.

(16) Again, a reference to the  Aeneid. Aeneas, after fleeing the destruction of  Troy, arrives in Epirus  (a region in modern-day Greece and Albania) during his long journey to find a new home for the surviving Trojans. There, Aeneas encounters Helenus and Andromache. Helenus is a Trojan prince and the son of King Priam of Troy. After the fall of Troy, he ends up ruling part of Epirus, having taken control of the land once ruled by Pyrrhus (Neoptolemus), the son of Achilles.Andromache was the wife of the Trojan hero Hector  (who was killed by Achilles during the war). After Hector's death and the fall of Troy, Andromache becomes a captive of Pyrrhus, but in Epirus, she is eventually freed and marries Helenus.

(17)  The Estates of Artois were a were a regional representative assembly or parliament the Artois province. 

(18) Calypso is a nymph or Oceanid who appears in Homer’s Odyssey. Calypso lived on the island of Ogygia, where she detained the hero Ulysses for several years. She was surrounded by lesser nymphs who served her.

[dckweed]

BABYGIRL, jake 'hangman' seresin

summary: in which hangman and his babygirl go on a wild ride with an unplanned pregnancy and finally admitting their feelings for each other and figuring out life in general as new parents

warnings: pregnancy, morning sickness, christmas themed even though it's march!, ex boyfriend meets new boyfriend and it's not pretty. rooster becomes a cowboy, babygirl gets hurt.

okay so this isn't incredibly long but it's the final part of the christmas trip! the next few parts will be getting ready or baby and maybe a wedding??

series masterlist here, series playlist here

PART FIVE: technicalities 

The drive back to the ranch was a quiet affair, the cab of the truck filled with a tension that had tears welling in your eyes. You don’t say a word, unsure of what would even help calm the situation down, your mind reeling as your eyes locked on the busted knuckles of Jake’s right hand clenching the steering wheel so tightly that the skin around the abrasion was turning white. Dalton had gotten mouthy toward you in the presence of Jake, Bradley was telling him what he had called you right before he told him to leave. He didn’t take kindly to anyone disrespecting a woman in general, but when it came to you it was even worse. He had lost his composure. He punched him full force right in front of you, your hands had flown to your face in shock as Bradley jumped in to separate them once he realized Dalton was stupid enough to get up off the floor and square up, getting right in Jake’s face. 

You pout as you feel a flutter in your belly, your hand going to it almost protectively as Jake turns down the bumpy driveway of the ranch, going faster than he probably ought too. You bite your lip anxiously as he pulls to a stop in the driveway, noticing your Daddy’s truck parked off to the side. 

“Stay, please..” His voice is soft, his hand gentle as he puts it over yours to stop you from opening the door. When you turn to look at him his face is pensive, something you’re not used to. “Just for a moment.” 

“I’ll just..” Rooster doesn’t even finish what he’s saying, jumping out of the truck before Jake can stop him too and rushing inside, rubbing his shoulder as he goes. It had given a loud pop as he practically body checked Jake backwards from Dalton, trying to keep them from all out brawling in the middle of the living room. 

The truck is silent once more, and for a moment you don’t even look at him, unsure of what to even say, or do. Part of you wonders if he’s upset with you, part of you is upset with him.. But a bigger part is worried about his damn hand. You turn in your seat having unbuckled your seatbelt and are about to ask him if it’s okay when he beats you to it. 

“I’m so sorry you saw me like that, babygirl..” He says, his eyes watery as he looks at you and it nearly breaks your damn heart. “I shouldn’t have done that in front of you..I shouldn’t have lost it like that..you could have gotten hurt..” His hand shakily rests on your belly, giving it a gentle rub with his thumb. 

“Jake, baby..” You sigh, climbing over the center console as best as you can with a round belly, and settling into his lap, damning the steering wheel pressing into your back. “I should be the one that’s apologizing..it’s my fault that he was acting like that..I should have figured he would have shown up..s’my fault your hand is all busted..” You pull it off of your belly and bring it to your lips, giving a gentle kiss to the wound as the man gives you a stern look. 

“Y/N Y/M/N,  do not ever apologize to me for things that you cannot control, do you hear me?” Your eyes widen, he hadn’t called you by your real name in so long that you honestly weren’t even sure that he knew it..tears well in your eyes at his words, your lips quivering as you nod. 

“Okay.” You say, fighting back the tears. 

“Oh, honey, no, no babygirl, don’t cry-” You see the panic in his eyes now as he brings a hand up to wipe the tears. You shake your head, a hand gripping his wrist as you lean into his touch. “I didn’t mean to-”

“S’just the hormones.” You sniffle, your quivering lips turning into a smile. It must look a sight because he lets out a chuckle. “It was kind of hot watching you defend my honor though.” 

He laughs this time, that smile that makes your knees wobbly on his face.. “Babygirl, I will defend your honor any damn time you need.” He says, his tumb rubbing against the skin of your cheek as your smile becomes less emotional. “Ready to go inside?”

You nod. “I’m hungry.” The mexican food had gotten scattered across the floor in the scuffle, the biggest loss of the whole encounter in your opinion. You could care less about being called a whore, your damn food was on the floor!

Your father has an absolute field day at the dinner table after everyone had said grace, when Jake tells him that he’d gotten into a fight with Dalton. Telling him that he had called you a whore, your father’s face turned red with rage and you thought he was going to go hunt down the man and give a good whats what. 

“It’s okay, Daddy..” You say, squeezing his weathered hand. He squeezes it back and seems to relax as you bring a forkful of mashed potatoes to your mouth. “Honestly, I’m not even upset about that..it’s not like he hasn’t called me the name before..” You shovel another bite of mashed potatoes in. “What i’m mad about is that he called her a Bastard.” Both men beside you stiffen, and the entire dinner table goes silent, though you don’t particularly notice, you’re completely enraptured by the damn mashed potatoes. They were the best thing you’d eaten in months. 

Someone clears their throat from across the table. “Technically, she is.” Jake’s chair clatters to the floor along with a couple of his mama’s nice dinner plates as he launches himself across the table at his brother. Nash scoots himself backwards just in time to miss his hands, just as their Daddy comes front he head of the table and pulls Jake to the floor by his belt loops, walloping him on the side of the head. 

“The hell is wrong with you, son?!” He bellows, causing his adult son to look up in fear, food smattered across his shirt. “Acting like a damn heathen, breaking your mama’s dishes! Go on and get to your room! I don’t want to see ya until tomorrow!” And with a swift kick to the behind Jake leaves the dining room. It was a scene straight out of your teenage years with him, it was as if you were reliving one of his sibling rivalries with him. 

He turns to you next, his features softening. “You okay, honey?” He asks as he crouches down next to your father to help pick up some of the broken glass pieces. You’re not sure where Mama has gone off to, but you can hear her ranting about her dinner table. 

“I’m okay, sir..” You say, scooping a heaping pile of the mashed potatoes onto your plate unashamedly as you glare at Nash across from you. 

“I’m sorry, Babygirl.” He sighs, rubbing a hand down his face. “I didn’t mean for anyone to take offense..i just meant that..you know..with you not being with her actual daddy, she is a bastard..you know?” You weren’t surprised that the rest of the family knew. No secret was safe in the Seresin family. “Especially with her not being able to have our name legally..” 

“I hadn’t thought about that..” You say quietly. “But, as far as Jake is concerned, he is her actual daddy, even if he didn’t.. you know..help create her. He’s been there for all of the appointments…he’s been there for me through sickness..he felt her move for the first time! He talks to her all the time..”

Nash nods, as if agreeing with you. “That won’t matter to a court though, if the rat bastard that did help create her decides to go for custody.” He takes a long drink out of his sweating beer bottle. “That’s all I was trying to say..didn’t realize he was gonna get all pissypants on me and break mama’s plates..”

“He’s right,” Bradley says from down the way, and you turn to look at him just as Mama ushers you out of your chair, broom in hand. “Dalton could absolutely take you to court over the baby, especially after today. If Jake wants his name attached to her..you guys need to have him sign over parental rights..” 

You go around the table and give both men a kiss on their cheeks, thanking them before heading off to the bedroom, your plate of mashed potatoes clutched in your hands. Jake is sat on the end of the bed, his head in his hands and his smattering of chest hair on full display (just how you liked it). He looks up when the door opens, watching you close it behind you before holding out an arm for you, pulling you into his grasp once you’re close enough. 

“I fucked up.” He mumbles, face in your chest (right between your boobs, just how he liked) as he wrapped his muscular arms around your waist. Your legs were on either side of his, sitting comfortably as you shoveled another forkful of potatoes in. “I just..I don’t want anyone to bad mouth our little girl, you know?”

You hum. “He’s right though.” His head snaps up so fast you swear his neck breaks, eyebrows furrowed. He’s looked at you as if you have three heads. You stare at your plate of mashed potatoes, wondering if mama will come home with you to make them daily. “She is a bastard.” 

A choked sound leaves the back of his throat, and you wince. “How could you say that?” He asks, one of his hands going to your belly, rubbing it as if to soothe the baby. 

You look at him, setting the plate down just beside him. “Nash didn’t mean any harm, baby, honest..” You say, hands winding behind his neck, playing with the hair at his nape as he looks at you with furrowed eyebrows. “Dalton will always have a legal claim over her, even though i’m not with him, that doesn’t change that fact that by blood, he is her biological father.” His jaw clenches at your words and you place a gentle kiss on it, hoping to relax him. “I know you already think of her as yours, and I do too..I couldn’t see her calling anyone else Daddy, you know?” He nods. “All Nash was trying to get at was that, if we want her to always only call you daddy, if we want her to legally be yours then we need to legally have him give up his parental rights to her..” 

Jake groans, head dropping to your chest again as you pick up your plate of mashed potatoes. “I hate it when he makes sense.” He rests his chin your chest, looking up at you, eyebrows furrowed. “Are you eating mashed potatoes?” 

Getting termination of parental rights paperwork drawn up was surprisingly not hard, the next day was spent in a lawyers office getting multiple copies of the papers drawn up. You signed where you needed to sign, before taking the copies to be signed by Dalton. Bradley and Jake go with you, acting as your body guards as you go through town trying to figure out where the jackass is. According to a mutual friend, he’s day drinking in a local bar that has barely any patrons, and it takes no time to get there.

Jake and Bradley accompany you to the doors, where you pause, fingers grasping the handles. “Babygirl?” It was Bradley who asks, confusion lacing his tone. 

You look up at the two men, both of them who clearly cared so much for you. “It’s probably better if he doesn’t see either of you.” You say, looking more pointedly at Jake. “Might make him hostile, you know?” He purses his lips, looking over to Bradley. They seem to have a silent conversation before he finally gives a single nod. He leans down slightly as you reach up on your tiptoes to kiss his cheek. “Be back out with four sets of signatures.” 

The bar is dark when you first step in, your eyes taking a moment to adjust to the lighting. There’s a couple of older patrons hanging around a pool table in the back, who stop what they’re doing to look at you, and another patron sitting at the bar top, on an overstuffed stool. He turns to look slowly at you as the bartender welcomes you. He smirks. “Get tired of your precious little Jakey already?” He taunts, taking a drink of some dark liquor. “Decided to come back to a real man?” 

You decide to hold your tongue about what a real man is, and how one of them is waiting right outside those doors for you because you feel like it will make your situation worse. “Actually, i’m here for something else.” You say, climbing up onto the stool next to him as gracefully as you can, nose crinkling as you smell the foul odor coming from his glass. He doesn’t even bother to help you up despite watching you struggle. You set the papers down in front of him, along with a pen. 

“What’s this?” He asks, tilting his head at you. You see the bruise on his mouth where Jake’s fist must’ve connected. You can’t help but be proud that your ‘real’ man put it there. “Hm?” 

“I want you to legally give up your parental rights to the baby.” You say, looking him in the eye. He laughs. “Did I say something funny?” 

“You want me to sign away rights to something that ain’t fuckin’ mine?” He asks, grin on his face as if you’d just said the funniest damn thing in the world. “Thought you were supposed to be smart there, babygirl..” It sounds so wrong coming from his lips that it makes you want to hurl. 

“Dalton, you and I both know that she’s yours.” You say sternly, getting in his face. He narrows his eyes at you. “I never slept with anyone else while we were together, you were the only whore in the-” Your ear rings where he had boxed you, closed fisted on it. He was drunker than you thought. 

“Alright-that’s enough!” The bartender says, smacking his hand on the counter top. “Little miss, i think it’s best you get on out of here.” You glare at the man who just hit you. He grins like a kid on christmas morning, as if he couldn’t believe that he had shocked you into silence. 

“Fine.” You say, grabbing the papers before hopping off the bar stool. “Play it that way.” You face throbs where he had hit you and you hold your hand to it as you make your way to the door, trying not to let tears spill over as you walk out of it, the sunlight practically blinding you. 

“Woah!” Jake says, catching you as you barrel into him, holding you by the shoulders. “What’s wrong with your face?!” 

Hot, angry tears flow down your cheeks as you look up at him. “He hit me!” You stomp your foot. “He closed fisted boxed me!” You watch your boyfriends face change entirely. “I told him i wanted him to sign the papers, and he told me he wouldn’t sign because the baby isn’t his and i told him he was the only whore in the relationship and he fucking hit me jake!” 

He kiss your forehead, taking the tan stetson off his head before placing it down on your own, taking the papers from your hand gently. “I’ll go handle this, babygirl..go wait in the truck.” You open your mouth to protest but he gives you a stern look that shuts you the hell up. “Go wait in the fucking truck.” 

You turn to Bradley, who looks just as upset as Jake. He nods towards the truck, his undone hawaiian shirt blowing in the slight breeze as he hands you his own stetson. “Go.” He says, and you pout, your one ally when it came to Jake was siding with him. You take his hat, wanting to poke fun at him for wearing it with a damn hawaiian shirt but stalk off silently to the truck, taking the keys from Jake’s outstretched hand. 

You sulk in the truck, angrily talking with yourself for god only knows how long while Jake and Bradley are inside the bar. You’re more than tempted to go poke your head in and find out what the hell is going on, but are afraid of upsetting Jake, so you don’t, opting to stay in the passenger seat as you nurse your slowing oncoming headache from your still throbbing face. He didn’t hit incredibly hard, but you were pretty sure it was going to bruise in such a sensitive area. You’re not one for violence, but you hope Jake knocks him around good for you. 

Just as you’re uncomfortable enough to start searching the center console and glove box for spare tylenol, the drivers side and rear doors open, scaring the hell out of you to the point that you jump. 

Jake hands you the papers, an awfully happy look on his face. “All done, babygirl.” He says, winking at you as you grin, taking the papers from him. 

“What the hell did you see in that punk, anyway?” Bradley asks from the backseat, leaning his head between the middle to look at you. He had a sheen of sweat on his forehead, and his skin was tinted red,as if he had been straining. 

“What the hell did you guys do?” You asks, looking between both of them. Jake was equally as flushed as sweaty as Bradley. You hand the latter back his hat, and he smiles gleefully. Jake just smirks at you and shakes his head, putting his hand on the top of his hat to keep it on your head. 

“Don’t worry about it, babygirl..we got it done, that’s all that matters.” He says, putting his keys in the ignition. 

You smile. “Okay, take these to the courthouse then, get them filed.” 

