#dab x evan

[fwakwhakdepakmont]

Maybe the true meaning of Christmas is watching a gay sims wedding that you’ve been waiting five years for while you’re hungover at 5:30 am on Christmas Day

[me1-atonin]

why am i just realizing now that dab and evan get married on episode 69?! hello?!?!

[taintandviolent]

deflowering ; James March x virgin!Reader

{requested by anonymous} summary: 7k words! after a little dancing, more than a little champagne, you decide to take James March up on his offer of going up to one of the new rooms of the Hotel Cortez, to break them in, as it were. Little does he know, he's about to break you in, too. w a r n i n g s: virgin!reader (adult), mentions of alcohol, rough sex, explicit descriptions, canon divergence, rough sex, thigh riding, cunnilingus, blowjobs, aggression, use of 'daddy', dom themes.

full fic under cut! ↓ / ao3 link here! / ♪ recommended playlist here! ♪

t a g l i s t : @kaismanwich / @redwoodghost / @elsamars / @silverzoomies / @kaissweetlamb / @thewolveswithin / @80strashbag / @twinkiemaximoff / @spill-the-t / @stucktothetwo / @evansb1tch / @enchanting-evan / @petersevans / @yesdevineruler / @enchanting-evan / @anonymous0316 / @eventually27 / @violetharmonscupcake/ @my-own-walker / @kai-slut / @evanpetersfansblog / @fuckedbykai / @iluwmycats / @nova-kayne67 / @dewberryobssesed / @the-goblin1 / @dirtyfairy97 / @jellyluvr / @strangerthings420 / @kai-anderson-whore / @piecesofcain / @lilthbunny

It was the twenty-third of August, 1926, and you had just finished your second glass of champagne in the Hotel Cortez. Usually, you never drank this much, but it was a celebration after all. Some fellow named James Patrick March had finally completed the arduous construction of his new hotel and tonight was the opening night. Crowds had flocked to the entrance, dressed to the nines and all eagerly craning their necks for a peek at the glamorous inside. Those who weren’t explicitly invited were turned away by the doorman in his starched uniform.

You, of course — you’d been invited by your friend’s friend’s friend and when you showed up in a beaded, green dress and the mink stole your mother had given you four birthdays ago, you waltzed right through those doors without a single question. You looked like you belonged here as much as the group of actresses that walked in before you. The moment you entered, the hotel stole a gasp from your lips, dazzling you with its prestige and innovation.

It had been toted as “an overly ambitious project” and you could certainly attest to that. Mr. March, whomever he was, had written a particular aesthetic into the design of his hotel and from the hexagonal patterned carpets to the ornately panelled gold walls, everything fit the opulent theme. The Blue Parrot Lounge was a name you’d heard whispered several times, waiters coming down the curved staircases with trays full of delicate champagne flutes. You learned shortly after that the bar was on the second floor and overlooked the entire hotel lobby.

But downstairs in that lobby, a band was set up, their instruments exhaling the liveliest melody you’d heard in ages. Easily, they persuaded the masses to kick their heels up. The grand chandelier above your head twinkled like your own personal galaxy, shimmering every time you moved. In fact, everything twinkled. You felt ebullient, as light as a cloud, and didn’t have a care in the world.

There had been a brief pause where Mr. March welcomed everyone to his Hotel in his dangerously cordial way, making a show of popping champagne. Everyone applauded, congratulated and then quickly dispersed, eager to return to the complementary libations. You’d eagerly taken to the dance floor and quickly found a partner in a jazzy white suit. He had blonde hair, sharp, chiseled features and deep green eyes - handsome enough. You two paired alright, enjoying each other’s lively moves.

He’d clearly been drinking more than you, judging by the way he slurred his compliments to you, dabbing nervously at the sheen of sweat that decorated his forehead. After an hour or so of dancing, your feet were sore and your curious nature had wrapped its tendrils around your throat, ordering you to investigate the rest of the hotel.

A server held another glittering tray of champagne high above everyone’s heads, and you snatched one as he passed you, hurriedly bringing it to your mouth. The effervescent liquid tickled the bow of your lips, the tiny bubbles popping as you sucked in a delicate mouthful. You dabbed at the corner of your mouth with your middle finger, trying not to gulp too loud.

As the song changed, the band racing into another upbeat melody, you swung your shoulder around, prepared to sink deeper into the hallways. Instead, you nearly collided with a broad shoulder. “Oooh! ‘Pardon me!”

“Mm.”

You recognised him right away. In the wicked and honest parts of your brain, you were thrilled that, of all people, you’d bumped into him. During his speech, all the women were staring with illicit gazes and hungry tongues. You’d mapped the direction of their eyes as they scanned along his face, and down his body as they openly and dissolutely lusted after him. The audible whispers that scattered the room when he cracked open the champagne, allowing the fizzy stream to spray into his mouth would’ve been laughable if you hadn’t been one of the whisperers.

He seemed slightly less personable now, almost curt in nature. Something about the dismissive way he’d flashed his brows at you as if he was annoyed sparked a fire in your curiosity. He was too handsome to let slip through your fingers, and surely, there must be a reason for his clipped response. You gulped down a mouthful and cleared your throat.

“Say, aren’t you Mr. March?” You asked coyly, knowing full well who he was.

He stopped then, like he’d been challenged to a duel, and with a slight bow, turned gracefully on his toes. To him, it was a challenge. You hadn’t run off with your tail between your legs, offended by his sternness, and that was a challenge for conversation, for flirtations and perhaps… indulging himself.

“Indeed I am. Enjoying yourself?” He eyed the half-empty glass in your tiny little hand, taking note that it clearly wasn’t your first.

“Oh, very much so. This is a ssswell party, Mr. March.”

“Splendid! And please,” He took your hand in his, pressing his lips against your knuckles. “Call me James.”

You cooed in acknowledgment, watching him from the rim of your glass. He lingered for a little too long and you would’ve bet your last penny that you saw his nostrils flare slightly as he inhaled a deep breath of your scent. After a moment, James straightened up, keeping a firm grip on your hand.

He had indeed; you were sweet, like a delicate pastry with the slightest hint of fruitiness underneath. There were notes of a perfume, floral, something moderately expensive — surely, something you’d saved up all your pocket change for. The way your eyes glimmered awoke a deep hunger within his core. He’d play with this.

“Tell me, my dear. Can you dance?” He asked.

The moment you said you could, he’d wrapped your slender arm around his forearm, holding onto it tightly as he towed you back towards the dance floor. Thank god your mother had insisted you learn how to dance properly. And thank heavens your friend, whom Mother detested, taught you how to dance improperly. Mother had always said these new trend dances were for immoral and loose women, but when James March insisted you dance the Charleston with him, you’d never been gladder for immorality in your life.

