#beautiful men with big brown eyes are never wrong

[theghoulboysblog]

i like to refer to myself as a “boogara-enabling shaniac” when prompted. do i believe in the paranormal? no, not at all. will i defend and take ryan’s side every single times he brings up ghosts, aliens, or cryptids knowing good and well that i don’t believe in them? absolutely! :)

[livvyofthelake]

ohhhhhh my god my lead actress's big brown eyes...... girl you're killing me......

[dr-spencer-reids-queen]

Unfinished Business

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Serial Killer!Female!Reader

Word Count: ~2.5k

Warnings: talk of beating/raping women and children (implicit, just mention), near drowning/death, car crash

Summary: You’re the most wanted woman in the country, and the BAU finally has you in its grasp. You hunt and kill truly evil people but it doesn’t seem to matter to the authorities if the victims are rapists, killers, and abusers. You’re doing this country a favor and you’re not finished. It doesn’t matter if you’re caught or not. You’re going to find a way to continue your work.

Square Filled: criminal au (2022) for @spencerreidbingo

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

x

Tick.

Tick.

Tick.

If the damn clock wasn’t bolted to the wall, you would have ripped it from the plaster and shattered it to pieces. You’re not supposed to be here. You’re supposed to be at home snuggling with your dog who you presume is missing you. Your sister knows to take him in if she doesn’t hear from you within twenty-four hours so you have no doubt he will be taken care of.

Instead, you’re sitting handcuffed to a table in the BAU.

You’ve been on the FBI’s Top 10 Most Wanted for three years now for your notorious work in slicing up men and women who deserve it. Every single one of your victims was far from innocent, but the FBI doesn’t care if you’ve been cleaning house. All they care about is the fact you have hundreds of victims under your belt.

You’ve been killing since you were a child because your father got you into it. It started with random strangers on the highway (he was a truck driver and would pick them up). He’d get them talking and if he so much got an inkling that they were less than innocent, he’d kill them. He taught you to wear gloves, clothes that don’t fit you, shoes that were slightly too big for you, to always have a wig on, talk with an accent, and never trust anyone.

He was never caught and died almost a decade ago. Now you’re left to continue his work.

Men who rape. Men who kill for fun. Men who abuse. Women who abuse. Women who kidnap. They’re all fair game. You’re ridding the world of evil one person at a time.

The reason you’re sitting here and not at home drinking wine is that you decided it was best to work with someone to take down a small group of abusers. The group was small, maybe five or six men, but they went out and assaulted women at night and left them for dead. This other person who you shall not name knew your father and reached out to you. He wanted to work with you in bringing the group down and you trusted him enough to agree.

Your first mistake.

Your second is when you gave him the task of finding an easy way out in case something went wrong. Something did. There was another man in the house who called 911. Your “friend” got away. You got caught. When the FBI realized who they caught, you knew you wouldn’t be getting out of this alive. There have been two dozen confirmed victims of yours but you know that number is well into the three hundreds by now.

You’ve saved a bunch of men, women, and children from getting abused and hurt, and there isn’t a thing you’d change if you could do it all over again.

You’ve been sitting in this godforsaken room for nearly twenty minutes. Maybe that’s their tactic. Maybe they want you to slowly go insane so you’ll confess to more crimes. You were born at night, not last night. At best, you’ll get three consecutive life sentences. There is no way you’re going to ever see freedom… that is if you were completely alone in this. There is a reason why your father was never caught. He has friends on the inside that you can turn to, so you know you’ll be okay if you get sent to jail.

You tap the metal table with a perfectly manicured nail when the door opens and a black man walks in with a thick file in his hands. Damn, he’s not the one you were hoping would come in. The one who apprehended you was white, and he had the most beautiful brown eyes. Lean but not too skinny. Curly hair. Such beautiful features.

The man sits across from you and lays out pictures of men you’ve killed over the years. They are unsolved cases but the FBI doesn’t know that you’re responsible for them. You keep your eyes on the man as he lays out six photos of men.

“Where are they?”

“What, no introduction? No, ‘How’s it going?’ I don’t get any of that?”

“My name is Agent Morgan, and you’re going to tell me where you buried their bodies.”

“Bold of you to assume I killed them.”

Agent Morgan takes out six more photos and lays them underneath the men’s portraits. Each of the new photos is of their crime scenes. You left a lot of blood behind but none of it is yours.

“Do you know what a signature is?” You don’t answer. “You like to leave behind a name written in your victim’s blood.” In each of the photos, you can see the name you wrote on their walls or mirrors. “Femme Fatale. No one else does that but you. So, I’ll ask again, where did you bury their bodies?”

“Mmm. Ask me again. This time, add ‘please’,” you smirk.

“This is not a game, Y/N. Tell me where they are and maybe we can work out a deal.”

“I’m already seeing three consecutive life sentences for the murders you’ve already pinned on me. Unless your deal is me walking out of this building without so much as a scratch on my record, I’m not telling you shit.”

Agent Morgan nods and gathers the photos. He’s done. He knows he’s not going to get anything out of you right now. He opens the door to leave but you stop him before he can.

“When you’re ready to come back, bring in the cute one. I have a thing for brown eyes and curly hair.”

Agent Morgan all but slams the door on his way out. It’s an hour before someone comes back to you, and this time, it’s who you want.

“Ah, there he is,” you grin and sit up straighter.

“So, I’m the cute one?”

“Yes.”

“My name is Dr. Spencer Reid.”

“Ooh, a doctor. I’m impressed. You look so young.”

Spencer opens a file and takes out pictures, different than the ones Agent Morgan showed you. They’re of your apartment, more specifically, the room you have hidden underneath your stairs. You have a basement in the house but the stairs to it are located underneath your staircase going to the second floor. The door is only accessed when you pull up the last step of the staircase. You had that installed when you bought the house so that your extracurricular activities can remain a secret.

Inside the basement are records of the men and women you’ve killed, where you’ve put their bodies, future victims on your list, and people you are suspicious of. You hate that they found that, but it doesn’t matter. You have many houses across the country and even one in Europe that all have the exact same information. If your father taught you anything, it’s to keep backups and backups of your backups.

The only difference is that every safehouse has a different list of different men and women. There are a lot of evil people on this Earth, and you’ve only worked in one country. Imagine what you’d find in Europe.

“We know you’ve killed more than two dozen. It looks like hundreds.”

“What else do you know?”

“I know that you’re smart--smarter than you’d have us believe. I know that you like to work alone. With a rap sheet like yours, you can’t trust anyone. It’s the reason you got caught. The one time you trusted another person, they let you down.”

“So, you’re not just pretty, you’re smart, too.”

“You can deny it all you want, but the facts are right here.”

“I’m not denying any of it. I killed them. All of them. You know where their bodies are. You don’t need a confession out of me which makes me think you wanted to see me.” You grin and lean forward as much as you can. “Isn’t that right, Spencer? You just wanted to talk to me.”

“I’m going to make sure you don’t see the outside of a prison for the rest of your life,” he whispers.

“I like it when you talk dirty to me,” you smirk and lean back.

“We will be transporting you to a high-facility prison before sunrise.”

“As long as you’re in the car with me.” Spencer doesn’t say anything and cleans up the photos from the table. Like with Agent Morgan, you don’t let him leave just yet. “I’m not a bad person, Dr. Reid.”

“According to your basement, you’ve killed over three hundred people.”

“Richard Sigler was raping his six-year-old daughter. Her own mother didn’t believe her when she told her about it. Benjamin Cross has beaten and raped ten women over the course of a month. He was about to add an eleventh victim when I caught up to him. Alexis Greene aided her husband in kidnapping three children. I was with my sister’s kids when she tried it with me. She never got to a fourth.” You rest your elbows on the table. “I never hurt innocent people.”

Spencer doesn’t say anything and leaves the room. It’s another two hours before you’re placed in the back of a car with Spencer behind the wheel. Luck must be on your side because you two are alone.

“What, no one else is going to join us?”

“They didn’t need to. It’s a short drive.”

“Lucky me,” you grin. “So, since I’ll probably never have a genuine conversation with anyone else, tell me about yourself.” Spencer doesn’t answer. “Let me guess, you’re a reserved know-it-all. Secret romancer? Kinky in bed?”

“Shut up,” Spencer sighs.

“Ah, so you’re kinky, huh? What are you into? Personally, I love being tied up. Choking is a big one.”

“Like I’m going to tell you what I’m into.”

“You don’t have to. I can read people pretty easily. You’re an open book.”

Spencer tries to focus on the road but it’s snowing pretty hard. He didn’t know there would be a snowstorm soon. He thought he’d be able to drop you off and return to the BAU before it hit. He turns the windshield wipers on but it doesn’t do much for the snow pouring down.

“Maybe we should pull over. Get nice and cozy in here,” you chuckle.

“And give you a chance to escape? No way.”

“I have cuffs on, Spencer. You’re the one in control. That’s one of your kinks, right? Being in control.”

“Okay, right now, I need you to shut up.”

You do only because the car is shaking. There must be black ice on the road, and Spencer is trying his best not to skid too much. Spencer doesn’t look nervous but you can tell by his labored breathing and the slight perspiration on his forehead that he’s nervous as hell. The only reason you are, too, is because there is a giant lake to the right of you, and you’ve seen too many movies where cars skid on black ice and end up in lakes.

“Spencer, maybe you should pull over,” you say seriously.

“Don’t tell me how to drive.”

The streetlights barely give Spencer enough light to see the road in front of him, and the snow piles onto the windshield faster than the wipers can remove it. Spencer jerks the wheel to the right to avoid a pothole when the car is caught on a sheet of black ice. The car spins in circles before plunging into the freezing cold waters of the lake. Spencer’s head slams into the steering wheel and is knocked out immediately. Water rapidly fills the car, too fast for your liking. You take off your seatbelt and squat onto the seat so you can slide your cuffed wrists underneath your feet. You’re very flexible for someone your age, and you’re thanking your sister for pushing you to do yoga.

You hop into the front seat and ram your elbow into the passenger window. When all you get is a bruised bone, you know you have to try something else before all of your oxygen is taken from you. After all you’ve done, you’re going to let something like this take you out. The water has reached your chest now, and you open the glove compartment for something hard to break the window.

This is a cop’s car, so they have the tools needed to break open windows. You grab the small tool and slam it into the window. It shatters immediately, and you quickly swim out of the window into the dark lake. You’re about to swim to the surface when you look back at Spencer. You can’t leave him there. He’s going to drown. He’s innocent.

You don’t hurt innocents.

You swim to the other side of the car and use the same tool on his window. You reach in and grab him only to realize that he still has his seatbelt on. The tool you have is also good for cutting seatbelts, so you slice his lap belt and pull him out of the car. It’s hard since you’re handcuffed but you have to get him out of the lake.

Your lungs burn from not having enough oxygen, and black spots start to form in your vision. No matter what, you have to get to the surface before you pass out. Just when you think you’re going to suck in a lungful of water, you break through the surface. You struggle to keep both your head and Spencer’s above water but you manage to swim to the edge of the lake. You push Spencer onto the ground and heave yourself next to him.

Shit, you’re freezing. You reach into his pockets and see if there is a key for your handcuffs. Again, luck must be on your side because there is. You unlock the cuffs and place one of them around Spencer’s wrists and the other to the very thin light pole next to him. You can’t have him following you. You look at Spencer’s face to see him paler than before with blue lips.

“Spencer!”

You lean over him, place your lips over his, and blow into his mouth. You pull back and start doing three chest compressions. You repeat the process five times before Spencer coughs up a bunch of water.

“Oh, thank God,” you sigh. “You’re alive.”

“What happened? How did you…?”

“Sorry, babe. I gotta go before they realize you’re missing.”

Spencer jerks his body only to realize he’s handcuffed to the light pole. You grin and hold up the key to the cuffs. You toss them over to him but they’re just shy of his feet. If he stretches hard enough, he’ll reach them but only after he gets his strength back.

“No, get back here right now or I’ll--”

“You’ll what? Arrest me?” You take a few steps before turning back to him. “Don’t take this personally. I have a list to complete. Oh, soft lips by the way. If things were different… As much as I like you, I really hope I don’t see you again.”

Spencer sits helplessly and watches you parade off into the night. He doesn’t know if he’ll ever see you again but he’ll try like hell to make sure he does.

x

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[wandasaura]

BURNING BRIGHTER THAN THE SUN

summary — the annual maximoff memorial day barbecue has finally come, but so has a softer side of your dominants

warning(s) — established relationship, married wandanat, mentions of dom/sub dynamics, this is 90% fluff, shower sex, quickie, fingering, oral, nipple stimulation, hickies, its relatively tame in comparison to what lives in this au, domestic fluff, mentions of pietro being dead as fuck, men/minors dni

authors note — remember when i said i was taking a little break? yeah i lied and im not sorry about it!

you are in love universe

♥️⊹ ˚ . 18+, men/minors dni ⁺ 𓈒 ꒰💌꒱ ♡ ･ mommy maximoff

The warmth and promise of sunshine had quickly taken hold of Westview, days of long darkness and snow storms came to be just a memory, thawed out by butterflies and the occasional white dove that pecked at the birdfeeder on the back porch of the Maximoff residence. You couldn’t understand how the sky was so much brighter in warmer weather, but as you sat beside Natasha on the cusp of solid Earth, you thought it looked bluer than usual. The crashing waves before you licked at your feet and dampened the shorts you wore when the tide dared to try and swallow you whole, but like changing seasons, it never stayed quick. 

Sunrise had barely hit its peak and already the traces of pink and orange were just another mental memory for the big scrapbook of moments you never wanted to forget. The sand was coarse beneath the fingers that hours earlier had been dug into soft blankets, but refreshing and welcomed despite how small granules crept beneath your nails when you picked it up the wrong way. Natasha hummed an old lullaby beneath her breath, eyes closed and face tilted toward the sun like a lonely flower that had managed to grow in an abandoned field. You knew much about the woman's past, but not enough to understand her connection to the star that brought you light each new day. Now wasn’t the time to ask, but you knew that eventually you’d come to know the reason for her methods of relief in hard times. 

The first weekend of break had come on quick, and the barbeque that Wanda and Natasha had frantically tried to tidy the house for before your attitude interrupted them was merely hours away. Despite the plans and the people coming over, time had been taken out of the day to devote just to you. In this moment, sitting on the edge of solid ground beneath rays of sun that attempted to burn you, you couldn’t even explain how truly loved you felt. 

The beach was empty, void of the presence of others and quiet for your enjoyment, save for the seagulls who squawked over scraps and the waves that crashed against man made piers and naturally jagged rocks. Your toes were coated in sand, your fingers in the same state, but you didn’t care to think about the messy things at that moment, you only wanted to focus on the good. The good was Natasha’s arm wrapped around your waist, keeping you close like a stray wave might succeed in carrying you out to sea. The good was Wanda’s perfume that lingered around the collar of your stolen shirt like the scent was woven into the cotton. The good was being here, being free and alive. The good was knowing Natasha. The good was having Wanda. The good was knowing love and having love.  

You laid your head down on the woman’s shoulder, noting how her hair seemed to glow beneath the sunlight. In this moment, it wasn’t auburn with scuffs of brown thrown in at the roots, it was orange like fire made by those long before lights and lanterns existed. She was ethereal, sat out beneath the early daylight, bearing her freckles for the sky to adore. You’d attempted to count them earlier, your gaze stuck on her naked face with blemishes and beauty marks sporadically thrown into the mix, but somewhere after thirty they all blended together and you settled for simply looking at them, admiring how you were somehow allowed to see them. 

You were happier in spring, happiest in summer, but recently, you have found those seasons in people. Wanda was like the early days of May, where weather was warm but also cold, and sunlight was soft but somehow harsh. Natasha was like summer, late July if you thought about a specific moment. Like the air she was sweet, but like the people she was calm, and like the night she was chaos wrapped up in laughter and loved company. They weren’t perfect, you would never call them such, but they were as close to it as people could get. 

A soft smile graced your features, and though you squinted to lessen the sting of sunlight, Natasha thought you looked stunning. When her eyes reopened and her head tilted downward to look at you, there was only affection smeared across her face. Her eyes that were so meticulously different shades of green had a spark within them that could only speak of the happiness she felt. How words had existed for so long and still there wasn’t one to describe the intense feelings that rushed through the both of you, you didn’t know, but you were content enough to rest against her with the knowledge that even if you couldn’t say it, you were both feeling it. 

“We’ve gotta head back soon.” Your beautiful moment was ripped into tiny pieces of paper that got caught in the breeze before they made it into the recycling can, and the smile that had turned your lips upward quickly worked in the opposite direction. You shook your head, digging your heels into the sand like the simple action might change her mind and make her forget about the barbeque that was starting at noon. “Not now. I need a couple more minutes of this.” 

You giggled softly when she nuzzled into your head, her wild curls tickling your nose because she hadn’t bothered to straighten them yesterday. You reached up, taking one of her curls between your fingers and pulling it taught, letting go to watch it bounce back into place and laid against her forehead with frizzy edges. You sighed in content, running your fingers through her wild hair that couldn’t be tamed in this state. “I like your natural hair.” 

Natasha crinkled her nose at your genuine admission. She puckered her lips and let them rest against your finger that was still in front of her face as you softly brushed strands of hair away from her eyes. “My natural hair is blonde.”

“That’s not what I meant and you know it.” You rolled your eyes fondly, snuggling even further into her side despite how hot you felt beneath the sun. No matter the weather you wanted to be pressed up into her, and it was clear that she wanted the same, her arm around your waist squeezed you tight, almost daring you to try and pull away prematurely. “When you met Wanda did she have red hair?” 

“No, the red is pretty new. It was brown, a little bit longer than she keeps it now. She was really leaning into the whole emo phase. We could never go out together if she didn’t have red lipstick and eyeliner, she always said it completed her look.” Natasha smiled fondly at the memories that came to mind when she thought about the beginning stages of their relationship, and you felt your own heart warm in your chest as you thought about the young couple they had been. You wondered what kind of odds had been stacked against them, but you didn’t question it, happy to just live in this happy moment. 

You let your hand fall back into the sand, rubbing circles that slowly became hearts into the malleable surface. The beach would always be one of your favorite places, but sitting beside Natasha made it better, sweeter. “How long have you been together now?” 

“Fourteen years.” Natasha laughed, her own hand reaching out to collect handfuls of sand that she let run between her fingers until only a few granules were left in her palm, and then you watched her repeat the process over again. “Sometimes it feels like it was only a couple of weeks ago, and other times it feels like I’ve never lived without her.” 

“I never hated her.” You admitted, though you had the slightest inkling that Natasha already knew that. She just had a way of knowing things before you did. There was no possible way anyone could hate Wanda Maximoff, and if you somehow stumbled upon the only person in the world who did, you didn’t doubt they’d meet a quick and painful demise. 

“I know, moya kroshka.” Natasha laughs softly, so softly the sounds of the waves almost drown her out completely, but you still heard her. You’d always hear her. “It’s coming up on a full year since we started this whole thing, have any ideas about what you want to do?” 

You shrugged your shoulders, reaching for Natasha’s hand when she lost interest in the sand. She’d taken her rings off last night and with the early wake-up call hadn’t put them back on. The slightest tan kissed her features around where they usually sat, and gently you brushed the pads of your fingers against the pale skin. “I just want to spend it with you both.” 

“We can definitely make that happen.” Natasha hummed softly, laying a gentle kiss on the top of your head where sunlight had kissed your hair. Your roots were warm, hot against her lips, but Natasha didn’t flinch away. You knew this moment was coming to an end, but you could appreciate it for the few seconds longer that it lasted. “Wanda probably has breakfast ready, milaya. We’ve gotta start heading back now.” 

“Can we come back?” You questioned softly, not wanting to speak too loud as if it could ruin the quiet atmosphere around you. As you stood, dusting sand off the back of your legs, you winced at the ache in your back when you finally found your feet and steadied yourself on them. Natasha did the same, a quiet groan slipping past her lips when she reached down to collect your abandoned sets of flip flops. With one hand occupied, she reached the other out to you.  

“We’ll find a day.” She promised with a nod of affirmation. Your hand fits easily in the palm of hers, your fingers curl around her scarred knuckles while hers lay flat against your unbroken ones. Together you’re a perfect balance. Delicate definitely, but not entirely harmless. 

Westview sits on the edge of New Jersey, the air tinged with the permanent lingrance of salt and sand. The farther you walk, the less prominent it becomes, but if you know what you’re looking for, the scent of the shore still remains. Houses closest to the water are painted soft colors that linger in the summer sunrises, vacation homes that are only occupied for a handful of months throughout the year, but the deeper you walk the more mundane it becomes. The town is a muted palette of browns and beiges, fences of white and cars of greyscale. It’s perfectly coherent, acceptably mature, but the Maximoff residence remains the outlier. In the blandness of tans and creams, the two-story house is a soft green color with vibrant red shutters. The cars are normal, though elaborate. Unlike the Hondas and Toyotas that occupy driveways and road space, Natasha’s sleek Corvette Stingray sits beside Wanda’s Audi R8 in the driveway, the only flex of their wealth that’s apparent. You like it though, like how they’re so different from everyone else. 

You make sure to kick the sand still clinging to your heels off before you step into the house, and immediately you’re met with the aroma of sweet sugar and maple. Natasha hums at the change of scent, leaving behind the traces of salt that had tickled her nose the entire walk back to the house in favor of discovering what Wanda had prepared for breakfast. She drags her hand across your back as she passes you, seeking out the presence of her wife. 

You're slower to follow, taking your time to meticulously stack your flip flops with the rest of the shoes in the entryway. They don’t match the aesthetic of Valentino loafers and Prada heels, but you smile at the sight anyways. Your favorite pair of white converse sit beside the shoes Wanda wears into the office every work day, and your balled up pink socks are tucked into Natasha’s running shoes for some reason, but the little traces of your place here makes you feel at home. You’re not so different from the shore that lingers through Westview in the winter, but unlike the water that’s abandoned when snow falls, they’ll never forget about you when the seasons inevitably change. 

“Where did you leave the stray?” You just barely catch the end of whatever conversation has led to that question when you finally appear in the kitchen. The sunlight is golden now, no longer soft with pink and orange, but it falls over Wanda like the perfect blanket anyways. She’s wrapped up in Natasha’s arms, pinned to the stovetop where bacon rests in a hot pan. The only indication that this moment is less than perfect is the hot grease that pops and splatters every other second when Wanda neglects it for too long. 

“You know, you should really be nice to me before I start biting your ankles like a real stray.” You hum, your voice carrying through the kitchen like it’s always belonged there, though it’s not a response derived from annoyance like it would have been only weeks ago. Rather, your words are layered with fond exasperation that Wanda finds herself laughing at. 

Natasha kisses the lawyer's shoulder, squeezes her waist tightly, whispers something in Russian that’s not entirely audible from how far away you stand, before she pulls away entirely and walks toward the refrigerator. You pout when she pulls out the near empty pitcher of orange juice, setting it down on the island to be poured into glasses when breakfast is ready. It seems you could’ve spent a few more minutes beneath the sun, but you don’t complain. This is just as nice, just different. 

“That’s my job.” You sulk, letting your naked feet slap against the hardwood floors as you approach with sadness written across your expression. “Wanda, your wife took my job.” 

Natasha only narrows her eyes at you, the faintest ghost of a smile on her lips that she doesn’t even attempt to school. “It was my job first.” 

“Well it’s my job now!” You stuck your tongue out at her, sulking your way over to Wanda who lets you wrap your body around hers like a baby koala. With your front pressed up against hers, you have to crane your head backward to catch a glimpse of her face, but you're pleased to know she’s already looking down at you. You pout your lips up at her, grinning in victory when she kisses your frown away with a sigh of faux exasperation. “Can I have a new job?” 

Wanda laughs at your question, her fingers sliding beneath the waistband of your shorts to sit on the skin of your ass that’s still marked from days prior. You sighed in relief at the contact, leaning heavily into her chest when she rubs away the lingering ache that truthfully doesn’t bother you much anymore. It doesn’t last long, there’s still much to be done before noon rolls around, but you soak up every ounce of domesticity this morning has offered. “Sit on the counter and look pretty for me while I finish up with the bacon.” 