“First, we’re gonna stop by the jewelry store..” Jake says, pulling out of the parking lot, in the opposite direction of the courthouse. “Want to put a ring on that pretty ass finger of yours before they close..”

taglist:

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[delfiore]

—A SUMMER’S TALE.

pairing: vada cavell x reader

synopsis: the summer before college, vada joins mia's family on vacation in france and falls in love with the scenery, and a charismatic lifeguard.

word count: 9.6k

warnings: talk of the shooting

a/n: it's summer so you know my cmbyn flare ups are happening. i’ve been writing this for a few weeks now and i’m super pumped it’s done. pls let me now what you like, what you don’t like about this! i’d really appreciate some feedback!! and i’m sorry if i can’t reply to you if you comment on this as this acc is a secondary blog

The villa had one feature that stood out in particular—a hallway that ran through the base of the house, connecting the kitchen to the open grass area in the back. Even the tiniest gust of wind could collect into a large breeze to combat the sticky heat of the day.

Vada closed her eyes and lifted her arms by her side as she felt the breeze glide through her. She could smell an earthy, hay-like smell of flowers that had been bathing in sunlight wafting in from the garden behind the villa. It didn’t take much to notice; summer in southern France was in full swing.

I could live here, she thought. Four weeks of this? Away from the repetitive scenery of the American suburbs, away from expectations. Only a few minutes since she’s gotten off the car and seen the yellow walls and red bricks of the Mediterranean villa, and she’s been buzzing ever since. She’s never actually left the country before, and the long flight over was jarring, to say the least. But the beauty of what she saw as soon as she landed made up for it.

Mia had instructed her to come along upstairs to put her things away; Vada would be occupying the guest room next to hers. She swore her friendship with Mia Reed started because they both went through a traumatic thing together, but it was moments like these when she was grateful for the perks.

“I could use a nap,” Mia said, rubbing her face.

It was nearly nine in the morning when the girls finished unpacking. Mia’s parents had given them the morning to get settled and get used to the jet lag.

“I’m not too tired,” Vada said, “maybe I’ll go into town for the morning.”

“You sure you don’t need me to come with you?”

“Yeah, it’ll be fun. It’s about time I put my four years of high school French to the test.”

The road into town winded downhill, and she was grateful she used one of the bikes the Reeds had available at their villa, as she would have dreaded the trek back up, had she gone on foot. She mapped out exactly the way into the town square and was determined to check everything out before returning for lunch. Thank god for Google Maps.

She had also bought a paper map of the town in a nearby kiosk and, after nearly two hours of exploring, mapped out a general layout of notable places in town. There was a fountain in the middle of the square in front of a church that Vada would use as a reference for everything; from the Fountain facing the church going left would be the town hall and that little kiosk, going right would be the local post office and the way back to the villa, opposite the church facing ahead lead down a slanted cobblestone alley full of restaurants and gift shops, as well as the way to the beach.

It must have been in the high 80s (30s Celsius) that day, so Vada decided to reward herself with some ice cream in the town square before she headed back. It was so hot that when sitting on a bench in the shades, she still had to try and keep the ice cream from melting all over her lap.

“Lillian’s ice cream is nice, but it melts quickly. You should try Karim’s down the street.”

Vada looked up at the voice in surprise, as it was English that was being spoken to her.

“Oh, totally!” She replied quickly. “How did you know I speak English?”

“I haven’t seen you around here.”

“But I could have also known French, right?”

“Touché, but I also recognize a compatriot when I see one.”

You wore an oversized white button-up that barely skirted past your black shorts, and your flip-flops indicated that you might have had a better idea of what the weather was going to be like as opposed to her in her high-neck basketball shoes. Peaking out from between the hem of your shirt was a necklace in the shape of a hummingbird, dangling and reflected in the sun.

“That obvious, huh?”

“Maybe a little." You grinned and shook your head from side to side. "Only tourists go to Lillian for ice cream.”

“So you’re not one, I assume.”

“I wouldn’t say so, no. My family has been coming here every summer ever since I was eight. These people are probably sick of me by now.” You chuckled.

This is your time, Vada, be smooth. “Lucky for you, you’ll have someone new to entertain.” She grinned and pointed at herself.

. . . Adequate.

The melodic laugh that escaped you gave her a new-found confidence, and she decided that it was to be her new favorite sound.

“Alright, since you seem to know the area so well,” Vada said. “What’s fun to do around here?”

Conversation flowed so easily between the two of you, she had almost forgotten that she only met you 15 minutes ago. Granted, you were also easy on the eye, and Vada would always remember the way the water from the fountain reflected in waves across your skin.

At one point she had started talking about the time her family got stranded in the middle of nowhere on a road trip to Phoenix. Vada felt like she was talking too much, but the way you laughed along with her story made her feel like it wasn’t for naught.

The bell tower of the church rang throughout the square. Vada widened her eyes and checked her phone, it was noon.

"Shit, I have to get back. My host family's gonna wonder where I am." She stood up quickly and collected her bike. The height of the seat and her haste caused her to stumble, and she would have fallen if not for you grabbing her by the arm and holding her up.

"Oh, okay. I’m sure there’s a story about a daytime Cinderella somewhere.”

She looked up and you were smirking. "Vada," she said. Maybe she shouldn’t have told you, Cinderella was fine, you didn’t know each other.

She could barely make out your attempt at her name on your lips before you nodded.

“Y/N.” You held your hand out for her to take. There was that touch that changed the course of her summer, the one touch that set into motion a journey toward a certain feeling that Vada had never felt before.

"Bye, Y/N!" She called behind her before rounding the corner, past the post office, and back to the Reed villa.

Mia had been waiting by the front door and breathed a sigh of relief when she spotted Vada cycling uphill.

"Where the hell have you been? We thought you'd been kidnapped!"

"Wait, could you get kidnapped here?" Vada’s face dropped at the thought, even though she was positively out of breath.

"You could get kidnapped anywhere, V."

"Well, I got lost." She hopped off her bike and set it by the entrance. "My phone died so I couldn't use Maps."

Her friend rolled her eyes and led her inside where a hearty lunch awaited. It was mid-June and apricots were in season for dessert.

It wasn't until late afternoon the next day that Vada regained the energy to go outside again. The jet lag had finally caught on, and she spent the morning asleep until noon. Mia had suggested going to the beach, which was great because she could see how things were, and either get into the water or take another nap.

Mia—being Mia—wore her bathing suit and a thin cardigan as her attire, while Vada decided on wearing an oversized tee and shorts over her bathing suit.

"Don't freak out. I've invited some friends. Just kids from the area," said Mia, once they arrived at the beach.

Vada stayed back, as Mia was greeted by several people similar in age to her, speaking in French at a pace her high school education couldn’t help her understand.

“This is Vada, she’s a friend from home.”

A curly-headed boy stood up from his lounge chair and sauntered over to give Mia a kiss on each cheek, then looked over to Vada and did the same. “Corentin, but please call me Coco,” he said and took both their bags. Vada didn’t miss the way his eyes lingered on Mia’s form a bit longer than normal.

“Come, Vada! Mia, where have you been hiding this one? I’m Marlène. This is Sasha.” The brunette pulled her by the hand and gestured to the boy sitting next to her. He was slender with blonde hair part in the middle. “We’re about to go into the water if you want to join.”

“Where’s Noémie?” asked Mia.

“Déjà à l’eau. No doubt to show off to the lifeguard.” Sasha snickered, nodding his head towards the water. He took another drag from his cigarette and rested his arm back against Marlène’s chair.

“Speaking of the lifeguard . . .” Vada followed Marlène’s gaze towards . . . you.

Her mouth hung open as she watched you, in red shorts and a white T-shirt, a whistle hanging from your neck. You pulled your sunglasses up to your head and gave Mia la bise.

Of course, she thought. She had hoped to see you again, but only when there was no one else around, and that you’d catch her by surprise when she was alone once more. She’d only met you, but she wished that she could have you all alone, not like a secret, but like a prized possession.

“And just how many people have died while you’re on watch?” Mia teased.

“Zero, but very soon,” you pointed at her, “one.”

When you turned to Vada, her breath hitched. “Hi,” you greeted with that warm smile again. Even in your work attire, she spotted that necklace next to your whistle.

“Y/N, this is—”

“Vada, the daytime Cinderella. We met yesterday in the square.” You replied. “Did I forget to mention I work here?”

Vada was grinning like an idiot, her cheeks tinted pink at the nickname. “Yup, you did.”

“Y/N!” Over jogged a gorgeous girl, even Vada had to admit. Her black bathing suit hugged her curves perfectly, and though her hair was completely wet, the water droplets clinging to her olive skin made her glow. “T'as prévu aller en boîte ce week-end, ou bien? J'ai chopé l'info qu'y a un nouveau DJ en ville, et il envoie du pâté!”

She was clinging onto your arm, and speaking way too fast for Vada to understand, but she picked up on some keywords: ce week-end, and nouveau DJ.

When she finally noticed Vada there, her excitement subsided, but she walked over anyway to greet her, like an afterthought. “Salut. I’m Noémie.”

“Hi. Vada.”

Just as quickly as you arrived, Noémie had led you away, talking your ear off about something that Vada didn’t have the heart to eavesdrop on. Her eyes followed your form, picking up on the way you kept your arms by your side even when Noémie was practically hanging off of you. In a sporadic moment, Vada thought she saw you looking back over her shoulder at the friend group, and maybe toward her.

“Your phone died, huh?” Mia poked her elbow into her side with a teasing grin.

“Shut up,” Vada murmured. “What’s the deal with them anyway?”

“They were together last summer,” Sasha replied, then turned to the others. “Plan cul, how do you say?”

“A fling, but Noémie seems more attached than Y/N ever did,” said Coco.

“No doubt Y/N has already found a new paramour for the summer,” Marlène commented.

“It’s summertime. Anything’s possible.”

As much as she hated it, you plagued her mind, much more than she cared to admit. She didn’t want to think about what your initial conversation meant to you (if it did at all), or what the lack of words in your second meeting meant. She didn’t want to think about Noémie either, how she seemed so confident to get your attention, and an up-and-down look from her made Vada want to crawl into a hole.

She remembered the handshake. The speed at which she rode away wasn’t entirely to get home in time before Mia’s parents called the police, but to get away from the butterflies that burst in her stomach that moment her hand firmly shook yours. She’d seen how you greeted your friends, but to her, she offered a handshake. Though the gesture itself was completely platonic and can be passed off as a farewell between two strangers, she felt a sense of exclusivity, that American camaraderie you shared with her in a foreign land. Common courtesy as a mode of intimacy. Revisiting it now, Vada recognized it as a sign of attraction and an apprehension to the speed at which it enveloped her.

She would see you around town in your work uniform after your shift, sometimes you’d be talking to people, sometimes you were the buyer yourself. No matter the person though—from the tourists asking for directions to the old owner of the bookstore by the fountain, they always loved you and talked to you like you were their best friend. She’d see you from afar, wanting to talk to you, but then get anxious the moment you spotted her a give her a friendly wave.

Then there were times when you would come by the Reed villa. Philip and Andre always received you like you were an esteemed guest, gifting you fruits from the trees in the backyard. She loved to see how you acted around different people, and to the Reeds who had known you for years, you were awful shy.

“Invite your parents over. We should all have dinner sometime!”

“Oh, my parents aren’t here this summer. My dad’s busy with a conference in Singapore, but they’ll drop by at the end of July.”

Even the times you were invited to stay for supper, it was clear you knew how to hold a conversation over the dinner table. She wondered if you were studying to be a politician because you seemed to charm everyone and had the best manners. Mia would not-so-subtly yield the spot next to you for Vada, and secretly, she was glad to be sitting next to you.

For the first time in her life, she felt a force holding her back, preventing her from reaching out. Maybe it was because she had only known you for a couple of weeks but felt like you’d always been there, like a puzzle finally piecing together.

And every time, right before you left, after you had said goodbye to the Reeds, you’d find her somehow. “Bye,” would be all you said with an adoring smile, but Vada would be thinking about it until the next day.

She and Mia met up with the group again one night, this time at a nearby open-air disco. When she arrived, she could spot Sasha and Marlène already twirling each other around on the dance floor, she was laughing as he spun her around, cigarette between his lips. She felt a pang of envy, imagining that it was your arms around her waist instead as you spun her around without a care in the world, in front of everyone. Let them see. Let them see that you’re mine and I’m yours. If she were being honest, she only agreed to come just so she could see you again. She found you sitting at a table with Coco and Noémie, chatting away.

“Hi.” Her attention was focused on you. She couldn’t be more sober, and she wished she had taken a few puffs before coming.

As if having read her mind, Coco pulled out a couple of joints, lighting one and taking a puff himself before passing it to Noémie.

“You partake?” You shouted over the loud music.

“Oh, she partakes.” Mia nodded enthusiastically. “The first time she did weed she smoked most of my joint. Then proceeded to blabber on nonstop for two hours.”

You let out a laugh. “I like this one!”

She hated, despised even, the overwhelming feeling of wanting to be near you, to impress you, to feel special in your eyes as you were in hers. It was human nature; everyone liked feeling special, but somehow getting validation from you would make her ten times happier. She sat two seats away from you—next to Mia and Noémie—and once in a while, she would try and dart her eyes over to look at you ever so subtly. On a couple of occasions, her heart would jump when she noticed you were already looking back.

A few minutes later, Vada started to feel the effect of the weed, and Mia must have too because she pulled her toward the dance floor. Looking back, she saw you talking to Noémie. You didn’t look too happy and neither did she, having her arms crossed in front of her chest. Then, she walked outside and you followed her impatiently. When you returned, a polite smile was on your face when you noticed her looking for you.

“Are you okay?” She shouted, the weed had made her feel bold.

“Yeah! Everything’s fine.” You shouted back.

It might have been the weed or it was something that’s already been there, but Vada couldn’t take her eyes off of you. She took you by the hand, and there was that same spark of electricity again. You let her guide you, your hands never leaving hers as you moved with her.

It was about a quarter to midnight when everyone decided to split because frankly, everyone was too tired to continue. Vada said goodbye to Sasha and Marlène, the latter of whom gave her a big hug and repeatedly expressed her delight that Vada had decided to join them. Coco, already sober, offered to drive Mia home, but his ride was a scooter.

“Sorry, les gars,” Coco smiled sheepishly and asked Mia if she was ready, to which the girl only nodded.

“I’ll walk you home.” You said quietly, surprisingly timid. “Promise me you won’t turn into a pumpkin at midnight?”

She huffed through her nose and gave you a shove, but she was grinning. It was just the two of you now. Her pride was on the line, and so was her heart.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Your voice cut through the stillness of the night. Before that, the only sounds were that of your shoes brushing against the ground and the soft sighs of the ocean.

“Is everything okay with Noémie?”

You averted your eyes, your hand coming up to play with the hummingbird on your neck.

Maybe she shouldn’t have. “Shit, did I overstep?”

“No, no. It’s fine. It’s just Noë being Noë, she was out of line.” Your walls were up. “We were always close, she was the first friend I made here. And last summer we slept together.”

“Oh.” Her steps faltered.

“I stopped it before it could progress into anything beyond that, though. I’m just not ready.”

Vada nodded slowly. Loud and clear. Maybe that was the signal she needed, the insecure part of her thought it was that, but when she was with you, all she wanted to do was listen to the other part.

“I slept with Mia once, sophomore year.”

You looked over at her, seemingly surprised. “Mia? Huh. Never would have thought.”

“It was just that, though.” She flashed you a smile.

Vada felt that surge of closeness between you, your arm swinging beside her as you walked. The obsession with finding anything to relate to you prompted her to say it, like Hey, I’m like you, I know how you feel. Maybe it wasn’t the best thing to tell you, she might have screwed up.

You mirrored her smile, but something about it told her that your heart wasn’t entirely in it. Tell me what you’re thinking, Y/N. She wanted to get inside your head and know everything you were thinking, to go all the way with that closeness. Even as friends, one has to start from somewhere.