Keeping a tight hold on your hand, he swung you out into the clearing. With his fee hand, he made a quick gesture to the band. They responded by starting up the familiar melody, and James stepped to your side, lifting his brows in a silent confirmation that you were as ready as you looked. You gave him a short nod, and you both took one step backwards, beginning the shuffling motions.

His feet moved quick to the rhythm; behind and in front of each other, his heels kicking out to the side. All things considered, you made a worthy partner, keeping up with his lively, bobbing movements. Your hands were at your waist, fingers splayed out, swishing from side to side. You both leaned forward in unison and sent your right heels up into the air. The moment you straightened up again was when you realised that a small crowd had gathered in the lobby of the Hotel Cortez and all of their eyes were on the two of you. Everyone was watching as you two masterfully stepped the Charleston and you felt like a celebrity, a performer with the most handsome partner.

There was one woman in particular, a gorgeous brunette gal, who looked on with narrowed eyes. James stepped in front of your line of sight, flashing a villainously personable smile, and spun you back to his side. Though he wouldn’t dare voice it, the beginning twitches of an erection had his cock stirring in his pants. You were delectable and lively, something he’d take great pleasure in snatching away from you. All the more arousing that she hasn’t the slightest clue….

As the song ended, you couldn’t help but dissolve into a fit of giddy laughter, falling backwards into his chest. You couldn’t be sure, but as his arms enclosed around you, you thought you heard a syrupy laugh deep in his throat. Both of you were tuckered out, chests heaving, a misting of sweat covering your décolleté and his forehead. After a moment in his strong arms — ooooh, his arms — he brought a handkerchief from a pocket, dabbing his forehead gently. Modest applause peppered the crowd, along with a few glad compliments.

“I don’t mean offence by this, but…” You swallowed, wetting your throat. “I didn’t think you could dance like that!”

“I’m full of surprises.” He answered.

James swooped around you, circling you predatorily. His fingers ghosted over the back of your neck, sending a convulsive shiver down your spine.

You two locked eyes then, staring wordlessly. Both of you unable to ignore the need, the pulling draw, the hunger to touch each other. It was the sort of gaze that started rumours. His tongue scraped along the roof of his mouth, longing to taste the churning arousal between your legs. He knew it was there, told plainly by the way you fiddled with the hem of your neckline, nervously, trying to placate your own licentious thoughts.

“Beautiful hotel, really.” You finally whispered.

“Allow me to show you the best room in the house.” His eyes flashed to yours, sensing the apprehension. You rolled your shoulders inward, prepped to decline as politely as you could.

“Oh now, now… no need to be shy. I’m a gentleman first and foremost.”

“I don’t know if your lady friend will enjoy that…” You retorted.

“You are the only lady in my company.” He assured.

You gazed behind him one more time and met eyes with her — an action you’d immediately regretted. Her gaze was as comforting as a jail cell, and her full lips were pulled into a tight, frustrated line that held back a myriad of hatred. You opened your mouth to speak, but a forefinger was pressed hurriedly into your cupids bow, shushing you quickly. He looked down at you, brows furrowed in disapproval.

“Now, now. Shh. I’d hate to have to cut out your tongue, my dear. I had plans for it later.”

Your brows pulled together, eyes displaying nothing but sheer confusion. What on Earth did he mean by that? Either of those things? You were too afraid to broach the question, partly in fear that the answer would’ve frightened you, or worse, aroused you.

As though he read your mind, heard your innermost thoughts, he added quickly: “If you want to find out what… well, you’ll have to follow me first, my dear. Shall you?”

He extended his hand to you, palm up.

Against your better judgement and without thinking a second more about the repercussions, you took it and managed to squeak: “To the moon, James.”

When you glanced over his shoulder a final time, that woman watched you as he led you away, that tumultuous anger burning in her eyes. Something about her piercing gaze sent a shiver down your spine. She looked innocent enough, but underneath the done-up exterior, there was a cruelness, a hostility that you wanted nothing to do with. You hurried your steps, pinning yourself closer to James.

The journey took longer than you expected as every few moments, he was stopped by a hotel guest and congratulated. Everyone from stuffy elderly couples to actors you recognised from pictures all wanted to shake hands with the man that had created “the hotel of the century”. You hung on his arm, politely silent, offering agreeing nods and kind smiles when they’d look at you. They must’ve assumed, of course, that you two were an item, and for that brief, fleeting moment, you were thrilled by the idea.

Once he’d pushed open the door, allowing room for you to walk in, you realised that the room he’d led you into was the room he’d cracked the champagne in — except it had been expertly cleaned within a few hours. There were no crowds, no remnants, no sounds aside from a pair of breaths; yours and his. Although, if you listened hard enough, you thought you heard the dull, muted music from below. It sounded hazy and slower up here in this room.

The lock clicked into place and James had you in his arms, his face buried in your neck, his pencil-thin moustache tickling the sensitive flesh under your jaw. He whispered seductive words of veneration into the nape of your neck, praising your appearance between breaths and tastes of your salty flesh.

“Forgive my eagerness,” he whispered into your ear, before nipping at your skin. “I find you… irresistible.”

Delighted by the sensations, your lids fluttered. You extended your neck to him, allowing more. He kissed your neck over and over again and began sucking too hard in certain spots. You let out the tiniest little hums of discomfort, trying to stretch away from him then. However, somewhere deep in your core, you craved that pain, the burn of his suckling kisses.

“I want you to kiss me.” He declared, finally pulling away to gaze upon your face, like he was studying it. “Kiss me, but don’t hold back. I want to feel your passion.”

You nodded quickly, feigning all the courage in the world. Nervous? Who, me? Never! Your lips clashed together as you wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling yourself as close to him as you could. His mouth parted, allowing his tongue out to swirl around yours, and you could taste the champagne that lingered on it like a fading memory. He deepened the kiss, moving further into your mouth and all you could do was moan into his. Silly girl, he must’ve thought.

His hand left your side, trailing further down. With a cruel tug, James yanked your stocking from its front clip, tearing a generous hole in the nylon, then repeated the process with the other. You broke the kiss to watch this fiery display of arousal in awe, feeling a new, unfamiliar fire in your stomach. You’d been aroused before — hell, even pleasured yourself shyly under the sheets… but the hunger. The hunger that clawed at your insides with reckless abandon was speaking in a foreign tongue… but it was one that you wanted to translate into physicality.

“Oooh, easy tiger…”

His fingers splayed out over your now bare thighs, exploring the smooth skin ravenously. As he neared your centre slit, he snarled in response — whether intentionally responding to the animalistic nickname you’d given him, or because he’d felt the slippery nectar dripping from between your legs, you couldn’t know. You thought it might be the latter. You hoped it was.

Abruptly, he pulled away, leaving you to wobble forward with want. He made a beeline to the nearby alcohol cart that had been arranged near the door and poured amber liquid into one of the glasses and golden champagne into another. He brought the darker coloured one to his lips.