“Aye aye, Captain.” You giggle after saluting her, wiggling out of her arms and sliding your way up onto the countertop that’s practically become your designated spot since she stopped reprimanding you about sitting up here. Natasha crosses the little space between the edge of the island to where you’re perched watching Wanda cook, and you hum in pleasure when she leans forward to connect your lips. 

Your hands wrap around her shoulders and fingers tangle into the baby hairs at the nape of her neck. You smile into the kiss, beyond content with the little bubble that’s existed around you since being roused from sleep at five in the morning. A shriek of surprised laughter fills the kitchen when Natasha pulls away from your lips and buries her face in the crock of your neck, a raspberry tickling the sensitive skin as she blows against it. You squirm away from the sensation, but your arms still keep her locked in place. 

“Hi, Natty.” You giggle, tugging gently at the loose curls that your fingers are twisted between. She smiles at your happiness, pecking your lips a handful of times before she pulls away and whispers back the same greeting. “You smell like the beach.” You point out, giggling at Natasha’s extravagant eye roll. 

“You both smell like the beach and will be taking a shower after breakfast.” Wanda chimed into the conversation, tapping your thigh in warning as she opened the cabinet just beside your head. It had become routine at this point for her to simply work around you, so the clattering of plates beside your ear didn’t bother you much. 

When she turned around to grab the serving plate of belgian waffles on the island, your hand shot out to slap her ass, all thoughts of controlling your limbs forgotten. But really, who could blame you when she was wearing the shortest cotton shorts that had ever been sold in stores? Natasha had to bury her face in your neck to muffle her laughter, and you could feel her wide grin against your skin as you smirked innocently back at Wanda who set a firm glare in your direction. 

“Behave yourself.” She warned half-heartedly, absolutely no bite to her warning as you’d all just accepted the natural occurrence of the day, your roles as dominant and submissive forgotten about. You liked this exchange, not because you felt any less their equal when they bossed you around and set expectations upon your shoulders, but because it was the faintest glimpse at what life could be if they weren’t married and you were really their girlfriend. “Don’t even think about it, Natalia.” Wanda warned, already knowing Natasha was about to do the same thing you had been bold enough to accomplish. 

The redhead merely smirked and shrugged her shoulders, feigning innocence as she pulled away from your embrace and brought the drink glasses and pitcher into the dining room. You hopped off the counter the same as you always do, mimicking Natasha’s shrug when Wanda winced at the action. You grabbed the platter of bacon from her hands and followed after the lawyer who had already exited, eager to see where the day ended up, surrounded by the Maximoff’s closest friends and family members. 

-

The shower water was hot enough to create a thick fog on the glass doors and surrounding mirrors in the en-suite master bathroom, but still it felt cold as you joined Natasha beneath the heavy and unrelenting spray. You shivered despite the heat, reaching for the handle and turning it up even hotter, ignoring the Russian’s protests that her skin was actively melting off her bones. You liked hot showers, but you hated hot baths, and somehow you had yet to find a happy medium that worked for the both of you. Typically you’d compromise and switch off between who melted and who froze, and although it was admittedly your turn to freeze, today was not a day where you were willing to sacrifice feeling in your appendages.  

You silenced her whines with a desperate kiss, not even attempting to hide your need for her as you backed her up against the cold tile walls and pinned her hands to her sides. Your tongue was unrelenting as it licked and sucked at hers, tasting the minty toothpaste that she had rinsed from her mouth only minutes before you’d sought out her presence. When your teeth bit down on her tongue, just hard enough to send a shock of excitement down to her core, Natasha decided that being pliant in your hold wasn’t working for her. 

You shrieked in surprise when your position switched easily, the hands that had been firmly holding her wrists against the wall now pinned at your sides in the same way. You arched away from the cold tiles, effectively smashing your chests and eager nipples together as you attempted to run away from the cold wall.

“Fuck!” You shivered, your lips ghosting over hers. “You have a fucking Stingray and you still haven’t discovered heated walls?! What’s the point of having money if you don’t use it for good things!” Your words were quickly replaced by breathy moans as Natasha attached her mouth to your chest and greedily sucked a mark into your untouched skin; a mark that wouldn’t be easily hidden, especially not with the swimsuit you had been intending on wearing for the party. “Fuck, Nat–” You pushed her head away, hoping you’d acted quick enough for the damage to be only minimal. The smirk on her lips told you that you hadn’t succeeded, and you slapped at her shoulder in exasperation. “Your sister is literally going to be here in two hours, can you contain your vampire impulses until she leaves?!” 

“My sister has fucked her girlfriend in my guest bedroom. A hickey should be the least of her worries.” Natasha threw back at you, attacking her mouth to your nipple with purpose. You had ten minutes to sort yourselves out before Wanda came stomping up the stairs and pulling you out of the shower, orgasms or not. You did not want to spend the entire afternoon and evening hot and bothered because you got pussy blocked by a scary Sokovian. 

Natasha’s teeth pulled at your nipple, allowing the skin to sting for only a second before she soothed the pain with quick flicks of her tongue. Your other nipple was not privy to the same treatment, but her stumbling fingers attempted to make up for the neglect as she rolled and pinched at the pebbled bud. You shoved her head away from your chest, forcing her down onto her knees and in the direction of where you needed her most. It occurred to you briefly that you should wash her hair as she ate you out, kill two birds with one stone or whatever the saying was, but you quickly backtracked on that idea when her tongue sought out your clit with no lack of drive. Your knees wobbled, your breath got caught in your throat, and desperately your fingers tangled into her hair and pulled her closer. Your hips grinded against her face as she licked and sucked at your nerve with a passion, and you're certain that had the droplets of liquid fire not been falling over her face in a manner that was less than pretty, her chin would’ve glistened with your arousal. 

You arched into her touch as your orgasm approached, and Natasha had used the new position of your body as the perfect moment to bury two fingers knuckles deep in your cunt. You gasped in pleasure at the brief sting that came from her actions, crying out her name in pure bliss as she worked you over the edge so quickly you deserved an award for fastest achieved orgasm. 

She pulled away with dilated pupils, her own lust not forgotten about. You sank to your knees before her, pushing at her shoulders until she complied with your silent request and was laid out on the shower floor. Unlike you, she didn’t attempt to wiggle away from the flush of cold against her back, and unlike her, you didn’t waste time toying with her nipples. You dove straight into her cunt, lifting one of her legs until it was high enough to drop onto your shoulder. She tasted like she always did, but something about this situation made her more addictive. The spray of the water fell onto her belly, harsh droplets of water tinting the skin pink from not only the temperature but the pressure. One of these days, you’re going to get around to finding out the true pleasure of the detachable shower head, but today was not that day. You didn’t tease, much more intent at working her up and pushing her over before Wanda came to interrupt. Her clit throbbed beneath your tongue as you licked at her, and her walls clenched around your fingers as she pleaded for more. 

“Faster.” She moaned, her head thrown back against the white shower floors. The messy sprawl of her red hair was perfectly angelic, but you had no time to dwell on the sight of her as the minutes ticked down to none. Your fingers set into her at a punishing pace, curling into the sweet spot she loved so much until it was just a symphony of your name that rolled off her tongue in breathy whines and moans. You eased her off of the cliff with a practiced ease, giggling softly when she pushed your head away and subsequently caused water to spray in all directions as it bounced off her wrist. “N-Never letting you talk me into a shower quickie again. I think there’s an entire lake in my ears.” She panted, splaying a hand across her belly until she had managed to catch her breath. 

“I mean, technically I didn’t talk you into anything. I mouthed you into this.” You giggled, helping her stand and replacing your rough touch with something tender and sweet. You reached for Wanda’s shampoo, not caring that Natasha had her own right beside it. Wanda’s smelled sweeter, and if you were going to be the one to wash the woman’s hair, it would be you who picked the scene she bore for the rest of the day. 

You rubbed at her scalp, lathered until it bubbled, and eased your fingers through the knotted locks when it was time to wash it out. Wanda’s conditioner sat in her hair when the process was repeated on your head, and you sighed in relief when Natasha scratched her nails against the nape of your neck before trailing her hands down to your shoulders. Her thumbs worked on the soft muscles between your shoulder blades, and you melted into the firm attention. 

“How long can we stay in here before she breaks down the door?” You questioned, your eyes fluttering closed as you let yourself relax completely. Even if you hadn’t said it, you were beyond nervous to be meeting their family and friends. Some of the people attending their barbeque were big names in the security world, namely Kate Bishop, and you intended on making the best first impression if you were to ever have a career in the same field. 

“Three minutes.” Natasha chuckled gently, guiding you under the stream of water so she could rinse the soap from your hair. She conditioned you right after, twisting the strands of your hair between her fingers as she worked out the knots and kinks toward the ends. You rinsed her hair when she was done, dragged a loofa across her skin afterward, and then were rewarded with the same loving treatment. “There’s nothing to be nervous about. Everyone coming knows how much you mean to us. They’re all excited to meet you.” Natasha kissed your shoulder before she turned the water off and squeegeed the door clean of droplets and steam, stepping out into the cold first before she offered you a towel. 

“I know.” You sighed, drying your body as you tried to force your feelings into words. “I just want to make a good impression. These are your friends. It’s your sister. They matter to you and Wanda.” 

“And you matter to me and Wanda just as much. If you’re worried about Yelena, there’s no reason to be. She’s going to act like she hates you because she thinks it's her duty as my little sister to vet whoever I choose to spend my time with, but by the end of the night she’s going to have you trapped by the firepit showing you pictures of her dog. When she met Wanda for the first time, she insulted her in Russian because she thought she wouldn’t understand.” Natasha snorted at the memory, and you couldn’t help but grin bashfully at the admission. “You’re going to get along fine, and honestly that worries me. I can barely handle you by yourself.” 

“Hey!” You slapped at her side, but couldn’t help the wide smile that threatened to split your lips in half as you stared up at her. “I’ll be on my best behavior, promise.” 

“I don’t doubt that, утенок.” Natasha leaned forward to kiss your lips, and you returned the gesture though a crinkle of confusion settled across your brows. 

You asked once she pulled away, wrapping the towel tightly around your torso so that you could make a break for the guest bedroom where your outfit for the day remained. “What does that one mean?” 

“Duckling.” She laughed, and you groaned knowing that it was going to stick around, at least for a little while. You’d been quite privy to Wanda in recent days, call it making up for lost time if you really had to explain your reasonings, and both the Russian and Sokovian had chalked up your clinginess as acts of a duckling blindly following its mother. If Wanda was anywhere in the house, you were right behind her. Yesterday you had genuinely pouted at the bathroom door when she forbade you from coming in with her when she needed to pee, and unluckily enough for you, Natasha had come into the bedroom at just the right time to watch the scene unfold. “Go get dressed. Yelena said she’s arriving at twelve which really means she’ll be here in twenty minutes.”  

You nodded quickly, bolting out of the master bathroom and into your claimed bedroom without a moment of hesitance, not wanting Yelena to arrive before you were dressed. The door wasn’t even fully closed before you were dropping your towel and scrambling to find your bathing suit bottoms in the pile of messy clothes stacked on the dresser. 

-

Droplets of chlorinated water lingered on touches of skin that had yet to be dried by the slowly slipping Spring sun; still a ripple of motion in the pool that hadn’t yet gone completely still with the fresh absence of bodies in the water. The crack of wood submitting to controlled flames accompanied the music of laughter and conversation that happened around you. The evening was long ahead of you, eternal more hours of company promised, but you didn’t feel any obligation to join in on jokes and memories as you fell into Wanda’s lap and snuggled in close, seeking her warmth and comfort as a chill set overtop of you. You’d been drinking all afternoon, being handed hard seltzers and beers whenever anyone noticed your hands were empty. You’d finished a handful of Wanda and Natasha’s chosen drinks, taking it upon yourself to try at least one of every flavor they had laying around the backyard. The flush on your cheeks was near permanent at this point, and though the heat in your ears would be gone by morning and replaced with a headache only Advil and sleep could soothe, the kiss on your cheeks would last days before it settled into darkened skin. 

As promised, Yelena had kept you pinned to the edge of the pool when the sun was still at its highest peak in the sky, showing you pictures and videos of the two dogs she took great pride in caring for. Kate had watched for a while, draped across her girlfriend's shoulder as the three of you laughed at a particular video of Fanny and Lucky dressed up in bowties zooming around their daylight drenched kitchen, but she had excused herself to the bathroom before the end was in sight. Maria Hill had been your savior, though you were content with Yelena’s easy presence not to mind your trapped position much while it had lasted. The early hours of the afternoon had been filled with conversation and the act of acquainting, but the later hours had told a different story; a wild one. It was the story of how you had come to find this state of mind, far past the point of being tipsy and well on your way to true drunkness. 

You hummed when Wanda laid her palm flat over your belly, keeping you close and safe in her lap. The soft pad of her thumb tickled your belly button as she adjusted slowly, sinking further down into the lounge chair she sprawled across. The sloppy smile on your face was the truest indication of your contentment, and Wanda, though she wondered who had been the one to feed you so much alcohol without her realizing, returned the grin. 

Natasha and Yelena were noticeably missing from the circle, but the silhouettes of their wild hair and toned shoulders were figures or darkness in the kitchen that promised a quick return. Natasha, though only an inch or so taller than her sister, wore her curls in a messy bun that slipped lower and lower down her head as the hours carried on. She was easiest to spot from a distance, the shadow of her presence known perfectly to you. Wanda didn’t pay you much attention other than the firm hand on your belly, but you were content to just be with her as she laughed and caught up with the blonde woman sat beside her; Carol Danvers. 

“They put up a new plaque for Pietro today.” Carol laughed at the inkling of information she had forgotten to share earlier in the afternoon, and Wanda craned her head in hopeful willingness that Carol would share more. “He would’ve loved it. He’s the only bastard on the squad that was dumb enough to have a catch phrase.” 

As if that mentioned catch phrase had been sitting on the lips of every person gathered around the fire, it fell from soft tongues without a moment of hesitation. Messy, not at all in tune, but seemingly perfect to Wanda who smiled when horrible Sokovian accents caught up to her ears and the words her brother had made his slogan lived on when even he didn’t, “You didn’t see that coming.” 

Memorial day has never held much significance to you. It had been just another holiday that sat on the start of summer, sometimes warm enough for gatherings like these, and sometimes not. Until you realized that the American flag folded in militant perfection in the master bedroom was a symbol of remembrance, you hadn’t thought it held much significance to the CEO’s either. Even though you hadn’t known Pietro, his life ending years before your path had crossed with the Maximoff’s, you smiled. His name had lingered in conversations throughout the day, and you didn’t question how loved he still was after years of absence. 

Wanda’s lips were heavy on the crown of your head when she leaned down to kiss you. You leaned into the touch, your eyes fluttering closed for the briefest second before they opened and found Natasha admiring the sight of you. Two beers retrieved from the cooler near the pool sat in her hands, one cracked open and extended in your direction. 

“She doesn’t need anymore.” Wanda rolled her eyes, but didn’t stop you from grabbing the long necked bottle Natasha offered and adjusting yourself in her lap so that you could sip on it easily, having already spilled one drink down the front of you. With your back against her chest, and your legs situated between hers, you had to crane your neck to catch even the slightest glimpse of her face, but her arms around your torso were the physical assurance of her presence. She rubbed at the skin of your belly that had grown pink and warm beneath the sun, not yet tan, but it would come soon. The hickey on your chest had long since been forgotten, though Yelena had posed many questions of its origin before Kate slapped her shoulder and changed the topic. You’d been accepted without question, and you found that while some of their friends were painfully intimidating, Maria and Carol, they were truly sweethearts who had the same tendencies of protection as your dominants. 

When your beer had grown warm, and your cheeks had grown flusher, having been in no hurry to finish it off and replenish it like Yelena was doing, you passed the near empty bottle off to Natasha who had taken it not without an exasperated roll of her eyes and a mumbled sentence along the lines of being nothing but your servant. You had giggled, shrugged your shoulders, and curled further into Wanda who didn’t seem to even flinch at your elbow digging into her ribs. 

Despite your determination to remain awake, sleep won over you just as quickly as drunkenness had. Wanda merely rubbed your back in encouragement, being the single factor that had forced you into soft unconsciousness when conversations still buzzed around you. With your eyes closed and your breathing even, no chance of being woken even by the harshest storm, conversation had naturally flowed away from Pietro and onto you, but both Wanda and Natasha welcomed the new topic if it meant having the welcomed opportunity to boast about just how truly sweet you are. 

“I see you played the long game, Maximoff.” Maria winked at the Sokovian, her icy blue eyes admiring your innocent form as you attempted to wiggle closer to the auburn haired women who held you tightly. If you could find a way to burrow yourself beneath her skin, she knew that you would’ve done so already. 

“Patience rewards those who have it.” Wanda merely smirked in response, running her pruney fingers from hours of holding sweating cans and bottles through your chlorine stiff hair. “She just needed a little encouragement.” 

“She wasn’t the only one.” Natasha rolled her eyes, sipping slowly on her beer that despite the warmth, still brought a piece of home over her longing heart. Russians may drink vodka, but Melina Vostokoff had always preferred a beer. 

Wanda shrugged, knowing that despite her persistently cold demeanor, she had never truly doubted how her heart yearned for you. “It’s not my fault you brought home a brat.” 

“If I remember correctly, you said the same thing when you met Natasha.” Carol smirked over the lip of her can, her eyes burning holes into the side of Natasha’s face, though the Russian pointedly ignored her stare. 

“Watch it, Danvers.” She warned, but surrendered to the teasing she had missed in recent months. Life was busy, but they’d always find a reason to come back together.

[itwasntimethatdidit40]

Perfect.

Pairing/AU: Soft Boyfriend!Joel Miller X Curvy AFAB!reader , no outbreak.

Words count: 3612, One shot.

Summary: Basically Joel worshipping you and your curvy body ❤️

Warning: +18 only because there is a little bit of smut in the end (Joel 🍽️😺), nothing too serious but still. Reader is curvy, has wide hips, big breasts, has hair (not specified how long or what color it is or anything), has a freckle above her upper lip. Age not mentioned but they’re both fully grown adults. Joel is the cutest and loves you deeply like anyone has ever done before. (If I did things right you will end up crying a little bit, hopefully)

We talk about not accepting ourselves, seeing ourselves as ugly, having a bad relationship with a parent (mom), briefly about bullying and in general about how society perceives non-conforming bodies and how sometimes we convince ourselves that we are wrong. I don't go into much depth but there are still some passages that I feel are truly mine, so you are warned. I don’t want to trigger you, I want you to feel beautiful and valid and one of a kind and special. All of you.

I was toying myself with the idea of a story about Joel and a curvy reader and this came out. I wrote this at 2am after listening to “Pedro” and “Glow” by Omar Apollo with tears streaming down my face, it’s probably full of mistakes (English is not my first language, no beta reader because it’s 2 fucking am and I should sleep like everybody else in my time zone instead of doing this DAMN!) so I beg your pardon, my brain is a mess right now.

Most of all, I hope you will like it, let me know! Thanks to anyone who will read this.

Archive tags: @pedrostories thank you so much for asking me to do it ♥️

You wake up in bed alone and you stretch your arm on the other side of the bed feeling it empty and cold.

Joel is out for work, meeting a big potential client who wants to renovate his huge mansion.

Obviously he has to try to get the job, but you feel like he's been forever away when he's only been gone for two days.

Your bed feels so large without him in it.

You grab his pillow to try to inhale his scent, just a little tiny bit of him that still lingers on it.

Your man smells amazing, even when he come home after a full day of working in a construction site you’re madly aroused by the minty, sweet, sweaty essence of him.

You don’t care that he’s covered in dust and rubble, you just throw yourself in his arms and take his mouth that rightfully belongs to you and only you and you feel so lucky and blessed to have him in your life.

You had so much troubles with your love life.

You’ve never been skinny, to begin with.

You always had a discomfort with your appearance, your friends were tiny and cute while you were just standing there being ignored.

You had a very almond mother that didn’t waste a chance to remind you how big you are, how much you need to take diet more seriously and become the skinny person every guy wants to marry.

You suffered from that until you were an adult and you could afford going to therapy.

It helped you a lot.

Embracing your body and shape was a long and difficult process but it was worth it.

You gained so much confidence and learned how to be kind to yourself.

But you still had difficulty with boys, growing up you learned to notice strange guys at first glance, after a series of failures with gym fanatics who wanted to change you, older men who wanted to control you and cowards who kept you hidden as if they were ashamed of you.

And then, one day, you met Joel.

While you were looking at him from the other side of the bar too shamed to do anything he walked towards you.

You immediately thought that he was coming to talk to your skinny friend that was with you but no.

He wanted to spoke to you.

That big strong man, broad chest and shoulders, wavy dark brown hair and eyes like the most delicious chocolate cake introduced himself and asked if you wanted something else to drink and the last thing you know you two were talking about everything for 3 hours straight, totally immersed in each other.

You barely noticed that your friend tap your shoulder to tell you that she was going home.

You mentally took a note to apologize profusely to her the following day but you really didn’t want to leave.

It felt too good to be with Joel, talking to him was so easy and he melted your heart in a way you didn’t experience in a long time.

You really didn’t want to give up on him.

You have so much in common with him and he made you laugh and you felt cute and confident and it really worked like magic.

He made sure to compliment your outfit and your hair and your pretty eyes and he made you feel so good about yourself.

You noticed the way he was smiling and looking so intensely at you, he was hungry and turned on by you.

You couldn’t believe that this handsome man was so into you but couldn’t ask for anything better.

You never really parted ways after that first night together, he was a perfect gentleman, took you home on his truck and he never tried to touch you until the two of you arrived at your door.

He was saying goodnight to you when you heard him whisper “oh fuck it” and he kissed you, no longer holding back. It was a perfect kiss, full of desire and passion and you could feel his need for more through his lips and the way his tongue found its way into your mouth.

You felt vulnerable and weak as if he really saw you, beyond appearances, beyond fences that you have built to defend yourself, in the most hidden part of yourself. And you didn’t mind feeling that way in front of a man, in front of him.

You knew it was right.

You could feel it in your bones.

You wanted to drag him inside the house but you stopped just in time before completely losing control.

“I don’t do this at first date, you know” you whispered in his ear while he was kissing your neck giving you shivers down your spine.

His mouth was eager and insatiable, nipping at your skin like he was starved, but again, he was a real gentleman and didn’t do anything you didn’t wanted.

He was fully respectful of your boundaries and conquered your heart with patience.

At your fifth date you were so thirsty for him that you couldn’t even get to the restaurant.

He knocked at the door dressed in dark blue jeans and a white t-shirt that hugged his biceps and his chest in a way that drove you completely wild, you took his hand without saying a word and run to the bedroom dragging him with you with no shame whatsoever.

You didn’t care about manners, dinner that was booked the week before, whatever else that could delay that moment.

You just wanted him.

You felt safe with him and this made you even more horny.

He fucked you wildly and then cuddled with you in the sweetest way ever.

Your heart was full, your body soothed and your thirst quenched.

You moved in together after 6 months of the most fulfilling relationship you had ever had.

Joel has his flaws, he is stubborn, when he is angry he can barely speak and mutters under his breath, he doesn't know how to cook, he's messy and leaves his dirty socks on the carpet in the living room, sometimes he's way too protective and it drives you crazy the way he always tries to warn you off from everyone as if you're not used to assholes.

Minor things compared to how he makes you feel anyway.

When he loves, he loves deeply.

He showers you with compliments and nice gestures, he’s a grumpy with a heart of gold.

And he’s handsome. So handsome you can’t believe that he’s your man even if he makes sure to tell you how beautiful, smart and sexy you are everyday.

You yawn and finally decide to get up, you head to the kitchen and make yourself a coffee.

It’s Saturday and Joel is supposed to come home in a few hours.

After breakfast you do some chores and cleaning around the house.

You go to the supermarket to buy ingredients to make his favorite dinner.

And then you decide to take the afternoon to yourself, you take a long bath and relax in the tub listening to music lulled by the hot water and the scent of bubble bath.