It was radio silence from you for the next few days. Vada came up with all the excuses as to what it could have been, and when she grew tired and angry at herself for thinking so much about you, she tried to distract herself by doing other things. She helped Philip collect figs from the trees in the backyard; she looked up the fortress nearby you told her about the day you met and biked all the way over there, even though it was a half an hour's ride each way; she finally took out the book she packed with her and began reading it whilst sunbathing. It was starting to feel like a summer that she should be enjoying.

Her mom called and was happy to hear that her daughter was going outside and doing fun things. “The people are nice,” Vada would say, “I met some of Mia’s friends.” And in true Mom fashion, her mom would quickly squeeze in a “Don’t do drugs and use protection” to which she ended the call and almost threw her phone across the room.

She would also call Nick every other day. I met someone, she said one day after having finally gathered the courage to vocalize her crush. Girl, I know. Mia had told him. When? Literally the second day. She said you were so obvious.

It was as if the weather knew too. It started raining all day when she decided to go to the beach one day, souring her mood entirely. She would sit by the entrance in the backyard watching the rain, and sure enough, she was thinking about what you were doing on the opposite end of town.

“It’s unlike you to be so hung up on someone,” Mia told her when they were hanging out in Mia’s room.

“I’m not hung up on someone,” her words trailed at the end, mindlessly flipping through the magazine in front of her.

“So am I just crazy for thinking that you want to pounce on Y/N every three seconds?”

“Okay, but what about you and Coco? He follows you around everywhere like a lost puppy.”

“Coco’s just shy,” her friend blushed. “And stop changing the subject.”

“There’s nothing between us, at least not yet.”

“So you do want something to happen.”

“Shut up! Mia!” She hid her face behind her hands and writhed on Mia’s bed in embarrassment. “I’m not talking to you about this anymore.”

“Alright, alright,” Mia held her hands up as her laughter subsided.

“Look, I just want to—” Vada took a moment. “I want to test the waters, okay? Y/N is special, and I don’t want to ruin anything.”

Mia nodded, understanding. “I just don’t want you to be misled. I mean, you’ve seen how it was with Noémie.”

“I know.” Vada smiled softly. “I know what I’m getting into. Zero expectations.”

She wanted to believe what she told Mia too, but then when she saw texts from you the next day, there was no hiding that a connection was what she so tirelessly wanted, and needed.

hey it’s y/n Sent 3:23pm

mia gave me your number, i hope you don’t mind Sent 3:23pm

call me when you see this? Sent 3:24pm

Damn you, Mia, but also, thank you.

She didn’t work up enough courage to call you until later that night. Of course, it could have been something dire, but then you would have called her first, right? I am such a wimp.

“Hello?”

“Hi,” she rubbed her hands against her shorts. “it’s Vada. You wanted me to call you?”

“Yeah. I was gonna just text you, but I don’t know . . .” You hesitated for a moment. “Anyway, you ever been to Antibes?”

“No, why?”

“Well, I’m going there on Friday for my apprenticeship, and I was wondering if you wanted to come with? I’m just giving some manuscripts to my mentor, and then leaving them with him for a few hours to review, so we can make a fun day out of it. It’s a one-hour drive, so I don’t plan on staying overnight.”

“Friday you said?” Vada took a deep breath to still her racing heart. “I don’t think I got anything better to do that day.”

“Great!” You said. “I’ll pick you up at 9am?”

“Sounds like a plan.”

“Cool, see you then!”

There was something frightening about when things go exactly how you wanted them. It was inch-perfect, the puzzle pieces just slotted in place as if they were always fated to be. You were the first to reach out; she thought it would be easier that way, she’d just have to take your hand and come along. But there was a certain apprehension that Vada had as if she was walking straight into the lion’s den like a deer blinded by hunger. What if she loses her heart? She was aware of the dangers of heartbreak, of course—she was no fool—but the thought of giving her heart to you, then watching you walk away with it like an unwanted gift was too devastating.

Mia was practically bouncing off the walls when Vada told her about the phone call, saying that in all seven years of knowing you, she had never been special enough to receive a call. She didn’t exactly say the latter part, but she all but implied it.

On Friday morning, Vada woke up earlier than usual, made herself some breakfast, and was already waiting at the door with a backpack by 8:45. No later than 9:05, you arrived with a Volkswagen Golf, sunglasses on, and a bright smile.

“Music?” You offered, turning on Bluetooth. “Also, if you need a pee break, please tell me. Bladders can be untimely.”

“Noted,” Vada giggled.

The car ride was mostly silent, aside from the music you let her pick and the fun facts you enlightened her with about some of the landmarks you drive past.

“That one I believe was built in the later 1600s and owned by a minor Provence viscount. It was also in a strategic location for the military until it was abandoned after the French Revolution. Also, the viscount built the castle for his second wife, but she died shortly after giving birth to their child.”

“That’s a little sad,” said Vada.

“She was also 14 when she died and he was in his 50s.”

Vada grimaced. “Maybe death was a sweet relief.”

“Yeah. It was more common back in the day than you think.”

“How do you know all this?” She brought her legs up against her chest.

“I like history. I like to learn about the areas I’m in, and in the time that I’ve been here, I’ve had a lot of opportunities to learn.”

She watched your side profile for a moment. “You mentioned some manuscripts. What is it for?”

“Is this an interview now?” You laughed and glanced over at her, and she looked down with a blush. “It’s for my bachelor’s thesis. Technically I don’t start writing until next year, but I like to practice whenever I can. This one that I’m giving to my mentor is a collection of essays.”

“Can I read them?” You looked over for a moment, then reached behind you to grab a file of paper and handed it to her.

Vada settled back and opened the first pages, and read in silence. She could feel you spare short glances at her from time to time, nervously watching for her reaction, but she was so engrossed in your writing it almost didn’t matter that you were sitting next to her. This might have been what it feels like to peer into someone’s soul, to see the traces of fresh blood as they lay their heart onto paper.

It was a beautiful sunny day, the waters shone a deep turquoise, and the French Riviera looked glorious as ever. And yet, she could only get lost in your words.

“This is beautiful,” Vada breathed, setting the papers down on her lap. “You’re amazing.”

You looked ahead at the road, eyes covered by shades, but your large grin was unmissable.

You parked the car on the side of the street in front of several apartment buildings. “Don’t go anywhere, I’ll be right back.” Vada only nodded and watched you cross the street with the manuscripts in your hand. She liked how it felt between you two, and she would gladly accompany you on every trip until you were sick of her.

Mere minutes later, you returned. “I hope you’re ready for the best adventure of your life.”

Only, she knew it would be.

You first led her to the market in the vieille ville, where you bought some fruits and snacks for the way. Vada also got to witness firsthand your bargaining skills, asking for a price and then pretending to walk away until the vendor becomes desperate enough to settle. “I used to be really bad at this, but then I watched my mom do it, and now I kind of just do. These vendors hike up their prices for tourists like crazy.” You walked away proudly with a bag of food.

As the both of you walked through the picturesque alleys and streets, you proceeded to tell her more about the city and its history. She listened carefully, hanging onto every word that left your lips. You told her about how Antibes was first named Antipolis and part of Ancient Greece before it was built by the Romans in the time of Julius Caesar; how in the Middle Ages the city fell under the fiefdom of the Grimaldi family, the main branch of which is now royalty of Monaco.

“Sorry, you gotta stop me before I go on a tangent,” you chuckled, scratching the back of your neck. “I’ve been talking for ages.”

“No, I like it.” She said quickly. “I like listening to you talk. It’s no surprise many artists were so taken with this place.”

You raised your eyebrows in surprise.

“Hemingway, Picasso, and Monet all had a fascination with this city.” She had to look that up, but you didn’t need to know that.

“That’s right,” you nodded. “In fact, I’ll show you the spot where Monet painted one of his paintings later.”

After lunch, you both walked along the city walls that looked out to the beach.

“I’m just saying, Ratatouille piqued a lot of interest in the dish, and it wasn’t a coincidence. I mean, I’ve never tried it but I’d love to, just because it looked so good in the movie.” Vada said.

“You’ve never had ratatouille?!” You exclaimed loudly making Vada laugh. “Man, it’s a staple here in southern France! I’ll have to make you some because that is just criminal.”

“Okay, Chef Remy. I’m looking forward to it.”

“Actually, I’ll make a whole batch for you and the Reeds too. They always give me fruits from their backyard,” you said. “How did you meet Mia anyway?”

At the question, Vada’s smile collapsed into a frown. “Um . . .” You watched her, a confused look on your face. “I’ve always known who she was. I mean, it’s Mia, you know? But one day we met officially in the bathroom at school.”

“Oh,” you voiced. You must be confused as to why that was so hard to squeeze out, but the latter part, the part she kept hidden, she had been trying to squeeze out for two years.

“We were in the bathroom while there was a shooting going on.”

You opened your mouth to say something, but you only ended up watching her. Then, a moment later, “I didn’t mean to . . .”

“No, it’s fine.” Vada shook her head. “You didn’t know.”

“I’m so sorry. You don’t have to tell me anything else if you don’t want to.” Your eyes softened and you looked like you had kicked a puppy.

“I know,” she said, taking a breath.

“I see it on the news all the time, but I can’t imagine what it’s like to be there,” you said quietly. “Thank you for trusting me enough to tell me.”

Vada hated having to talk about it. If she could have it her way, she would bury it deep down so it never sees the light of day again. Still, she has to talk about it to her friends, her family, her therapist sometimes. She hated talking about it because she’d have to see the way people’s faces contort uncomfortably as they scramble to find consoling words to say. They don’t make her feel any better, and she never liked people seeing that broken side of her reflected back at them.

But when she looked at you right now, there wasn’t a trace of ego in the way that you look back at her. Deep down, she had always wanted to lay it on you, to give you a piece of her, not because she had to, but because she wanted to.

Because she wanted you to see it.

Vada found your hand by your side, soft and comforting. She kept her eyes on them; her hand and your hand, intertwined together. You embraced it and rubbed the back of her hand with your thumb before kissing it. A kiss of friendship, a kiss of love, a kiss of two young people in a city far from home together who had only just met. A kiss that said I see you, I hear you, you’ve got me around your corner.

“You wanna go grab some dinner?” She asked.

Dinner turned into even more talk. Towards late afternoon, you said you wanted to catch the sunset before going to the spot you claimed Monet painted the city. It was a quick drive, but you pumped your fists in the air when you got out of the car and were happy with how the sun rolled over the city just right.

“Come on, you’re gonna miss it!” You jogged towards the edge of the water, beaming like a little kid. It had become natural between the two of you to share skin-ship.

Behind the trees, there it was. Across the blue water, Antibes basked in the last few rays of sunlight in stoic tranquility, just as Monet had seen it. Perhaps she was in one of Monet’s paintings, frozen in time, stuck with you.

She found your hand again, your left this time, and once again your gaze followed, but this time, you trailed your gaze to her eyes. God help me, she thought.

There were so many things Vada wanted to blurt out, and she was close to it. Holding back was never her strong suit, but once she got a good look at the depth of your eyes, she felt that they were better appreciated in silence. Words don’t do anything but snitch on you anyway.

She didn’t need to, because the moment she turned to look at you, she felt you grab her face gently and lay the softest kiss on her lips.

The sun continued to glare, yet Antibes stared on.

Did Monet ever paint lovers?

Liar.

Liar.

Vada felt like she’d make a mistake for giving in to it. She saw her younger self in the square that day, by the fountain, eating ice cream. She saw you talking to her, and she wanted to scream and tell herself to stop, to save herself the heartache. No one else was to blame, not even you, only her.

Antibes was a week ago, and she hasn’t really spoken to you ever since. She replayed the kiss over and over in her head, trying to pinpoint exactly the moment when you decided that keeping your distance would be the best course of action.

But then she remembered the way you acted alone with her was much different than how you were with the others around. She saw the way your eyes linger on her when you thought she was admiring the sea. She noticed the way you smiled bashfully when she brought up how good your essays were in front of your mentor. She remembered how you never let go of her hand when she grabbed it while you watched the sunset.

Marlène and Sasha had been a big help in getting her out of her slump. Mia was there to cuddle with her the first couple of nights after Vada told her everything, but rendezvous with Coco had kept her busy. But Marlène and Sasha were cool, and probably one of the healthiest couples she’s ever seen at the age of 20. She felt like their adoptive child hanging out with them, especially when Sasha would greet her by endearingly calling her Petit Vada.

“And have you talked to her?” Marlène asked, leaning over the lounge chair. She and Vada had been sunbathing and swimming at the Reed villa that afternoon.

“No.” Vada sighed. “It’s just—I just don’t get it! Why does she have to be so mysterious all the time? Like one moment we would be fine, and the next she’s somewhere else, someone else entirely.”

“That’s Y/N,” Marlène chuckled and took a sip from her margarita. “You know, when I and Sash first got together, he wasn’t as talkative as he is now. In fact, I was the one to ask him out. Sometimes you just have to suck it up and tell them.”

“That’s so easy to say,” Vada muttered, and put her face in her hands.

“That’s the kind of attitude you should save for when you go back to your other life, your American life. Are you going to university this fall? Summer’s halfway over, you know? Are you going to mull over it and let it pass by you?”

“Yes.” Vada’s voice was muffled through her hands.

“Carpe diem, mon chère.” Marlène shrugged. “It’s cheesy but it’s true.”

Andre being the ever BBQ dad that he was, decided to host a get-together with some friends that night, and encouraged Mia to invite hers. Everyone that Vada met at the beach showed up, including Noémie, except for you.

“She said she was busy,” Noémie waved it off. Vada pursed her lips. The fact that you talked to Noémie first stirred uneasy envy in the pit of her stomach.

She didn’t have the stomach to sit outside and spoil everyone’s fun with her sour face (most of all she didn’t want to give Noémie that satisfaction), so she made a plate for herself and ate in the living room.

“Hey, kiddo,” she looked up and saw Philip walk past her toward the kitchen. “Not feeling the party?”

Vada made a face to indicate a yes, but she didn’t want to explain further. “Just not really in the mood, sorry.”

“It’s okay. You can’t stop Andre from barbecuing when he has the urge or he’d literally combust.”

She nodded and smiled. “We don’t want that.”

“We’re serving fruits now. Want me to get you some?” He pointed at her empty plate.

“Yes, please. Thanks.” She hesitated for a beat. “Hey, Philip?”

The man turned around.

“How did you know that you wanted to marry Andre?”

Philip contemplated for a second, then walked over to the couch where she sat, leaning against it. “I didn’t wake up one day and choose to propose to him, Vada. It’s just one of those things when you start to notice that gnawing feeling in your chest. And you’d have to ask yourself, ‘Would I be fine going the rest of my life without them?’”

Vada nodded slowly and smiled as the man went back to the kitchen. She opened her phone and went to your messages. The last text from you was from a week ago. She began typing.

can we talk? Sent 8:47pm

A mere five minutes later, you responded.

of course Sent 8:47pm

meet me at the fountain at 10? Sent 8:48pm

see u there Sent 8:48pm

Vada found you walking back and forth by the Fountain, one hand in deep your pants pocket, the other holding a cigarette between your thumb and index, and puffing it as if it would give you a lifeline. She got off her bike and set it by the railing of the Fountain where you stood.

“You smoke?”

“Not usually,” you attempted to smile, shaking your arms as if to shake off an invisible burden. You were anxious, it was clear.

Vada didn’t know what to say next, so she leaned against the railing of the Fountain, rolling a pebble back and forth underneath her shoe.

“I’m sorry I didn’t come to see you earlier. I was busy.”

She nodded half-heartedly, not looking up. She wished you’d come up with a better excuse than that.