“Mmm…” He growled as he swallowed, locking eyes with you, walking confidently towards the nearby chair. Though his head was turned away from his destination, he didn’t stumble, just gracefully sunk down into the chaise lounge without spilling a drop of his precious liquor.

You were in awe of this man’s finesse, of his charm, and the adoration for him displayed all over your cheeks. You didn’t need to bring out your compact to know that the flush had travelled down your neck, and your pretty little doe-eyes were as wide as saucers. He set the glass of champagne down on a nearby end table, presumably where it would stay until you reached for it.

“What’s underneath that ravishing dress, hm?” He asked. You gathered your lips to one side in a coy expression.

“Let’s see,” you tittered. "My bra and my knickers. And…. A pair of torn stockings and shoes, if you’re a specifics kinda’ guy…” You knew he was.

He waited.

You raised your brows, cocking your head to the side in affirmation — that was all. You were a woman of style after all. In this outfit? You wouldn’t be caught dead in a corset or a slip. Besides, corsets were for stuffy old broads nowadays. Everyone was wearing bras.

“Take it all off. Everything but the dress.”

Surely, the dress would be the first thing to go? It was an odd request, even for your virgin experience. You’d heard stories of men and their covetous desires. The idea of keeping the biggest article of clothing on seemed unorthodox, but you weren’t about to question his demands.

Obediently, you bent down and undid the buckles of your shoes, stepping out of them carefully. With a shy bat of your lashes, you turned away from him, shimmying and shrugging out of the straps of your dress until they fell into the crooks of your arms. Reaching around behind your back, you unlatched the satin bra, letting your supple breasts spring free of the compression.

Your heart pounded as you bent down again to slide the satin underwear over the curve of your ass and down your equally satiny thighs, giving the man behind you the tiniest previews of what was to come. Facing him again, you held your dress at your chest, carefully sliding the straps back up your arms one by one.

With a drink in one hand, the other stretched over the back of the loveseat and a delightedly smug expression, James watched your undergarments fall to the floor piece by piece. His cock throbbed in his pants, the thick fabric doing a damned good job at keeping the beast at bay. Free of everything, your dress hung a little different now, and his black eyes were aflame with the realisation. You swayed back and forth, the strands of sequins brushing lightly against your thighs.

As you bent down one final time, reaching for the nylons, came his voice. “Leave those.”

After a small sip, he pat his thigh twice with his free hand; the sound of his palm snapping against the taut fabric atop his thigh echoed in the room. For a brief, insecure second, you were frozen. A deer in the headlights. Except the headlights weren’t headlights, they were the eyes of the hungriest tiger you’d ever seen and you’d already succumbed to your fate the moment he locked the door.

“Come to daddy.”

You shuddered in response, your tummy doing backflips like an acrobat in a circus act. His words held such command and purpose, you had no choice but to saunter over to him, swaying your hips a little more than you usually did. He seemed to enjoy that; a tiny smirk played out over his mouth.You pressed your knees against his, struggling to not come undone at the contact. With a deep breath, you manoeuvred yourself in between his parted legs.

“Good…” He replied. “Atop my thigh, my pet.”

With your flesh turning a deep shade of red, you walked over his thigh, resting one knee on the edge of the cushion. You felt the air on your cunt, the chill of the room touching the wetness and making it tingle. You looked down at his groin. The fabric was pulled taut. You could make out the faintest outline of a swelling cock underneath —

You snapped your attention back to him, embarrassed. He downed the rest of his drink, set it carelessly on the table next to your still-full champagne and lifted his hand to your legs. The pad of his middle finger caressed the back of your knee, sending a shockwave through your entire body. No man had ever touched you like that, the sensation was erotic and overwhelming to your core. Inch by inch, his fingers trailed higher.

You reached for the champagne, and despite the sting in your nose, you downed the entire glass, setting it back on the small table.

“Lower.” He commanded, amused.

You obeyed, bending your knees.

“Lower.” He repeated.

He’d lined it up perfectly; James pressed that same finger into your slit as you lowered, wiggling it further in, then flicking it up to your clit. You let out a shrill mewl. Your knees nearly buckled as he circled the bundle of nerves, bringing the sensitivity higher. You squeezed your eyes shut as hot, salty tears bit at the corners. Your muscles had begun to quiver, overwhelmed by the strain of hovering over his thigh. His skilful fingers manipulated your cunt, simply playing with your wetness.

James abruptly yanked you all the way down, forcing you into a straddle. Your cunt was spread, pressed tight against his thigh and you needed no instruction on what to do next.

“Ooooh,” he growled, watching your hips as they ground your weeping cunt against the expensive fabric of his suit pants. “Good girl. Your desire is intoxicating… show me how much you want me…. yes.”

James chuckled, knowingly. Despite your best effort in trying to suppress your moans, he saw through the act. The skin of your neck had flushed red. Your soft jaw hung slack, tiny little moans floating out every time he touched you. Your sweet little eyes rolled back into your head every time he so much as flexed his thigh muscle. He knew the effect he had on you. Every slight movement from him ground against your cunt, sending shuddering waves of heat into your core.

“I said,” he started, gripping your jaw hard between his thumb and pointer finger. “Show me how much you want it, my dear.”

You winced, but allowed instinct to kick in. You began bobbing up and down on his thigh, whimpering as the wet spot on the fabric spread. The slick glistened on the fibres as you ground back and forth. Eventually, the friction of dry against wet lessened, and you found a rhythm, bouncing. His leg bumped into your sensitive, aching clit over and over again.

As you rode his thigh, James gripped your dress at the shoulders, kissing up along the curves of your arm. There was a warmth on your skin, a tugging, though you were too deep in the sensations to pull away. A cacophony of ticking began; tiny beads scattered across the floor, bouncing and dancing into crevices where they’d never be found again.

When you finally glanced down, a look of shock painted across your features. Your dress had been ripped at the seams, the delicately beaded fabric now hanging limply at your hips in a mass. James looked on, adoringly, his hungry, inky eyes dancing over your exposed breasts, and the way your nipples had hardened in the slightly colder air.

“What’s wrong, my dear? Are you frightened?” He asked. The lilt in his question was too revealing, but alas, who was he to deny the delicious aroma of fear?

“Who me?” You laughed breathily, like a fool. Sweat pooled in the hollows of your collarbone. No time like the present, you thought. You’d reached the point of no return, and surely if you didn’t say something now, he’d find out when he took you. “Oh, no, it’s just that… I’ve never been with a man is all.”

The realisation swept across his face, the expression telling all the tales of how he felt about being the first man to have a woman. “Aaahhh…. And do you…. wish to be…?”

“With you?” You swatted the air dismissively. “More than anything.”

“Brave. Brave girl.” With that, he scooped you up in his strong arms, and got up from the chair. You wrapped your legs around his torso as he carried you effortlessly to the table. The journey was short, and before you knew it, your bare back was laid on cool wood. Your legs hung off the edge, and with one strong yank, James pulled the tattered dress from your hips, tossing it heedlessly behind him.