Once out, you decide to wear the dress you wore on your first date with Joel.

You remember perfectly how he looked at you and you feel a shiver down your spine. You haven't worn it for a while and as soon as you put it on you discover that it is too tight on your breasts and hips. You know you've gained a few pounds since you've been with him, you're relaxed, you're happy, you don't care, but you really wanted to give him a perfect evening and this makes you nervous. You look in the mirror and fall back into all the negative thoughts about yourself. It's a fragile balance.

You're still navigating the middle of it, even though you're much better.

You take off the dress and put it back in the closet, hidden, where you can barely see it, hoping bad mood will pass even though you know it has completely ruined your day.

You start cooking, leaving the decision on what to wear until later.

You like cooking and have always been successful at it, your grandma shared all her recipes with you and teached you all her secrets.

Your mother just told you the calories in everything you cooked.

When everything is ready you go to get dressed, you stare at your clothes for what seems like an infinite amount of time, sighing. In the end you choose another dress, black, narrower at the waist and wider at the hips. It leaves your legs uncovered, it's not like the other one but it still suits you so you make the best of it.

You’re spraying yourself with your favorite perfume when you hear the keys turning in the lock and you instinctively run to the door.

As soon as he opens the door you don't even give him time to enter and you throw your arms around his neck.

“Hi sweetheart” he whispers in your ear as he wraps his arms around your waist, holding you tight against his chest “did you miss me?”

You can hear a little laugh in his voice as you reply “of course, I couldn't wait for you to come back”

You take his lips with urgency and just feeling his scruff brushing gently against your cheeks and your cupid bow makes you feel better.

He tastes sweet, he’s warm and familiar.

He never fails to make you whole.

When you're with him it feels like the world is turning right, like things are all falling into place, magically.

One look is enough for him to understand you.

His tongue makes room into your mouth so easily and intertwined with yours and you’re lost in his embrace.

When you finally part to take breath he’s grinning and watching at you with burning desire in his eyes.

“I missed you too. Let me see you, sweetie. I want to admire my beautiful babe in this dress”

You instantly feel better and do a pirouette laughing to make him look at you.

“Jesus, hun, it’s really amazing on you”

You walk up to him and give him a kiss on the hairless part of his beard, then take his lips again.

You moan into his mouth when his hands move to your ass, stroking it gently then squeezing it.

“I love your ass babe, so full and juicy and soft”

You whine at his praise, kissing his jawline and his neck.

You rest your face on his chest enjoying his warmth.

“It's amazing how you always make me feel better. I felt like crap a few hours ago." you murmur.

“Why, love, what happened?” you can clearly hear concern in his voice.

“I wanted to wear the dress I wore the first time we went out…but it's too tight now” you whisper, a little bit ashamed.

He cups your face with his hands, looking at you with sweetness.

An incredible sweetness that instantly melt your heart.

“Don’t be sad babe, a dress is just a dress, it doesn’t fit you anymore? Who cares. You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen and I’m so lucky to have you”

You want to cry, but you don't, instead you take his lips back into yours, grateful to have a man like that by your side.

No one has ever made you feel more loved than him.

You kiss him intensely, so much that you're almost breathless, but it doesn't matter.

You feel his erection pressing against your thigh and you can't wait any longer, you even forget about dinner already being prepared and he doesn't seem worried either.

“Can we go to our bedroom already? I need you so bad, Joel” you pant against his skin.

“Whatever my love wants” and he take you by the hand “I definitely need to remind you how much I love you and how incredibly sexy and lovely you are. Come with me”

He takes you to your bedroom without stopping to hold your hand and makes you sit on the edge of the bed.

He looks you in the eyes as he caresses your cheek with his knuckles. It's incredible how delicate his big hands can be.

He trace the outline of your jaw with his fingertips never stop looking at you.

He then moves to your neck, placing his hand right under your ear, his fingers hidden in your hair.

He leans down to kiss your nose and your lips, so softly.

“Babe, you’re the most precious thing I have in my life, I don’t know what I would do without you”.

His voice is low, slightly hoarse, it surrounds you like a hug, it goes straight to your heart, every little intonation that characterizes it, how it glides over the vowels and caresses the consonants, his breathing, that warmth that emanates, that sense of familiarity and comfort, his sensitivity and his inner strength and his fragility that he is not afraid to show.

He lowers the straps of your dress and makes you stand up just for a moment to let it fall at your feet, sliding it over your hips.

He makes you lie down on the bed, while he also undresses, remaining in his boxers. He climbs onto the bed and lies down next to you.

“Never forget how gorgeous you are, please”

His hand slides over your breast, still covered by your bra, he searches for your nipple and takes it between his fingers, pinching and pulling it gently.

“I love your tits, so big and perfectly shaped” and he kisses you there. “I love your pretty face, and your smile and your sparkling eyes and your luscious lips.” Each word is followed by a kiss on the body part he just mentioned “And your silky hair. And this freckle right here. Above your upper lip. I would do nothing but kiss it all the time. I love the smell of your skin and your taste, so sweet.”

You can't believe he's doing this, he's literally worshipping every part of you.

“I love your incredibly sexy hips and thighs."

His lips move over you like velvet, like butterflies flapping their wings on your skin, so impalpable and yet so real.

“I love every inch of your body, especially those that seem too much to you. And of course I love your intelligence and how you laugh at my stupid jokes that never make anyone laugh. I love that you’re funny and sarcastic. I love the little wrinkle that comes between your eyebrows when you concentrate. I love the way you squint when I say something about my work that you don’t know. I love the way you look at me, I love hugging you and feeling your breathtaking body on mine.”

Joel isn't one for many words, he generally prefers action but now he's a river in flood and looks at you haunted.

It's an incredible feeling to have him all to yourself, to have the certainty of being able to trust him blindly, without the fear that he will turn out to be like everyone else you've been with.

No one has ever treated you this way before, with devotion, as if your body were a priceless treasure.

You yourself were mean to this body, you hated it, you tried to change it, you cursed it and cried because it didn't look like anyone else's when the only thing you wanted was to be like one of your friends.

Thin. Impeccable. Someone who fits any dress and who has never heard "we don't have your size". One who wasn't laughed at, treated like a joke, one who everyone looked up to, one whose face people didn't throw pies at and call a whale or a monster.

Joel knows all this. You told him. And everything he's ever tried to do is exactly the opposite of what they've always done to you.

An ode of love to you, to your body, to your soul.

He moves between your knees, settling at the end of the bed.

He leaves a trail of kisses along your inner thighs moving up and up towards your pussy, his beard deliciously rough on your skin.

He smiles at your already wet panties, at the unmistakable stain that spreads across the front.

You wore a cute white lacy pair with matching bra that he bought to you last Christmas.

You sigh in anticipation as he takes the time to stroke and tease your clit through the fabric with just one finger.

He then slides his fingers into the sides of your panties, he makes your hips rise slightly and takes them off, smiling at you.

You gasp as he buries his face between your legs kissing your folds so softly, he stick his tongue out and lick your lips and then part them with two fingers and kiss your clit.

You moan loudly and feel his smile widening on your skin, he’s so good at this and he knows that you love the way he does it.

He takes your clit in his mouth and suck gently.

“You’re so wet babe” and he kiss your lips again “so good for me, the perfect woman”

He teases your hole with his tongue, just the tip, while his thumb circle around your clit.

Nice and slow, a steady pace that makes you whimper against his face.

You grab his hair pushing him even more against your pussy, whining in pleasure.

You feel his beard crawling across your skin, you know it will redden your skin but you don't care, you don't care about anything now.

He continues to lick you, up and down and then back to your clit, his large hand splayed on your tummy.

You've always been ashamed of your tummy.

He adores it. He always tells you, he likes to touch it and he likes to kiss it and he loves that it’s so soft and fluffy.

He groans as you tug his hair and increases the pace, making his way into your hole with two of his thick fingers, stretching you and searching for the spongy spot that always makes you feel on fire.

You raise your head slightly to look at him and see his eyes staring at you mischievously and proudly, he likes looking at you, he doesn't want to miss a second of your pleasure.

He’s again on your clit with his mouth, swirling around it with his tongue.

He pumps his fingers in and out of you, you whine again and again more and more loudly.

He doesn’t stop.

“Joel I-” your voice cracks in an attempt to say something “God, I just can’t”

“Yes, you can, babe, just come for me, I want to feel it. Come all over my face”

you whine, squeeze his head between your thighs, your hand tucked in his hair “Joel!”

You feel a heat radiating inside you, your orgasm building as he gives you no respite.

“Come on baby, give it to me” he whispers softly on your skin.

And you do. You explode at his praise, at his begging for you to give him what he wants.

You pant loudly as he doesn't stop licking you until you calm down.

He comes back next to you and kisses you. You taste yourself on his lips, on his tongue, you're all over his face and it drives you crazy.

“Fuck me Joel. Fuck me now, please” your voice comes out almost desperate.

He looks at you, nodding without saying anything else, takes off his boxers and climbs on top of you, making you spread your legs to make room for himself. He takes his cock in his hand and rubs it on your clit. Once, twice, three times, wetting it with your pleasure that slid down to your inner thighs.

“You want my cock, babe?”

You nod repeatedly looking at him with beg in your eyes.

“Tell me how much you want it”

“I want it, Joel. I want it so bad. Please”

He enters you effortlessly, even though he's big, much bigger than any man you've ever had.

“Always so tight for me, God, you’re so amazing”

He wraps his arms around your torso and pulls you up to sit on top of him, he’s sitting on his heels, his cock still inside you.

He kisses you deeply, his tongue licks hungrily into your mouth, he holds you tight against his chest, you moan into his lips feeling you totally enveloped by him, your arms around his neck, ruffling his hair, your thighs around his waist.

His cock burns in your center, he moves his hips to sink into you, deep.

You feel like you're one, you're totally drunk on him and it's an overwhelming thrill.

He fucks you like this, holding you close to him, each thrust harder and harder, your face hidden in the crook of his neck.

You fill your nostrils with his scent, his masculine unmistakable scent, the one you were missing this morning.

The scent that smells of home and comfort and caresses and the purest love you've ever felt.

It’s here now.

And it’s yours.

You end up hugging each other on the bed, tired but incredibly happy. You are still held in his arms as he whispers “I love you” into your hair.

You look up and look him in the eyes and you know it's true.

"I love you too.”

[mrshesh]

"for... me?" - modern warfare 2 x reader

overview: mw2 men reacting to you giving them a friendship bracelet

pairing: mw2 men x gender neutral reader, romantic & platonic

genre: fluff

a/n: my first mw2 headcanons... i'm nervous about this. i will be eternally grateful if you leave your thoughts and criticisms in the comments, reblogs, or in messages. with that being said; enjoy.

x simon "ghost" riley

Simon is a sweet guy deep down. He appreciates you deeply, and he’d never hurt you intentionally, so you don’t know why you’re so nervous as you’re standing outside his door, your hands concealed behind your back as if you’re hiding an illegal drug. 

When you hesitantly open the door to his room, you get greeted by Simon’s cold gaze, which immediately softens when he sees you. 

He quickly sees the worry on your face, making his heart ache against his will. He cares about you so much. His mind always races when he sees you upset, his fight or flight response kicks in when you’re hurt, and his face always heats up when you’re smiling. You know this - yet you’re so nervous. 

He stands up from his bed, reaching you to open the door further as you step back. He grimaces at the sight of you being so distressed - what could you possibly have done to be so concerned? 

“What’s wrong?” He immediately asks, his eyebrows furrowing when he sees the small droplets of sweat on your forehead. 

“Nothing’s wrong, Simon. You always assume the worst of me.” You roll your eyes jokingly, feeling calmer when he pinches his nose bridge in annoyance. It’s such a Simon thing to do, instantly making you giggle. 

“Well, you’re sweating like a fuckin’ madman. What’s wrong?” He repeats his question, waiting for your response to determine his approach. He is so tense, worried that you have gotten yourself into something. (Although he would never admit that.)

“Give me your wrist.” You say after you take a deep breath, making his eyes narrow in confusion. Still, he extends his arm for you, his other hand resting comfortably on his hip as he observes your every move. 

When you reveal your masterpieces, his gaze goes from suspicious to surprised in a heartbeat, his lips slightly parting behind his mask. 

You’re holding a friendship bracelet - a black, gray, and white candy-striped yarn bracelet in your hands. Simon quickly takes notice of the bracelet on your wrist because it is identical to the one on your shaky palms. His brown eyes turn to yours, and you swear you can see a faint smile on his face. 

“I’m assuming that one’s for me, yeah?” He chuckles, taking the bracelet from your hands to look closer at it. It sure is beautiful - it has some imperfections, which only makes it more precious in his eyes. 

He puts it on calmly, twisting his wrist to look at it again when it’s on. His gaze turns to you, one of his eyebrows cocking up at your horrified expression. 

“You are that fucking nervous over a bracelet?” He chuckles, his hand finding your head on instinct, patting you gently. “I like it, so you can stop shitting yourself, love.” 

He secretly loves it. 

When Soap notices that you and Simon are matching, his heart swells up with pride, but he tries to hide the ego boost he got. He feels special, knowing that he is the one matching with you.

He’s experienced so much loss in his life, but he promises himself that he will never lose you nor that bracelet the second you give it to him.

He wouldn’t match bracelets with anybody else.

x john "soap" mactavish

Johnny has suggested getting matching jewelry before! He’s big on showing you how much he cares about you, and he thinks it would be a perfect way to show his appreciation for you. 

So you know that he’s going to be ecstatic when you show him that you’ve not only gotten matching jewelry for the two of you, but you’ve made it yourself! 

You approach him when he’s sparring, his body covered in sweat and red patches from where he got hit, yet he’s still smiling and running towards you the second he sees you. 

The Scotsman instantly notices that you’re hiding your hands behind your back, which sparks his interest enough to try to look at what you’re covering in them. 

“What’re you hiding, bonnie?” He asks with a laddish grin, wiping the sweat on his forehead with the back of his hand. He can’t help but snicker when you smile at his curiosity, a huge weight seemingly lifting off your shoulders. 

“Can I see your wrist?” “My wrist?” He quickly repeats, seeming a bit dumbfounded. Still, he complies, extending his arm for you to grab while his breathing slows down. 

You don’t waste any time, immediately tying his baby blue, royal blue, and navy Chevron bracelet on for him. 

He initially looks baffled until he realizes you’re wearing an identical bracelet on your wrist. 

Johnny’s face lights up, bringing his wrist closer to his face to inspect the carefully made bracelet, the different colors of yarn complimenting each other perfectly. 

“Do you like it?” “I love it!” He quickly exclaims before he picks you up, hugging you close to him as he spins you around, erupting a hearty laugh from you. 

“I’m never taking this off, m’eudail.” 

And he’s telling the truth! 

You will never catch that man without that bracelet on his wrist. 

He shows it off to everybody, forcing you to hold your wrist next to his for proof. 😭

If anybody accidentally tugs at it or touches it without permission, he will yell at them. His go-to phrase is: "Hands off, eejit." He's just so dreamy. 😍😭

x kyle "gaz" garrick

Kyle is a sucker for you. He loves it when you think of him, take the initiative to be with him, and do thoughtful things for him - you’re pretty much his favorite person, so he adores it when you do anything nice for his sake. 

So you know he will never turn down matching friendship bracelets! 

You are playing UNO with Kyle when you finally get the courage to show him the bracelets you’ve made for the two of you. He noticed that your mind was somewhere else the second you two started talking, and his suspicions got confirmed when you eventually put all of your cards down, looking into Kyle’s eyes like you were guilty of a war crime. 

“Can I give you something?” You ask, clearing your throat and smiling nervously at him. “Yeah, why not?” He nods in agreement, putting his cards aside to see what has gotten you so worked up. He hates seeing you so tense, but he can’t deny that it’s sparking his interest. 

“Let me see your wrist.” You extend your hand, signaling him to place his wrist on your palm. 

“Alright.” He utters, placing his wrist on your hand, his eyes alternating between looking at your face and his arm. (I just know his face looks like this 🤨)

His judgemental look soon gets replaced with a look of pure adoration the second he sees the ocean wave bracelet you tied on his wrist, his cheeks feeling like they’re on fire. 

“You made these?” He asks after a comfortable silence, his heart throbbing at the thought of you sitting and weaving that yarn between your fingers for hours to create this for him. “Yeah. Do you like them?” 

“I love them. You might have to teach me how to make these.” 

After that, he quickly grabs his cards again, insisting on finishing the UNO game...

But this time, it’s him whose mind is somewhere else. 

He shows it to Price the second the game is over. 

Every time he sees you, he goes, “Nice bracelet.” as if it’s the funniest thing in the world.

He has picked up the habit of checking his wrist regularly to see if the bracelet is still there.

x john price

John is a strict sweetheart. You know deep down his intentions are pure, but sometimes you think his mouth could use some soap. His words and criticisms are not for the faint-hearted, sometimes hitting you deeper than any bullet ever could, which is why you are terrified to give him the bracelet you’ve made for him. 

You don’t want him to think your gift is superficial since you put a lot of thought and care into making them. You can understand why your tribute may seem cursory, but you hope John won’t think your hard work is shallow. 

Still, you take a deep breath and knock on his office door, squeezing the matching bracelets in your balled-up fist as your anxiety levels catapult. 

“Come in.” John gives you the green light to enter, which you do hesitantly, clearly looking worried. 

John immediately readies himself for the worst when he sees you sit down on the chair in front of his desk, reading your expression like a book. Why do you look so anxious? 

“What’s wrong?” He sighs, contemplating what approach he should take to speak to you. What you say next, however, he does not expect. 

“I have a gift for you.” You give him a nervous smile, only to be met by silence. You’re waiting for him to say something, your heartbeat’s pace increasing. You don’t feel like being a victim of his harsh words today. 

“A gift?” His curious look gives you the courage to place the bracelets on his desk, letting him look at them for as long as he needs. He takes the bigger one, bringing it closer to his face, getting a better look. The bracelet has a zig-zag pattern, the yarn being different shades of purple. It has some design errors here and there, but that only makes it all the more human. 

“Did you make these?” He puts it on, looking at it closely as it perfectly fits his wrist. You grab your bracelet, quickly sliding it on before you nod, your skin glistening in sweat. 

“Very impressive, soldier. I like it.” He smiles, making you exhale in relief. He likes it. Sweet. 

“Why purple, if I may ask?” “Thought I’d bring some color into your boring life.” “...” 

He loves it. He always laughs when he remembers your look of terror when you gave him the bracelet. 

He discreetly shows it off and then acts surprised when somebody points it out. 

He takes it off when he has missions. He doesn’t want it to wear out too quickly and encourages you to do the same.

And no, he doesn’t find it superficial at all. <3

x alejandro vargas

Alejandro has a huge soft spot for you. He’s very open with that fact, so you aren’t too nervous when you present him with the matching bracelets you’ve made for the two of you, but you still feel slightly worried. What if he simply dislikes them?

When you get assigned a mission with Alejandro, you don’t wait! You bring your bracelets with you, keeping them safe and hidden in your pocket until you finally see him again. 

He’s the first to walk up to you, kissing the back of your hand to exchange greetings. “It’s nice to see you again, cariño.” He greets, his eyebrow cocking up upon noticing how jittery you are. 

“I have something for you.” You tilt your head to the side, looking pleased with yourself. “Really? What have you got for me, corazón?” He can feel his excitement reach the roof. His aura radiates curiosity, making you feel more self-assured and breezy. 

Your hand reaches into your pocket, taking hold of both the bracelets inside. 

Your confidence skyrockets when you notice his expression change, his heart’s speed increasing when he sees the sage green spiral staircase bracelets in your hand. 

“I made these for us. Cute, right?” You smirk when he takes them from your hand, looking at them with such intensity your worry almost spikes up again. 

“They’re beautiful, amor.” He says when he finally looks up at you with a grin, his whole body feeling warmer in flattery. His change of expression and body language makes all your worries about this seem insignificant. You can tell that he loves them. 

He insists on tying yours on for you. He won’t take no for an answer. 

He stares at them for a few minutes when they’re on, feeling his ego skyrocket. 

He shows it off to everyone, to the point where Rudy’s getting sick of him. 💀

He has never loved an object more than that bracelet. 

If you gift him another one, he will 100% wife you up, no joke. 

x könig

König’s a ruthless Colonel. He’s strict and calculated, and he doesn’t let shit slide. But he’s so uncharacteristically soft when he’s around you.

His anxiety-prone heart is so fragile when it comes to you, so whenever he gets confirmation and comfort knowing that you still care about and love him, it only fuels his desire to keep going, to treat you better, and be there for you. 

And a friendship bracelet is an excellent reminder. :) 

You step into the armory, watching König polish his sniper carefully as he softly hums to himself. He only notices you when you knock on the wall next to you, alerting him that you’re present. 

“Hey.” He utters, wiping the lens of his sniper as his blue eyes lock on your frame, his attention shifting to your hands, or lack thereof. You’re hiding them behind your back, endeavoring to conceal something from the Austrian. “Is everything alright?” 

“Yes, everything is fine. I was wondering if I could give you something.” You step closer to König, your mischievous grin leaving him curious, wanting to poke for more information. 

“Sure, what is it?” He cautiously puts his sniper away, his elbows resting on his knees as his eyes find yours. 

“Give me your hand.” You extend one of your hands, clutching his wrist to reveal the bracelets you’ve been keeping out of sight behind your back. König’s eyes widen at the bracelets in your hand, cautiously leaning closer to your hand to get a better look at the yarn armbands. 

His expression softens as his focus shifts to you, making you raise an eyebrow at him wonderingly. “So? What do you think?” “They’re beautiful, liebling! Are they for us?” He asks, not wanting to assume that you’ve made one for him. However, his worries get swept away when you snicker and tie on his bracelet for him, allowing him to get a closer look at it. It’s a five-strand braid, the color palette being very military-esque with different shades of green. It compliments his skin and uniform well, recognizing that you’ve put more care into this than anybody has for him. 

He quickly stands up from his seat, wrapping his arms around your frame like a security blanket, making you melt in his grasp. You can hear his smile in his words, and you know right then and there that you made the right decision in gifting him this. “Thank you. I will cherish it forever and ever.”

He never takes it off. 

He constantly stares at them when you socialize with him. Work-related reasons or not - he can’t keep his eyes off them, a light blush covering his cheeks as he stutters out his words, making him especially grateful for his mask. 

He has gotten into the habit of hugging his wrist while he sleeps, keeping the bracelet close to his body to protect it from harm. 

He kisses it at least once a day. <3

[ladykailitha]

Around the World Part 4

Hello! And we're back with this lovely story and we have finally made it out of Utah.

In this we have an encounter of the voodoo kind, Robin wins over two teenaged boys, and Chrissy realizes she hadn't been doing her job as cover for the boys very well.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3  

~

They continued their little haunted tour. Kooky curio shops, haunted mind shafts, Big Foot sighting locations, Moth Man hunted in Chicago as well as the OG in Virginia. They stayed at spooky inns and visited weird museums. They went to the French Quarter in New Orleans and had their fortunes read by a Voodoo priest. And even went on a river tour to see alligators.

The fortune teller’s shop was amazing. Everything they hoped they would get from a quirky little shop in the French Quarter. They didn’t care that it was probably mostly for show and tourists.

The shopkeeper was a thin, black man with tattoos all over his body. He had dark brown eyes that were almost the same color as the pupil, but they had a merry glint tot them Eddie was instantly charmed by.

“Welcome to my shop,” he purred when they first entered. “What can I get you fine folks? A good luck charm for the long haired gentleman? A love potion for the pretty lady? A curse for the red-head? Or maybe even your fortunes told...” And while Steve wasn’t referenced in the last pitch, he looked straight at him when he said it.

“Does the curse need to be for anyone in particular,” Chrissy asked, “or can I have one on standby for the next time a man calls me ‘little lady’?”

The shopkeeper chuckled. “Must have a bit of the person in question to curse them, I’m afraid, but can I interest you in an antique hat pin? It’s what ladies used to do in the old times to deter such men.”

“Sold!” Chrissy laughed. “Show me what you’ve got.”