“Are you angry with me?”

“Angry’s a strong word, Y/N.”

Another puff. “Are you discontent with me?”

She should have prepared herself for the nit-picky bullshit from a writer. “I don’t have a valid reason to be upset with you, not really. Unless I’ve been reading this wrong.”

“You haven’t.” You answered quickly and met her eyes. “I promise. It wasn’t very mature of me. In fact, I think I acted like a total idiot. I’m really sorry.”

“Do you regret kissing me?”

“No, not at all. And you have to believe me.” You sighed exasperatedly, and she almost felt bad because you looked so anxious.

“Tell me what you’re thinking.” Vada stepped towards you, facing you head-on. “You’re asking me whether I’m upset with you, but I don’t even know what you’re thinking most of the time. And then you disappear as though I did something wrong! How fair is that?”

You nodded and took another drag from your cigarette. Then, you dropped the butt on the floor and stomped on it. “I’m thinking that I really want to kiss you right now.”

Vada scoffed. “I don’t believe you.”

You stood up from your spot against the railing, your face now inches from hers. “It’s true.”

“No, it’s not.”

“Yeah, it is.”

She felt the exact moment her body became as light as a feather as your lips pressed against hers. Her hands clenched by her side, and come up to hold onto your shoulders, because she was afraid her legs might give out under her. You angled your face and deepened the kiss, and Vada sighed into your mouth. This is what the poets all wrote about, the inevitability of giving in to what you’ve wanted for so long. She’s caged in you in between her body and the Fountain, kissing you and touching you as though her life depended on it.

You moved to lower your kisses to her neck, but she leaned back and saw a dark look in your eyes.

The sound of a street musician playing the saxophone in the distance somewhere echoed through the square. Wordlessly, Vada took your hand.

She followed you by bike towards your house, which was towards the end of the street closer to the beach. You returned to speaking only one or two words to her, telling her to put her bike by the door next to yours, to take her shoes off before coming in, and whether she wanted some water.

“Nice place.” It was another thing that she never thought to ask you about, nor did you tell her. But it wasn’t a surprise that your family was loaded too, considering the vacation home in an area like this.

“Thanks. It’s my parents’, though.”

“What do they do again?”

“Well, my mom does interior design and my dad is a football agent.”

“Football agent? Who does he represent?”

“Mostly American players in Europe; Christian Pulisic, Luca de la Torre, Gio Reyna. I remember my dad bringing me along to dinner with Sergio Agüero once because he considered a move to LAFC. That was pretty cool.” You stood against the wall in the hallway, next to the staircase, kicking your feet aimlessly. The small talk was to cover up for something else.

You fell into a deep silence. Vada took a step forward under the yellow light of the hallway and took your hand, stroking it gently.

“Can I kiss you?” She asked quietly.

You and she both knew you were way past just kissing. This was new territory, and there would be no going back after this.

You nodded, and she surged forwards to kiss you slowly. This time, it felt different. You kissed her without the chastity and fear of being looked in on but without the hunger of overcoming lust. It was a perfect blend of passion and appreciation, a marriage of everything felt within the past few weeks.

You lead her upstairs, towards your room. Once inside, your lips were still glued to hers as you let her walk backward, though your eagerness made her trip on your feet and fall onto the mattress.

“Oh, shit. I’m sorry. ‘M sorry.” The two of you burst into a fit of giggles as you tried to make it up to her with a shower of kisses.

As her giggles quickly turned into pleasant sighs, she decided to surrender herself to you, to her deepest desires ever since the day she arrived. You had charmed her from the moment she laid eyes on you. But now to feel your hands on her in all the right places took her to new heights of pleasure that she’s never experienced before. How beautiful it was to be herself, to be here in this moment, and to cherish and be cherished by you. But most of all, to hear you whisper her name and profanities in the most sinful and vulnerable ways, so unlike your polished and composed self in front of other people.

Vada, Vada, Vada . . .

She awoke in the morning, the sun piercing through the horizontal slits of the shut windows. There was sweat sticking to her skin, but she didn’t want to get up and shower, not when you were still soundly asleep, arm loosely wrapped around her torso. It was then that she realized that you both were still very naked, but she reveled in the skin-to-skin contact like it was giving her strength and vitality. The golden hummingbird sat on your chest, rising and falling with each of your breaths.

Vada caught the moment your eyes fluttered open and focused on her. Then a smile.

“What time is it?” You asked.

Vada leaned over to check the clock on the wall. “7:41.”

You grumbled. “My shift starts at 8:30.”

“You better chop-chop then.”

“I don’t wanna go.”

“Then don’t.” Vada placed her chin on your upper chest. “Stay here with me, and we can recreate last night.”

You chuckled and kissed her once. “That sounds really tempting.”

And yet, you moved to get up, but she held you back. “Five more minutes.”

“Only five?” You smirked.

“You don’t think I can do it in five?”

You grinned like a Cheshire cat and settled back.

Vada had to let you go eventually, you let her stay at yours and do as she pleased. She suddenly remembered that she never texted Mia back about staying out overnight, and sure enough, flipped her phone over to a few missed calls and text messages. After texting her back and reassuring her that she was okay, she got up and went to take a shower.

You came back around four and, as much as she didn’t want to admit it, it felt like forever until you walked through the doors again. And the moment you did, she pounced on you like a lion.

“I’m so sweaty,” you laughed but soon became lost in the sensation of her lips against yours.

You made love again that afternoon. Vada could almost picture the routine that she and you so easily fell into, how the puzzle pieces fit together so seamlessly. It almost felt like she had cheated somehow to feel this way, that it truly felt as magical and wonderful as it was laying in your arms, both of you stark naked. You had showered and smelled much like lavender. Your eyes were closed but you weren’t asleep, as she watched your chest rise and fall steadily. Sometimes you would murmur something and she would talk to you quietly, knowing you were tired from a day’s work at the beach.

“I knew I liked you from the first day, at the Fountain,” you said.

“Then why didn’t you say anything?!” Vada looked up and hit your chest playfully.

“I didn’t want to come on too strong and scare you away!”

“Jesus Christ,” she sat up and put her face in her palms. “Y/N, I wanted you so badly. Like, I could not go a day without thinking about you. It was actually becoming unhealthy how much I did.”

“Oh? I’m flattered.” You smirked and rubbed her knee. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Because . . . After Antibes, I wasn’t sure if you felt the same way.”

Your face dropped slightly. “I was scared to get close to someone. I think I caught myself then after we kissed. It was scary how much I wanted your company.”

Vada could understand. You’ve only known each other for three weeks. What were you to each other? Maybe it didn’t matter, there was something comforting about just existing as two souls being present with each other. She realized that the fear she’d harbored about losing her heart was all in vain; you never took it for yourself, you’d only pressed your hand against her chest and encouraged it to keep beating—to keep being hers—while you’d hoped that she would do the same to you.

“If you could go back to that day at the Fountain, and do it differently, would you?” Vada asked.

You thought for a second, then shook your head. “No. I always want to remember you this way.”

Vada swallowed thickly and avoided your eyes. “We’re leaving next week.”

A silence hung in the air, unspoken words stuck in her throat. Tell me to stay. Tell me you’ll come back with me. Tell me you’ll never love anyone else. Tell me you’d forget about me so as to soothe the pain.

“Then let’s make it count,” you brushed a hair from her eyes. “We’re not the first, and we won’t be the last to love each other.”

She dreaded the flight back home, having to pretend leaving you wouldn’t be as hard in front of Mia and her parents, and about 300 strangers. She’d miss biking everywhere and the beach and Lillian’s ice cream (she had grown to like it over Karim’s). She’d remember Antibes and Monet’s spot. She’d remember your face and how you seemed to appear in every memory of this trip.

Vada felt you brushing your finger under her eye and realized that it was wet. Then you brought her into your arms and held her tight as she hid from the world in your neck. You cooed and somehow it made Vada feel worse and started crying harder, clinging to your skin desperately.

She’d find space for the grief she was going to feel in her heart somewhere because she knew she’d rather live with the pain than be without you again.

The last week started on a Wednesday. Vada did the usual things she did the last few weeks—go to the beach, bike to town, hang out with the group; she wanted to soak into that last semblance of her summer routine before she had to leave, and everything would be different. She hadn’t given college much thought either. Deciding to move halfway across the country for it was the least stressful part of the whole process, as she was going in undecided. Mia was happy though, because they would only be a few hours apart by train.

Until then, Vada was too afraid to ask you about what would happen after the summer ended. If she asked, it would mean that it was close and it was real. You’d go back to school in Paris and start on your thesis, and everything would go back to the way it was.

Everything would go back to the way it was. As if nothing happened.

She had lived four weeks with you, how was she ever going to go the rest of her life without you?

She met up with you after dinner one night at the beach. The tides had come in much closer and were pulling on her heartstrings mercilessly. In and out, in and out . . . You were as quiet as the night, your eyes gazed towards the distance somewhere, looking pensive.

Still, she was afraid to ask.

“I lied,” you finally spoke. “I wished I had told you sooner how much I liked you.”

Vada remained silent and nodded. “We’ll call.”

“It won’t be the same.”

She knew too that it would never be the same the moment she leaves France. She realized that though she was afraid to ask, time was not on her side, and she didn’t have the luxury to be afraid anymore.

“Will you stay over tonight?” Vada asked, and you looked so happy that she did.

Once you stumbled through the door, you leaned in to kiss her instantly. Between wanting to kiss you back and suppressing moans, she told you to be quiet as you followed her upstairs, hand in hand. You failed, however, actually, both of you did, as your giggles trailed up the stairs and through the hallway. Vada would be lucky if only Mia heard you.

The day she left for the airport, you came over to say goodbye. You greeted the Reeds first, giving Philip and Andre big hugs, then turned to Mia to hug as well and kiss her on the forehead.

Vada waited in the backyard. She felt almost pathetic and needy for wanting you to come out here quicker. It won’t be the same.

“Andre gave me this to keep for my parents.”You held up a bottle of wine by the neck. “1983, nice.”

Your smile died down when you noticed her silence. “You got everything?”

She nodded. Wordlessly, she stepped forwards to wrap her arms around your frame. She thought she’d cry, but it was as if her brain was already actively shutting down trying to block out this memory to save her the future heartbreak.

You pressed her tightly against your chest and swayed her back and forth. Upon releasing her, you set down the bottle of wine next to your feet and took off your necklace.

“I want you to have this.” You opened her palm and neatly placed the jewelry inside. “That way, you won’t forget.”

How could you ever think that I would forget when I’m afraid I’ll never be able to let go of this summer?

“I wish we had more time,” Vada said.

“Bye, Cinderella.” Your eyes were glossy now.

The car door was wide open, waiting to take her away from you. For a split second, she considered dropping everything to stay.

She leaned in to kiss you once, deep and hard, “Bye, Y/N.” Then she walked away, the hummingbird clenched in her fist.

You followed her and watched her get in the car. You watched her close it with force and you watched her refuse to make eye contact with you, but you saw the way her lips trembled. You watched the car take her away from you and grazed the spot on your chest where the hummingbird was missing.

It was mid-July, the hottest day of the year, and yet, the ocean waves—blue as it gets—continued to crash against the shore, on and on and on.

[insomniac4000]

The Great YouTube Bake Off-ChrisMD

2864 Words

Chris Dixon was no stranger to challenges. From football tricks to wild challenges with his friends, he had tackled just about everything on his YouTube channel. But today, things were a little different. Today, Chris was venturing into a world he had only ventured into a few times and it wasn't his strong point, baking.

It had all started as a joke during one of their dates. Y/N and Chris had been together for seven months, she was a professional baker she had worked in kitchen restaurants before as a pastry chef but recently set up her own bakery and cake making business. While they were out y/n ordered a fantastic dessert but Chris was unimpressed with his complaining how hard was it to get a cheesecake right. Y/N scoffed at Chris's arrogance and thus was born the idea for a bake-off.

"How hard can it be?" Chris had confidently said while scrolling through pictures of extravagant cakes on Instagram. "I mean, it’s just mixing ingredients and throwing them in the oven, right?"

Y/N had raised an eyebrow, a small smile playing on her lips. "Sure, Chris. Whatever you say."

And that’s how they found themselves in the bright, spacious kitchen in a studio which had been used for Youtuber's cooking challenges, cameras set up and ready to film for Chris's second channel. The stakes were high bragging rights were on the line, and maybe a little something extra for the winner, as Chris had hinted at the possibility of the loser doing the winner's chores for a week. The kitchen counter was lined with ingredients, utensils, and an assortment of decorative toppings. Each of them had a cake recipe of their choice, and they would have two hours to complete their creations.

"You ready for this?" Chris asked, grinning as he adjusted the angle of the camera, making sure it captured both of them perfectly.

"Ready as I’ll ever be," Y/N replied with a twinkle in her eye, tying up her hair in a neat ponytail.

"May the best baker win!" Chris declared, striking a pose.

"Or the one who doesn’t burn the kitchen down," Y/N replied, causing Chris to laugh.

The judge was none other than long time friend of Chris, ArthurTV. Everyone was introduced on camera, y/n giving a small nervous smile. She hadn't appeared on the channel yet and she was grateful she was doing something she knew about so she could hopefully provide some content.

The clock started, and both contestants dove into their tasks. Chris, with his trusty iPad displaying a recipe began gathering his ingredients. He had chosen a classic chocolate cake—simple enough, but with a lot of room for error if one wasn’t careful.

Y/N, on the other hand, was as calm as ever now she was in the zone. She moved with the ease of someone who had done this a thousand times, expertly measuring out her ingredients without even glancing at the recipe. She had chosen a rainbow cake, one of her personal favourites, a common order in the shop and something she was well used to making.

As Chris cracked eggs into his mixing bowl, he glanced over at Y/N's workstation. She was working at a speed that was slightly unnerving, her hands moving in a blur as she sifted flour into a bowl. He suddenly felt a pang of doubt—maybe this wasn’t going to be as easy as he thought. But Chris wasn’t one to back down. He turned his attention back to his own cake and began mixing the batter with more vigour than necessary. Unfortunately, this resulted in a small cloud of flour puffing out of the bowl and landing all over his shirt.

"Smooth," y/n commented, not even looking up from her batter.

Chris glanced down at the mess, then at his girlfriends pristine workspace. A mischievous idea formed in his mind. If he couldn’t beat her fair and square, maybe a little sabotage was in order.

"Whoops," Chris said loudly, deliberately knocking a small bag of flour off the counter. The bag burst open as it hit the floor, sending a plume of white powder everywhere. "Guess I’m just clumsy today."

Y/N paused, looking up from her cake. "Really, Chris? Sabotage this early?"

Chris grinned innocently, wiping flour from his shirt. "I have no idea what you’re talking about."

Y/N shook her head, laughing. "You do realize this just makes it more obvious that I’m going to win, right?"

"We’ll see about that," Chris said, turning back to his bowl. But as he resumed mixing, he couldn’t help but notice how easily the girl had brushed off his attempt to throw her off her game. If anything, she seemed even more focused.

As the bake-off continued, Chris began to realize that y/n was not only a natural in the kitchen, but she was also completely unflappable. She whisked, folded, and poured with a precision that made Chris feel like an amateur. But he wasn’t about to give up, if anything, her calm demeanor just made him more determined to win, by any means necessary.

He subtly tried to disrupt her progress, hoping to shake her confidence. First, he "accidentally" bumped into her while reaching for a measuring cup, causing her to spill a little bit of sugar on the counter. She just shot him an amused look and cleaned it up without missing a beat.

Then, Chris tried adjusting the oven temperature while she wasn’t looking, but Y/N caught him in the act. "Chris!" she scolded, a mock-serious expression on her face. "Are you trying to sabotage my cake?"