“Knees up — heels on the table.” He then ordered, sternly. Pulling your knees towards your chest, you adjusted yourself on the table and swallowed hard, feeling vulnerable. Short of hearing the snap of latex gloves, you were left feeling like you were about to be examined by a doctor.

James disappeared from your view then, sinking down below the edge of the table. With nothing to look at, you gazed up at the ceiling with wide eyes, anticipating the next move. When it came, you let out a yelp, your legs closing on either side of his head. James had pressed his lips against her, peppering little kisses against your centre, and after a moment or two of that, opened his mouth to slip his tongue deliberately along the folds. The sensation of his tongue darting out to taste you was enough to send you to the moon, but he continued, delving further into you. Your legs opened again, exposing more of your aching cunt to him.

You felt his nose press into the mound of flesh as he flattened his tongue on your clit, lapping at it hungrily. Your body responded by squirming, a desperate whimper pouring from your throat. His hands were suddenly on your pillowy thighs, holding you tight where you were. With a vibrating groan, his tongue abruptly changed techniques; he began flicking the tip of his tongue into the underside of your clit. Your moans - though they were teetering on the edge of screams — bounced off the walls of the empty room.

In a delirium of ecstasy, you’d gripped the hair at the crown of his head, pulling it hard. He grunted into your pussy, sending vibrations deep into your core. His hand came down on the side of your ass with a resounding slap. You shuddered violently, your sopping cunt clenching tight against his chin, wetting it as your first orgasm came in sudden waves. James slipped his tongue deep inside of your entrance, feeling the pulses as they gradually subsided. Before pulling away to look at the flower in front of him, and what he’d done to it, he let out a throaty, pleased growl. A small puddle had formed on the table, your slick arousal leaking from the hole like sweet nectar dripped from the centre of a fruit.

“Ahhh…” he exhaled. “Divine.”

His eyes darting to the side, James made a mental note to have Miss Evers re-polish the table. After this, it would certainly need it.

The way he gazed upon you, seemingly satisfied with just how wet you were drove your head into the table with a thunk. You arched your back with a whimper, somehow still unsatisfied. From the side, came his voice. “Use your words, my darling.”

Your eyes snapped open, startled that you hadn’t heard him move around. You swallowed, looking up at him piteously. For a moment you dug deep into your own mind, battling with coherency to find the correct words. And, disappointingly, all you could muster was: “I… want more.”

“Yes….. yes, you do.”

Gently, with two fingers, James pulled your jaw towards him, moving your head so that your cheek laid against the table. There was a certain predatory nature in his gaze as he looked at you. “Open up,” he demanded, his thumb prodding your lips. “That’s my girl…”

He smeared his thumb along your warm, strong tongue, depressing it and feeling around the rest of your mouth. He glided over your smooth teeth, digging the fleshy pad into the decently sharp points of your incisors.

“Don’t bite me… too hard.”

With that, he began unbuckling his trousers with one hand, sliding the belt from its loop. You watched intently as this handsome, charming stranger handled himself; taking himself out his undergarments and his trousers, roughly adjusting his cock so that it was free for your devouring. He closed his hand along the length, pumping it several times. A generous droplet of precum leaked from the red, sweating tip and before it had time to string away, he guided his cock to your mouth.

He smeared your lips over the head, coating it in his own dripping seed. His hips then bucked the length into your mouth, bringing a whimpering gag from deep within your throat. Gentle, he thought. With the way your mouth eagerly worked him, doing your best to suck and lap at his aching cock, that thought was whisked away seconds later.

Wet sounds filled the room as James fucked your pretty little mouth, your lipstick smearing waxy, blood-coloured streaks on the shaft of his cock. In your peripheral, it was quite a gruesome sight, but he seemed to enjoy it, tilting his head to watch.

You closed your lips around the tip as it slid out, letting your tongue flatten on the underside of it. You felt every throbbing vein, but every time your tongue or lips grazed that one, the protruding one, James making sounds that you’d only ever dreamed of hearing a man make. It was a breathy, higher pitched moan, or a choking gasp, and each time he did, the corners of your lips curled up into a smile, delighted with eroticism. You pressed your tongue hard into it, sliding it up and down. From this angle, you realised, you couldn’t do much else… but perhaps that’s how he’d wanted it.

You remembered his previous mention of biting, so thinking that it was something he favoured, you began toying with his sensitivity by grading your teeth along his shaft. He hissed, ceasing his thrusts to crane his neck back, revelling in the amalgam of pain and pleasure.

“Harder,” he demanded.

You furrowed your brows in concern, daunted by the new territory that lay ahead. You closed your mouth a little more, the ridges of your teeth gently clamping down on his swollen cock. Suddenly, James gripped your face hard, squeezing your cheeks together like a fish. You winced as he leaned forward to hiss in your open mouth, his demeanour suddenly callous and dreadful. “I said not too hard.”

He released it sharply as you did, and punishingly bucked his hips into your wanting mouth. His thrusts were quick, and marvelled at the tiny, pathetic gags that broke from your throat every time he hit the back of it. You were so delicate, but so… willing.

Suddenly, he pulled his cock from your lips with a sick, filthy slurping sound, and holding it in his right hand, moved back to the head of the table. His breaths were ragged, hungry. You blinked away the tears that had accumulated.

“You nearly ruined my makeup…” You whispered, wiping the slimy collection of drool and precum from your chin.

“I’ll do more than that.” Gripping you at the knees, James yanked you down the table’s length, your ass slipping easily against the polished wood.

Briefly, you felt the velvety hot tip of his cock teasing your cunt. He slid it between your wet folds, exhaling loudly at the slickness that greeted him. He teased you with a thrust of his hips, the tip of his head slipping slightly. You whined as he pulled away.

“What did I say about words?”

Like a toddler throwing a tantrum, you moaned shakily, gritting your teeth. “Don’t do that…”

“Do what?”

“Tease me…”

“Oh, but it’s fun. I’ll do so until you beg for it.”

“PLEASE!” You howled a moment later, taking fistfuls of his shirt and yanking him closer. You wiggled your hips at his groin, your cunt trying to find his cock desperately. You writhed around like a cat in heat, whimpering and leaking more cum onto his expensive mahogany table. In one of your hip sways, the hot tip brushed past your entrance, leaving a springy line of pre-cum in its path. In response, you rocked your hips against his, trying to pull him in further. The sensation had you gasping, rolling your head from side to side. “Please, please, please, I simply mu—

Your screams faded away into the back of his mind, dull and muted like they came from behind a brick wall. James watched your lewd, begging performance with a bemused smirk, chuckling through closed lips. Every anguished whimper, every desperate plea that his lack of action brought forward from your lips seemed to send you closer to the edge of madness. He enjoyed that. Too much, perhaps.