And he did had three or four beautiful long and sharp hatpins. She picked the one with the emerald and sterling silver pin. She probably paid more than she should have, but she really didn’t care, it was beautiful.

Robin pointed to the painted rat skull behind him. “How much for that?”

“The pretty lady has a discerning eye.” He pulled the skull off the shelf and showed it to her.

She picked it up and turned it around. “I’ll buy it,” she said firmly.

He smiled at her and wrung her up, too.

“And what about you two fine gentlemen?” he asked Steve and Eddie. “What can a humble shopkeeper do for you?”

“Actually,” Eddie said with a grin, “could do all our fortunes?”

The shopkeeper smiled. “But of course, I’ll even throw in a nice group special for you all buying something from me first. $35 for all of you, payment first please.”

Steve smirked. He had a pretty good idea that tourists would come in ask for their fortune, get pissed off at the results and refuse to pay.

“We’ll start with the very pretty lady,” he said after grabbing a medium sized velvet bag. He emptied the bag out of the counter that had raised sides to prevent the pieces from tumbling to the floor. There were small bones, coins, and gem stones that now littered the surface.

“Love is in the cards for you, pretty lady,” he said with a grin. “You know where to find it, just reach out and grab it. It’s okay to be different person to different people, but trust those you love with you true self and sky is your limit.”

Robin blushed and murmured her thank yous. He looked up at Eddie next. He pushed all the items back into the bag and gave it a good shake, concentrating on Eddie as he poured out the bag once again.

“This trip you are on is more about self-discovery then you want to let on,” the shopkeeper said slyly. “You want to appear cool and collected all the time, but you don’t have to be. There is nothing wrong with being you. Be the child you never got to be.”

Eddie blushed and ducked his head. He wished he could shove a locket of hair in front of his face, but he had learned early on in his career that his best disguise was pulling his hair out of his face. And of course he steered clear of metal chains, black denim, and leather jackets.

He then turned to Chrissy after dumping out the bag a third time. “You are strong and powerful. A good friend and a better boss. But you spend too much time on the job. You’re worried that either it will have burned down without you or worked too well in your absence and won’t need you anymore. Learn to let go and be the better friend. Also your love life will flourish too.”

Then he turned to Steve. He cocked his head to the side and looked him a few moments before he shook out the bag for a final time. He leaned over what Steve thought was just an comprehensible mess. He looked back up at Steve warily and then kind of leaned back.

“You are one very complicated fellow,” the shopkeeper said giving Steve the side eye. “Your soul is split in two, but it’s a clean split. You like having two lives. You like the comfort and security of being yourself and someone else.” He pointed to Eddie. “This one could learn a thing or two about being himself from you, it’s that clean.”

He touched a bone and cocked his head the other direction. “One day you will see that to truly be happy you must reunite the two pieces, but for now, enjoy the split.”

Steve smirked. “I plan on it.”

The shopkeeper watched him for a moment before turning back to his fortune. “What you seek from this journey is closer than you think and not what you thought it would be. You thought it was about being free, but you are already free. This journey is about learning.”

“Anything else?” Steve asked. “I seem to be getting a longer reading than my friends.”

“Because these three are but shallow ponds compared to you,” the shopkeeper said wryly. “Everyone else is an easy read. But also they fit together. It’s like sticking your hand in a bag expecting all rubies and pulling out a diamond and three rubies. They weigh the same, but they are not worth the same.”

He started putting the detritus back in the bag. “The thing that is most interesting, is that your friends here would agree with me that you are the diamond. But you would not.”

Steve’s jaw dropped and he tilted his head forward in shock. “Come again?”

“You think of yourself a dross,” the shopkeeper said with a smirk. “You think that given the chance everyone you know would pick someone else, someone better if they came along. You think they’re settling. For shame.”

Steve’s lip began to quiver.

“Shame on you for thinking so little of the people you love,” the shopkeeper admonished. He turned around and rummaged around for something. He turned around and held out a small flannel bag. “There are many names for this, but the one you would recognize is a mojo bag. Keep it in your right pocket and every time you feel like you don’t deserve them, reach into your pocket and it will remind you of the opposite.”

Steve took it bashfully as Eddie leapt forward to talk about some of the weirder aspects of the shop, like the chicken feet and what all the bones were for, to give Steve a moment to compose himself.

Steve looked down at the bag in his hand, thumb rubbing over the soft material. Even if he didn’t believe he was worth keeping, what right did have to think that his friends were horrible people? Because he knew they weren’t.

So if they weren’t bad people, then maybe they did want to hang out with him for him, not in spite of him.

He pulled out his wallet and grabbed a twenty, shoving it into the tip jar. The shopkeeper noticed, but just smiled and shook his head. The advice had been for free, but he would take that tip in good faith.

When they left, their prizes in hand, Steve felt a strange wind send a shiver down his spine. He stopped and looked over his shoulder at the shop behind them. But it was gone. All that was there was a ramshackle building that looked on the verge of falling apart.

But there in the doorway the thin shopkeeper stood. But gone were the vestiges of the Voodoo priest. He wore a smart suit and top hat.

He tipped the hat at Steve with a jaunty wink and then he was gone and so was the strange wind.

“Hey, Steve,” Robin called, “you coming?”

Steve shook off the strange feeling and hurried to catch up with his friends. “Keep you’re shorts on, I’m coming!”

~

If it was was wild, crazy, or just plain silly like the giant clothespin by Claes Oldenburg in Philly while they were there in Pennsylvania for the HH Holmes gravemarker in Yeadon.

They were just having a blast running through the country having fun and doing silly things. Steve was documenting it all on social media, always making sure to tag a place after they left so fans would leave Eddie alone.

The strangest place they found a fan of Eddie’s was definitely the Lizzy Borden B&B.

Eddie had come out of his hotel room and hadn’t had a chance to pull on the hat when a couple of teenagers walked past grumbling about how obsessed their mom was with this true crime bullshit.

And Eddie. Dear Eddie just couldn’t keep his mouth shut. It was out of his mouth before he could even register the words. “Don’t knock true crime, I think it’s cool.”

Now these teenagers whirled around all set to tear into this adult who dared to call them out on their bullshit when they stopped dead cold in their tracks. Their eyes went wide and their mouths dropped.

“Eddie Munson?” the younger of the two boys cried. “Of Corroded Coffin? There is no way!”

Eddie quickly put on his sunglasses and trucker hat. He pressed a finger to his lips and winked. “I’m on vacation.”

The two boys shared an incredulous look.

“There is no way you would choose this place,” the first one said. “It’s lame.”

“The murder of an entire family is lame?” Eddie asked with a smirk. “What are the kids into these days.”

“Yeah,” the younger one said, “but it happened ages ago. Who cares now?”

“Ooh, ooh!” Robin said, having just exited her room. “I do! It’s really super fascinating.” And then she launched into this great big rambling speech about the different theories and who it could have been if it really wasn’t Lizzy like she proclaimed.

She led the two boys like a pied piper all the way to the breakfast nook where she continued to yap at them, waving her arms and talking at a speed Eddie wasn’t a hundred percent sure he could follow.

“They should pay her for that,” Steve said with a huff of laughter as he sat down next to Eddie at the table. “She could take anything ‘boring’ and make it the most interesting thing in the world. It’s how we survived retail together, if I’m honest.”

“She’s cute when she gets animated like that,” Chrissy said dreamily.

“Down, Chrissy,” Eddie warned. “You’re supposed to Steve’s beard for this trip not drooling over Lezzy the Lesbian over there.”

Chrissy sighed, but reined in her longing looks. “How goes the trip for you two, by the way? Is it as hard as you thought it would be? I told Vickie I would keep her updated on how things are going in case she needed to get ahead of something.”

Steve and Eddie shared a look. “It’s actually harder than we thought it would be,” Steve admitted.

“I thought it would be easier with smaller hotels and bed and breakfasts,” Eddie agreed. “But smaller means more intimate in ways we didn’t anticipate.”

“Ooh...” Chrissy grimaced. “It’s harder to get busy when the walls are thinner and the minds more closed off, huh?”

They both nodded.

“Once we get to the British Isles and the rest of Europe, it’ll be easier,” she promised taking Steve’s hand and giving it a squeeze. “They’re more about privacy over there and the walls tend to be stone, and thicker by design.”

Steve let out a shuddering breath. Just two more days and the weight of being seen in America would be soon behind them.

The boys came over with Robin and got pictures with Eddie and then happily skipped back to their parents, excitedly chittering away about meeting Eddie Munson of Corroded Coffin in backwoods Massachusetts.

Eddie smiled as he watched. It was definitely the strangest fan interaction he’s had. Where he became almost an afterthought in the wake of Rambling Robin and her obsession with true crime.

Steve gave his leg a squeeze under the table and they shared a fond smile.

Robin and Chrissy exchanged a look of their own. They couldn’t imagine being that deep in the closet and how much that must have had to hurt.

They silently vowed that they would be better at making sure their besties got more alone time on their European leg of their journey. Because that’s what this trip was for after all.

~

Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9

Tag List: CLOSED

1- @mira-jadeamethyst @rozzieroos @itsall-taken @redfreckledwolf @zerokrox-blog

2- @gregre369 ​@a-little-unsteddie @chaosgremlinmunson @messrs-weasley @val-from-lawrence

3- @goodolefashionedloverboi @carlyv @wonderland-girl143-blog @irregular-child @blondie1006

4- @yikes-a-bee @bookworm0690 @anne-bennett-cosplayer @awkwardgravity1 @littlewildflowerkitten

5- @genderless-spoon @y4r3luv @dragonmama76 @ellietheasexylibrarian @thedragonsaunt

6- @disrespectedgoatman @dawners @thespaceantwhowrites @tinyplanet95 @garden-of-gay

7- @iamthehybrid @croatoan-like-its-hot @papergrenade @cryptid-system @counting-dollars-counting-stars

8- @ravenfrog @w1ll0wtr33 @child-of-cthulhu @kultiras @dreamercec

9- @machete-inventory-manager @useless-nb-bisexual @stripey82 @dotdot-wierdlife @kal-ology

10- @sadisticaltarts @urkadop @chameleonhair @clockworkballerina

[ltbarnes]

Back to December (1/2)

Summary: Your new job as an assistant for the CEO of a big, shiny company was supposed to be a good thing. Instead your ex from uni who completely ghosted you out of nowhere several years ago happens to be one of your superiors. It doesn’t help that he’s only gotten more handsome over the years. But you hate him for leaving without an explanation, and he seems to hate you too. Everything is just fucking great.

Pairing: ex!Simon “Ghost” Riley x fem!reader

Word count: 6.9k

Warnings: OFFICE AU (Ghost is not ceo but he’s up there in the company somewhere), exes to enemies to lovers, harassment, past emotional violence/threats, ghost was a rugby player in uni lol, blood

A/N: I’m finally dipping my toe into another fandom 🫣 I’ve been obsessed with the cod men for months now so I suppose it’s time. this is the first part of two, maybe three. we’ll see where my imagination takes me!!

Part 2

Masterlist

So many years spent wondering what the hell happened that night, and there he is on the opposite side of the meeting room table gathering his papers into a neat pile. Simon always was organized, you remember.

He hasn't seen you yet. Or maybe he doesn't recognize you. You don't think you have changed that much, but you never know. More as a person than your appearance, you guess.

Maybe that's why you haven't fell down to the floor crying yet—you would have just a few years ago. Seeing your ex-boyfriend for the first time since you were 20 might do that to you.

But you just feel anger. Anger over the fact that Simon has the audacity to have grown into his looks that way, and that he's successful and has this great scruff on his face and that he just left and never said a word to you again. How dare he have a good life when he just abandoned you and your relationship that night all those years ago without giving you a reason for it.

Your new boss clears his throat, sitting down at one of the ridiculously expensive chairs right next to you. You didn't notice him come in, and you certainly haven't gotten used to his intimidating presence yet.

"Garcia, you have about...fifteen minutes to go through your presentation. I have another meeting with Hill soon." Mr. Price pauses to look down at his wrist watch for two seconds in the middle of his sentence, before nodding towards the beautiful redhead standing with a small remote in her hand.

For some reason this company seems to be where models who get tired of their careers come to work. You didn't exactly get that memo. It's only your second day here, and you feel intimidated by everyone. Maybe that's the way an assistant should feel.

"Y/l/n, you keeping notes for me?" Your head tilts up dangerously fast at the mention of your name, taking a few seconds too long to process his request, before nodding obediently.

"Yes, sir."

Your fingers click too loudly against the keys as you frantically try to draw up a document with the correct font and size. It's too quiet in here. You haven't done anything wrong, yet it feels like everyone is waiting for you to misstep. Your anxiety is a bitch.

"Riley. Riley, what the hell?" you hear someone whisper angrily. It's not until you hear a pen clatter to the floor that you dare to look up his way.

Honey brown eyes stare right into your goddamn soul. Your breath hitches, speeding up the pace of your anxiety-ridden heart even further. More than what's acceptable for sitting still in a work meeting. But your momentary weakness over catching his attention soon disappears, to be replaced by your anger again.

You look away with a clenched jaw, focusing on the keyboard right beneath you. Simon is still staring at you. You can feel it. Feels like it always used to do, but this time you don't want it. In your ideal world Simon Riley would not sit opposite you, would not stand up to join the beautiful, model redhead to hold a presentation where he keeps stumbling on his words all the time because of your presence. At least you think it's your presence, but you're not sure if it's in a good or bad way. For you it's bad.

But it does make you feel good that he keeps having these space outs—tripping over his words, forgetting them all together. It is not a good presentation on his part, and Ms. Garcia is getting increasingly more irritated at him for his lack of delivery. You hope she scolds him for it afterward. God knows you would like to throw every curse word you know at the man.

Should you be this angry after all these years? Should you have let it go a long time ago? Should you have stopped acting as if being with another man after him is betrayal? Probably. The last question is probably the answer to why you haven't really moved on from your hurt.

It just makes you so mad—for a year he was your entire world. Simon hugged you from behind each time he encountered you out in public and played with your hair as you fell asleep in his arms and woke you up with his fingers tracing patters on your hip. He fucked you until your bed broke and made love to you so gently you might as well have been made of glass to him. Two weeks from your anniversary he stopped talking to you. Not one thing of his was left in your dorm the next morning, and you didn't see him on campus even once during the term he had left of school. The few friends you had in common didn't talk to you anymore.

It broke your heart, to be abandoned like that. That night was already shit, and Simon just decided to make it ten times worse. You were in shock and all you wanted was his comfort. To find out he had left? You barely made it through that next semester.

For years you have pondered over what part of you was so unlovable that Simon couldn't even bear to say another word to you. Maybe his inability to function properly during this meeting wasn't due to shock, but instead disgust over having to be in the same room as you. Fuck, you are mad, and yet so scared that you have to meet him every single week from now on. You're not strong enough for that.

"That was...something. I expect you to be better prepared next time I see you, Riley," Mr. Price says, clicking his pen while pointing it towards Simon. "Don't know what the fuck that was," he mutters under his breath while rising from his chair.

You follow swiftly. The chair is too loud as it's pushed back. You cringe. Gathering your laptop and your papers is ungraciously done. Price still waits for you though, for some reason, but he sighs and puffs while doing so. Everyone else is quiet, besides the slap to his arm Simon receives from Ms. Garcia. They're probably dating. Two perfect, good looking people having perfect sex in their perfect apartments. You hate them both.

You try not to look at him as you walk out behind Mr. Price. But you still say a 'have a good day' that is too quiet to the room, answered with a few nods and some 'you too' back.

A small squeak of surprise escapes your lips when your boss comes to an abrupt halt in front of you. A millisecond is all it would take for you to have crushed into him, and that squeak leaves heat travelling to your face. He turns around, facing the room once again, with his usual glare.

"Don't bloody stare at my new assistant. I don't want another HR-situation with this one. Especially talking to you, Riley."

Price pins his glare on Simon, who gives him an equally harsh glare back. You are just about ready for the floor to break so you can fall through to the bottom level and run out of here. But you're frozen in your place, clutching your belongings to your chest tightly enough to make a computer-sized dent in your skin.

Without another word, your boss turns around and heads out of the room. You couldn't have moved any faster if you wanted to—already tight on his heels while your heart rate desperately tries to calm down. Oh my god. Oh my fucking god. What the hell are you going to do? Ignore Simon and hope that you manage to avoid him for however long you'll work here? It feels kind of impossible, but the last thing you want is to talk to him. You couldn't.

You've just put down your things on your desk right outside of Price's office when he speaks again. His voice always manages to make you jump in your place, head flying up to meet his gaze.

"If Riley, or anyone else, gives you any trouble—you tell me," he says, unflinching and stoic.

You gulp, frozen in your position. "Oh—I, okay. Thank you." The words come out quieter than you wanted to.

"You seem like a good kid. Don't want these fucking fools to chase away 'nother one of my assistants."

The door to his office is closed the next second. You just stand there, dumbfounded and a little confused, but still flattered in some way. A good kid—you'll take that.

Popcorn crunches underneath your sneakers as you push yourself past the people going up and down the stairs, trickling out of the stadium with happy smiles on their faces and lively conversations exchanged now that the game is over. They won. The players are still out on the field, celebrating their victory with slaps to each other's backs, jumping up and down, impromptu attack hugs. You are giggling too, watching them.

Simon has torn his shirt off, sweaty, blond hair a mess as he shakes his head. Johnny just poured water all over him—the guy always gets so overexcited. And goddamn, your man looks good as he has that rare smile on his face.

The game was a really good one on his part. Everyone in the team calls him 'Ghost' because of how quickly and seamlessly he moves despite his size. And the big tattoo of a man wearing a skull mask on his arm. But once  he's out on the field, the players never expects his speed. At least one player during each game runs right into him, as if he was invisible. A ghost.

He hasn't noticed you yet, where you stand leaning against the railing. It's freezing out. The first really cold September day, and you didn't think to bring a proper jacket. But you don't really care, because seeing Simon and your friends this happy has plastered a permanent grin on your face.

"Riley, your girl!"

Someone shouts and points at you, alerting your boyfriend of your presence. His head whips in your direction, brown eyes pinpointing you in your place before a 6'2'' man starts barreling towards you. Simon throws the water bottle in his hand away carelessly as you giggle furiously over his excitement.

"Fuck, love," he says as he reaches his hands out, lifting you over the railing within a second. You yelp in surprise.

"Wha—Simon! Put me down!"

Simon just holds onto you tighter, pressing you close to him with your feet still in the air. How is he this strong? "Not a chance, Princess. We fucking won. I'm celebrating with my girl."

You chuckle, holding onto his shoulders while looking down at his sweaty face. "I know. I'm so proud of you."

A shy grin grows on his face, slowly setting you down onto the fake grass. "Really?"

"Really. It's the best you've ever played. Wanted to shout to everyone that it was my boyfriend doing all the best throws out there," you tell him, now looking up at him instead. God, he's tall.

Simon's mouth comes crashing down onto yours, giving you a sloppy kiss that makes you laugh.

"I lov—I loved having you here." Simon pauses in the middle of the sentence, as if he was supposed to say something else. "You're my fucking lucky charm, you know that?"

"I'm not so sure about that. You have lost quite a few games with me here as well," you tell him, ruffling his messy hair with your hand.

"Don't matter. I feel lucky anyway." A boyish grin adorns his face as he leans down to press a kiss to your head. "Now, tell me why in the hell my little lady is out here freezing her arse off 'cause she didn't bring a jacket? Like I told her to do?"

You groan, giving him a glare. "Stop. I should have listened to you, you were right, and all that. I know."

"Well, better for me, 'cause I get to rub my sweaty arms all over you now to warm you up."

"Go shower, you idiot." You push at his chest gently, rolling your eyes. He pretends to stumble backwards, holding his hands up.

"I will. Just wait a few seconds here, will you?"

Simon keeps walking backwards, waiting for your nod of confirmation, before breaking out into a jog towards the locker rooms.

You embrace your torso with your arms, rubbing up and down with your hands to warm your skin. There's so many players left on the field, still messing with each other like rugby teams usually do. Some you recognize—like Johnny and Gaz. They're your friends too. Others you have seen in passing at parties, in class. Some you only know because Simon complains about them to you. The fly-half never was his favorite. Graves, something? They're constantly at each other's throats.

Simon comes running out onto the field once more, this time with his jacket in hand. You sigh, scratching the skin above your eyebrow with a small smile.

"Si—you didn't have to. I'm fine," you say as soon as he's within earshot.

"Shut up. I'm being a bloody gentleman, just like my mum taught me."

The jacket is laid gently around your shoulders. You tug it tighter around you, because despite your words it is cold. And you love his jacket.

"Look at you. So fucking adorable."

You smile up at him, scrunching your nose. You love this fool. You love Simon Riley, have done so for many, many months. Haven't told him yet though. But it can wait—you have all the time in the world.

Simon is avoiding you. A week of not seeing him even once, despite the fact that you work on the same floor. You haven't attended any more meetings since your second day, but you still would have expected to run into him in the break room, or in the hallway. Hell, you've even delivered paper copies to his office and still haven't seen him.

You don't know what you feel about that. You are mad at him and you definitely don't want to be forced into an awkward encounter with your ex-boyfriend, but still not knowing why he left has chipped away at every ounce of confidence you had in yourself. Even now at your grown age. It's been several years since. It's pathetic. Maybe Simon realized that on a Friday night in December during his senior year of college—you are pathetic.

God, why are you still that 20-year old girl? Why are you sitting at your desk, 3:30 PM on a Wednesday, obsessing over every flaw you can come up with all because of a stupid man?

The anger you held towards him last Tuesday has morphed into deep self-hate. You begin to understand his perspective. He doesn't want to interact with the silly little girl he broke up with ages ago in her silly little assistant job. Simon is a senior executive in this company, for god's sake. He doesn't even have to send a second glance your way.

"Y/l/n! Coffee!" your boss yells from within his office. But the yelling and cold tone still doesn't offend you like it would any other person—it's just the way he is. Price has actually been pretty nice to you. You like him as your boss, despite his less than chipper attitude.

"Yes, sir," you shout back, rising from your seat.

You smooth down your dress, fiddle with your hair in the reflection of your laptop, before taking a deep breath. It's just a short trip to the break room. No big deal. Nobody actually cares that you are the new girl.

It's practically empty as you arrive, besides a man reading his newspaper in the corner while seemingly on an important call. Seems a little arrogant, but you know he's high up in the company. At least you think he is. Price doesn't like him. He told you so the first day.

A sigh of relief escapes your lungs as you walk to the expensive, Italian coffee machine. You press the double espresso button. No sugar, no milk. Just straight, black coffee for your boss. Kind of reflects his personality. It buzzes loudly as coffee drips into the cup, you standing there waiting patiently. It has started raining outside. You'll probably be soaking wet tonight once you come back to your apartment.

Someone comes standing beside you, taking a mug off the highest shelf. You catch a glimpse of his expensive suit before glancing upwards. Your lips part, almost just as shocked as you were last Tuesday. You can't catch a fucking break, can you?

"Johnny?"

The now bearded man, with a full head of hair as well, which he definitely didn't have when you last saw him, turns around towards you with a stoic expression. It doesn't change once he gets a good look at who said his name.

"You work here too?" you ask before gulping.

"Y/n," he says, a frown growing in between his eyebrows. "I work here, yes." The Scottish accent that you used to like listening to is now impossibly deeper.

"Uh, I—how you doing? It's been...a while." You glance away, cowering under his gaze. Soap always used to be so kind to you, treated you as if you were one of the boys. Insisted you call him Soap, something only his friends were allowed to call him. Now there is a hidden undertone of distaste in the way he looks at you. "See you've gotten rid of the Mohawk."

"I'm alright. Good to see ya', Y/n, but I gotta go back," he tells you. For some reason you feel like he's actually not all that happy to see you.

"Oh. Okay." The disappointment in your voice is clear. "We'll probably see each other again soon, I guess."

Johnny has already started walking away when the words leave your mouth. You hear him mumble a halfhearted 'Take care, lassie" before leaving you there dumbfounded and upright hurt with your boss's coffee cup. What was that?