"Who, me?" Chris replied, feigning innocence. "I would never."

"You do realize this is all on camera, right?" She reminded him, pointing to the lens that had been capturing every moment.

Chris froze, momentarily forgetting about the cameras. He laughed awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck. "Oh, right. Well, I guess I’m busted then."

Y/N shook her head, unable to hide her smile. "You’re hopeless." She then decided her own course of action and when Chris was seriously measuring out some more ingredients y/n saw her opportunity and swiped the cocoa powder quickly, placing it on a high shelf where she knew Chris wouldn't be able to reach properly by himself. It was a big joke that y/n was an inch or so taller than Chris, she didn't mind but of course his friends ripped him for it.

"Where..." Chris said out loud looking around his workbench, spotting a very sly smile on his girlfriend's face. "Have you seen my cocoa powder?" Chris asked walking over to his girlfriends bench, she shook her head but the smile on her face gave the whole thing away. Chris sighed and looked behind her, seeing the packaging on a shelf next to a colander, he sighed and had to nicely ask Arthur to fetch it for him.

"That was uncalled for," Chris mumbled, y/n giggled to herself as she continued to pour her mixture in to the many cake tins she was using.

Despite their antics, both parties managed to get their cake batter into the oven without any major disasters. As he closed the oven door, he turned to y/n and asked, "So, what kind of decorations are you going with?"

"Buttercream," y/n said, as she started mixing softened butter and powdered sugar together. "Simple, but delicious."

Chris nodded, making a mental note. He hadn’t thought much about frosting, but now that she mentioned it, he realized that it was probably just as important as the cake itself. He decided to go with chocolate ganache—a little fancy, but hopefully, it would impress Arthur, and his girlfriend who's opinion meant everything.

Arthur had agreed to be the impartial judge for the bake-off, though Chris knew there was a good chance Arthur might side with y/n if the cakes were too close to call. The two of them had become fast friends since Chris and y/n started dating, and Chris couldn’t help but wonder if Arthur was secretly rooting for her. Chris knew he could be a bit of a handful sometimes too and it could come across he had a bit of an ego but it was all in jest, if nothing else he always tried his best.

With their cakes baking, Chris and y/n began preparing their frostings. Chris’s ganache, despite his lack of experience, was coming together nicely. He had managed to avoid burning the chocolate and was now carefully stirring in the cream. He felt a surge of confidence—maybe he could actually pull this off.

Y/N, meanwhile, had already finished her buttercream and was now focusing on making some unicorn decorations to top the cake. She moved with such efficiency that Chris couldn’t help but be impressed, even as he plotted his next move.

As y/n stepped away to check on her cake in the oven, Chris saw his opportunity. He quickly grabbed a small spoonful of salt and mixed it into her buttercream, hoping it would be enough to throw off the taste without being too obvious. He barely managed to return to his own station before y/n came back.

"How’s your cake looking?" Chris asked, trying to sound casual.

"Perfect," y/n replied with a satisfied smile. "And yours?"

"Uh, still baking," Chris said, glancing nervously at the oven. He hoped his cake would turn out as well as hers seemed to be. If not, he might have to rely on his sabotages more than he’d planned.

After what felt like an eternity, the oven timer dinged, and they both pulled out their cakes. Chris’s cake was a little uneven, but nothing a bit of frosting couldn’t fix. Y/N's cakes, of course, looked flawless—golden brown and perfectly risen.

They let their cakes cool before moving on to the final stage: decorating. Chris spread his ganache over the cake, trying to make it as smooth as possible. Y/N, meanwhile tasted her buttercream and shot Chris a look before starting again. As soon as her new buttercream was finished she was piping intricate patterns onto her cake with her buttercream.

As they worked, Chris couldn’t resist one last attempt at sabotage. He "accidentally" knocked a small jar of sprinkles off the counter, sending them scattering across the floor. Y/n just sighed and shook her head, clearly used to his antics by now.

"Chris, you do realize that if you spent as much time focusing on your cake as you did on trying to mess with mine, you might actually have a chance," she said, her tone more teasing than anything else.

"Hey, I’m just trying to keep things interesting," Chris replied with a grin.

The timer was ticking down faster than Chris would have liked, he still had chocolate sprinkles to add on and was going to put some sliced strawberry's to add too. He looked at his strawberry's and his face fell when he saw they were squished, like someone had put their fist on them like the hulk.

"Right madam, you're going to pay for that!" Chris scolded, he walked over to the fridge and luckily there was still a handful of fruit in there.

With their cakes finally completed, Chris and y/n stepped back to admire their work. Chris’s chocolate cake, while a bit rough around the edges, looked pretty decent, especially with the shiny ganache covering its imperfections. Y/n's unicorn cake however, was a work of art, with delicate piping, a face painted on the side and a unicorn horn placed on top wrapped in gold.

"Not bad," Y/N admitted, giving Chris’s cake an appraising look. "You might actually have a shot."

"You think so?" Chris asked, trying to hide his surprise.

"No I'm just being polite, but let’s see what Arthur thinks."

Arthur arrived back in frame. He greeted them both with a grin, clearly excited to see what they had come up with.

"Alright, guys, let’s see what you’ve made," Arthur said, He walked over to Y/N's cake first, examining it closely. "Wow, this looks amazing, Y/N. Very professional, but I'm going to have to have a look in the middle." Y/N then cut a slice out revealing perfect layers in her cakes.

"That's actually really impressive." Chris uttered, he was truly proud of his girl, she was obviously talented.

Arthur then turned his attention to Chris’s cake. He raised an eyebrow, clearly surprised by how decent it looked. "Not bad, Chris. I was expecting something a bit more… chaotic."

Chris chuckled, scratching his head. "Yeah, well, I had to make sure I wasn’t completely embarrassed on my own channel."

Arthur nodded, clearly amused. "Alright, let’s give these a taste."

He started with Y/N's cake, cutting a small slice and taking a bite. His eyes widened as he chewed, clearly impressed. "This is really good," he said after swallowing. "The flavours are spot on, and the buttercream is perfect. Chris I don't know how you don't weigh twice as much being with her." Arthur joked.

"It's hard," the curly haired man replied.

Y/N beamed, and Chris felt a twinge of nerves. He watched as Arthur moved on to his cake, cutting a slice and taking a bite. There was a long pause as Arthur chewed, his expression unreadable.

"Well?" Chris asked, unable to take the suspense any longer.

Arthur finally swallowed and nodded. "You know, Chris, this is actually pretty good. The ganache is rich and smooth, and the cake is moist. I’m impressed."

"Let me have a bite," y/n asked and thanked Arthur when he gave her a fork, she took a bite of the confection, it was maybe a little too heavy on the sugar but overall the cake was moist, spongey, the chocolate was rich and the ganache was smooth, for an amateur Chris has done a thoroughly decent job. "I'm actually impressed!" Chris smiled at his girlfriends comments, although Arthur was the judge she was the one he was really trying to impress and knowing he had done that made his heart swell a little.

Arthur stepped back, holding up his hands in a gesture of finality. "Alright, guys, this is a tough one. Both cakes are really good, but I have to choose one winner." Chris and y/n exchanged glances, both trying to read Arthur’s expression.

Arthur took a deep breath and said, "The winner of this bake-off is… Y/N!!!"

Her face lit up with a smile as Chris groaned in defeat. "Of course she won," he muttered, though there was no real bitterness in his voice he knew it would make good content if he protested a little bit.

"Thanks, Arthur," Y/N said, giving Chris a playful nudge. "Guess I’ll be picking out your chores for the week."

Chris laughed, shaking his head. "Yeah, yeah, you deserve it. But you have to admit, I gave you a run for your money."

"You definitely did," Y/N agreed, though there was a hint of mischief in her eyes. "But next time, maybe try to sabotage a little less and bake a little more."

Arthur, still recording, chimed in, "And there you have it, folks. Y/N takes the win, but Chris put up a good fight. Make sure to like and subscribe if you want to see more challenges like this one!"

"But next time, it's going to be a free kick challenge and I’m going to crush you." Chris warned, y/n shook her head laughing.

"I’m looking forward to it."

"This is where she admits she is secretly the best free kick taker in the UK and has been playing for years," Arthur joked a little, y/n gave a smile to him and Chris which was so innocent it looked like a halo could appear above her head at any moment.

"I've got my eye on you," Chris winked pulling his girlfriend in for a side hug, her placing her hand on his chest with his around her waist.

As they started cleaning up the kitchen together, Chris couldn’t help but feel a sense of satisfaction despite his loss. The challenge had been fun, and he’d learned a lot—mostly that he should never underestimate y/n. And who knew? Maybe baking would become a new hobby for him.

But for now, he had a week of chores to look forward to, courtesy of the best baker he knew. And as much as he hated losing, he had to admit that it was worth it.

[anama-cara]

fight club (dark!joel miller x f!reader; dead dove do not eat)

Summary: Post outbreak set in the Boston QZ. You decide to go against Joel in an underground QZ fight club for some extra coin. Joel doesn't take kindly to the competition and decides to punish you in his own special way. Word count: 3.6k

Warnings/tags: Dead Dove Do Not Eat. 18+ minors dni. Unprotected PIV, fingering (f receiving), slapping, choking, hair pulling, violence, blood, degradation, curse word, age gap, dark content, noncon, dubcon.   

a/n: This is the darkest one I’ve written so far so let me know what you think. Author is 18+ Written for #deaddovedecember2023 hosted by @romana-after-dark

You’ve had your fair share of blunders and brushes with death, but this has got to be one of the stupidest things you’ve ever done. But you’re desperate. Really freaking desperate. And desperate people throw out all caution and logic and good old fashioned common sense. So here you are, sweaty hair plastered to your forehead, heart racing, knuckles bloody. And you’re about to make another terrible mistake.

You’ve been in the Boston QZ for about 2 years now and every side hustle and grift you’ve tried has ultimately failed. One of your fellow con artists mentioned some back-alley action, an illegal underground fight club. So you follow his direction to the hideout, through an alley to the back of an abandoned building and down the stairs to the basement. You think the place must have been used for storage before, its mostly unfinished. It’s a large square room with low ceilings. All the furniture has been pushed to the sides of the room, leaving the center open. There’s a mob of people shouting and cheering, mostly large men but you spot a couple of females too. You recognize a few faces amongst the crowd as smugglers you’ve previously dealt with. There are a few lamps in the corners of the room but it’s still dimly lit. There’s a poker table pushed up against the wall, bottles of alcohol, and a caged rooster in the back. You guess this place does everything – speakeasy, gambling, cock fighting, and the ring.

There’s smoke in the air that burns your eyes and when you walk little clouds of dust follow in your footsteps. The smell of sweat, alcohol, and cigarettes engulfs your senses. The place is packed and noisy with swearing and shouting. You push through a throng of people to get to the bookie sitting on a high stool in the corner. She’s wearing a red and black flannel with black jeans and combat boots. She nods to you as you approach.

“Never seen you here, but if you’re here that means one of us trusted you enough let you in. Welcome. So, what can I do for you? Who ya bettin’ on?” She nods to the ring.

Ring is a generous term. Really it’s a cleared away area in the center of the room with a white circle on the floor drawn in chalk. There are two burly men inside fighting it out, fists flailing and blood flying. You notice that one has several teeth missing and cauliflower ear. He seems to be winning.

You turn back to her. “I’m not betting, I’m here to fight.”

She pauses to read your face and once she sees you’re serious she chuckles. She looks you up and down, taking in your skinny arms and round unscarred face. She holds out her hand. “The name’s Tess.”

You take her hand with a firm grip.

“Alright girl, you’re in. But I hope you know what you’re doing.” She gives you all the rules. Basically, you win if your opponent steps out of the ring or they don’t get up after a 10 second count. “I’ll be rootin’ for ya.” She says as you turn to leave. She sounds sincere.

You’re already starting to feel sick. Your stomach is turning, you’re so nauseous and the loud noises and metallic smell of blood isn’t helping. You go to a corner room, as far away as possible, and sit on a flipped over crate to wait. You’re wearing a loose t-shirt with your green cargo jacket overtop, black leggings, and your combat boots. You watch your swinging feet, trying to calm your nerves and not think about the sound of crunching bone you just heard. You wonder whose nose was just broken, Big Guy or Toothless.

As you’re sitting, zoning out, you feel someone walk up beside you. Your head snaps up.

“Hi there.”

Now this is a face you definitely don’t know. You’d remember him. He’s probably in his late 40’s, tall and broad shouldered with patchy facial hair, a strong nose and jaw line, and a pinched brow that makes it look like he’s permanently scowling. But there’s something in his dark brown eyes that catches your attention. It’s alluring and yet it makes you very uneasy. There’s a danger hidden there. He sits on the crate next to you with a sigh. He’s wearing jeans and a tight grey t-shirt that shows off his sculped chest and hugs his tanned biceps. That catches your attention too. You watch his muscles flex as he lowers himself onto the crate. Maybe you’re staring too long. He kicks you crate with a heavy boot.

“Hello?”

Even his voice is entrancing, gruff, dark, masculine, with a thick Texan accent. You blink and clear your throat. “Hi.” You say flatly. You try to appear confident and nonchalant, like you’re bored with this whole thing. Like you’re not scared shitless right now. You’re trying to convince yourself just as much as him.

“You come here often?” He asks and you can’t help but smile at the lame joke. His eyes move to your lips as you smile and his own form a wicked grin. It scares you. Your mouth falls back.

“Um no, this is my first time here. My first match in the ring.”

“You’re fighting?” He sounds equally surprised and impressed. His eyes light up and that predatory grin appears on his face again. “Little thing like you… going up against these grown men. You must be one tough little girl.”

You shift your weight, his words making you uncomfortable.

He quietly adds, “How I like ‘em. A fighter.”

Before you get a chance to respond there’s a roar of the crowd and you watch as they drag a body from the ring and prop him against the wall. You hope he’s just unconscious. You turn back to the stranger but he’s gone. The crowd quiets and you hear Tess call out, “Next round is against my partner Joel. Y’all know Joel. Any takers?”

You get to your feet. The crowd is too thick to see the opponent in the ring. But you don’t even care to see what he looks like first, no point sizing him up. You know all these fighters will be bigger and stronger than you. You have to do it now before you lose the small amount of courage you have left. You can’t sit still any longer.

“Here.” You call out. As you walk to the ring you tell yourself over and over again that they may have more muscle, but you rely on your speed and your skill.

You push through the circle of onlookers, most don’t even seem to notice you or bother to move out of the way. You’re too short to see over their heads so you raise your hand in the air and repeat, “here!” Finally they part. Faces look down at you as you pass and you can read the looks of disbelief and amusement in their eyes. You step over the line of chalk and face Tess. “I challenge,” you say in your most confident voice. Tess looks uncertain, even worried for you. Her throat bobs and she looks like she might say something, but instead she just nods. You turn to face your opponent. Oh shit, it’s the stranger. Joel. You know his name now. He’s giving you that horrible predatory grin again as he looks you up and down shamelessly. He’s so cocky it boils your blood.

“Well look who it is, Newbie.”

You snarl in response but he just laughs at you.

“Begin,” Tess announces.

You start circling each other, moving clockwise as you study each other’s movements, looking for the right time to pounce. You kick up dust as you slide your feet. Your boot catches on something sticky, dried blood. You push the thought from your mind, concentrating on watching Joel. You observe his muscles flexing, his balance, the length of his strides and his footwork. You can tell he’s strong, but he’s slower. You’ll use that to your advantage. During these brief moments of sizing each other up you’ve kept your own strengths hidden. You copied his pace, circling him just as slowly with deliberately timed steps. You want your real fighting style to remain a surprise. You want this fight over quickly, a few strong punches from him and you’d be lights out. You know you can’t overpower him and keep him down for a 10 count, so the only way is to trick him into stepping over the white line.