He reached up, running a single finger down the side of your neck, pausing to feel your pulse throbbing away beneath the skin. Such liveliness, such… James swallowed, suppressing the dark sludgy desire that clawed at his insides. His urges had been worse and worse lately, and now with the hotel open… Not now… not with her.

“What do I need to say?”

“Nothing more.” James took hold of his cock, stroking his fingers over the tip, dragging the slickness along his shaft. He exhaled, lining himself up. At first, James popped only the tip in and out, playing with his food. Each thrust, he slipped a little farther in. Out of the kindness of his heart, James was gradually getting you used to the feeling of fullness, but once he felt your slick walls, he grit his teeth. He had told you that he was a gentleman first and foremost, but… such is life. He swiftly sank his hard length into you with little friction. You were soaked and all it took was one determined thrust.

For a moment, you felt nothing but a searing pain as the thickness of his cock stretched your cunt wide open. Tears welled in your eyes, a cry bouncing against your rolled lips. The stinging was replaced with a dull ache, and finally, a warmth.

“My, my…” He admired. “Taking it so well already.”

You nodded feebly, doing your best to muster a smile amidst your punishing euphoria. Had you not been as wet as you were, it would’ve been excruciating. And when he started pounding, it almost was.

James must’ve sensed your discomfort because he brought his hand to your pussy, his thumb circling your clit. Mercilessly. You cried out like a wounded animal and that seemed to only drive him to continue, stroking his finger down length of your pussy before returning his attention back to the bundle of nerves. Your hips swayed back and forth on the table, desperately trying to get away from the pressure that was blossoming deep within your cunt, just above your bladder. It felt like a tangled mess of fire, and your whole centre was aflame.

You shakily lifted your head, watching as his pelvis smashed into yours, over and over again, his cock slipping easily from your aching, drenched cunt. Your hands climbed his torso. You fiddled with the buttons until his shirt hung open lifelessly, like two ghosts on either side of his body. He moaned as your fingertips explored his stomach, his ribcage, and then curled around the small of his back, forcing their way up underneath the restraint of his clothes. You felt uneven skin, the way that flesh raised once it had healed over deep lacerations.

James suddenly picked up speed, drilling into you harder and that released something in you. You felt devious, immoral, and wanted to howl like a banshee. In fact, you did. You let out a shrill, dirty moan, the kind you heard coming from those brothels as you passed them by. Tears pooled at the corners of your eyes before streaming down your temples, disappearing into the hair that laid on the table. Your fingers flexed, nails digging into his back and leaving crescent-moon shaped indentations amongst his scars. Feeling your clenching, he growled and lolled his head back in ecstasy.

You pulled your leg up, pressing your nylon-covered toe against his jawline and gave it a little push.

You heard his breath hitch.

You pushed harder, craning his neck off to the side. His moan said more than any words could’ve. With a devious smirk, you drug your toe down the length of his throat, pressing hard into his windpipe.

James jerked his hips harder and harder until you felt his cock twitch inside you, hot and angry, the first spurt of his orgasm planted deep inside you. He then backed his hips out slightly, just enough for the thick ropes of cum to cover your cunt. His cock bumped into your clit with tiny thrusts, forcing every last milky drop onto you. James straightened up, clenching his fists tightly.

“Ravished. Deflowered. Desecrated!” His words echoed loudly off the walls.

His arms came down with a loud thud on either side of your head, his shirt acting as blinders. There was nothing else in that moment; just you and him and the way he’d claimed you, taken every ounce of innocence you had left.

His hands traced along your collarbone, up the sides of your neck. The black thoughts wormed into his brain, screaming for sating attention. Which weapon would he use? Where he'd cut first - an artery? Arterial blood was always so… satisfying. Would her screams be as such? The final moment, the look in her eye? Perhaps, he could hear those desperate, soprano shrieks if he just…

Thunk-thunk-thunk.

Your lids peeled open, one by one. The blazing light that filtered in through the crack in the deep red curtains burned. You hardly remembered being in a hotel room… alone, and the hotel room you remembered wasn’t the one you were in now. This one looked more or less like any new hotel room that you could’t afford. Moving yourself into an upright position, you let out a depressed bleat… the headache. How much champagne did you have last night? You couldn’t remember.

Sleepily rubbing your eyes, you stumbled towards the door. “Just a minute!”

You were completely nude. That wouldn’t do to answer the door in. Panicked, you looked around the empty hotel room, considering the bed sheets for a moment. Out of the corner of your eye, you spotted a Praising the gods for the robe that had been hung on a hook by the door as you slipped your arms into it and hurriedly tied it round your waist. You caught a glimpse of yourself in the reflection of the framed photo near the door; your hair was a wreck, makeup smeared, and there were the faintest whispers of new bruises along your collarbone and neck.

The doorway was empty, as was the hallway.

Except for the box at the floor.

Despite giving a complete stranger your virginity last night, you had more sense than to bend down and open a foreign box. Clutching the robe at your chest, you began gingerly prying open the edge of it with your foot, wiggling your big toe underneath the fine cardboard until the lid popped off.

Inside, carefully arranged and wrapped in delicate pink tissue paper, laid a dress; a dress that was terribly similar to your own, but considerably more expensive. Atop it, a package of fine silk nylons. And atop those, in exquisitely elegant penmanship, a handwritten note lay. It read:

Thank you for a splendid evening, my dear. My deepest apologies about your dress — please accept this as a replacement. As for the flowers, it only seemed fair, considering the circumstances.

xoxo James P. March

You picked the box up, again checking the hallway to see if the deliverer was there. Still, empty. With a sigh, you shut the door, leaning against it. As you leaned there, holding the box in your arms, the corner of it digging into the middle of your neck, you winced at a sudden pang of soreness.

Your eyes drifted to the clock on the nightstand. “Nearly noon!? Oh, RATS!”

You pushed yourself off the door and changed hurriedly, throwing the robe off your shoulders and onto the floor. Mother! Mother would be furious and nothing was more terrifying than her rage. You’d rather be chopped up and filleted than have to deal with Mother’s anger, even as an adult. You pulled the nylons up as far as they could go without clips, and snatched the mink stole off the bed.

You threw open the heavy door and turned to your left, hoping for the best. You began running as quickly as you could down the lengthy hallway, barefoot. The straps of your shoes were hooked around your middle finger. With no markers, and no indication of where you were going, anxiety climbed your throat. Somehow though, after winding back and forth and up and down for what felt like hours, you managed to find the lobby.

As you emerged from the hallway, it was considerably less busy than last night. Where the band had been, waiting chairs and tables had been placed, a courtesy for guests waiting to check in. The cleaning team of the Hotel Cortez was marvellous, you had to admit. As you ducked your hips away from the edge of a chair, you spotted him. James March was leaned against the bar, chatting gayly with the bartender. The bartender nodded, swiping a rag over the spot directly in front of him. A glass of bourbon sat in front of James, perspiring. Much like you were. So it hadn’t all been a dream. He looked the same as he had last night, no hint of a hangover or fatigue. Just… charming. You inhaled and headed for the door.