You always knew Johnny was as loyal of a friend you could be, but...you didn't know he hated you that much. Especially when you didn't actually do anything against him. Not that you did anything against Simon either. That you know of. But, you know.

The short interaction leaves you jarred for the rest of your work day. You still get things done, but the look on Johnny's face is in the back of your mind the entire time. What did you do that was so bad that John goddamn MacTavish hates you for it?

It wasn't enough to work with the man who broke your heart, but your ex-friend as well. His best friend. You will never be welcomed here if half of the company leaders consist of people who have a grudge against you spanning years.

When the clock strikes 6, Price sends you home. He will probably stay for another few hours, you think, because there has been empty takeout containers in his office the morning after every day this week. You tell him to have a good night, he answers with a grunt, and then you and your bag take off through the hallways.

Your heels click against the floor as you walk through the mostly empty office space. Some rooms still have their lights on, casting shadows over the mahogany desks and the important people sitting behind them.

You halt your steps as you hear two voices wrapped into a conversation with each other. Someone must have left their door open. You don't want to eavesdrop, but it gets hard to resist when you recognize Johnny's voice from earlier.

"You can't avoid her forever," he says.

"Well, don't you think I fucking know that?"

You freeze as you instantly recognize the deep, rumbling timber of Simon's voice answering Soap. Fucking hell—they're talking about you. You can't not eavesdrop now.

"It's just—it's fucking hard, you know? She just walks in here all..."

"Met her in the break room earlier. Making coffee for Price."

"Yeah? She said somethin'?" Simon's voice sounds curious, eager almost.

"Asked how I was doing, the usual. Didn't know I worked here, it seemed like." A sigh sounds from the room, and you press yourself even closer to the wall. Please, for the love of god, don't let anyone walk by. "I couldn't just act like normal. I can't be fuckin'...nice to someone like that. When I know your past."

"What—you were fucking rude, or what? Just ignored her?"

"No, for fuck's sake. Left pretty quick, though. I just don't have any respect for things like that. You know that."

"Yeah." Simon lets out a bitter chuckle. If you could see him, he'd probably be shaking his head now. "I'm still fucking angry, you know? Can barely stand to be in the same room."

You bite down on your lip, shaking your head to yourself. You can't listen to the two of them talk about how much they hate you. How they don't have respect for 'things' like you. It's nauseating. Your limbs shake with poorly contained anger, but still the urge to cry is even stronger.

But there's no other way out than past his office. So you brave it—practically sprint by with your hand covering the side of your face in hope that they won't see who it is. You don't think they do. The blinds were down.

A single, pathetic tear slips down your face as soon as you exit the building. Cars fly past you, lights blaring everywhere, noise unending. You just want to go home. But you know the overthinking won't stop there.

As the obnoxiously loud alarm disturbs your sleep that finally came about three hours before, you groan into your pillow and wish for it to be anything else but Thursday. You want the weekend. You want to sleep in and wallow in the fact that you probably won't have this job for very long after what you heard Simon and Johnny say about you yesterday.

You don't even bother putting on heels this morning. An old pair of ballerina shoes and a thick, fuzzy sweater over your dress is what you drag yourself to the office in. It's cold and you're exhausted and sad. You can't stand people not liking you—it takes over every part of your being. And when it's Simon...

There's a meeting going on. Price gave you a list of everyone's coffee orders and made you run over to the shop across the street. You see Simon's name taunting you at the top of the list. A cortado, extra sugar. Fuck, he's still the same.

It takes twenty minutes of queuing before you manage to get to the counter. Another ten to have everyone's order ready. The bag is ridiculously heavy as you carry it out of the coffee shop. The meeting will probably be over by the time you arrive, and then Price will curse you out and you will cry, because today you cannot handle even the smallest criticism.

You're a little sweaty by the time you reach the fourteenth floor of the building, which is fine, but the panting doesn't exactly add to your charisma that somehow seems to repent your coworkers from your person. For a minute you stand outside the meeting room, gathering yourself enough to be somewhere near presentable. Not entirely, but as close as you will get.

The door is shouldered open with a little force. More than you thought it would take. Nobody really gives a thought to your presence—they continue the meeting as if you weren't there at all, and you like it that way. You try to match each coffee to the right person on the list. But there's thirteen of them, and you have yet to learn everyone's name.

You feel Simon's eyes on you the entire time you spend in that room. He's anything but subtle, staring right at you without shame. He doesn't even answer as someone calls him by name. And it's pure spite leaving him for last. His order is the only one you know by heart, but keeping him waiting for a few extra minutes is deserved, you think. Maybe it just gives him more fuel to hate you, but if he's going to hate you, you might as well give it right back.

His ring-clad fingers clasp around the paper mug, slowly bringing it up to his lips as if taunting you with the existence of them. God, they are so full and pink and—no. Don't even go down that route. It'll all make it so much harder to live like this if you keep thinking about how fucking attractive Simon has become with his still blond hair slightly unkept from running his hand through it during the day and how his shirt strains against his muscles and the fact that he is still so, so tall.

"This is cold."

The room falls silent, at least you think it does, as Simon's harsh voice echoes throughout the confines of the four walls. The coffee belonging to the person sitting beside him is steaming. You know he's lying. He sets down the mug on the table, glaring up at you with such distaste in his eyes. You never thought that look would be reserved for you.

"Can't even get a bloody coffee order right, can you?" Simon's chuckle is deprecating, shaking his head to himself as if his irritation almost amuses him.

But you just flinch. He doesn't see it, but you think the rest of the room does. His tone fucking hurts. And that he would publicly humiliate you like this?

"Oh, uh..." You want so badly to have a good comeback, something that will make him shrink in his chair, but all you can get out is a stupid 'oh'. Standing there all small and speechless makes you feel dumb. "I'll get a new one."

Your response seems to catch his attention. His gaze flickers up, back to you, and the cruelty falters for a few seconds to be replaced by something likened to...regret? Probably not.

"Riley can drink his cold goddamn coffee. He'll survive," Price chimes in, waving with his pen as a signal for whoever was speaking before to continue.

You nod, clenching your jaw to stop the trembling, before escaping out of the room as quickly as possible without it seeming suspicious.

A shaky, deep breath is inhaled and exhaled as soon as you get out. It was already a bad day, yes, but nearly crying because Simon told you his coffee was cold? That's just childish. You need to pull yourself together if you're going to keep this job. Price clearly doesn't like weakness.

The rest of the day is calm. Mostly you're reviewing Price's schedule, emailing people back and forth about changing meetings and setting them up. He even gives you an extra break, which is so well needed and probably out of pity, but you'll take it.

You realize that you are so fucking petty when your final task of the day, once again, is to deliver some kind of contract to Simon's office. You know he's out on a meeting with a client—you heard him walking past earlier, talking to that client on the phone. You gather your belongings, say goodbye to Price, before heading towards Simon's on your way down.

Stepping inside feels like walking right into his arms. His cologne hangs heavy in the air. Fuck him for still using the same scent.

The entirety of his office is neatly organized, everything in its place. So you move things. A sharpener gets to change its designated spot from desk to shelf. Files labeled under 'F' gets shoved in between 'S' and 'T'. You even go as far as taking out some of the files from one folder, placing it in another. The printer gets unplugged.

Doing something to his old copy of The Fellowship of the Ring that stands proudly on display in his bookcase crosses your mind, but you do want to stay alive long enough to see the end of the week, at least. You remember one time when he slept with it as if it was a stuffed animal. You're being petty, not suicidal.

Your final masterpiece in your rampage is the unscrewing of a wheel on his desk chair. Just the thought of Simon pushing his chair back only for it to suddenly tilt makes you giggle. God, you really are a child.

Any sane person wouldn't even notice half the things you've done in here. But Simon is not sane. This can throw off his entire day, week even. You know from firsthand experience.

Yeah, Simon goddamn Riley broke your fucking heart and now has the audacity to punish you for it. You won't take that.

Simon has been in such a bad mood the entire day. You heard him cursing all the way from his office. Some poor intern got yelled at in the hallway (you really are sorry for that), and you overheard a few of your colleagues mention that he didn't speak to anyone during the entire morning meeting. Price apparently cursed him out for it in front of everyone. That's a little funny, at least.

On one hand you feel proud of your ability to still piss him off without him knowing. On the other hand, you're not too happy yourself. Your situation hasn't exactly changed—half the office still hasn't talked to you, and the ones that do keep strictly work related conversations. You're lonely.

Despite it being Friday, you get off when the sun has already set. It's pouring rain outside and you don't have an umbrella. You really don't have the energy to deal with that as you gaze warily out of the window from your desk. You could take the subway instead of walk all the way home, but you would still get soaking wet during the trek to the station.

"Goodbye, Mr. Price. Have a good weekend," you say, popping your head into his office with a sweet smile on your lips.

"Call me John," he answers without even looking up from whatever report he's reviewing. Still that monotone voice as if he's always tired of hearing people talk.

"Oh. Uh—okay, John," you stutter out. What? He never lets anyone call him by first name.

"Get home safe," Price tells you. Has he grown soft? What's happening? "Have a fuck load of reports needing organization on Monday." There it is.

You smile to yourself, shaking your head lightly, before mumbling another 'bye' to your boss. He lifts his head in a subtle nod as answer. Actually, you might have a chance to stay here if he likes you. He is the CEO after all.

The hallways are dark except the few offices still lit up like every night. These people barely have a life outside of work, it seems like. It's kind of sad. Then again, you don't either, if what counts as a life is having friends and significant others and people who care about you. But at least you have time for doughing in your couch and taking a walk around the neighborhood.

But your daydreaming and overthinking of course leads you into trouble. Rounding the corner forces you right into another person, making you stumble backwards a few steps before a clammy hand grabs your arm to stop you from falling.

"I'm so, so sorry," you say, looking up at the man standing in front of you. It's that executive-something Price doesn't like. Shepherd? An American.

"Don't worry that pretty little head of yours, darling," he says, without backing away from you. He keeps that close distance, letting you feel his dank breath properly.

You gulp, before attempting to release your arm from his grip. He doesn't budge. Your heart rate speeds up instantly.

"Haven't talked to you properly before, sweetheart. Just seen you strutting 'round these hallways in your dresses." He looks down at your wide eyes, before they slowly rake over the rest of your body. Your chest starts to heave up and down as if you've just come back from a run. It's clear he wants something more than just a simple conversation with the new assistant.

"I'm—I'm sorry. I have to go. Train," you stutter out, attempting to tear yourself away from his harsh grip around your arm. You can't.

"Don't be like that, darlin'. I just wanna have a talk, that's all," he tells you, his warm breaths hitting your face.

"Please, sir, I really have to go. We can talk on Monday."

Shepherd raised an eyebrow, gaze flickering down to your chest again as if you can't see it clearly, before tapping your cheek condescendingly with the palm of his hand.

"Alright, sweetheart. Come into my office on Monday. Appreciate it if you'd wear one of those pretty dresses. Makes my day much better, having somethin' sweet to look at."

A wet kiss is pressed to the back of your hand—something that he might think is gentlemanly, but sends shivers down your entire spine out of disgust. You're frozen still as he squeezes your hip before he leaves, leaving you to hear his dress shoes clink against the floor.

The further away he gets, the harder it gets for you to breathe. Panic grows in your chest, tears already threatening to fall as you finally get yourself to move, rushing towards the elevator and pressing the button too many times.

He was so close. And the way his grip tightened as you tried to step away, the squeeze of your hip. It's too much like last time. Too much like that fucking December night all those years ago.

Clear pictures of Philip and his friends flashes past the forefront of your mind as you rush from the elevator, already heaving from your tears. It's empty, thank god, since the guards are posted outside of the main entrance. Philip morphs into the man from just a minute ago. Pushing you against the wall at that party, grinning right in your face as you tell them to stop.

The backdoor leading into the alleyway beside the building is where your feet leads you towards without consulting you. It's better, maybe. You don't want anyone to see you like this.

But those goddamn revolving doors acting as the main entrance starts to move, you hear that, and soon enough someone steps inside with haste in their walk.

"Y/l/n!" someone shouts angrily. You know exactly who it is. "Why the fuck did you move all my stuff? I swear to god—"

Your back is facing away from him, but maybe he still sees the way your shoulders shake from behind. Maybe that's why he falters in his steps. Maybe that's why he decides to cut the first real sentences he's said to you directly since you started working here short.

The last crumb of composure turns to dust, and your hand flies up to your mouth to muffle the first real sob from your lips. You escape through the door, out into the cold, rainy alleyway as your cries turn too forceful to stop.

It's wet and dirty and crawling with grovel as your knees hit the ground harshly. You manage to turn yourself around to lean your back against the cold brick wall instead. It'll all bring you grief later, but right now your legs can't carry your weight.

With a bang, the door flies wide open once more. Long legs bend down, big hands on your arms.

"Y/n. Y/n, c'mon. Why are you crying?"

Simon's voice is drowning in urgency, his shakes of your shoulders almost forceful. But you can't stop crying. And you're still so fucking angry with him.

"Don't touch me," you sob, pushing his hands away from you. The rain grows heavier the same second, soaking the entirety of you as you sit there on the dirty ground.

"Alright, alright. I won't," he breathes out, holding his hands up beside him. Those big, veiny fucking hands that you have missed every day since he last put them on you. "But you gotta tell me what's wrong."

"Why?" you almost yell, tilting your head up, away from the palms of your hands previously hiding your face. You get raindrops right in your eyes. "You hate me, don't you? Can't even stand to be in the same room as me!"

"Y/n," he growls, as if he's scolding you with the simple mention of your name. "You know bloody fucking well I don't hate you. Now tell me what the hell's making you sob like this. You're sitting on the ground, for fuck's sake."

You dry away your tears, despite it being so futile in this rain, while letting out a bitter chuckle. "All due respect, you're the last person I wanna talk to."

Simon lets out a shaky breath, one filled with frustration. "So fucking stubborn..."

He shakes his head. "Just—just let me drive you home, at least, okay? The trains from this station are cancelled. Blowing up to a storm."

The words you were about to force out through your tears disappear completely. Instead you just stare at the man now looking down at you with something likened to concern. Still has that frown in between his eyebrows.

"I'm not going to get in a car with you, Riley," you mumble out. If you had your way it would sound angrier, more assertive, but your voice fails you.

"Riley, huh? That's where it's at?" Simon scoffs, as if he didn't call you by your last name a few minutes earlier. "Just get up, c'mon."

"No." You shake your head, looking down in your lap. In reality you're not just apprehensive because of your anger towards him—he's a man at the end of the day, and you are his ex-girlfriend who he dislikes very strongly.

"Are you—for god's sake." He shakes his head again. "I'm not going to hurt you, Y/n. I would never harm you. Not any woman," he tells you. How can he still read you this well?

You don't answer. Just take your wet sleeve to dry away even more tears. How to stop crying in front of your ex seems to be an art you haven't mastered yet.

"Okay, I'll make you a deal. You let me get you a taxi home, after you get out of this fucking rain and step inside. That alright with you?"

You nod with a sniffle, reaching for your bag beside you.

"C'mon."

Simon nods towards the door, reaching his hand out. You take it, because there's no chance you would manage to get up all by yourself. But that's the only reason.

He holds the door open for you, letting you slip inside again. Exactly how much the rain soaked you hits you as you step inside, instantly freezing cold and uncomfortable. And goddamn your right knee hurts. Falling down to the ground did come with consequences, it seems.

"Fucking hell," Simon mutters under his breath as soon as he gets inside, dripping water down onto the shiny floor. His suit is entirely soaked too.

You see a glance of yourself in a mirror as you take off your heels. There's mascara underneath your eyes. You try to remove it furiously with your fingers.

"Don't have to do that. Nothing that I haven't seen before," Simon speaks up from behind you, looking at you as well through the mirror.

You glance up at him, just for half a second, before lowering your arms slowly. And then you rummage through your bag with trembling hands, finding a napkin you kept from a restaurant. You dry away the mascara with that instead.

Simon looks at you, really looks at you, as you stand there dripping water onto the floor and makeup ruined and your clothes dirty. You feel so vulnerable underneath his gaze. What is he trying to find?

"Bloody hell, Y/n. You're bleeding for fuck's sake. That's a fucking gash."

He points at your knee. You look down, seeing the outpouring of blood running down your leg from the open wound right below your knee. It does look very, very bad. Like, you're slowly becoming nauseous by looking at it. How didn't you notice it earlier?

"Oh."

"I'm driving you wether you like it or not." Simon stalks up to you, grabbing a hold of your arm to put it around his shoulder. His arm sneaks its way around your waist. Fuck.

"Do I get a say in this?" you ask. You know what the answer is, but you also don't understand. What is this? Why is he doing this for you? A few days ago he was talking shit about you with Soap and humiliated you purposely in front of your co-workers. Now he's getting worried about you crying and driving you home from work?

"No."

Part 2

[slut4megantheestallion]

Yumeko jabami x Shy! Reader Headcannons

Yumeko jabami x black! Shy reader

● When yumeko first came to Hyakkaou Private Academy, she was very intrigued and infatuated by you. She thought you were very cute. She wanted to have you. Your beautiful brown eyes, your cute antisocial personality, she wanted you to be her's

● she thought you were so cute and awkward anytime you would try to talk to her, she found it adorable.

● Flirts and subtle touches making you flustered, she does it on purpose to get your reaction as she smiles sweetly at you like nothing happened, just to tease you it was fun to watch.

● Yumeko is a very confident person. Anytime you were scared to say anything, she would say it for you without any hesitantation.

● She constantly wants to gamble with you. Even if you didn't know how to gamble, she'll teach it to you if you didn't understand.

●She calls you nicknames like "bunny, sweetheart, my love."

● She likes to lay on her chest. She doesn't matter if your chest is big or small. She loves your chest.

●You're very dependent on yumeko, yumeko loves how submissive you were making her feel in charge, yumeko is very protective she only let's you hang with small group of friends and if they they ever treated you wrong, let's just say you won't see them the next day.

● She'll never take her anger out on you. You were very precious to be treated wrong.

● You know how crazy yumeko is when it comes to gambling. You get flustered anytime she says something sexual when you gambling together.

● If you were in serious debt, yumeko would gladly give you money even if you wouldn't accept it or not. "Don't be silly, I'm glad to give you money to pay off your debt, I mean, that's what friends are for." Money doesn't mean much to yumeko she's like a sugar mama to you, and she has no problem giving you money or paying.

● Loves spoiling you it's her love language to you, she'll buy you necklaces, bracelets, diamonds, rings you name it.

● Very clingy, she wants to be around you 24/7. Always holding your hands, hugging you from behind.

● Yumeko likes it when you sit on her lap. It makes her so wet. "You're making me so wet y/n, the things I wanna do to you is driving me insane, don't you wanna touch me?~" yumeko whispers soft moan in your ear as she nibbles on your neck making you flustered soft moan escaping your mouth.

● some people try to harm you because of how close you are with yumeko but they could never get close to you because yumeko is around you all the time, and if they dare try to harm you, she has no problem hurting someone.

● She walks you home all the time after school just to make sure you're safe, and she sometimes insists you come over to her house.

● Yumeko has no problem changing in front of you. She finds it cute the way you get flustered or turn away to respect her body, yumeko sometimes likes wearing your clothes. Sometimes, you will be embarrassed and flustered the way your clothes look on you. Yumeko does it on purpose to see your reaction,she has no shame.

●She'll let you sit on her lap while she's gambling with someone. You were her lucky charm.

● Yumeko has no problem showing you off. If someone flirts with you, she'll kiss you and hug you and glare at the person, letting them know you're taken.

● Yumeko is probably not a virgin and very experienced she has been with a few men and women, but she loves how inexperienced you are she wanted to teach you some things and make you feel good.

● Very sweet to you and do anything for you. She's a very great listener and very patient with you.

● when you got together, there was alot of pda, yumeko will try to have sex with you anytime any place doesn't matter if it was in public, but if you were not comfortable doing it in public she'll understand and respect your wishes.

● Yumeko hates seeing you cry. She turns to a full-on psycho when someone makes you upset. But she's really good at comforting she'll kiss you and wipe your tears and stay with you all the time until you feel better

● Yumeko jealousy charts are off the roof. She'll glare, threaten to anyone who gets close to you, and you have to reassure her that she's only with you and only you so no one would get hurt. Sometimes, you get a bit scared and uncomfortable the way yumeko acts towards people who try to flirt with you.

● If you were tired or stressed, yumeko would let you lay on her lap or chest. You really don't let people touch your hair at all, but yumeko is an exception.

● Yumeko likes how you support her during her gambling games, even if she could be a bit weird at times, but you just ignore it. You were pretty used to it the first time you guys met

● If you were doing work, yumeko would bother or tease you on purpose so you can pay attention to her.

● Yumeko loves your personality. Even though people tease you for your shyness, she'll tell them to knock it off, even though yumeko will tease you about your shyness all the time.

● Yumeko never understood why you're so shy it's not like she hates it. She had just never been around shy people before, so you were the first shy person she met when she arrived at this school.

● She finds it cute when you stutter and look away from her when she looks at you. When you're not looking, yumeko admires your beauty all the time. She'll tell you you're pretty all the time.

● Yumeko likes stalking you sometimes. She can't help it she likes watching you sleep. She thinks you look so pretty as you rest peacefully.

● When you don't walk home with yumeko, she'll follow you home to make sure you're safe. She watches you leave the bathroom just to make sure you're not being bullied or harmed.

● If you ask yumeko if she stalking you, she'll admit to it very straightforwardly.

● When you gamble with her, it's fun but a bit sexual on her part. During gambling, yumeko praises you.

● Yumeko loves spanking you.

● Yumeko knows how to make you feel good she knows all the spots she puts on that cutesy facade, and she'll eat you out until you cum

● Yumeko is a big of oral, but she likes other things as well, sex is very kinky she likes to put a collar on you, chain you, and dress you up.

● Yumeko loves to see you tears she's a bit of a masochistic. She loves to punish you. Even if you're a good girl, she still likes to punish you. She loves those sweet sounds you make. She'll call you a slut.

● She'll take a few pics of you and fingers herself as she thinks of you when she's horny.

● If you were honry in public like school, she'll takes you to the bathroom or a secluded place and fuck you.

● Yumeko loves to see you beg.

● Yumeko is obviously the top in the relationship she's a bit sadistic. Yumeko gets horny off a gambling, so she'll make a deal or coin flip to decide whose on top, yumeko uses toys and gets horny off of you moaning in pleasure and you get a orgasm.

●" Aww, you're taking it so well, bunny. I love the way you moan for me, don't worry, this will be over soon, my love." Yumeko says as she kisses your licking off your tears

● Overall, yumeko loves you, and she's a great girlfriend.

[evans23]

RICKMAS 2024 - DAY 7 - QUIET WISHING [A2]

Pairing : Colonel Brandon x OC

Summary : The Colonel is ready to move on and to taste the delight of happiness, but your secret weighs too heavily on your shoulders.

Tag(s)/Warning(s) : Sadness. Depression. Mention of Abortion.

DECEMBER MOON : Part I

Also read on AO3 - Wattpad

Colonel Brandon's heart was beating to a new rhythm. The rhythm of happiness at having found someone who seemed genuinely interested in him and not in his fortune, his title or his domain. You made him smile. Better yet, you made him happy.

He still remembered your father's face when he had asked him for permission to court you. The poor man had not believed it, you whose sharp mind had scared away more than one man, here was one of the richest and most respected men in the county interested in you and did not seem put off by your intelligence which sometimes bordered on insolence. But he also feared that Brandon wanted to take advantage of you.

"My daughter... She is not like the ladies you usually frequent in the salons, Colonel," your father had told him.

"Exactly, I don't want a lady who just smiles and sits idle while spending my money," Christopher had replied in his deep voice.

"She... [Y/N] is already 28 years old and has never been... courted or proposed to... that should... worry you," your father had suggested.

Christopher had found your father's concern cute. He had recognized in him a man worried about your well-being. He had reassured him of his intentions and your father who could not miss your annoyed and pleading look had said yes.

But at already 38 years old, Christopher did not want to spend months and months playing the game of convenience. He wanted to marry you quickly.