The crowd is getting impatient, their jeering getting louder and more vulgar as they scream at him to pummel you. With no warning, no tell, he lunges at you and lands a right hook into your jaw, rattling your brain. You dodge his incoming blow, ducking under his arm and side stepping past him. So maybe he’s not so slow after all, that’s okay, you’ll just be faster. Your jaw is aching and you taste blood in your mouth. You spit on the floor and Joel smiles. Just one punch and you’re already dizzy. He closes the gap in one step, towering above you with a vicious gleam in his eye. He does a jab cross combo and you manage to block both. As he’s pulling his fist back you land a hook right into his ribs lightning fast, then quickly pull your punch back and step back into your fighting stance with your guard raised. He looks a little surprised. You actually snuck a blow in. The crowd cheers and his surprise turns to anger. It chills your blood and weakens your knees but you stand your ground. Furious, he attacks you in a brutal volley, jab, cross, hook, elbow. He’s pummeling you with hit after hit and you’re moving swiftly, weaving under his fists as you step backwards, leading him closer to the edge of the ring. Your heel touches the chalk. He throws a powerful cross but he’s late on the recoil so you grab his wrist, leaning into his momentum and pulling his arm, swinging him to the right. He takes a single step to correct his balance. A single step that’s out of the circle.

You drop his wrist as the crowd erupts in shouts of approval at the surprise and swearing as bets are lost. You turn on your heel, not even bothering to look at Joel as you march up to Tess.

“Well color me impressed. If you come back again you could probably make a lot more ration cards. Everyone likes an underdog ya know.” Spectators flock to her, passing up cigarettes, pills, bullets, and food, you even spot a piece of gum. After a minute of tallying she hands you a stack of ration cards. You stuff them in your jacket pocket and nod farewell. This should tide you over for a while, at least until you find another smuggling job. Tess seems okay but you hope you never have to come back here.

You rush out of the hideout and exit into the alleyway where you lean up against the wall and breathe in deeply, relishing the fresh cool night air. You close your eyes for a moment and relax your head back against the cool concrete, letting your body calm down after all the adrenaline.

A hand wraps around your throat, squeezing and cutting off your air. Gasping, your eyes flutter open and you stare wildly at the man in front of you. Joel. His face is flushed and his eyes are black. You choke out, “J-Joel, what-“ but he squeezes even tighter and your plea dies.

“Shut up bitch,” he snaps. Oh you made a big mistake. Now you understand what kind of man Joel is. You humiliated him when you won. You took his power. And he wants it back.

“How dare you trick me like that.”

You’re desperately shaking your head, unable to speak. He slams your head back into the wall. You feel your scalp scrap against the concrete and blood seep into your hair.

“You think you’re better than me, is that it? Huh?” With his other hand he grabs a fistful of your hair. “Huh? Answer me!” he shouts.

You shake your head desperately. He feels the blood on the back of your head now and slides his hand from your hair. Holding it up, he angles his hand to better see in the light from the streetlamp, admiring the sight of your blood on his fingertips. His other fingers are still pushing into your throat, bruising the skin underneath. You have to get out of here. Not knowing what else to do you kick him in the groin, hoping he’ll drop you or at least loosen his grip. It works and you wrench free. You run one, two steps before he catches you and slams you into the wall. You squeal. His hands pin your wrists against the cold wall by your sides and his body is pressed into yours, squishing you against the wall so tightly you can’t move. His chest is heaving and his breath is in your face as he looks down at you.

“Joel please,” you plead desperately.

“Oh now you have manners.” He scoffs. “Too late little girl,” he says darkly. You whine in desperation and his lethal gaze shift to one of greed. “Oh honey you’re giving me a new idea for how to punish you.” He smiles and you watch as lust clouds his gaze. You feel his cock twitch against your middle. Your eyes widen in terror and you gulp. His predator gaze deepens as he clocks your fear. He feeds off of it. He takes your wrists and pins them above your head with one large hand.

“Gotta show you some respect little girl. Put ya in your place.” He leans his hips into you, pushing you deeper into the hard wall as he grinds into you. With no warning he slaps you across your face. It stings as you feel tears forming in your eyes.

“That’s better. Cry for me girly. Think you can beat me, no, I’ll show who’s in control here.” His other hand other slips beneath the hem of your t-shirt and reaches up to grab at your breast. He gropes you roughly, his cold callous fingers kneading into you. He flicks your nipple and you cringe at the pain, but harden under his touch as he rubs it between his finger and thumb. He groans and his hips grind into you again, rutting up against you and pushing you roughly. You feel your skin grating against the rough concrete behind you. He kisses you sloppily, greedily making out with your unresponsive mouth as you try to turn away. He drops his hand from your breast and slides his hand around your neck again.

“I’m gonna let go and yer' gonna take off your pants. Got that little girl?” You spit in his face. He laughs like a mad man. “You’re a fighter. I said I liked ‘em feisty. You remembered, huh girly?”

Then he abruptly stops and he squeezes so tightly you see black spots. “But right now I need you to behave.” You nod vigorously.

“Good girl.” He releases his tight grip and drops your hands. You undo your pants and push them down with your underwear and are about to step out of them when he stops you. “Leave it.” It restricts your movement more, you can’t run.

 “That’s it, good job girly. Now me.” He commands. You undo his belt with shaking fingers and tug his zipper down. You tentatively pause and he smacks your hip. “I didn’t stay stop,” he growls. You tug his pants and boxers down to his thighs and his cock springs free. He’s so big and angry looking that you start to cry.

“Fuckin’ weak.” He wraps a hand around the base of his cock and strokes himself slowly as you watch. The thumbs the tip of his cock where a bead of precum is leaking out. He raises he fingers to your mouth and slides his thumb over your lower lip roughly before pushing it inside your mouth.

 “No biting.” His thumb glides over your teeth and he pushes further. Your tongue flicks against him instinctively and his cock twitches. “You like this girly? You a little slut?” With his thumb deep in your mouth you’re unable to answer but your eyes glare at him. He just smirks. He taps your jaw with his other fingers then brings them to your lips as you open your mouth wider. You suck on his fingers, saliva gathering on them. When he's satisfied, he pulls them out with a lewd wet noise. He pets your check once with the back of his hand. You feel the scratch of the dried blood as his split knucks skim across your face.

He reaches down between you and slides two fingers into you without hesitation. The stretch burns and your muscles clench in surprise. “Fuck, so tight.” He slides his fingers in and out, punishing your hole as you try to adjust. “We gotta stretch you out a bit if you’re gonna fit this big cock.” He pushes another finger in and you scream. He glares at you and silences your scream with his mouth. He bites your lower lip as he fucks you with his fingers. You taste blood as he pulls way.

After a few more thrusts he feels your body adjust and your slick starts to seep onto his hand. He laughs, “Not such a tough girl now huh?” Your face reddens in embarrassment as your body betrays you.

He slides his fingers out and slaps your wet pussy. “Just a little slut. Knew you wanted this cock.” He pushes his fingers through your folds, playing with you and gathering your slick. He slides his fist down his cock, spreading the wetness.

 “Wanna see you cry on this cock.” With his fist wrapped around the base he guides himself and notches at your entrance then pushes all the way inside you, filling you up and splitting you open. You gasp at the stretch and struggle against him. He clicks his tongue. “None of that, stay still,” he grunts as he pulls out to the tip then slams back in to you. “Gotta take your punishment,” another hard dominating thrust.  

“Gonna ruin your little pussy.” He’s hitting something deep inside you with each painstakingly hard thrust. You feel your body responding, heat pooling and your walls flutter around him. He pulls out halfway and pushes back in, setting a new shallow pace as he fucks you against the wall. It’s faster and more desperate. You see sweat forming on his brow. You think you could probably get out of his grip right now if you tried, he’s distracted and out of breath already. But for some reason you don’t. You stay still as he brutally rails you, your back arching against the wall causing you’re your shoulder blades to sting as the scrape the wall.

The sounds of skin slapping slick skin and groaning fill the narrow alley. The street light flickers and for the first time it dawns on you that anyone could walk by and see you. You shiver and try to push against Joel’s hold but he growls at you through gritted teeth. “I said stay still.”

He’s close, you can see it on his scrunched-up face, so you relax and decide to just let him finish. Your body is marked with purple fingerprints and red marks where he slapped you. The blood in your hair has dried. Maybe it was stupid to fight him, you think as he continues to pound you. He feels good inside you, you can’t deny that. You close your eyes and focus on that feeling now, your hips moving to grind into him. It building and building and you can’t stop it as you come on his cock with a cry. Your walls squeeze his cock and it’s enough to send him spilling into you. His muscles twitch and he presses his entire body up against you, flattening you with his full weight as he comes inside you with a groan. You feel the warm gush of his cum inside you as it spreads and fills you. He sighs and slides out with a lewd squelching sound.

“Hmmmm, hope you learned your lesson little girl.”

Your legs are shaking, cum trickling down your thighs. He steps back and releases his hold on your wrists. You slide down the wall and sit crumpled on the cold ground. He drags his cock against your check once before stuffing it back into his pants and fixing his belt. He smirks down at you, proud of his work. “See ya around,” he says before stalking off, leaving you sitting alone in the dirty alley, pants still around your ankles.

You look down and watch his seed seeping out of you. You gulp, feeling your sore throat ache from his chokehold. You swipe your fingers over your cheek, wiping away your tears cooling against the night air. Your fingers brush against your bloodied swollen lips from his crushing kiss and drift to your sides where you see red prints marking your skin. Your fingers slide lower and find the wetness on your thighs. Without thinking you draw your fingers up to your mouth and suck, tasting him. Hand in your mouth you snap back to reality and glance down the alley to make sure no one is looking. You scrambling up, hand against the wall in support. You hurriedly pull up your pants and rush out of the alley in humiliation.

[eunoiaastralwings]

Once Upon a Dance

featuring merryman!bucky x mysterious noble!reader

fandom mcu- what if medieval era

a/n for @buckys-metal-arm

warnings only fluff and before you read just know am dyslexic. also the reader lowkey became my oc again. . . oop

Bucky was in the village square with his fellow merrymen and Steve Rogers-Hood. They were having celebrations after another successful steal and distributed it among the poor.

The music and dancing made usual quiet village square lively and spectacular.

“Come on, Bucky! Dance!”

Scott Lang and his other fellow merrymen tries to encourage Bucky as they danced among the village square as Bucky stayed in one place – scowling with his arms crossed as he looked at the square.

He only like the actual action – the loud music and celebrations didn’t call to me.

He rather stays in the sidelines – sipping his beer quietly watching.

But as much a Bucky tried to ignore the dancing, the music, which makes him even grumpier and uncomfortable than usual – but his fellow Merryman did not give up and dragged him towards the crowd of dancers.

Steve and the others laugh – pulling him into the dance as they sang on top of their lungs. He was now forced to dance.

The music, the noise, the crowd, he was so done with that. The other Merrymen tried to cheer him on – as they danced around him, in a circle.

He grumbles under his breath – letting out a sigh and it only got worse as the town decided to dance to the traditions and given with partners to dance with.

Bucky was now forced to find a partner. He didn't like this at all. It made him more uncomfortable as everyone danced around him with their partners.

He tried to stay isolated – but it didn't seem to work with his fellow merrymen determined to bring him into the fun of dancing.

Bucky was about to slip away again when suddenly – you – a female with pretty hair that was tied with a light blue ribbon that matched your white and light blue dress was suddenly caught in his hands.

Your exquisite dress and its intricate designs suggesting you were no village born woman – but of the nobility and Bucky was never too fold of the nobility.

Your eyes were wide as you looked into his blue eyes – as you appeared to be flushed and slightly out of breath.

Bucky’s eyes widened – but not in a good way. The only thing you managed to do was further irritate him. You were beautiful –  yes, but he had no interest in dancing with you, especially considering you were of the nobility.

“Let go of me!”

Bucky tried to pull your hands off him and back away from you – but his fellow Merrymen were having a good time laughing and watching him trying dance with you.

“No – please! Just a moment!”

You were practically begging – your eyes moving around frantically around the crowds as if trying to hide among him and the others within the dance.

Bucky looked at you – your desperate eyes – and wondered, what made you so desperate?

You looked like you were trying to avoid the attention and sights of someone.

“Just one dance! Just – lead me to the other side and I’ll be out of your hair!”

You said – then your eyes cast down noticing the feel of his hands.

One arm was flesh, the other metal.

He narrowed his blue eyes once again, as he raised an eyebrow at you.

Your words intrigued him.

“Fine – just one dance.”

He said – as some of his fellow merrymen gave a surprised look seeing him talking to you.

Perhaps there was something about you. . .

At his words – you sighed in relief and looked at him gratefully.

As he started to lead you out of the dancing crowd -the music started to sound to his ears, making him want to cringe. He looked at you but said nothing – suddenly your eyes and how you weren’t so bothered by his metal like others usually were seemed have given him ease to help forget the loud singing and music.

Why didn’t look at him strangely or with disgust like women usually did because of his metal limb? – it was odd in everyone’s eyes including his even if he had learnt to adjust to it.

Though here you were – simply dancing, following his every step without gawking at him strangely.

“Thank you. . .”

You whispered – breaking him out of his trance.

Your eyes however – were now again frantically moving amongst the crowd.

You were still a little out of breath from seeming having run for a long time.

“You seem oddly desperately trying get away from the crowd. . .”

Bucky mutters – slightly curious, his eyebrows narrowing.

Your eyes widened a little as he stated so – curious yet so confidently stating it with every step he led you with in the dance.

“No! Just. . . getting through. . .”

You mumbled.

He let out an almost humorless chuckle, though there was slight amusement in it too – when you couldn’t give him any answers as he spins you gently.

It only made him more intrigued, because you were clearly avoiding to give him answers.

“Then, may I know your name?”

He asks, now that you were once again facing him after the spin – he’d never having been intrigued by a nobility before – they were too rich and never cared for the poor people starving within the streets down from their large houses and courtyards.

You wondered for a moment if you should tell him the truth – but she have heard of Steve Rogers-Hood and his merrymen, they wouldn't harm the innocent – you only hoped despite your status in appearance you seemed innocent to him.

“. . .Y/N”

You decided to answer reluctantly.

Bucky thought for a moment when you said your name.

“Y/N. . .A beautiful name!”

He said – as he tilted his head to look at you better, seeing how easily you followed his lead, despite being strangers.

He felt like he was getting somewhere now. The more you tried to avoid the crowds – the more he wanted to find out more about you as nobles usually like to flaunt themselves in crowds.

But before you could ask anymore – his steps had led you to the otherside as you had asked initially.

“Thank you!”

You said – and before he could say anything more you had ran.

Bucky stared at you – surprised by how quickly you ran away – but held onto the pretty blue ribbon you had in your hair.

You hadn’t even noticed as it caught onto his metal untying the little bow you had the ribbon in to tie your hair away from your hair when you ran.

His blue eyes wander down to it – perhaps it was a sign. . .

Perhaps. . .he’ll see you again. . .

At least he found himself hoping. . .

[henwilsonmd]

post 6x18: some out-of-order vignettes | ao3

4251 words

“Buck,” said Eddie, trying to school his face into something less fond and amused. “That’s my couch.”

Buck turned from where he’d been happily showing off the new piece of furniture he’d gotten with Natalia the day prior. “What?”

“The couch,” Eddie repeated, with a quirk of his eyebrow. “You bought my exact couch.”