“A perfect fit!” He called out from the balcony, his glass raised in a cheers. A few guests turned, searching for the voice. You jumped. The man had a talent for startling you — you’d give him that. You turned, your brows upturned in the middle, asking silently for clarification.

“The dress!”

“Oh! Yes! It does…. Thank you! It’s beautiful, Mr. March!”

“How’s your neck!?” He asked, lowering his head slightly.

The question threw you off. “….fine, but I really must be going, Mr. March! Bye!”

“Come back to the Hotel Cortez any time, my darling! As my guest.”

James watched you hurry out the door, knowing that if you did come back for a second time… it would be the last time.

[energeticwarrior]

2024 predictions

a *cooking video* not just baking i want to see these two make a proper beef wellington or something

dan and phil try to play pickleball

i want to see them play minecraft hunger games don't ask

in the spring/summer maybe they'll show us what they've been planting in their garden!!!

new houseplants

phil x mullet (this one is a joke)

one of them will have a hilarious interaction with a random large business again on twitter (pizza hut?)

dan gets a comedy special on netflix (i'm just hopeful and he is talented what can i say)

dab and evan have babies on the sims and their child get named devan (because eab is gross-sounding and devan is so gender)

i hope they get a dog (i have been wishing for this every year since 2017)

[kylorengarbagedump]

Playing Soldier: Chapter 8

Read on AO3. Part 7 here. Part 9 here.

Summary: You were thoroughly unaware of William Tavington's affinity for nature.

Words: 5000

Warnings: Some blood

Characters: William Tavington x Reader

A/N: Cowritten with @bastillia <3

HELLOOOO, welcome back to chapter 8 - back in the vicinity of our wonderful bastard and enjoying alone time with him <3

If you've not seen the extended version of The Patriot, you may be unaware of a few cut scenes of Tavington that expand a bit on this portion of his character - allow me to enlighten YOU to my favorite (for multiple reasons) -

Heart of a Villain

Regardless, we are so so grateful to your thoughts, input, engagement as always. It means so much to hear people's thoughts and reactions to what we write! Genuinely what any fanfic author strives for. We love you! <3

“Be still.”

Over the past two weeks in the field, you’d become extensively familiar with Benedict Goddard’s tendency to sit for treatment like a wiry cat. Today—as he arrived to the medic tent with a contusion to his forehead—was no different.

“Oh, please, please be careful with him!” Lottie called from beyond the canvas. “He’s tender, you know, he got such a knock on the head, please make sure—”

“Lottie,” you replied. “He’s in good hands, all right?”

“That’s right,” Goddard added, eyeing you with caution despite his attempt at reassurance. “Don’t fuss, sister.”

Normally, Lottie would have preferred to treat her own brother. But the excess of blood that had spilled from his brow, paired with the general excess of men currently occupying your tent sporting bayonet wounds, had turned her too green to volunteer.

“Funny for you to tell her not to fuss when you insist on squirming,” you mumbled.

He huffed, easing away from you. “You’re being rough, that’s why I’m squirming.”

First, of course, he’d have to cooperate.

“I'm not rough.” You chased his forehead with a cloth, dabbing hard at the split above his brow. “You’re sensitive.”

“Ah! Is that what you say to every soldier?” He winced. “That hurts! I’m an officer, you can’t just—”

“And I’m a nurse.” You frowned. “And officer you may be, but you’re not the only man in this tent needing treatment.”

As if on cue, another soldier groaned out in pain behind you. You craned around to see that one had removed the lint packing from his gunshot wound, which now spurted a crimson river down his leg.

“I told you to keep pressure on that, Evans,” you snapped, pointing, “or are you keen to lose the damned leg?”

You turned back to Goddard, swooping back in on him with the cloth. He yelped.

“Next time,” you said, finally revealing a bit of the wound’s edge through the blood, “perhaps you’ll think twice before engaging in a jousting match with a tree.”

“It wasn't a tree. Ow! It was a rebel. Bastard dragged me off my horse.”

You snorted. “Perhaps practice better riding, then.”

“No wonder everyone says you're so mean,” he grumbled.

“Mean?” You gawked. “What do you mean, ‘mean’?”

“You're just—ah—well, you're not exactly gentle, are you?”

You rolled your eyes. “I don't hear any complaints about wounds healing poorly.”

Goddard simply grumbled something about plenty of other complaints, and conceded to your efforts to make him hold the cloth in place himself while you considered the table of instruments beside you. There was still plenty of lint for staunching the bleeding, but…

Frowning, you glimpsed the wound over his eye. It was already bleeding through the cloth. The chances of a blood malady were higher than you'd like—and should that occur, the potential for him to lose his eye would multiply like rodents in spring. If he were Grace and you were a stranger, you'd want the stranger to do anything they could to prevent that.

The bottle of whiskey sang to you from the edge of the table. You picked it up.

“What are you playing at?” Goddard whimpered, beginning to recoil again. “You can’t very well amputate my head, so I can’t see any reason—”

“Stop being so theatrical,” you said, tipping some whiskey onto a fresh linen. “I’d be finished already if you weren’t making such a fuss.” You turned back to him, soaked cloth poised, and motioned for him to remove the soiled one from his head.

He clutched it in place protectively. “You’re mad.”

“Trust me.”

“No!”

You scoffed, patience rubbing thinner than an old billet. Your voice rose. “Ensign Goddard, remove the cloth.”

He ducked as you reached to snatch it from his brow, leaning away from your advance. You pursued.

“I’ll not let you mangle me with your—your speculative medicines!” He planted a hand on your hip to keep you at arm’s length. Redirecting, you reached to cup his cheek and forced his face back around to yours.

“I’ll mangle you with something else lest you—“

The tent flap flew open, letting in a gust of summer air.

“What’s this racket?”

Goddard stiffened. “Colonel, sir.”

You stalled. Without releasing Goddard, you turned to see Colonel Tavington standing in the middle of the tent, hands at rest behind his back, eyes glittering with irritation. His focus snapped to Goddard’s hand on your waist, then to your own hand on his cheek, the curl of your fingers along his jaw. Then he found your gaze. Swallowing, you threw Goddard off and straightened.

“Colonel,” you began, “I’m simply following what I know to be the best procedure for this particular type—”

“No, sir, she’s not!” Goddard said. “What she’s doing is madness—”

“—of wound, I’m preventing a blood malady—”

“—and doesn’t follow any standard of care—”

“—so his target-sized forehead heals properly!”

“—so if you could please just bring in my sister!”

Tavington stood, now staring straight between the both of you, like the tent wall would explain why the two worst people he’d ever met were both shouting him down. A slow breath left him, and he looked to Goddard.

“You’re correct, Ensign,” he said. “What she’s doing is madness.”

Your jaw dropped. You were going to kill him.