And you too, for your part, did not want to wait any longer to leave your father's home for the safety of a husband. But the happiness you had of being courted and loved by a man like him was tainted by the fear you had that he might one day know.

"[Y/N], is everything okay ?" Brandon asked you, looking genuinely worried.

You jumped slightly before smiling at him, your mind returning to the inside of the carriage that was gently shaking you on the bumpy road.

"Yes, very well, I... it's just that this is the first time I'm going to go to the Jennings and Mrs. Jennings... she's invited me often but I didn't feel like I belonged there..."

That wasn't really all that was bothering you but you didn't want to tell him the truth. If Christopher didn't believe you, he didn't show it, too busy admiring you in the wool coat he'd given you before you left, a coat that fit you and would keep you warm all winter.

The Jennings welcomed you warmly. He already knew that Christopher was courting you and although Mrs. Jennings' insinuations had made you uncomfortable at times, the day had been pleasant. But you didn't feel entirely at home in this world. You didn't know all the rules of etiquette and you were always a little slouched, a position reinforced by your feelings of inadequacy.

"You'll learn," Christopher said kindly when you confided your doubts, "I'll help you and if you wish, I can have a governess come and see you every day. But [Y/N], I'm not asking you for anything, you know that, right ?"

You nodded gently, grateful for what he was willing to do for you, to help you integrate into his world.

That night, lying in your bed with Henry by your side, covered with several blankets to counter the cold wind that was seeping in through the gaps in the windows, a dull anxiety invaded you. What you were doing was wrong. You were going to make this honest and sincere man suffer who didn't deserve it, a man who wouldn't even look at you anymore if he knew the truth, if he knew who you really were.

12 years ago

You were sixteen years old and you were considered one of the most beautiful girls in your village. Your long brown hair that you rarely bothered to style like a real lady, your soft and delicate face, your big green eyes, your natural kindness and your intelligence made you a rather singular person. You had few friends and the boys didn't really look at you, intimidated that you could hold a real conversation.

But you didn't care, you were still so innocent about things of love. You had a simple life with your father, a man who gave you more freedom than any other girl in your village could have dreamed of having.

No one looked at you except him. A lord's son, no less than that who had noticed you one day at the spring festival that was organized every year thanks to the kindness of his father. This year the old lord had not been able to come and it was him who had come. Tall, elegant, dark-haired with a nonchalant attitude, he had immediately caught your eye. He didn't look like anyone you knew. Nobody. And you didn't look like any of the ladies he rubbed shoulders with either. Why he had noticed you among all the others, you don't know and you would never understand, but it had been the case.

He had spoken to you to talk about the weather. He was charming, disarming too. He wasn't flattering and his sincerity had made you waver, giving rise to a mixture of excitement and nervousness.

That evening, when you returned home, you couldn't forget the smile that lit up his face, but you knew that you couldn't expect anything from this meeting. You were just grateful that he had been kind enough to speak to you, to treat you as an equal.

Except that you had seen her again. Once. Twice. Three times. And he had ended up admitting to you that if he came back to the village so often, it was to see you. Each time, he had a little gift for you: a drug, a silver brooch, a handkerchief embroidered with his initials, gifts that you kept preciously in a wooden box hidden under your bed. Not to mention the dozens and dozens of letters that you exchanged, hiding them in the gap of a stone wall on the edge of the village that secretly kept your correspondence while the other went to get the letter addressed to him. The drawer of your dresser was filled with the languorous words that he wrote to you every week.

"We could leave," he had told you one day.

"Where would we go ?"

"Anywhere. We'll get married in Scotland and then... We could go to America. Or this new land that he calls Australia. They say that there everything is big and everything is wild. We would be free to be what we want."

He kept telling you that your difference in status, in rank, was of no importance and he insisted a little more each time that you leave. And soon, he had infected you with his dreams of escape, of distant landscapes and of a future where conventions, social statuses would not exist.

Back to the present

"[Y/N], will you come with me to the Christmas party that the Jennings are organizing the night before ?"

Christopher was standing in your living room, his hands nervously playing with his hat while your father prepared tea in the next room, Henry at his side hoping to see him drop a biscuit.

"I... I'm not sure I have my place at such an evening," you answered, your cheeks blushing slightly.

You knew that the Jennings would receive prestigious guests, accustomed to the codes of this kind of evening.

"I will stay by your side the whole time," Christopher promised.

You looked up as your father came back into the room, nodding vigorously behind Christopher to urge you to say yes.

"Very well," you murmured.

The Colonel smiled, a shy smile on his lips, the same one that always made you melt.

"If you agree, Mr. [Y/S], I could take [Y/N] into town to buy her a dress for this evening."

"There's no need..." you began but your father almost immediately interrupted you to give his consent.

As you walked side by side, you could feel the eyes of the evil tongues who whispered about the fact that you didn't have a chaperone. Christopher didn't care. After all, you were practically his fiancé and at your ages, there were many other things to worry about. Besides, he was a man of honour, he would never have touched you before making you his wife.

But those whispers tightened your throat, taking you back years.

11 years ago

After a year of dreaming and hoping, you had abruptly learned the truth from a maid at the manor where the man you loved lived. He was engaged. Engaged to a woman of his rank.

"Is it true then ?" you had asked him when you had seen each other in your secret place, far from the eyes of the village.

"[Y/N], I... I am from an important family. I must honour my name."

"You promised me! You told me that our difference in status meant nothing, that we would run away."

"I shouldn't have let you believe that, it was a mistake."

"William," you whispered, tears welling up in your eyes.

"[Y/N], it was a dream. A beautiful dream, but you have to wake up now."

And he continued like this, in a cold voice, pretending that everything you had experienced, shared didn't count, was nothing.

"I'm leaving the region at the end of the month. I'm going to Wales. The wedding will take place there and we will settle in one of my father's properties. I'm sorry [Y/N], but you are intelligent, you must have suspected that all this was only ephemeral."

He stroked a lock of your hair, then he turned away and left without a backward glance, leaving you alone with your sorrow, your broken heart, your body in pain.

You fell to your knees, crying silently. You stayed there for a long time, hours. It was almost dark when you finally returned home. You felt empty, betrayed, in another world, so much so that you hadn't even heard your father's remonstrances.

The next day, you burned everything: the letters, the gifts, you wanted to erase him entirely from your existence. But it was too late. He had already left an indelible mark on you.

Back to the present

A lump in your throat, you listened to Christopher talk to you about the future. Children he hoped to have with you.

You had to tell him. He had to know what you had done 16 years ago. You couldn't let him believe that you were a young virgin saved for her husband. You had to tell him everything. But once again, you were too cowardly to do it, promising yourself once again that tomorrow, tomorrow you would talk to him.

But you didn't, the days passed, you kept your secret, your regrets, your remorse and your guilt with you. But on this December 23rd, Christopher did something you didn't expect.

He came to your house without you expecting it. Your father was busy at the Hawthorne's. He was preparing the tables and the decorations for their Christmas reception. However, you didn't hesitate to let Colonel Brandon come home. You knew you had nothing to fear with him, and besides, your four-legged companion would protect you if necessary.

Christopher stood in front of you, a little nervous. He felt a certain resistance in you, but he hoped that what he was going to ask you would break down your last defences and that you would teach him to understand your silences and your sometimes shifty glances.

"[Y/N], I wanted to ask you something," he began, pacing back and forth.

You were sitting by the fireplace, your heart pounding.

"I love you. With a deep and sincere love."

Your breath caught in your throat as he stopped in front of you, his hands crossed behind his back.

"I don't want to wait any longer. I don't want to waste any more time. I know I want you in my life. You touched my heart when I thought it was no longer possible."

"Colonel Brandon," you said, emotion choking your voice somewhat.

Christopher looked at you surprised. You only called him that in public, never in private, not since he asked you to use his Christian name.

"I..."

You couldn't continue. Sensing your hesitation, he took your hands in his, so strong, so powerful.

"I know I'm not perfect. I'm not the most handsome man in the kingdom, and my past has been filled with pain and regret. But I'm grateful to God for making me endure all of this. Thanks to it, I learned to recognize a true soul."

"Christopher," you began but he stopped you by raising his hand.

"I would like us to go to the Jennings' party tomorrow night as your fiancé and for you to allow me to tell my best friend that you have agreed to become my wife."

You turned pale. As if he could sense the tension emanating from your entire being, Henry came to rest his head against your leg. You absently took him on your lap, your eyes wide.

You looked up to see the hope in Christopher's, and you felt sick. You put Henry back on the ground and stood up abruptly to walk away.

"[Y/N]," Christopher said softly.

He didn't understand. What were you doing ? You weren't like Marianne, you couldn't be. He had thought he saw in you what he had been looking for for so long, and here you were about to break his heart, like all the others.

"I can't," you whispered.

His words were like a slap in the air. Brandon took a step back, hurt.

"Why ?" he asked firmly, "was I just a game to you ?"

"No ! Never ! I... Christopher... I..."

Tears welled up in your eyes and you bit your bottom lip until it bled.

"[Y/N], explain yourself. I want to know," he commanded.

"I'm not what you think I am. You deserve a much better woman than me who is worthy of walking by your side."

"[Y/N], I don't expect you to be perfect. But I want you to be honest."

"Honest... I wish I was, but I'm afraid you'll never look at me again."

"[Y/N], what do you mean ?"

Christopher felt worry rising in him. What could you possibly be hiding ?

"I... you'll probably despise me after this, but please, don't tell anyone, ever. I'm telling you because I owe it to you. What I did was wrong. I shouldn't have given you false hope, but please, Colonel Brandon... Christopher... keep my secret, I beg you."

You were crying for real now. Christopher helped you sit up and handed you a glass of water.

"Despising you ? Never. What could you have done that was so bad ?"

His tone was soft, his gaze worried. You hesitated for a split second, then spilled the beans.

"There... many years ago, when I was only 16 years old, I let myself be seduced by a young lord. He... he was insidiously sweet and he made me a thousand and one promises. He promised me a bright future, dreams that I would never have dared to imagine, but...

11 years ago

"My dear, you haven't stopped throwing up for three days. We should really call the doctor," your father had told you tenderly.

"It's not necessary, Dad. We don't have much money and I'll get better soon, there's an epidemic in the village. I probably caught it when I went to sell our apples to Mr. DeGardener."

Your father had nodded, even if he remained worried about you. But you knew you were lying. You weren't sick. It was worse than that.

Two months ago, William had taken you to his house in secret. A magnificent home like you had never seen before. His parents were away, traveling to Scotland with three-quarters of the servants. He had let you in discreetly, under the noses of the few servants still present.

He had taken you to his room, kissed you on the cheek, forehead, nose, mouth. Up until then, nothing more than what you had already done. He then went down your neck and one of his fingers had gently lowered the collar of your dress to place a kiss on the top of your breasts. Out of breath, you had let him do it.

He slid his other hand along your leg, raising your dress up your thigh to place his hand under your drawers, and there again, you had not pushed him away. You knew what was going to happen, you were not as naive as you seemed... well, at least you liked to think so.

Several times, he had asked you if you were sure, if you wanted him to stop. When he had unbuttoned your dress, when he had slid it down your body, when he had removed your wool socks, your undershirt and one last time, before his hands slid your drawers down your legs

And after you had whispered "yes" to him one last time, he had laid you down on his bed and had taken your purity, your innocence, your entire body.

You obviously couldn't tell your father this, but there was one person you could confide in. You knew she wouldn't judge you and she would never tell him again.

You had waited until the next morning, for your father to leave for work to leave him a note and you had left for your grandmother's house. She lived in a modest house a little outside the village, nestled at the end of a path lined with old twisted trees that filtered the autumn light, making their foliage almost unreal.

With bruised feet and a fragile mind, you had timidly knocked on the door, your shoulders weighed down by an emotional fatigue that devoured you more than anything else. Your grandmother had come to open the door. When she saw you, her face had lit up with a toothless smile. Her white hair was tied up in a strict bun and her face, marked by the years, was marked by a little more worry when she saw you with red eyes and a defeated expression.

"Grandma, I didn't know where to go," you had said, bursting into tears.

She had immediately pulled you into her arms. You still remembered her scent of lavender and wood and for the first time since William had abandoned you, you felt safe.

She had led you to the fire and while she made tea, you had unpacked everything. Absolutely everything, while your grandmother had sat in her old, worn armchair, a blanket around her shoulders, listening to you without saying a word.

"My dear," your grandmother had finally said at the end of your story.

"I loved him, Grandma. And I believed him when he said he would marry me," you had said in a hoarse, almost inaudible voice.

"I know, my dear. But you are not the first young girl to be taken in by the sweet promises of a young man in search of pleasure."

"He left me like I was nothing. Like we had nothing in common and all his promises were nothing but wind," you said, crying even harder.

"You're no less precious, [Y/N]. No one needs to know what happened, it's yours," your grandmother had said wisely.

"Except... Oh, Grandma ! I'm expecting his child !"

Your tears had redoubled, almost choking you as your throat was so tight.

"There is no forgiveness for girls like me. I'm lost and when the whole village finds out, my father's name will be sullied."

The old woman had immediately stood up to hug you.

"No one needs to know. You made a mistake, that's true, but that doesn't define you. Neither you nor your worth. It's what you do from now on that matters," she had said firmly.

"What am I going to do, Grandma ?"

The old woman thought silently for a moment, her fingers clenched on the armrest of the chair you were sitting in.

"I... I'm going to go see your father..."

"NO !" you cried.

She silenced you with a look, the same kind of look she used to make you understand, when you were a child, that you were getting a little too insolent.

"I'm going to tell him that I'm not doing very well and that I want to go on a pilgrimage to talk to God. He'll tell me that I'm too old and I'll tell him that's why I want you to come with me, to watch over me."

"Where shall we go, Grandma ?"

"I know a place where we can help you."

"Grandma, you're not judging me, are you ?" you asked, consumed by guilt.

She took your hand in hers and squeezed it with all her strength.

"My poor little darling. You carry a weight that is far too heavy for a young girl, but you are not the first young woman to let a man abuse you. Listen to me carefully, this secret will be ours and you must never, ever let it define you or dictate the rest of your life, understood ?"

You didn't answer and she squeezed your hands a little tighter.

"Understood ?" she asked again with more force.

"Yes," you breathed.

"Good. I'm going to take you to a small, remote convent run by sisters who are rather... let's say more caring than others. They'll give you a choice. Either stay there until you're delivered and they'll then take care of your child, entrust him to a good family who can't have one or..."

You saw her hesitate and you raised a questioning look.

"Or what, grandmother ?"

"Or some of them know... they know how to make angels."

Your breath hitched. You knew what she meant.

"It will be your decision, [Y/N], but know that no matter what you decide, you will do what you believe is right and I, I will always love you just as much."

She hugged you again, whispering to you that anyone who dared to judge you would know nothing of the weight of the human heart. And a week later, you found yourself in this convent, surrounded by sisters who were not as caring as promised, who had made disparaging remarks to you under the disapproving gaze of your grandmother, but despite the sermons, one of them had created an angel and you had returned home as you had left, at least in appearance. But the specter of your guilt, you knew, would never leave you.

Back to the present

"It was supposed to be the best solution, an end, but it was only a beginning. I woke up after days of fever, weakened, my body bruised and my heart... my heart completely empty," you said without even trying to hold back your tears.

Christopher looked at you, his features serious but his eyes not devoid of compassion. He had listened to you from start to finish without interrupting you.

"That day, I lost my faith and my dignity. You see, Christopher, I am not what you think. I am not pure. I am just a slut who... who made an angel out of the child she was expecting. I am not worthy of you, of your love."

A heavy silence fell, broken only by your sobs. Christopher crossed the distance between you and took one of your hands in his. You tried to pull it away, but he stopped you.

"Please, Colonel, don't tell anyone. My father never knew, nor did anyone in our village. This secret belonged only to my grandmother and me. Today, my grandmother is no longer of this world, I am the only one carrying this secret. Please, please, keep it to yourself, I only revealed it to you so that you understand why we can't be together," you said in one go.

"[Y/N], look at me" he asked with authority.

You timidly looked up, afraid to see anger in his eyes, but you only saw love.

"I don't despise you. All I see is a young woman who, far too young, had to go through hell. But you came out stronger. And today, you don't have to carry that burden alone anymore," he said in a soft voice.

You shook your head violently, ready to protest, but he stopped you.

"You have survived much pain, much suffering that few could have borne," he continued with unwavering compassion, "and you are still here, standing before me, strong, fighting. It takes a strength that I can only admire, not despise."

"But I am not pure. I am broken," you whispered.

"And me too, life has broken me many times. But I got back up every time, like you. Life is like that. We all carry our burdens, but they shape us. You are not broken [Y/N], you are like a reed. The wind wanted to break you in two, but you only bent for a moment before getting back up."

His words resfelt like a balm on your bruised heart and for the first time in a long time, you saw hope and the possibility of finally letting those old wounds heal.

"I don't deserve you," you said weakly.

He squeezed your hand a little tighter as if to anchor you to reality.

"You deserve all the love in the world. And I love you. I love you as you are, for who you are. No matter who you were, what you've done. And if you're ready to accept me with my own demons, then I promise to love you, to protect you and together we will build a future far from the ghosts that haunt us. A future where there will be only hope, happiness and you can always lean on me."

You probed him as if to make sure he wasn't playing you, but you saw only sincerity and love on his features.

"[Y/N], do you agree to be my wife ?" Christopher asked softly.

"Yes," you said between sobs.

He held you close, resting his chin on the top of your head. When the front door opened, he quickly stepped back.

"[Y/N], what's going on here ?" your father asked, looking at Christopher suspiciously.

"Dad..."

"I asked [Y/N] to be my wife and she agreed," Christopher answered for you.

Your father's face might have made you laugh if you weren't still reeling from the confession you had just made.

"Well, that's a surprise," he finally said, sitting down heavily on an armchair.

The Colonel took his leave, not without kissing your forehead tenderly, almost possessively before taking his leave.

The next day, he picked you up for the evening at the Jennings, a ring between his fingers.

"It belonged to my mother," he told you as he slipped it onto your finger. "And now, it's yours. And you're mine," he said as he kissed your temple.

And you left for the Jennings, you wrapped in the wool coat that Christopher had given you, he had the biggest smile you'd ever seen on his face. And in that dark night where the cold bit your cheeks, you let yourself go against him when in the carriage, he wrapped his arms around you to warm you. But it wasn't so much his arms that warmed you as the promise of a future that you had never dared to hope for before. And silently, you thanked the heavens for having heard your quiet wishing.

[mykoreanlove]

Heey can I ask for a very domestic scenerio for Taemin? Like his wife is at home with their baby (who is a boy and looks exaclty like Taemin) and then he comes home after a show, event, concert whatever and just chill together...Thank you!!

I am sorry it took me so long - here it is, hope u like it :) thank you for reading my work, really appreciate it <3

You took a concerned glance at the clock hanging on the pastel-colored wall – 11 pm.

“He should be home soon”, you muttered to yourself as you held your sweet baby boy in your arms. Life changed drastically ever since you became a mother, but you wouldn’t have it any other way.

You thought you’d love Taemin with all of your heart, but your little boy taught you a whole new level of love.

“Don’t you wanna go to sleep, Jongi?”

Big brown eyes looked back at you, cackling joyfully. Your baby was not only a direct replica of Taemin in regard to looks, but also personality. The little boy was cheerful most of the times, smiling widely and brightening the day of everybody around. People couldn’t get enough of this little fella, always visiting and gifting him stuff.

“You know he looks exactly like his dad?”, your mother teased. “Is there anything of you in him?”

“Well, I hope so”, you replied as you swayed him from side to side.

12 pm.

Cries filled your apartment as the little one was getting impatient.

“What’s wrong, sweetie? Do you miss your daddy? He should be home any minute, Jongi.”

Sadly, that promise wasn’t enough to stop the energetic cries, so you started swaying him while walking through the big apartment. Jongi was used to falling asleep to Taemin’s voice – he always sang him to sleep. “Daddy’s gotta sing for his fans tonight, sweetie. They also need him, you know?”

More cries.

Even louder ones as if he had understood what you were saying. An idea flashed through your mind.

Quickly, you played a video of Taemin giving an acapella performance on the TV. Jongi squeaked in excitement as he recognized his dad on the screen. You placed a kiss on his head and smiled: “same, honey, same.”

Slowly, he closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep as his dad was filling the room with the loveliest serenades. It didn’t take you long to join him in slumber, after all motherhood was one hell of a beast.

You felt plush lips on your forehead as you slowly woke up, trying to make sense of your surroundings. “Y/N, sweetheart. I’m back.”

A big smile formed on your lips. You never doubted he would come back to you but every time he did felt magical. “Did my little boy behave?”

Taemin sat next to you and took Jongi from your arms, cuddling with him on the couch. “Your little boy was getting cranky because he couldn’t fall asleep. He needed his daddy’s concert badly.”

“Is that why you’re replaying old videos of me?”, he motioned to the TV.

“Yeah”, you nodded tired. Taemin kissed his son and whispered silently: “I am so sorry it took me so long, Jongi. I hope you didn’t give your beautiful momma a hard time, though. Because that’s my job.” He laughed diabolically.

“Hey”, you pouted.

“Come here, baby”, he invited you to lay next to him.

You crawled over to the two most important men in your life and laid your head on Taemin’s arm, sighing contentedly.

“Hey”, he whispered. You tilted your head to look up at him – you could tell that he was exhausted, yet deeply grateful. Taemin kissed you tenderly, enjoying every second with you and his son. He rubbed his nose with yours while holding your hand. “Did you enjoy the concert?”

Taemin nodded. “Yeah, I did. But I couldn’t wait to get home as soon as it was over. I missed you so much. I missed Jongi. You guys are my whole life.”

Moments like these were common for you, Taemin was very vocal about his love and appreciation. “Baby”, you whispered. He looked at you with deep compassion. “I mean it. I really, really mean it, y/n. You are everything to me.”

Moments like these made you think about creating a sibling for Jongi right this second. “I love you”, you whispered. Taemin closed his eyes with a big smile and started singing soundly – your family ritual to drift off to sleep.

[steddieunderdogfics]

This week’s writer spotlight feature is:  @wynnyfryd! Wynnyfryd has 34 fics in the Stranger Things fandom and all of them are in the Steddie tag!

i don’t know, you figure it out

Plot Holes

biting you biting you biting you- oh! kissing you!

Satanic Ritual: DO NOT WATCH!!

She's got some of the FUNNIEST writing in this fandom, and it's very snappy too like. She's an editing demon for sure, she can take a concept that I'd think would take paragraphs to explain and find the right words to make it hit just as hard with like, two sentences. I also really really love how descriptive her metaphors are, really visceral sometimes, and she's really good at writing realistic life events but still making them fun to read about even when it's about like, devastating shit. The sex she writes is also intense as hell! -- @griefabyss69

Below the cut, @wynnyfryd answered some questions about their writing process and some of their recommended work!

Why do you write Steddie?

I am but a humble bisexual — I see two beautiful brown-eyed men makin’ beautiful brown eyes at each other, I go a little insane for two years. It is what it is.

What’s your favorite trope to READ?

late-night moments of quiet hopeful hesitant intimacy over a shared joint or cigarette. Thin wisp of smoke between them, stars dancing in their eyes. Yeah. YEAHHHHHHH 

What’s your favorite trope to WRITE?

This isn’t really a trope so much as a dynamic, but I love a good dipshit 4 dingus dialogue-heavy scene. Don’t get me wrong, I think Eddie and Steve can both be very smart and knowledgeable in their areas of interest/expertise, but these are two young dudes with no access to the internet. I love letting them be confidently incorrect dumbasses. Just ‘yes and’-ing each other’s stupidity while an exasperated third character begs for mercy.

What’s your favorite Steddie fic?

Well, this question is impossible and furthermore rude. This question came into my home and didn’t take its muddy boots off. This question never mailed me a thank you letter for my lovely wedding gift. That blender was expensive; the absolute nerve. No but seriously, I think The Lathe by palmviolet is going to stay with me forever.

Is there a trope you’re excited to explore in a future work but haven’t yet?