“No,” Buck replied with a shake of his head. “No, it’s definitely different.”

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Eddie looked at it—a three-seater in dark blue, velvet-y fabric with square corners and deep seats to accommodate his long legs. They’d picked out some nice white decorative pillows for it, and it’s certainly brand-new looking, but—

“It’s totally the same.” Eddie gave up on hiding his smile.

Buck looked back to the couch, tilting his head to scrutinize it. After a moment, he sighed, planting his hands on his hips. “Ah, fuck. It’s totally the same.”

Eddie groaned, letting his head thump back onto the edge of the cot behind him. “The pain meds are definitely kicking in.”

“Well, good,” snarked Buck from a chair next to him, attention half-focused on his phone in his hands. “That’s what they’re supposed to do.”

Eddie sighed, long-suffering. “You too?”

“Yes, Eddie, me too.” Buck replied, thumbs flying as he tapped out something on the screen in his hands. Probably to Maddie. Probably about Chim. Who was probably okay. “Your ribs are fucking broken.”

“Yeah,” Eddie said, staring at the ceiling. “And I know what they feel like. I’m fine, there was—other stuff going on.” He thought about that paramedic from the 133 shining a penlight into Hen’s eyes, frowning like he didn’t like the results and going back in to do it again. He thought about the constant jitter of Buck’s leg next to him, the constant worry for Bobby and Chimney who’d taken the other two ambulances before the three of them had managed to squeeze into another cab. “Besides,” Eddie pulled himself back on track. “Did you even get checked out?” He leveled Buck with a look that he hoped had more energy behind it than he had left.

Buck shrugged, powering off his phone with a click. “I’m fine.”

“There’s blood all over your face,” Eddie pointed out.

“Hen cleaned most of it up already.”

“There was more?”

“That’s—Eddie, I’m fine,” Buck said, turning towards him. “I scraped up my cheek and bit my tongue when I fell, and, sure, I’ll be a little bruised, but I’m fine.”

“You lost consciousness,” Eddie pointed out, and he swallowed around a dry throat.

“How… how did you know that?” Buck stuttered in reply.

Eddie gave his own shrug, picking at the edge of the right kneepad on his turnout pants. “I didn’t pass out. I radioed right after I’d gotten my bearings, but no one answered. Then, like, thirty seconds later you must have woken up.”

Buck, for a moment, held Eddie’s gaze with something so unbelievably devastated, and guilty—like the thought of not being able to answer Eddie’s call was the worst possible thing that had happened that day. Then he flicked his eyes down to the floor. “Okay, s-so, like, thirty seconds. I’m fine, Eddie. Really.”

Eddie frowned, thinking about those thirty seconds—an unbearable weight on his back, a growing pain in his chest, and the clawing panic as he listened to the silence stretching out on the other side of the radio and fought the mounting urge to plead, I’m still alive, please, I’m still alive down here.

And then how he’d breathed a hugely painful sigh of relief when Buck finally asked for a headcount, how he’d fumbled into his pocket for his St. Christopher medal and prayed—something he hadn’t done since that awful week of the coma. Prayed that he’d come home safe to his son, but also that Buck would be careful—that he wouldn’t do something stupid and destructive and reckless to save any of them.

That heady rush of gratitude when Buck had sawed the doors open, taking off his safety goggles and assessing Eddie’s situation with a calculating, heavy gaze.

Next to him, Buck cleared his throat, shifting in the chair. “Anyway, you broke three ribs, man. Let the meds do their job.”

Eddie huffed a laugh, leaning back into the pillows behind him. “Trust me, they are.”

Eddie sipped his Diet Coke, beer off-limits because he was still taking the Tylenol threes. “So, you finally got a new couch.”

“I had a couch before,�� Buck pointed out, a matching soda in his hand for solidarity. “Kameron just—y’know, gave birth all over it.”

“Yeah,” Eddie said, snorting a soft laugh. “That must have been wild.”

Buck chuckled. “The baby didn’t want to wait, I guess.”

“Impatient little guy,” Eddie said. “Must be those Buckley genes.”

“Hey,” Buck protested, pointing a finger. “I can be plenty patient.”

“Sure,” Eddie agreed placatingly, but be noticed how there seemed to be something more behind the mirth in Buck’s eyes—the plastic pieces at the edges of his smile. He fought the urge to say I told you so—mostly because it would have been childish, but also because Buck hadn’t asked for his opinion at any step of the way, and Eddie hadn’t offered.

Eddie decided to wait him out—usually the best course of action when it came to Buck. Eddie understood intimately how much time it could take to parse through a mess of feelings in your brain and formulate them into words that would make sense to another person. Usually, Eddie would sit quietly and sip his beer while watching Buck’s feelings play out on his unguarded face, and after a minute or two Buck would haltingly begin to explain what had been going on with him.

Eddie had tried to explain that to Maddie when they’d both been nearly sick with worry over Buck’s post-coma mental state. “He’ll come to you when he’s ready,” Eddie had said over the phone. “You can’t force him to talk about it.”

“Eddie, you don’t know him like I do,” Maddie had protested. “He shouldn’t be alone right now.”

And Eddie had opened his mouth to say no, actually, I know him better than you, I know him better than anyone, but—that’s not true, is it? Why would Eddie know Buck better than his own sister, who’s spent the entire thirty years of his life caring for him, when Eddie’s only had him for—what, five years? Then subtract all the things they didn’t talk to each other about and all the issues they’ve had, and—yeah, who is Eddie to say what’s best for Buck?

And then Buck had knocked on his door and passed out on his couch and Eddie had felt righteously vindicated in a way that he almost wanted to rub in Maddie’s face, which was kind of bitchy of him to think.

So, Buck sipped his soda next to Eddie on his new couch, a storm of emotions clear on his face, and Eddie waited him out because that’s what he does.

Buck let out a sigh, and Eddie thought, here it is, he’ll let me in, and then— “Want to watch the Dodgers game?”

Eddie blinked. “Um, sure.”

And Buck turned on the TV.

Doubt roiled in Eddie’s gut.

“What about Hen?” Eddie asked, Buck’s hand tight on his arm as he helped him into the passenger seat of the Jeep.

“Karen already took her home, she’s fine,” Buck replied easily, before he shut the door and rounded the front of the car.

He’d left when Eddie had been taken back for x-rays, taking an Uber back to the station to pick up his car so he could come back to get Eddie and drive them both home. Eddie absently wondered when he would get a chance to get his truck from the station parking lot.

Buck hopped into the driver’s seat, fitting his keys in the ignition but pausing before turning the engine. He fixed Eddie with a gentle, reassuring look. “Seriously, man, everyone’s fine. Athena’s with Bobby, Maddie’s with Chim, let’s go home.”

Eddie swallowed, biting the inside of his cheek as he thought about just how close literally every single one of them except Ravi had come to something far more serious than some hospital bills and time off work.

His gaze slid to Buck, who flashed him that small, soft, close-mouthed smile that Eddie rarely saw—the one that made his chest feel warm and gooey.

“Okay. Let’s go home.”

The Dodgers were losing, and Buck wasn’t talking about it. Eddie tried not to either of those things get to him.

During a commercial break, Buck got up to throw their empty pizza boxes away, waving Eddie off as he moved to help.

When he came back into the living room, he paused under the overhang of the loft, just staring at Eddie.

“What?” he asked, a bit self-conscious.

Buck huffed a laugh, shaking his head. “I can’t believe I bought your couch.”

Eddie snorted. “Don’t worry about it, man. It’s flattering. You think I have good taste.”

Buck raised an eyebrow. “I don’t know if that’s it. Half the furniture in your house is from Target.”

Eddie sputtered. “I—what’s wrong with Target furniture?”

Buck, lowering himself back onto the cushions next to Eddie, raised his hands in a show of innocence. “Nothing, man. I just—I don’t know if I would call it good taste.”

Having no comeback, Eddie just whacked him in the shoulder.

Buck laughed, playfully pushing his hand away. “Hey, c’mon, don’t start shit when I can’t retaliate.”

Eddie smirked. “Why? ‘Cause you know you can’t take me?”

“No,” Buck denied. “’Cause your ribs are still fucking broken.”

Eddie rolled his eyes. “I’m fine, Buck.”

“Well.” Buck crossed his arms, turning back to the TV as the next inning started. “Forgive me for wanting to be careful.”

For a moment, Eddie considered saying hey, maybe we should talk about how I could’ve almost died again? But Buck clearly wasn’t in the mood to talk about the big things, and Eddie didn’t really want to think about that yet either, so he settled for bumping their shoulders together.

Buck leaned right back into him, and neither of them moved apart—the comforting warmth of the contact buzzing in Eddie’s brain like the alcohol he wasn’t drinking.

Eddie smiled down at his hands. “You like my couch,” he teased.

“Yeah, yeah,” Buck groused, slouching into the cushions as they watched a batter swing and miss yet again. “Don’t let it go to your head.”

“Are you sure you’re both alright?” Carla asked, a worried hand hovering over his elbow. “I caught some of the collapse on the news.”

Eddie flashed her a smile before turning to pour two glasses of water—one for him and one for Buck, who was off in Christopher’s room. “We’re okay,” he said. “A little banged up, but the doctors said I should be back to work in six weeks or less.”

Carla narrowed her eyes. “You better take that full six weeks.”

Eddie set the Brita down and met her gaze. “I’m fine, Carla. Really.”

She sighed, crossing her arms. “I just—I worry about you, Eddie. Okay? I know you’d rather I didn’t, but I can’t help it.”

Eddie ducked his head and smiled, a bit, filled with that familiar half-disbelief that people really do care about him. “I know it doesn’t look like it, but—I was lucky today. That nothing worse happened, that—that Buck was there to pull me out.”

Carla scoffed. “Of course he was. I don’t think luck had anything to do with that one.”

Eddie tried to fight the blush off his cheeks—he didn’t know what to do with that. Carla’s surety that Buck would save him come hell or high water. His own surety that Buck would be ripping open the doors of that camper van any second now.

When she realized he wasn’t going to say anything, Carla cleared her throat. “I should go. You up for a hug?”

“From you?” Eddie responded easily. “Always.”

Carla pulled him into a gentle-but-still-desperate embrace. “Okay, I’ll get out of your hair.” With a frown, she brought a hand up to ruffle the wilting mess on Eddie’s head. “Your dusty-ass hair. Take a shower, alright?”

Eddie laughed. “Alright, alright.”

“It’s a little early for a welcome back party, don’t you think?” Eddie said as Athena hugged him in greeting, Christopher heading off in search of the other kids.

“You and Bobby are headed back tomorrow,” Athena pointed out.

“Yeah, and Chimney’s not back for another two weeks.”

“And you best believe I’ll throw another party for him.”

Eddie laughed, before venturing further into the house to greet everyone else. His ribs had healed perfectly, barely a twinge when he’d thrown himself onto the couch in triumph yesterday. Which—speaking of, Eddie’s phone was burning a hole in his pocket and he was doing a very good job of ignoring that.

Or, he was, until a lull in conversation found him standing alone in the kitchen and pulling it out of his jeans. No texts. Which—of course, they’d agreed to go for coffee after his shift on Friday, why would she text him before that—but, still. Eddie was nervous. Sue him.

His thumbs hover over the keyboard for a moment while he debates if it’s too much of a desperate move to text Marisol before they even go on a date. Christopher would know.

“Who are you texting?” asked a voice, and Eddie fumbled to turn off his phone and shove it in his pocket before someone could see… what?

He looked up to see Buck smiling at his antics, a beer in hand.

“Oh, it’s you,” Eddie sighed, leaning against the counter.

Buck sidled over to join him, staring out the windows at the backyard where the party was in full swing. “Just me. Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you.”

“It’s fine,” Eddie replied, for some reason hoping desperately that Buck wouldn’t ask him about—

“So,” Buck nudged an elbow into his arm. “Who were you texting?”

—fuck. Eddie wasn’t sure why this felt like something he didn’t want to tell Buck, to whom he tells everything, but… they don’t really talk about their girlfriends? It was always, always awkward, and it always left him with a sour taste in his mouth.

But, Eddie’s excited about this. Marisol probably won’t be the one, or whatever, but—still. Eddie was excited that his brain was finally in a place where he could think about opening up his life to someone and it wouldn’t send him into a panic attack that landed him in the ER.

And Buck asked.

And Eddie’s not in the habit of saying no to him.

“Um,” he started. “Do you remember Marisol? From the—”

“—yeah, yeah!” Buck cut him off. “So, you were texting her?” He raised his eyebrows, a knowing glint in his gaze.

Eddie blushed. “Yeah, uh… we’re going on a date?” he said quietly, a pit of dread or something similar opening in his gut.

Buck was quiet for a moment, and Eddie risked a glance at his face. He just caught the edge of something shocked and maybe fearful in his expression before it cleared and was replaced by one of those huge, sunny smiles.

“Eddie!” Buck exclaimed. “That’s great! Oh my god, man, this is awesome,” he enthused, slinging an arm around Eddie’s shoulders and squeezing him close.

“Yeah,” Eddie chuckled, still unsure why part of him felt sick with guilt.

“Hey, ever notice how we always start dating at the same time?”

“No, do we?” Eddie lied, thinking about how he’d agonized over making the call and kept telling himself Buck’s with Natalia now, you should do this.

Buck laughed again, before he jolted with surprise and turned to Eddie, excitedly slapping him on the arm. “Dude! We can go on double dates now!”

Eddie frowned. “We didn’t last time.”

Buck shrugged. “Well, you didn’t like Taylor, so I figured—”

“I liked Taylor,” Eddie protested.

Buck snorted. “Uh, no, you didn’t.”

Eddie tilted his head in a you-got-me face. “I kind of didn’t. I thought you didn’t notice.”

Buck dropped his arm around Eddie’s shoulders again, making Eddie huff out a breath. “Oh, Edmundo, I always notice.”

No you don’t, Eddie thought, and then he ignored that.

“But,” Buck continued, a hesitation in his voice. “You—you like Natalia, right?”

Eddie didn’t really know her at all, except for how excited she’d been about Buck’s death-that-didn’t-stick and how angry that had made him. “Yeah,” Eddie lied again. “She’s good for you. And she has good taste in couches.”

Buck laughed, relieved. “Good. So—we’ll do a double date, yeah? Me, you, Natalia, Marisol.”

Fuck, no. Eddie thought. That sounds awful.

“Yeah, sure,” Eddie said instead. “That sounds great.”

Eddie was in the kitchen, pre-heating the oven to heat up some frozen chicken tenders because he didn’t have the energy to cook anything else when he felt little arms wrap gently around his midsection. It hurt his ribs, but Eddie didn’t have the heart to dislodge his son—not when these hugs were becoming rarer and rarer each day.

“Hey, kid,” Eddie said, turning in the hold and dropping a hand onto Christopher’s head. “What’s up?”

Eddie had already seen him, when he popped his head into Christopher’s room to find him sitting with Buck, a careful hand brushing the wounds on the man’s cheek. The sight had made something massive and unknowable bloom inside Eddie’s broken chest, threatening to choke him. He’d tamped it down and hugged Chris hello before heading off to shower, but apparently that hadn’t been enough.

Chris looked up, propping his chin on Eddie’s sternum. “I’m glad you’re okay,” he said, a tightness in his voice betraying him.

Eddie smiled. “Me too.” Even though it sparked the ache in his side into a bona-fide pain, Eddie leaned over to drop a kiss onto Christopher’s head—something he barely tolerates anymore. “Hey, the doctors said I’d be good as new in six weeks. Think you can deal with having me around all the time for that long?”