Goddard moved to scramble away. “Thank you, s—!”

“However.” Tavington paused, waiting for Goddard to settle back to where he’d been. “You shall allow her to do it.”

Or, perhaps, you wouldn’t.

He balked. “Wh… Colonel, she’s attempting to put alcohol on my—!”

“I am aware.” He turned to exit the tent.

“With respect, sir, if you’re so keen on her methods, why don’t you allow her to treat your wound?” Goddard said. “I saw you become well-acquainted with a bayonet.”

Tavington paused. “It’s nothing,” he replied. “You have your orders, Ensign.” He met your eyes briefly, his jaw tight. Then he disappeared behind the flap.

Chin raised toward the sky, you turned to Goddard, smiling. “Your orders, Ensign.”

Goddard glared at you, releasing the cloth from his forehead. “Just. Finish up.”

“As you wish.” Feeling a bit merciless in your vindication, you slapped the whiskey-drenched rag to his wound.

He screamed.

The rest of the afternoon passed as a red blur, pierced with the silver flash of a suture needle. By the time evening bruised the sky, you’d managed to make neat work of each man’s wounds, and your pulse had migrated to the raw, aching pads of your fingertips.

It was remarkable, based on the carnage, that no man had been killed outright in the morning’s fray. Even more remarkable perhaps that none had bled out in your tent. Part of that could be attributed to your sheer determination to keep the casualty count at zero. If nothing else, simply to prove that you could.

All that was left now was to wait for your handiwork to pay off in perfect healing. You knew that it would. But that didn’t stop the claws of fatigue that raked you from scalp to toes as you sank down beside the cooking pot and glanced across at the group of women seated in a circle, their backs like a fortress wall to you.

The handful of wives that Tavington had permitted to follow camp were sitting down to supper, several of them patting and cooing at a very pale Lottie who stared into her bowl as if it were one hundred yards deep. To her credit, she had tried to help—while fighting through fainting spells to do so—but she’d tried.

You sighed, poured yourself a bowl of stew and, after ensuring the cooking pot was empty, commandeered it. You’d finish your meal later. Since you’d forced the last of your alder bark decoction down a soldier’s throat earlier in the day, you needed to start on another batch. First you needed to gather water and start a boil, so you hauled it down to the river.

The interaction you’d had with Tavington today had been the most meaningful you’d had since your decision to join his legion. In fact, you couldn’t think of a single word you’d exchanged with him after he’d left the hospital. It made his behavior today all the more strange. It was clear he trusted you—even valued your skill with his men—but all he seemed capable of doing to communicate that fact was to stare at you.

You waddled back to camp once your pot was full from the river, water sloshing over the lip. It was frustrating enough to meet Tavington’s eyes over and over again, a bid toward connection that he reflexively denied, but even more so to do it in a daily crowd of strangers. The longer it had gone on, the stronger the impulse became to know exactly what possessed his thoughts.

You hated that.

Sighing, you hung the pot over the fire, became its sentry as it waited to boil.

Is this all a man had to do in order to arouse your interest—your desire? Thrust his hard cock against your thigh and then refuse to willingly speak to you ever again?

If only the boys at church had known.

You sorted through your pockets. There were still a few ingredients you wanted to gather before the day was out, but it could wait.

Reluctantly, you admitted that your draw to him went beyond physical hunger. William Tavington was perhaps the only man who to you seemed unreadable; the only man to incite your curiosity. He was certainly the only man besides your father who had ever acknowledged your capabilities, and he’d only needed to meet you a single time. Since then, he’d never underestimated you again.

It infuriated you.

Tiny bubbles gathered in the belly of the pot.

It electrified you.

Grumbling to yourself, you measured out what you needed from your supplies. You supposed it wasn’t important what you thought of William Tavington, or what he thought of you. What simmered between you would never be given heat. You were on two opposing sides of a war, each with a life’s investment in the other’s annihilation. Even if he were a different man—the kind of man you could gift with your virginity and not feel traitorous—anything between you would wither and rot in the blood-soaked earth under your shared bed.

You hummed, tossing in handfuls of bark as the pot burbled to a boil.

“Brewing new concoctions already?” said one of the wives—the one named Alice, you realized—tossing a look over her shoulder. “Was yesterday’s batch not sufficient enough for you?”

“Decoctions,” you said, glancing up at her. “And no. I ran out today, in fact.” Had she not noticed the wounded men wobbling in en masse?

Alice frowned, scrunching her little golden locks into her bonnet. “How much of that stuff are you using on our soldiers?”

“I'm using whatever I feel sufficient or appropriate for the issue presented to me,” you replied.

“And where did you receive training on these methods?” Her voice seemed a little strained. “I don't remember seeing a physician ever use these… I don't know, soups?”

Lottie offered a weak grin, sitting forward. “Alice, she just treated your husband today, aren't you glad for that?”

“Perhaps! Perhaps not,” she said. “We don't know where she's getting these ingredients she uses—”

“Yes, you do,” you replied, an edge entering your tone. “You physically watch me gather them.”

“But they could still cause disease!” Alice sat up straighter, gesturing to the other wives. “You've treated half of our husbands today and with practices that doctors don't even use.”

An involuntary laugh escaped you, and you gave her a restrained smile. “And because of that, half of your husbands will keep both their feet out of an early grave.”

“Lottie, didn't she put whiskey on Benedict’s eye?” said Alice. “You're telling me you don't think that's dangerous?”

“No,” Lottie said, her face reddening instantly. “No, I trust her, she's very good—”

Alice scoffed, turning to her meal. “Then you're both mad!”

With a slow breath, you reined in your instinct to grab the pot from the fire and dump the water over Alice’s head. How would Grace handle this? You considered: The day had been long, the men returning injured had been stressful. It was far more likely that Alice’s love for her husband was inspiring her current outburst than any real animosity for you.

Perhaps she just needed reassurance.

“Alice, it's been a trying day, and I know you were frightened to see your husband wounded. I understand how you feel,” you said, though you couldn't begin to understand her hostility towards the person helping her stupid husband. “But please know that I wouldn't attempt anything on him that I wouldn't attempt on someone I loved—”

“But you don't love anyone!” Alice stood, her bowl clattering to the ground. “You don't understand how I feel! You're not married and never have been, and if you think I'm going to let my husband die from an illness brought on by witch remedies made by some… some spinster—”

You shot to your feet. “You know what—”

Lottie gasped. “Alice!”

“—next time, I'll do you a favor and let your husband’s foot rot like your fetid womb!”

Another gasp, this time from the other wives who otherwise sat in silence, their stares dancing between you and Alice. Lottie’s jaw had snapped shut, her face the color of a ripe apple. Alice glared at you, her eyes wet and furious, her mouth parted.

You exhaled, glancing at the ground. So much for emulating Grace. “I should go,” you said, backing away. “I must… um, I must… go.”

Turning on your heel, you escaped the group of women and rushed into the field beyond camp.