I’m a big fan of doing canon divergence from different jumping off points — the beauty of having characters live in the same small town their whole lives is that you get so many great opportunities for these “what if our paths crossed sooner” moments.  I have some very loose notes for a S3 fic where Eddie is the movie theater employee who finds Steve and Robin in the bathroom after they escape the Russians, and I also have an old WIP set between S1 and S2 where lifeguard Steve rescues Eddie and then spends the summer teaching him how to swim. Would love to revisit those after I finish the trailer park AU (which I will be referring to as TPAU because my fingers are tired and because ‘toilet paper au’ makes me laugh.)

What is your writing process like?

Uhhhhh. 😂 I mean, for TPAU, basically just insert the scene from Dune 2 of Paul’s first sandworm ride: I’m shaking I’m sweating there is sand in my nostrils and I am surely about to die— oh wait, maybe I’ve actually got this? Am I actually doing it? Oh shit, look at me go!   For one-shots I like to use a more structured outline and bracket method. I start by dividing my doc into numbered scenes, with each scene getting a notes section and a prose section, like this:

This format gives me a lot of freedom to switch up the order of scenes and to move between scenes so I avoid writer’s block. I can also jump ahead to scenes I really want to write without making a mess of my outline. Once I have something written in the prose section of each scene, I go back and work on replacing each bracket with prose until there are no brackets left. Lastly, I create a new blank doc and copy the prose over in order so I can read the full fic and work on edits from there.  

Do you have any writing quirks?

I have been known to abuse a semicolon. And an em dash. And a conjunction at the start of a sentence. Yes, I do have ADHD.   I’m also a lyricist, so I feel like my prose tends to stray into poetry territory pretty often.

Do you prefer posting when you’ve finished writing or on a schedule?

When I’m finished! Which is probably why I tend to stick to one-shots; I get impatient and want to post stuff the second it’s ready.

Which fic are you most proud of?

‘i don’t know, you figure it out’ for SURE. I’ve never written a fic this long or stuck to a writing project this consistently in my life. Like ever. The last time I even came close was my first NaNoWriMo when I was 16, which was, uh… years ago, plural, and I’ll leave it at that. 😂

How did you get the idea for i don’t know, you figure it out?

“There’s a dead rat on his doorstep.” That’s it. That first sentence/scene popped into my head while I was bored at work, and then I started thinking, “hey, you know what? I don’t know that anyone’s ever done a fic where Max and Steve trade places for S4; that might be fun.”  And then NaNoWriMo was coming up, so I thought it would be cool to try live posting a fully improvised fic every day for a month to see how many words I could write. And then this tragic wet cat version of Steve Harrington grabbed me by the throat and took over my whole life.

When writing Satanic Ritual: DO NOT WATCH!!, what was something you didn’t expect?

How SAPPY these two got!! My god, boys, I’m trying to write smut over here, stop having a beautiful existential crisis! (I blame Briston Maroney for that though lol, I think I listened to ‘Body’ like 1400 times that month.)

What inspired Satanic Ritual: DO NOT WATCH!!?

@inklessletter posted this totally gorgeous art of Steve and Eddie recording themselves kissing, and I promptly lost my mind.  

What was your favorite part to write from biting you biting you biting you- oh! kissing you!?

This exchange: Steve: “What? I’m just asking!” Robin: “You’re being embarrassing!” Steve: “No, you’re just embarrassed. There’s a difference.” Like it’s just so them lmao

How do/did you feel writing i don’t know, you figure it out?

You know when you set out on a long hike in the summer and three hours later your calves are screaming and you’re covered in sweat and your sunburn’s starting to itch and this one horse fly won’t fuck off and your cell phone doesn’t even get service out here so literally WHY DID YOU DO THIS TO YOURSELF, and then you climb that last hill and look out on the most beautiful landscape you’ve ever seen in your silly little life? Basically that.

What was the most difficult part of writing Plot Holes?

Ooh, that one was fun! The only real difficulty was trying to keep it to a microfic because the concept could definitely be fleshed out to a full story — @griefabyss69 and I were joking around about “what if someone did ‘plot hole’ for the @steddiemicrofic prompt fill?” and then that fic just fell out of my head in about 15 minutes. 

Do you have a favorite scene and/or line from any of your fics?

For sure! I’m currently super proud of the graveyard scene in the most recent update of TPAU — I don’t write true horror often, but I love horror so it was really fun to give it a try! Favorite line from any fic is probably this reference to ‘You’re Divine’ in my fic Monsoon Season because I love uncomfortably-aroused prude Eddie, and his internal monologue cracks me up every time I think about it: Freddie Monsoon’s debut novel is called The Fourth Chime, and it is, as far as Eddie can tell, the first installment in a series of unapologetically filthy fuck fests about a man whose lover gets flung into an alternate dimension during an apocalyptic event and miraculously returns as some sort of… sexy bat-boy with a fucking horse dong and a bite kink. Critics are calling it “the most romantic novel of the last decade.” It’s me; I’m Critics.

Do you have any upcoming projects or fics you’d like to share/promote?

My main project right now is finishing TPAU if it kills me, but beyond that, I have a few one-shots for @subeddieweek in the works, including a collab with @griefabyss69 that I’m so so SO excited to share. It’s hot, it’s funny, I can’t wait for y’all to read it. 

Outside of these questions, Is there anything YOU would like to add?

First of all, as @wormdebut would say: I think you’re pretty. Thank you so much for all your hard work! I love this blog, and I love answering questions <3 Secondly: - Preheat your oven to 400 degrees. - Toss cubed sweet potatoes and parsnips, sliced sweet onion, and fresh garlic in a mix of olive oil, salt, pepper, and rosemary, and then spread in a single layer on a foil-lined baking sheet.  - Bake for ~40-45 minutes. (Potatoes and parsnips should be soft without being mushy when you poke them with a fork.) - Prep your sauce: I made a dijon drizzle situation by mixing olive oil mayo, a dash of dijon mustard, lemon juice, salt, pepper, garlic powder, and a splash of water, but you could also add a little dab of hot sauce, bbq sauce, or different mustards. Basically just grab like four condiments out of your fridge and play around with the flavors you like until you make a mix that’s thin enough to pour. - Drizzle roasted veggies with sauce. - Enjoy a very tasty side dish (or do what I did and eat the whole sheet as a meal like some sort of parsnip goblin because you were too lazy to make the main dish after chopping all those veggies) okay thank you love you byeeeee

Thank you to our author, @wynnyfryd, and our nominator, @griefabyss69! See more of Wynnyfryd's works featured on our page throughout the day!

Writer’s Spotlight is every Wednesday! Want to nominate an author? You can nominate them here!

[sturniolo-rat]

Chapter 1: Cherry Contact

A/N: If this flops, I’m going to cry😢 In loving memory of @newsourceofnonsense, she's not dead; I just like the memory of her.

Contains: smut, oral, fingering , exhibitionism, plot

TW: tell me if you find any

Chris and Y/N are two walking commitment issues that enter into a mutually assured attachment.

Everyone thinks Y/N is a book hoarder, but she considers herself more of a book collector. She has over 700 books that take up damn near her whole apartment. The collection consists primarily of special and first-edition books. It’s probably worth around $50,000, but she doesn’t care because she plans on keeping them forever. To fund her obsession, she works as a waitress at a restaurant that just opened up called “The Copper Kitchen.” her best friend, Dorset, is a freckle-faced white girl with short brown hair, green eyes, and circle glasses. She also happens to be a bartender at “The Copper Kitchen.” Currently, Y/N is outside of her apartment waiting for Dorset so they can carpool to work. When Dorset pulls up in her shitty car, Y/N is ecstatic because she has big news to share. 

“Dot, I’ve done it!” she says as she hops into the passenger seat. 

“Wh- what have you done?” She’s very concerned that Y/N has done something crazy. It wouldn’t be the first time. The last time something like this happened, she told Dorset that she got her ex’s name tattooed on her left ass cheek.

“I’ve decided to have sex with men again!”

Dorset is relieved. “OMG! Yes! We can finally fight over men again!” They laugh as she merges back onto the road to begin the short trip to work.

“Yep, I’m meeting a guy at the restaurant after my shift,” Y/N says proudly. She's been off men since her break up three years ago, and this new guy is the first not to give her the ick within the first week of talking. She knows meeting up doesn’t automatically mean sex, but she hasn’t had dick in 3 years and feels that she owes it to herself to fuck this man. It’s not like she’s interested in anything else from him. Romance is strictly off the table for her. She prefers to stick to smutty romance books and shitty Tumblr fanfics of perfectly romanticized versions of men. 

“Oh, I can’t wait to hear all about your little hookup.” They part as they head to their respective jobs at the restaurant—time to deal with shitty customers who tip like assholes. 

Twenty minutes before the end of her shift, the most obnoxious kids walk in. They’re not actually kids; they're about 20, but Y/N considers anyone under 22 a kid, and these guys seem incredibly immature.

“Hey guys!” Says Nick, holding up the camera. “Welcome to today’s Friday vlog where we will be…”

Matt takes the camera, “trying the food at…” 

Chris gets into the shot and yells, “The Copper Kitchen!”

Nick hits Chris in the head “Don’t yell in my fucking ear!” 

“Don’t hit me, Dickface!” Chris hits him back while Matt holds the camera and laughs to the side.

The Y/N comes up and loudly asks, “Is this your whole party?” She gives them a disapproving look. 

Matt is the first to speak, “Yes, ma’am, it’s just the three of us today.”

“Sorry, ma’am,” said Nick and Chris in unison. Chris is noticeably more embarrassed than Nick is. He’s absolutely mortified to be seen acting like a child in front of such a beautiful woman.

“Thank you. Let me show you to your table.” She picks up three menus before walking them to their seats. Only when they’re all sitting and looking up at her does she realize that the three boys are triplets. “Can I start you off with something to drink?” 

She points to Matt. “Root beer, thanks.”

She points to Nick. “Water, if you don’t mind.”

She points to Chris. “What’s the best virgin mixed drink you guys have?”

“I’m not sure, but you can never go wrong with a Shirley Temple. Do you want me to go ask the bartender?” She would love to tell Dorset about the sexy triplets that just stumbled in.

“Nope, we’re all good. I’ll take a Shirley Temple and a Pepsi.”

“Great. I’ll be back in a few with your drinks.” 

Y/N practically runs to Dorset. Chris can’t help but watch her ass as she walks to the bar to order his drink. When she returns a few minutes later, she hands Chris his drinks last.

“Thank you for the Pepsi, but this…” he lifts the mixed drink and hands it to her. “is for you, miss…” he pauses to look at her name tag. “Y/N. It’s an apology for making a scene in your restaurant.”  Nick and Matt are in shock over how forward he’s being. Chris has never really flirted in front of them before. It’s kind of weird, but they can see why he has so many girls in and out of his room. 

“Well, thank you…”

“Chris.” he interrupts. “Please, call me Chris.” he gives Y/N a charming smile.

“Thank you very much, Chris. However, my shift is over, and Michelle will serve you for the rest of the night.” 

“I’m sorry to see you go, miss Y/N, but I hope you have a good day.”

“Will do, Chris,” says Y/N before she walks away to sit across the room at the bar. She talks to Dorset about her date tonight while she waits for him. His name is Theo. He’s blonde with deep brown eyes, and from what Y/N can tell from sexting, he’s so fucking good at dirty talk. Unfortunately, he is 30 minutes late to meet her. 

Chris has been relatively quiet for today’s video. He’s been distracted watching Y/N enjoy his drink and seeing her smile and laugh with her friend. She looks somewhat distressed now, and Chris can't help but think he’s found his opening. He makes the boys wrap up the video and leaves to get Y/N’s number. 

He turns on his charm and sits on the stool next to her. “What’s got you so worried, miss Y/N.”

“Pretty sure I’m being stood up. I’m also pretty sure people under 21 can’t sit at the bar.”

“Who says I’m not 21? Maybe I’m here to buy you another drink.” 

Y/N cocks her eyebrow as she calls her friend over. “Order me something then.”

Chris tries to think his way out of this. “Listen, you guys are friends, right? She’s just been stood up, and a handsome young man would like to buy your friend a drink. I’m sure if you just forget to card me this one time and let me buy her a Shirley Temple with vodka and extra cherries, it would make her night ten times better.”

“My hands are tied, Y/N. You’re my weakness.” she looks to Chris. “Dirty Shirley coming right up.”

“You’re fuckin’ smooth, aren’t you?” asks Y/N. 

Much more confident than he was moments before Chris responds, “Yes, ma’am, I am. Now tell me all about the bad man who hurt you.”

“I’m not really hurt,” she replies, but Chris can tell she’s hiding something. 

“No?” he questions.

Dorset comes with her drink, and Y/N takes a nervous sip. “Can I be honest with you?”

“Of course you can, Miss Y/N.”

“I’m not hurt. I was just really horny, and I got my nails done for this date, and not I can’t even touch myself at home because my nails are so sharp,” she says, completely embarrassed. She doesn’t make eye contact with him and focuses intensely on eating her maraschino cherries. 

“I don’t mean to be too forward, but…” he leans in, whispering in Y/N’s ear, “ I think I can help you with that.” She doesn’t miss a beat. She takes his hand and drags him to the large family bathroom. Dorset claps and cheers them on openly as they make their way. Y/N makes a mental note to get her back somehow later. 

She palms him through his pants, and Chris grabs her face, pulling her into a rough, hurried kiss. “Oh, fuck. You taste like cherries.” he hikes up her uniform skirt and rubs her over her panties. 

“You have yourself to thank for that.” 

He spins her around so he can watch her face in the mirror as he touches her. “You’re also soaked. Do I have myself to thank for that, too?” before she can say anything, Chris’s finger is spreading her lips apart and playing at her entrance. 

She closes her legs in response. “Nope, not so fast. You gotta eat it first.”

Chris sinks to his knees. “Yes, ma’am.” he wastes no time. He spreads her thighs apart, slides her panties to her knees, and starts lapping at her clit from behind. He’s got to be quick because his brothers are waiting for him. 

She bends over the sink, propping herself up on her forearms. “Oh, fuck!” she groans. 

“Hush, Cherry. Don’t want to get fired for fucking on the job, do we?.” The vibrations from his laugh makes Y/N’s pussy shiver causing her to wiggle a little. Chris loves watching her ass jiggle. “Has anyone ever eaten your ass?” he parts her cheeks and gives her a playful spank. “You have such a cute little asshole. Do you mind if I try?” 

“Yeah, you can try,” she says sheepishly, hiding her face from the mirror. 

“Don’t worry, I won’t forget to give your clit some attention.” 

“Oh, yes! Just like that!” Y/N cries out louder than she means to as his tongue explores her ass. He rubs her clit with the pad of his finger, and she lets out a breathy moan. Chris is hard as a fucking rock, and she’s making such pretty sounds. It’s torture not to touch himself, but he came here to help her out and needs to focus on making her cum. 

“Yeah. Tell me how you like it.” 

“Fingers, please,” she begs. 

“Tell me how many you need, Cherry?”

“Two. Just two, please.” Y/N takes his fingers inside of her with ease. He searches for a moment to find that special spot of hers. “Right there!” 

Chris is so happy with how open she’s been to him. The girls he’s been with recently have been so meek. She’s such a good girl telling him just where she needs him. He works his fingers into her faster, making sure to hit her G spot every time. Y/N starts pushing herself back on his fingers. Chris feels her pussy begin to tighten like a vice around him. “You’re such a good fucking girl. Cum for me, Cherry. Cum on my fingers.” her legs giveaway as her climax burns through her, and Chris has to hold her up as he tries to work her through it. 

When her orgasm subsides and her vision comes back, Chris is on the floor holding her. She rests her head on his chest and says, “Thank you. That was fucking amazing.”

“Anytime, Cherry. I don’t expect any reciprocation today, but I feel I am owed your phone number.” He hands her his phone, and the new contact is already open. 

“Of course, here’s my number, Chris.” she hands the phone back to him, gets back onto her feet, and pulls her panties up. She leaves without saying goodbye. Chris looks down at his phone and smiles at her contact name. “Y/N🍒 (Sexy Waitress)”

Masterlist

Taglist

@rafecameronsbitch @daddyslilchickenfingers2 @mrsmiagreer @lovergirl4387 @gdsvhtwa @ashley9282828 @j-worlds-blog @stephanieienwf @achrisgirly @draculaura123 @abbypost @Cind2224 @crazychrisl0v3r @ryli3sworld @bkwrld @pinkishpearls @pepsienthusiasts @stunza @chrattstromboli @sturnssmuts @angelic-sturniolos111 @69isabella69 @maryx2xx @sturniolo04 @bigbeefybitch @klaus223492 @r93339 @sturnzsblog @spotconlon55 @robins-scoop @junovrsmp4 @sturnlover4eva @blahbel668 @lilahnowheretobefound @luxy-nyx @tuffsturns @m0r94n @sturnstvs

[carolmunson]

eddie munson x fem!reader | steve harrington x fem!reader

COMING SOON TO THEATERS. A FANFICTION ADAPTION OF ACADEMY AWARD WINNING FILM 'TITANIC' WRITTEN BY:

@loveshotzz @newlips and @carolmunson

ORIGINAL SCREEN PLAY + FILM WRITTEN AND DIRECTED BY JAMES CAMERON. ALL OF THOSE ICONIC SCENES AND LINES ARE, OF COURSE, CREDITED TO WHOM CREDIT IS DUE: JAMES CAMERON

PREVIEW:

Wednesday, April 10th, 1912 Southampton, London

The blare of the fog horn is unmissable, rattling the conversations in a small pub off the White Star Dock. Even through the dusty windows she was clear as day, big as anything anyone had ever seen. Large black body met with a red base, multiple decks, and four large smoke stacks. The ship seemed to go on forever, her beauty unmatched to anyone who had seen it – a behemoth on the seas. A glory – a masterpiece.

The doors of the pub fluttered open and closed all morning as it edged closer and closer to noon. Pints poured by the dozens, the hundreds – half the country coming to the piers to see off the Ship of Dreams and its passengers. The bar was alight with chatter, mixing in with the roar of people from outside — hundreds of people halfway to boarding, waving and kissing goodbye. Beer glasses clinked and people cheered while they watched a long line of high end cars gleam in the spring sun as they rolled down the dock. Precious cargo full of Europe and America’s elite. 

Reporters and bellhops alike flock to them like flies, pub patrons ogling through the dusty windows while they exit their buggies.

Among the commotion, the endless chatter and screeching of pub seats, sat four men oblivious to the spectacle. They’re sitting around a small table with sweat on their brows as the April sun pours golden over them. Eyes burning over their cards as cigarette smoke wafts over their heads — the players lost in the fog during an intense round of poker.

The pot was mostly meager — a few pounds and swaths of change, a pocket watch, a penknife. But in the center was the crown jewel, a prize that would change the winner’s life forever. Two pieces of pressed parchment reading: 

The men leer over their hands, not a friendly face between them — the tickets were not the dealer’s, but two of the players who had bet the wrong guys. Guys who had been beyond the break and back again, meeting in Morocco, then Paris, and traveling together back to London — guys who had never lost a game of poker. 

Eddie places his bet, pulling a small silver ring off of his right ring finger and tossing it in the center. 

“Are you kidding?” Jeff asks from his left, “That’s everything we have.” 

Eddie grins at him, taking a drag of his cigarette. The sun dances in his big brown eyes like he knows something the rest of them don’t, “When you got nothin’, you got nothin’ to lose.” 

The two other players speak to each other heatedly in Swedish after one of them hits for a new card. The outburst makes it clear that things aren’t looking good for the Swedes — it makes Eddie’s heart leap. Maybe this is it, maybe he’s finally gonna get back to the states. “Sven?” he asks the man next to him. “Hit,” he replies, putting down a card and taking another. Eddie follows suit, furrowing his brow while his bangs meet his eyelashes. Sweat collects on the nape of his neck where his dark curls are twisted up in a graphite drawing pencil – a trick he picked up from women he met in France. He puffs the smoke from his mouth, eyes meeting the Swede across from him who looks like he couldn’t be having a worse day. 

“Alright,” he says, putting his cigarette down on the ashtray between then, “Moment of truth. Somebody’s life’s about to change.” 

He leans back in his chair and looks at his friend, sweat beading at the edge of his hairline and glinting off of his deep skin, “Jefferey?” 

Jeff throws his cards down with a roll of his eyes. “Nothing,” Eddie nods. 

“Nothing,” Jeff says curtly through a grit in his teeth. His heart pounds in his chest while he looks at the last of their money on the table – they can’t afford to lose. 

“Olaf?” Eddie asks, the Swede throws down his cards in a huff, “Nothin’.” 

“Sven?” 

Sven puts down his cards and Eddie frowns, “Oh…two pair.” 

His shoulders droop while he looks at his own cards, eyes lingering on the silver ring in the middle of the table, “I’m sorry, Jeff.” 

“What do you mean ‘sorry’?” You idiot! You bet all of our bloody money! You imbecile, you–”

“I’m sorry, you’re not going to be able to visit your cousins in Paris again for a long time,” Eddie says with a serious edge. Jeff quirks his brow, triggering Eddie’s winning smile behind plush pink lips. 

“‘Cause we’re goin’ to America!” he exclaims, slamming his cards down on the table, “FULL HOUSE, BOYS!” 

Jeff leaps from his chair in the back of the pub, reaching for the tickets on the on the table, “WE’RE GOIN’ TO BACK TO AMERICA!” 

“I’m goin’ home!” Ed exclaims while the boys hug tightly. The pub cheers for them, pints still flowing — men and women with red cheeks having no idea what they’re cheering for until a fight breaks out between the Swedes. 

Eddie laughs, hoisting his bag up over his shoulder and Jeff does the same — their white shirts dirtied with the stains of the day before.

“I can’t believe it,” Jeff says, teeth shining in a grin across his face, “Goin’ back to America!” 

“Titanic’s going back to America, boys,” the barkeep says, pointing at the clock, “In five minutes!” 

[nonoel-28]

So I have lately been thinking about SanNami future kids non-stop all night, and just wanted to share what I thought of so far. Forewarning, this is gonna be somewhat long 😅

Okay, first off, I picture Sanji and Nami having 5 kids (I love big families, sue me). Sanji teaches all of his kids the basics of Black Leg Style, but ultimately lets them decide what fighting style they want to learn. All 5 of their kids adore Luffy. Also, most of these are the basic, bare bone of ideas. So with that in mind lets get started.

The Oldest- Mika

Mika is a girl who is a spitting image of her mother, Nami, with the orange/red hair and brown eyes. The only physical trait she got from Sanji is the curly eyebrows.

Her birthday is March 6th.

One of her hobbies is cross-stitching and studying all of Nami's maps.

Mika likes to sunbathe with Nami.

She is extroverted. And an incorrigible flirt.

Mika's favorite Strawhat (besides SanNami and Luffy) is Zoro.

Whe she was 4, she told Zoro that when she grows up, she was going to marry him. XD

Zoro forever rubs that in Sanji's face, and Sanji doesn't know where he went wrong. Nami finds it hilarious.

She has a scar over the curly part of her right eyebrow, making it look like she has only one curly eyebrow. She got it runnng with a knife.

She thinks it looks awesome because know she looks just like Uncle Zoro.

Mika is training under Zoro in swordsmanship, although she prefers dual swords.

Mika's favorite spot on the Sunny is in the mast, traing with Zoro.

The 2nd Oldest- Sora

Sora is a boy who has blonde hair and green eyes. He has a beauty mark on the corner of his left eye. He also has curly eyebrows.

Sanji and Nami were confused on the where the green eyes came from at first, but then Nami realized that it must have been something Sora got from one of Nami's biological parents.

His birthday is November 28th.

One of his hobbies is baking.

He is introverted. Shy.

Sora's favorite Strawhat (besides SanNami and Luffy) is Chopper.

Sora likes having Chopper taste test his desserts he bakes with Sanji.

Sora is training under Chopper to become a doctor.

Because of that, Sora uses Black Leg fighting style and upholds Sanji's ideal of never using his hands in a fight, because Sora's hands are meant for healing.