Chris laughed, bright and happy, and Eddie’s heart sang. “I’ll try,” he joked, and then something clouded passed over his face. “Buck’s okay, too, right? His face is bloody.”

“Oh, buddy,” Eddie sighed. Usually, he would kneel down to meet Christopher’s gaze, but he settled for easing himself into a chair and ignoring the concerned look Chris was giving him. “Buck’s totally fine, he just got scraped up a little bit. And today was pretty—pretty scary. For both of us.” He swallowed down the urge to berate himself for telling his kid he was scared, and it seemed to be the right move, because Chris nodded along with wide, careful eyes.

Eddie sighed again, settling his hands on his son’s shoulders. “But—tell you what. Buck’s gonna stay with us tonight, and he’s pretty bad at taking care of himself, right?” Chris giggled at that, and Eddie smiled in response. “So you and I are gonna have to be sneaky about taking care of him tonight, okay?”

Eddie expected Chris to give another sweet smile, and maybe to offer some comfort so earnest and childlike in its innocence that it made everything in the world feel right again, so he wasn’t quite sure to do when Chris burst out into loud, raucous laughter.

“Okay, what’s so funny?” he said, playing at being annoyed.

“It’s just,” Chris managed through his massive smile. “That’s exactly what Buck said. About you!”

Eddie just blinked in response, and Chris fell into peals of laughter again. “Okay,” Eddie said with mock-offense. “Okay, I see how it is. Gang up on the injured guy, why don’t you.”

“Da-ad,” Chris whined, fixing him with a very grown-up look. “We just care about you.”

Eddie pursed his lips, that unknown emotion threatening to drown him again. “Yeah,” he said, more choked-up than he would like. “I know.”

A small hand covered his, and Eddie flipped his own over to give it a squeeze. “Why don’t you go put on the next episode of María, okay? We’ll translate for Buck.”

Chris smirked. “You mean you’ll translate for Buck.”

“Hey, don’t sell yourself short, kid,” Eddie offered as Chris disappeared into the living room.

And later, when they were all piled on the couch, Christopher giggling at Eddie’s half-assed translations and Buck protesting that he understands more Spanish than you think, guys, the newest dose of pain meds forced upon him by Buck making his head more than a bit fuzzy, Eddie thought to himself: I wish it could be like this forever.

Buck shouted in exaggerated outrage to make Chris laugh, gesturing at some ridiculous plot point playing out on the screen, and Eddie let that huge wave of feeling bowl him over—that world-ending, all-consuming love.

Just this. Forever.

“Hold on, let me get this straight,” Hen said, a hand raised to keep Eddie quiet. “He has this whole thing about his girlfriends being couches, and the couch he finally bought is your couch?”

Feeling somehow embarrassed, Eddie just nodded. Hen shared a smirk with Chimney, sitting on the lawn chair that Maddie hadn’t let him move from for the entire party.

“That’s like—almost romantic,” Chimney snorted.

“What?” Eddie said.

“He’s been looking for the perfect couch, but it was yours all along!” Chim crowed, and Hen dissolved into giggles. She was definitely more than a little drunk.

“It’s so sweet, Eddie, come on,” she needled.

“Well, sure, but—” Eddie sputtered. “—romantic? Come on, guys.”

“No, you—you come on.” Hen said around a hiccup. “You guys are—Buck and Eddie! Eddie and Buck!”

“Yeah,” Eddie replied with a frown. “And you guys are Hen and Chim.”

“Nah, no, no, no,” Chim said with a wagging finger. “It’s not the same.”

“How is it not the same?” Eddie threw his hands in the air, one hampered by the half-full bottle in his hand. “You guys are partners, just like us.”

“Yeah, but,” Hen said. “You guys are partners,” she explained, trying for some hand gesture that must have gotten lost in the all the alcohol and rush of the party because she just ended up clasping her hands together awkwardly.

“You guys are crazy,” Eddie said with a long-suffering shake of his head.

“And you’re crazy about Buck,” Hen said in an it’s-so-obvious whisper.

Eddie drew back. “What?”

“Hen—” Chimney started, a hand on her arm.

She shook him off. “No, I gotta—Eddie, you and Buck are like, perfect for each other. You love him, right?” Her eyes were wide and earnest behind her glasses.

“Of course I do,” Eddie said automatically.

Hen gestured emphatically, whacking Chim on the shoulder like this proved her point.

“Hen,” Eddie said gently. “Did you forget that I’m straight?”

Hen scowled, like she did not want to be reminded of this fact. “Okay, but like—if Buck was a girl, you would have asked him out by now. You’d be like—fucking married by now.”

Eddie opened his mouth to respond, but found his mind stuck on Hen’s words. If Buck was a girl. Him and Buck, married. Eddie felt far drunker than he should be off just one and a half beers.

“Eddie, ignore her,” Chim cut in.

Hen frowned. “I’m going to find Karen,” she declared.

Eddie watched her retreating form, unsticking his tongue from the roof of his mouth. “He’s my best friend,” he said belatedly.

“Eddie.” Chimney kicked his leg. “Ignore her, okay? She’s drunk.”

“Yeah, but—” Eddie started.

“Look,” Chim sighed. “We joke about you and Buck sometimes, okay?”

“You do?” Eddie asked.

“Little stuff,” Chimney assured. “Just, like, you’re each other’s favorite person and you’re missing what’s right in front of you, or whatever.”

Eddie opened his mouth to respond, to refute—what?—but Chim continued.

“But they’re just jokes, okay? We know you’re both straight. I mean, it’d be great if you weren’t, or whatever, but that’s not the world we live in.”

Eddie’s jaw closed with a click. He sipped his beer.

“He’s your best friend.” Eddie looked back to Chimney. “And that’s—” He seemed to search Eddie’s face for a moment. “That’s enough, right?”

Eddie swallows. “Yeah. Why wouldn’t it be?”

“Exactly,” Chim agreed with an easy smile. “So, don’t worry about it, okay? She’s just drunk and forgot that we don’t make those jokes in front of you guys.”

Eddie nodded. “Right. Besides, Buck has a girlfriend, and—I have a date on Friday, so…”

“You have a date on Friday?” Chimney exclaimed. “That’s great!”

“Yeah,” Eddie agreed, voice flat.

Chimney clapped him on the forearm, unable to reach his shoulder from his sitting position. “Look, man, you’ll find that perfect girl-version of Buck out there, okay? I believe.”

Eddie chuckled. “Sure.”

He looked out to the party—his eyes immediately found Buck, head thrown back in laughter at something Athena had said. The string lights of the backyard made his styled curls shine with a honey-colored fire, his fingers curled carelessly around the neck of a beer bottle made Eddie’s mouth feel suddenly dry.

Just this. Just you, Eddie thought.

“You’re right,” he said to Chimney with a hollow smile. “I’ll find someone.”

[not-today-flah]

How you meet

Vilkas

You walked into Jorrvaskr with hope of joining the Companions. You had already met Aela and Farkas while fighting a giant outside Whiterun. Aela greeted you and told you Kodlaks whereabouts. You were a little nervous about meeting him but you brushed aside your feelings and stepped into the room. You where met by two faces, one curious and the other agitated. You suspected that the older of the two was Kodlak but you had to be sure. “Hi…are you Kodlak?” You ask shyly the younger man rolled his eyes, you shot back a disapproving look. “Of course he’s Kodlak.” The younger scoffs. “And who are you?” You ask, a tinge of sass in your voice. “Vilkas.” He states coolly. You glare at him and he glares back. “What brings a stranger to Jorrvaskr?” Kodlak butts in. “My names Y/N and I’m here to join the companions.“

Ralof

When you met Ralof on the way to Helgen, it was only brief, but you liked him. He had great spirit, and tried to make dark times a little lighter by adding some humour to the situation. There was no time exchanging names properly, there can’t be when there’s a DRAGON attacking. You went with Ralof you wouldn’t go with those damn Imperials. When you both made it out of the keep you followed Ralof to Riverwood where he introduced you to Gerdur his sister. She was very welcoming, she gave you some supplies and access to her home. You were walking to Gerdurs house with Ralof, “You know you should join the fight to free Skyrim, we need people like you.“ Ralof mentioned as you walked, “You really think I should, thanks.” You smile and he beamed back. “I’ll consider it.”

Farkas

You walk on the cobblestone path, making your way to Whitrun. Gurdur sent you to tell the Jarl that Riverwood was in danger of a dragon attack. You walk by a couple buildings, paying no mind to your surroundings until you heard a battle cry coming from one of the farmers fields. Three people were fighting a giant, you race over and draw your bow, hitting it straight in the eye. The giant falls over with a thud and the three people look over at you, ones a woman with long red hair, green war paint, and a bow. She comes up to you, “You handle yourself well, you’d make for a decent shield-sister.” She says. “What’s a shield-sister?” You ask curiously. You feel a gaze on your back and take a quick glance over your shoulder, you catch a very handsome man staring. He looks down and scratches the back of his neck with a light blush dusting his cheeks, you give him a small smile which makes him blush more. After Aela explains what a shield sister is and tells you about the companions, you say your goodbyes and hastily walk to the city. As you walk you smile at you feet at the man named Farkas.

Argis the Bulwark

You step out of the Understone Keep in Markarth as the new Thane of the Reach and as the new Thane you have a knew housecarl. You walk up the stone stairs until you reach your secluded home at the top of a hill. You walk through the doors and instantly feel the comforts of a home. Walking farther into the house you hear a man clear his throat making you jump a little. You had never had a man as a housecarl before, this was going to be interesting. You step into the living room area and are greeted by very muscular man who has a tattoo on the side of his face, his left eye was completely white and had a scar across it. Blind, battle wound probably. He gave a small smile and bowed his head, “Pleasure to meet you my Thane.” He says. “The pleasure is all mine,” I grinned, “and you can just call me (Y/N).” I say. His smile grows, “Okay, (Y/N). My name’s Argis.”

Brynjolf

You needed to buy some supplies from the market in Riften. You knew that Riften wasn't the best place to buy things but it was the closest city. When you got to the market square someone approached you from behind making you jump, you turn around and look up. "Haven't done an honest days work for all that coin you're carrying, eh lass." The red haired man in front of you said. "I'm sorry what?" You blink and dumbly look at your pockets. He chuckles a bit which snaps you out of your confused state. Your gaze turns suspicious when you look at him again. “My wealth is none of your business.” He gave another small laugh at that. He looks pretty ordinary, he’s a Nord with long red hair and a beard. He’s actually quite handsome, and he’s dressed proper so you assume he is of high status in Riften. “Actually it is my business, and, you see, I’m searching for someone to do a certain job.”

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Carpe Noctem 23

Warnings: dark elements, noncon, age gap, gaslighting, manipulation, violence, blood, other dark elements. Proceed with caution. (short!reader)

Note: Please let me know what you think as it helps me a lot with ideas and I love interacting with you all.

Part of The Club AU

You set out your ingredients, trying to strategize what to do first. You have ideas, lots of ideas, and that sort of anxious motivation that keeps you from sitting still. Maybe it’s a need for distraction from the sudden swerve your life has taken, or your incessant urge to do everything for everyone, or maybe it’s just easier to lie when you look busy.

You don’t owe Lloyd the truth. The more you think about it, you barely really know him. And he said it himself, it’s just sex. Good sex. The best sex you’ve had, not that you have much to compare it to. So fuck your feelings, as he’d so eloquently proclaim.

Scones first. You’ve settled on a white chocolate and cranberry, but think that might be better kept until the festive season. You’re still in the throes of fall so the pumpkin walnut squares will like be the bigger hit. Oh, and the maple croissants. If you have time, you might experiment with some apple caramel creation too.

You prop your phone against the wall at the back of the counter. You put your music on a low din, keeping a base recipe open as you begin your first bowl of batter. The flour puffs out of the bake and dusts your shirt. Too late to remember the apron.

You add the rest of the dry ingredients and carefully stir. You bought a whole set of mixing bowls after you noticed Lloyd’s lack of essentials. You’ll see if you can expense that out with the ingredients. Your surprise might not go over well for your wallet.

You add the butter and carefully mix it in until crumbly. You put that in the fridge and start on the wet ingredients, humming as you focus on the little tasks. It’s easier than thinking of anything else.

Your fatigue nips at your eyelids. It’s been a long day and with all this ahead of you, it’ll be a longer night. You yawn and flick your wrist, whisking the cream and eggs diligently. You feel something tickle up your back before two hands settle on your hips. 

You lurch in fright and still the whisk as Lloyd leans into you, peeking over your head. He drones and rubs his crotch against your ass. He clicks his tongue as he brings his hands up to fondle your chest.

“You’re making another mess,” he says as he flicks the bag of sugar, “Really living up to the whole sugar tits thing.”

“Oh, I’ll clean it up,” you try to ignore how he kneads your tits.

“Hope this isn’t all for me,” he growls.

“Actually, no,” your pulse piques as you summon your preconceived lie, “it’s for the kids. At the daycare. Just doing something nice.”

“Mmm, you’re so nice, Mimi,” he lilts his tone mockingly, “you wanna be nice to me, mommy?”

“Lloyd,” you push your elbow back into his side, “please. Later.”

He exhales, ot breath fanning over your scalp. He bends to nuzzle your head, gritting in his throat. “I’m not asking.”

You stiffen and grip the whisk, putting it back into motion.

“I’ll be done in a bit, I really can’t let this rest–”

“Something’s up. You’re not telling me something…” he brings his hand back to your waist.

“I’m baking. What would I lie about?”

“Come on,” he grinds into you, “you know our deal.”

“It can’t wait?” You clang the whisk off the side of the bowl.

“No,” he says firmly. “I’m tired of waiting and lately, you’ve been making me do a lot of that.”

He pulls you back and you let go of the whisk as it clinks against the metal. He leads you back as you latch onto his wrists, trying not to lose your balance. He spins you to face the island and crushes you against it.

“Lloyd,” you squeeze his forearms, “you’re being… pushy. Please, let me at least put everything away–”

“No,” he snarls and twists free of your grasp.

He grabs your wrists and brings your hands up to the marble countertop. He presses your palms flat under his large and leans his weight on you, a warning. Suddenly, you’re all too aware of his strength and size.

He nuzzles behind your ear as he growls again, “don’t move, mimi.”

“Lloyd,” you push your fingertips into the marble and try to shove yourself back. 

He keeps you penned in as he trails a hand up your arm. You reach up to follow his touch, brushing your fingers along his bicep as he curls it around your neck. You raise your chin to keep from being strangled. What the hell is he doing?

“Please, give me some space,” you feel the panic surge in your veins, so hot it beads over your brow, “I’m a bit claustro–”

He hushes you as he flexes his bicep against your neck. You gulp as your eyes round and you stare at the pristine walls. You shudder in horror as your powerlessness sets in. Not only in that moment. This man holds your life in his closed fist.

“I won’t be long, sugar tits,” his other hand creeps back and he feels along your side and hip. He curls his fingers beneath the back of your pants and tugs, yanking harshly until the button pops loose. “Something about the whole mother hen shit gets me going.”

“Lloyd,” you eke out, eyes wetting as you quiver, “please, I don’t want this right now.”

“That’s too fucking bad. That’s not our deal.”

“Wha– No–”

“Shhh,” he forces your pants down roughly as he kicks your feet apart, “if you’re not screaming my name, keep your mouth shut.”

Your body locks up in terror. You can’t make a noise, you can’t move as he peels down your panties. You’re trapped in the heat of his body and the crush of his weight. This can’t be happening.

You close your eyes, blocking out the kitchen, trying to tune out your reality. Your ears zero in on the low drone of music still buzzing from your phone.

Go on and be a big girl You asked for this now Go on and be a big girl Well, everybody's gonna drown you out