Out of all the siblings, Sora is the best at Black Leg Style.

Sora's favorite spot on the Sunny is Nami's office. He studies his medical books their while Nami works on her maps.

The Twins- Genzo and Zeff

Genzo and Zeff are identical twins with orange/red hair and blue eyes. The only way to tell them apart is their curly eyebrows, they curl in opposite directions (Genzo curls like Reiju's and Zeff's curl like Sanji's).

Their birthday is July 26th.

They are both extroverted.

They are quite the ladies men.

Genzo's favorite Strawhat (besides SanNami and Luffy) is Franky, and Zeff's is Usopp.

One of Genzo's hobbies is building stuff with Franky and Usopp, and Zeff's is playing the guitar. They both like to cook.

One of Genzo's flaw is that he will do any and all dares.

It how he got his devil fruit power, an ability to freezes objects and people with a stare (not like actual ice freeze, more like whem you play freeze tag frozen... if that makes sense 😅)

Zeff dared him to eat the "rotten fruit" they found while exploring a new island.

Zeff is a bit manipulative like Nami.

Genzo fighting style is also Black Leg Style, but with weapons, curtesy of Franky. He has some weaponized greaves as well as rocket boots for that extra pow in his kicks.

He likes to freeze enemies just seconds before he kicks them in the face.

Zeff learned how to fight with a Bo staff like Nami. He also very good at strategic planning.

They never get tired of Brook's skull jokes.

They like taking naps under Nami's mikan trees. It's their favorits spot on the Sunny.

The Youngest- Belle-mère

Belle-mère is the youngest girl. She has blonde hair and blue eyes. She strongly resembles Sanji's mother. She is the only SanNami kid to not have curly eyebrows.

Her birthday is September 23rd.

Some of her hobbies are playing chess and helping Sanji in the kitchen.

She is an introvert, but not nearly as much as Sora.

Belle-mère's favorite Strawhat (besides SanNami and Luffy) is Robin.

Bell-mère loves having teaparties with Robin, Brook, and Jinbei.

Jimbei is training Belle-mère in Fishman Karate.

Her favorite spot on the Sunny is in the kitchen with Sanji.

If you made it to the end of this, thanks for sticking around to read my rambles. Alot of this wasn't really thought through, for the majority of them I just wrote down the first thing that popped into my head. If I ever decide to expand more on this, I will definitely put more thought and care into each of SanNami Eggplants, so things are bound to change a bit from what I have here, but for now I'm happy with it and I hope you guys enjoyed it as well. :)

[cardierreh15]

Queenie’s Beehive

Happy Black History Month my Loves!!! Who do yall think this story is based off of?

***I do not give anyone permission to repost, translate or copy my work!!!

Warnings 18+: Seducting Behavior/Dancing.

Pairings: Napoleon Solo x Queenie Covington(Black!OC)

Description: When Solo & Illya’s Leads point them in the direction of a club, Solo turns on his charm to get a word with the infamous Queenie Covington

Word Count: 4.1K

Song: Virgo’s Groove by Beyoncé , It’s A Man’s, Man’s, Man’s World by James Brown

Side Note(s): I changed the time to accommodate the story. I do not own or take credit for any of Beyoncé’s or James’ song ✨ Credit will always be theirs and theirs only 😊

The Beehive

Sacramento, California

February 5th, 1978

19:42 🐝

Napoleon looked down at the small brown business card. On the front in plain honey colored words were the address of the establishment. On the back was a beehive. That was it. Very minimalistic and straight to the point.

‘Interesting marketing strategy.’ Napoleon said as he passed the card over to his partner, Illya.

Illya took a moment to take in the small yet fine work of art. ‘Hmm.’ Before he handed it back.

Once their cab slowly came to a stop by the curb, the two gentlemen thanked their driver and stepped out of the car.

They were immediately met with a beautiful yellow LED lamp screwed into the building; showing across their skeptical glances. The lights were shaped into that of a beehive with tiny twinkling yellow lights, resembling bumble bees.

Beyond those doors, beneath that heavenly designed neon lamp lay the disco highlife of the century.

Awaited by the door were two Gods amongst men. So tall they could touch the roof if they wanted, and muscles that could break bones. To the left and right of them were two separate lines, damn near wrapped around the building that were guarded by red rope.

Illya began to worry.

‘We’ll never get inside.’ He said plainly.

‘Do you not have faith my friend?’ At the flick of his wrist and a twitch of his fingers, the tiny invitation appeared in Napoleon’s fingertips.

‘More magic?’

‘Someone’s gotta like it.’ He smirked and leaned in, ‘Here’s the plan. We go inside, we split up, we listen. Try not to look suspicious please.’

‘Suspicious?’ Illya scoffed, ‘The only person here suspicious here, is you cowboy.’ Pointing at his partner.

Napoleon made a face and looked down at his fit. He was in a plain gray suit with a matching waistcoat, and a white crispy dress shirt and black dress shoes; his usual attire.

‘What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?’

Illya on the other hand, sort of fit the bill. With a brown leather jacket with a turtleneck beneath, dark colored slacks and brown dress shoes to match. Oh, and his signature gray beret sat atop his blonde head.

‘You look like you’ve come to work and not to have fun.’ He rolled his eyes at his unwarranted pun.

‘In all technicality—‘

‘Yes, I know now can we go inside please?’

‘Perhaps. Do you remember your alias?’

Illya rolled his eyes as he head fell back, ‘Yes. I am a migrant here for work. You are a Wall Street journalist looking to have a conversation with the legendary Queen of Disco.’

He had a little bitterness in his voice. Napoleon caught on to that fairly quickly.

‘If you’d like, we can always trade places?’

Illya made a face, ‘Trade places? I am afraid that wouldn’t work.’

‘And why not?’

‘Because…’ Illya stuck his hands in his pockets and turned away. ‘you’re too small.’

A scowl curled up on Napoleon’s face at the insult, wanted so dearly to call him a bunch of curse words but he just cleared his throat and followed his partner towards the bouncers.

Once the men stood in front of the bouncer, Napoleon handed him the card.

The bouncer eyed the card closely, turning it back to front then pulled out a skinny pen like contraption. He clicked it on and a purple light shined down on the brown sheet. Revealing a bumble bee and a +1.

His big brown eyes flickered up from the card to Napoleon then over at Illya which he sized skeptically.

‘Who’s this.’

‘Oh? This is a friend of mine. He’s never been to an American club.’

‘Is that right?’ The bouncer said as he clicked off his pen and tucked it in his breast pocket. ‘Well, this is the perfect place to pop that cherry. Enjoy fellas.’

Napoleon carefully took the card and placed it inside of his breast pocket, ‘Thank you.’ And both of the men walked into the club.

As the men walked in, they were blinded by the bright twinkling lights of the many disco balls that hang on the ceiling along with over a dozen strobe lights dancing across the club.

The place was bustling and busy like nothing they’ve ever seen!

Like a Beehive!

Napoleon gently bobbed his head to the music as his crazed blue eyes danced amongst the floor, watching as gorgeous women of all colors and sizes grind and move their hips upon the dance floor.

It appeared that this mission was the least of his worries but, who he was going to be sneaking out of here with. That was until Illya landed a smack against his chest, knocking him out of whatever silly daze he was entrapped in.

‘Ow!’

‘Stay focus, cowboy. We’ve come to do a job.’

‘Yeah but who said we couldn’t have fun?’

‘Not you. You get carried away. Try not to blow our cover.’ Illya added before walking away in his stern manner.

Napoleon rolled his eyes and reached in his pocket to activate his voice recorder. Then he made his way across the bar which wasn’t far from the entrance.

As he walked over to the bar, he gazed at the dancing patrons, greeting everyone who’d passed to see if he could spot this special lady.

When he stopped at the bar, he took notice of the bartender. A woman, standing at great height. Must’ve been those thigh high platform boots. She had her back turned, cleaning out some glasses. This way he could admire her as she did so.

She had a big, beautiful Afro and wore this leather black and yellow striped short dress that hugged and defined her curves. Maybe this was her?

He cleared his throat loudly, ‘Excuse me bartender!’

The woman looked over her shoulder halfway in a startle, before quickly placing the glass and rag down. She spun around to greet him, her Afro bouncing with each movement. She wore big golden hoop earrings that twinkled and shined everytime the lights danced in her direction.

She flashed him this darling smile, with eyes brown as chocolate yet so bright with happiness and warmth. She was to die for!

‘What can I get for ya’ suga?’

Napoleon’s lips parted to speak but he all of a sudden felt shy. Truly unlike him. A burning heat rose to his cheeks, ‘Hi uh—‘ he looked at her chest which revealed her cleavage but her name tag rescued him from staring. ‘Flo… can I have scotch on the rocks please?’

‘You got it baby. Any particular kind?’

He stared up at the gorgeous brown skinned woman, almost disregarding the question— he cleared his throat and blinked hard once he realized he was staring again.

‘No— no,’ he chuckled, ‘Nothing in particular. How about you surprise me.’ He raised a brow, his own warming smile curling on his lips.

The two stared into one another’s eyes before a giggle left her lips, her dimples puncturing into her cheeks much deeper than before. ‘Alright na. You asked for it.’ She pushed off of the counter and started on his drink.

Napoleon smiled softly before he spun around halfway in his stool and began to gaze across the crowd. After a short moment, he spotted his partner standing off by the stage. Illya gave him a gentle nod of his head before Napoleon returned it in acknowledgment.

‘Here’s your drink, sugar.’

He quickly turned around and met the woman with another smile, ‘Thank you. How much do I owe ya?’

‘Nothin. It’s on the house.’

He raised a brow, ‘Is that so?’ That caught him by surprise really. He had been drugged in all different forms before, so taking a free drink always made him skeptical. ‘Am I like your 100th customer?’

‘No. I ain’t ever seen you here before, I wanted to welcome you here. People who wait outside those doors seldom get inside; just having a little shred of hope to even spend a second inside of this place.’

‘Hmm. Must be quite the place.’

‘You don’t think so?’ Flo asked, placing her hands on her hips.

‘Oh! Of course I think so. The women here are stunning.’ He gave her a quick size before straightening up, ‘Look. I refuse to drink this by myself. Lemme at least buy you one too?’

‘And drink on the job?’

‘I’m afraid so.’

A smirk was plastered on Flo’s face as she internally battled with herself.

‘Tik tok, love. I could practically hear the ice cracking.’ He teased, tapping the face of his watch with his index.

Flo inhaled deeply and rolled her eyes, ‘Alright, fine.’ Her southern draw had slightly peaked through, ‘Only cause you’re cute though.’

Napoleon smirked as she turned around where his smirk quickly faltered and he looked over his shoulder once again.

Once she was finished making her drink, she turned to face him and placed her glass down. ‘Alright—‘

‘Oh! One more thing sweetheart, could you pass me a straw?’

‘A straw?’ She raised a brow. ‘You don’t look like the kind of man that drinks his whiskey through a straw.’

‘Well there’s a lot you must learn about me baby.’

‘Alright then. Ask and you shall receive.’

While she was fulfilling her end of this bargain, Napoleon swiftly swapped their glasses before she could turn back around.

‘Here’s your straw. What should we toast to?’ She asked as she lifted up her glass.

‘Actually, I don’t need the straw… I just like to watch you work.’ He smirked as he wrapped her large hand around the glass that just seemed so miniscule in his palm.

Flo giggled rolling her eyes, ‘You flirt with all your bartenders like this?’

‘Oh dear no! I’m a one bartender kind of man. Actually, let’s toast to that. You being the most spectacular and gorgeous bartender that’s ever graced my presence.’

‘I can get down with that sugar.’ The woman winked as the both of them carefully clicked their glasses together.

Napoleon brought his drink to his lips slowly, watching Flo take a big swig out of hers before placing it down on the counter. No side effects hit her immediately… but perhaps they shall later.

As Napoleon embraced the welcoming warmth of his drink, he placed his glass down on the paper towel that she’d handled him. The space between them grew quiet for a second before he looked up at her. ‘What can you tell me about the person who owns this club?’

‘Who? Queenie? Why you wanna know?’

‘I’m a Wall Street Journalist. I’m looking to write an article about her success!’

Flo looked down at her watch and turned around to grab a rag and clean off her countertop. ‘Well, ion know if you can tell but… Queenie got her work cut out for her that’s for sho.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Well, her husband—‘

There it was. Exactly what he needed to further investigate.

‘Bought this place for her to solidify their marriage. I’ve been her friend for quite some time and never have I ever thought she would marry that grade A dickhead.’ Flo rolled her eyes.

‘Oh dear. What’s he like? How does he treat her?’

‘He worships the ground she walks on. But it often appears she couldn’t give less than a rats ass about him.’

‘Do you know how they met?’

‘She was singing in some lounge in Texas. That’s where we’re from.’

Napoleon was taking in all these minor details about this woman. He knew she would tell him everything he wanted to know… all she needed was a little motivation.

‘Right. And do you know what her husband does for work?’ He lacked the knowledge of that field, which was why he and Illya were here in the first place.

‘He owns a couple businesses as far as I know… i thought we were talking ‘bout Queenie though?’

Napoleon paused, ‘We are!’ He cleared his throat before taking a sip. He took notice of how she kept looking down at her watch, ‘Y’know the more you look at that thing—‘

‘“The slower time goes.” I know. But since you’re new here… it’s Friday Night.’ Her eyes glanced up at him.

‘Something special about Friday nights?’

Flo looked down at her watch one more time before a huge grin graced her face once more, ‘In fact… they are very special.’

Napoleon’s thick brows tugged into one as his face was written in incomprehensible confusion. Then, every light in the vicinity of the club shut off without warning. A few short squeals floated across the room in dismay.

Startled, Napoleon stood to his feet as he went into panic mode, afraid that he and Illya had been bested. His bright blue eyes fought desperately to adjust in the darkness. But in seconds, a sweet and groovy melody filled the air.

‘Baby, come overrrr.

Baby, come overrrr.

Baby, come over. Come be alone with me tonight.

Beehiiiive!!!’

A woman sang lewdly over the sound of the speakers.

‘Don’t be scared babies. Queen Bee won’t hurt you.’

Napoleon’s eyes had finally adjusted somewhat but he had yet to find Illya.

A big yellow spotlight shined on the stage revealing a band to the left and 3 back up singers who harmonized angelically. Three women with big poofy Afros donned with fresh flowers. They wore something similar to what Flo wore just instead of short dresses, they were flared pants; covered in black and yellow rhinestones.

They shined like stars on that stage.

Napoleon finally spotted Illya who hadn’t even left the spot.

‘All these emotions. It’s washing over me tonight.’

Once the room gained its groove back, Napoleon looked back to see that Flo had disappeared from her post.

He raised his brow in suspicion before he felt a gentle tap on his shoulder. Illya.

‘I saw you flirting with the bartender.’

‘Don’t be ridiculous. I was gathering intel.’

‘And?’

‘She knows just as much as we do.’ Napoleon sighed as they both turned to look at the charade.

That was until this huge disco ball began to slowly descend from the ceiling.

The two men's lips parted in disbelief.

Eventually, she was revealed standing on top of this gigantic ball. She had this beautiful smile plastered on her face as she greeted the crowd with alluring harmonizing.

She almost sounded like a siren; gracing the masses with her deathly hymns.

But when he saw her face, there was no way she could be something so sinister and evil. She was… ethereal. An angel in disguise of a woman who could snatch the soul from any man who dared looked in her direction.

Napoleon was stunned.

‘How are we doing tonight my worker bees?’ She grinned as the crowd beneath her cheered with blissful enthusiasm. ‘Yeeeeah!’ She laughed happily as she continued to scan the crowd.

‘That must be—‘

‘Queenie Covington.’ Napoleon felt like he couldn’t breathe. This was fan behavior! She was not what he’d imagined her to be.

Both of the men watched the woman carefully descend from the ball with the help of her security guards. Her platinum blonde hair cascaded down her back like sacred waterfalls. She wore a bedazzled tank top, matching bedazzled light denim shorts and high metallic silver fringed boots.

She shined brighter than any star they’d ever seen.

Baby come over, come be alone with me tonight.

All these emotions,

It’s rushing over me tonight— AH!

Ride it!

‘What is the plan now, cowboy?’ Illya asked.

‘What plan?’ Napoleon retorted.

‘You don’t have a plan.’

‘You think I knew she was doing an open mic tonight?!’ Napoleon huffed as his pink nose flared with aggravation, ‘We’ll figure it out.’

As Queenie began to croon over that melody once again, the flashing lights glowed into this magnificent yellow hue causing her glow light gold. Her eyes were closed as she allowed the music to embrace and be one with her soul. And when her hazel eyes fluttered back open, her eyes cut across the room towards the two men at the bar who seemed to be bickering at one another. Though, that didn’t take her out of her sensual groove.

‘Look after her performance, she may come to the bar to have a drink.’

‘And if she doesn’t?’

Napoleon inhaled deeply, holding it there as he tried to think of something. ‘Then we’ll do what we always do.’

Illya knew that specific plan and a lot of the time it involved them both getting damn near getting caught.

‘Oh no. Not this again.’

‘Not this again? What choice do we have? She’s the only lead that we have on him. We must exhaust all options.’

‘Sure. Whatever.’

Baby you can hit this, don’t be scared.

(Baby you can hit this, don’t be scared.)

It’s only gonna get you high!

Baby come over.

The boys watched in amazement as the woman swayed and rocked her hips as her own hands made love to her own thighs, belly and breasts.

Queenie cut her eyes back at the two gentlemen back at the bar once again; particularly the one in the suit. He surely stuck out like a sore thumb. And most of her folks here were regulars.

That star struck glare in his eyes was also very telling. She always did enjoy seeing men gawk over her. So with a smile and a wink, she began to moan her lyrics.

Don’t you leave. (me)

Don’t you leave.

So use me. (Use me)

Pursue me. (Pursue me)

Kiss me where you bruise me. (Bruise me)

Oooh weee—

Taste me, the fleshy part.

I scream so loud, I curse the stars!!!

Napoleon gulped hard, reaching in the collar of his dress shirt and tugged at it as he felt his temperature rising.

Illya glanced over at Napoleon and smirked as he took in this canon moment. ‘Has Casanova finally met his match?’

Without taking his eyes off of her, Napoleon groaned, ‘Shut up.’

As she adlibed and add those heavenly high and lows, the song had come to a beautiful close.

‘Thank you.’ She grinned happily as the audience blessed her with a healthy applause .

‘Thank you so much everyone for coming. Being able to perform in front of an energetic crowd is always a true blessing. Please, enjoy the rest of your night sugars and stay groovy.’

They gave her one more applause as she brought her hands together in prayer and bowed in their wake. She then swiftly turned around to speak to her back up singers.

Napoleon narrowed his eyes, taking note of the smiling group of women. It was nice to know that she and those that worked with and/or for her got along fairly well. Then, she excused herself and went backstage.

‘Did you enjoy the performance?’

The two gentlemen jumped at the sudden voice, one that was familiar to Napoleon alone. They turned around to see Flo standing there with a knowing smirk on her full lips.

‘Where did you go?’ Napoleon’s head fell to the side.

‘Oh. I help engineer those pretty lights and what have you. Just some techy junk.’ She smirked and glanced over at Illya. ‘Who’s your friend here?’

Well, the story seems to check out. Though, he didn’t know why she needed to be so suspenseful.

‘This is uh—‘

‘Alex—‘ Illya looked over at Napoleon before looking back ahead at the bartender. ‘My name is Alexsander.’

Napoleon looked back at Flo who gave them both a strange glare. ‘Alright, Alex…sander. Could I get you a drink, sweet baby?’

‘No ma’am. I’m actually here for work.’

‘Well I think we may have something open for security… you sure do fit the bill though.’ A smirk curled on her lips as her head fell to the side. She was checking Illya out.

Napoleon raised a brow with a smirk as the two began to converse with one another. It was about time Illya blew off some kind of steam.

‘Flo, hey.’

Napoleon watched her walk up to the bar and pull herself onto the empty seat beside him. Thee Queenie Covington. Their whole mission, sitting not even a whole foot away from him.

“You are not to sleep with Mrs. Covington under any circumstances, Solo.”

Well it was a good thing he didn’t make promises.

‘Give me the usual.’ She added.

When Flo’s and Illya’s conversation came to a close, he and Napoleon leaned into one another.

‘Just start casual conversation. Perhaps she’ll give us everything we need.’

‘Not to worry.’ He pulled away and turned halfway in his seat, ‘Excuse me, Miss. Queenie I am sorry for the intrusion but—‘

‘No autographs right now sugar.’ She said in a hurry as Flo placed her wine glass in front of her.

This is a man’s world! This is a man’s world!

‘I’m sorry Miss. Queenie I’m not here for an autograph. My name is Napoleon and I’m with the Wall Street Journal. I’d like to honor you in our newspaper.’

She had brought her wine up to her full lips and took a long sip. ‘Mmm! Napoleon? Like the little French dude? You don’t strike me as a “Napoleon”.’

‘What do I strike you as then?’

But it wouldn’t be nothing, nothing — without a woman or a girl.

‘Hmm…’ her head fell to the side as her pretty eyes roamed all over his handsome features.

She breathed him in and my what a breath of fresh air he was. The colors and the lights that danced across his face only seem to enhance the shadows and curvature of his jaw, making his face appear more masculine. Then, every once in a while a yellow light would flash over his eyes, causing them to glow like high beams.

‘I don’t know… maybe a “Henry” or a “David”. Definitely not a short little man with a God complex.’ She giggled, her full lips pulled back to reveal that dazzling smile once more.

He chuckled as his head fell in slight embarrassment. He should’ve changed his damn name.

‘You know I’ve heard that before.’

‘I bet you have.’ Queenie smirked as she took another sip from her glass, ‘So, what is it that I need from me, Napoleon?’

‘I just want to ask you a few questions if you have time?’

‘Yeah, I sup—‘

‘Mrs. Covington?!’ A tall lean male came rushing over to the bar, carefully pushing folks out of the way.

Goddammit.

Queenie rolled her eyes and turned around to meet the gentleman’s gaze, ‘Oh dear, what is it now? I’m in the middle of something!’

‘Yes but it’s your husband ma’am.’

‘Oh? Is the fool finally dying? I’m having a meeting.’

Napoleon took notice of how her mood quickly shifted from something light and fun to something else when her husband was brought up.

Her attitude was so fierce and sharp, you could see how it cut and tore through the gentleman’s ego. Napoleon found himself smirking a little.

‘It’s… it’s important ma’am. He demands your presence.’

She stared up at him for a long moment before letting out a deep breath through her nose and shook her head. ‘Fine. Please just— give me a second to finish my drink.’

The male in all black bowed his head and took a step back to give the woman privacy.

‘Mrs. Covington…’

‘Dear heavens, Mr. Napoleon I am so very sorry. You’ve come all this way to meet me and I have to leave.’ She sighed once again before knocking back the rest of her wine. She was gonna need it dealing with that god forsaken man.

As frustrated as Napoleon was, he couldn’t step out of character so he just gave her a gentle smile.

‘No need to apologize, Mrs. Covington. Perhaps another day? Are you free tomorrow afternoon?’

‘I should be. Maybe we can have brunch. Since this is my screw up, on me.’

‘Nooo, no ma’am. I won’t have it, it’s just a minor inconvenience—‘

‘Are you telling me no?’

The woman stared at him with eyes that searched his soul. Digging in every nook and cranny to figure out who he was.

And to her surprise, he didn’t buckle or break. He wasn’t like most men it appeared. His gaze remained on hers.

‘I’m telling you not to treat me. I don’t think it’s fair.’

‘Hmm.’ She hummed softly as she smirked and stood from her seat. ‘Alright. Meet me here tomorrow at 11:45am. Don’t be late.’

‘You lack faith in me Mrs. Covington.’

Queenie raised her brow and began to walk away, her slightly swaying hips making a statement. Then she paused and turned halfway to meet his gaze once again.

‘Oh and Sugar?’ She called out over the swelling of the music.

But it wouldn’t be nothing— nothing!! Without a woman or a girl.

He blinked and lifted his chin in response to her voice.

‘Call me Queenie.’

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