The sun was in its Midas hour, grass gilded and sky shimmering from its touch. Without the heat, the air had softened from wool to silk, and you relished it as you breathed. Every exhale released some frustration, albeit with the efficacy of a chisel to a boulder—a boulder that seemed ever-burgeoning since you’d met Tavington, a boulder that laughed at the Sisphyean efforts of your chisel.

You hiked your skirts to your ankles, taking long strides toward the valley where you knew you’d find wildflowers. There was the alder bark that needed gathering, of course, but you also wanted to dig into some dandelion.

Hopefully, by the time you returned this evening, Alice would be calmed. You knew you’d have to apologize, even if you weren’t really sorry. There was no reason to cause everyone to hate you.

You stepped down a length of stone, turning the corner of a hill into the valley, and stopped.

There, in your precious field of dandelions, stood William Tavington.

He’d discarded most of his regalia, his jacket hanging open as he surveyed the landscape. You swallowed, forcing your eyes to focus on the flowers instead of how the sun silhouetted him in aurelian splendor. Or, at least, you tried. And failed spectacularly.

For a moment you began to turn away, but your feet fastened roots into the ground. You weren’t going to let him drive you off—you needed those dandelions, and you certainly weren’t going back to camp. Holding your breath, you crept toward him, hoping you could grab what you needed without alerting him.

Tavington crouched, examining the patch of wild violet at his feet. A soft breath left him, his face so absent of malice that it appeared angelic. His thumb stroked the stem of one of the blossoms, following the fragile formation of the leaves until he reached the flower. Head tilting, he traced the outline of the petals with a tenderness that paralyzed you.

You couldn’t keep watching him. You shook off whatever demon had temporarily gripped you and reached for a batch of dandelion, grabbing it whole. Gaze trained on Tavington, you tested once, twice, and yanked the bunch free with a quiet crack.

His head snapped up. He twisted around.

You froze.

Tavington stood, glaring as if you’d caught him bathing. “Taken to stalking through the grass like a wild animal now, have you?”

You rose to your feet as well, back straight to match his. “Hardly.”

“Perhaps you can explain why you appear to be stalking through the grass like a wild animal, then,” he said, gesturing to the debris stuck to the hem of your skirt.

“I’m—” You shook your head, since your presence was far more explainable than his. “What are you even doing out here?”

“What do I appear to be doing?”

You shrugged. “I don’t know, admiring the flowers?”

Tavington said nothing, his brows raising in response, as if this was a perfectly typical activity for him.

If it was, you hardly had enough insight on him to know. But the grass seeds stuck to the soles of his boots, the affection with which he’d regarded the violets—perhaps William Tavington still had the capacity to surprise you. Realizing you’d been staring, you held up the flowers in your hands.

“I… I came to gather dandelions.”

He stepped back, inviting you to scavenge the stretch of them at his feet. You waited, perhaps for him to yield more ground, or to leave. He did neither. Heat building in your cheeks, you knelt down, beginning to pull stalks from the ground, wiggling to see if any of the roots would pry free. You felt his eyes following your hands, studying the way they moved. More heat, this time down the back of your neck.

The roots were well-buried—you’d need to dig them free. Grunting, you stuffed your fingers into the dirt, flinging fistfuls into the air to reveal your quarry.

Tavington side-stepped one of the scatterings. “Is that necessary?”

“It is, actually,” you grumbled. Yet another criticism of your methods. “Different parts of the plant have different properties.” You cleared a net of roots from the ground, trying to ignore the pressure of his gaze as he watched you.

“How so?” he asked.

You paused, wondering if you’d heard him correctly. Tentatively, you glanced up and met with eyes the color of clear lakes, gleaming whiskey in the light. For a moment, you forgot to breathe.

You cleared your throat, breaking his gaze. “Well.” Nodding toward the leaves in your hand, you continued, “For example, the leaves work well for reducing inflammation. Far better than bloodletting, from my observations. And, ah, the roots can help sustain a balance of the humors.”

Looking back down to your hands, you resumed plucking and separating the plant by parts, a strange, almost self-conscious heat rising to meet the scalding beam of his attention.

“And the flowers?”

You stopped again, snapping back up to look at him before you could stop yourself. Distrust settled over you like a cobweb, spun in the wake of Alice’s venom and every other insult that you’d already had to deflect today. Was that all this was, too? Did he simply mean to try and humiliate you? To punish you for disrupting his solitude?

“Forgive me, Colonel,” you said, narrowing your eyes, “but as I find myself unable to discern the nature of your interest in a topic for which you have previously expressed such ardent disdain, I must inform you that I’ll not entertain further ridicule.”

“You are implementing these remedies on my men,” he said, his voice filling with an authority that made the hair on your nape stand straight. “To the effect of considerable skepticism among them. You will therefore answer any query of mine regarding these practices, and you will answer it fully and truthfully without insolence.”

Your teeth locked together. So his meditation in nature hadn’t quelled the more irascible parts of him that you’d come to know so well. In some absurd way, that comforted you. This version of William Tavington was far more familiar. Far more predictable.

Your chin jutted forward. His eyes flashed.

Yes, this was how things should be.

“The flowers,” he repeated. “Their properties. Tell me.”

A short exhale left your lips. “They make a lovely wine,” you said, exhaustion driving you to redirect your frustrations upon another firmly-rooted plant rather than engage him in battle. “The entire plant is edible. It can supplement our rations, medicinal properties aside.”

“Hm.”

He continued to observe as you worked more dandelions from the earth. He did not ridicule you. He did not needle you further for a fight. For a moment, you half expected that he might turn and walk away.

“Where did you learn this?” he asked, breaking a silence that had spanned several minutes.

You blinked, sitting back on your heels to regard him. Once again, the bile had retreated from his gaze, leaving only a whisper of curiosity across the otherwise placid plane of his brow.

As you observed him, something deep in your belly kindled slowly to life. Something that felt hot and terrifying and good, like the first time you’d discovered your own climax. It swelled, threatened to burst at the recognition of his interest. At the possibility of his sincere trust in your skill, of his presumable willingness to defend you in the face of his own men’s misgivings. Your heart throbbed in your throat and between your legs.

“My, uh, mother,” you said, popping more flower heads from their stems. “She taught me some of it. Before she died.” Brushing the roots clean, you stuffed them away. “The rest I’ve learned through testing my own hypotheses. Extending my knowledge through practice and evidence.”

“And your father?” he asked. “He encouraged this?”

“Very much so.” You scooted forward to start on a new patch of dandelions. Tavington slid his foot back, yielding you access. “Grace was often poorly as a child,” you continued, fingers piercing the earth. “Physicians weren’t exactly in abundance.”

A quiet, thoughtful noise left him. “So you came to spurn their practices.”

“Not at all.” You frowned, peering up at him.

A tiny flash of confusion marred his brow, clearing as fast as it had come. You wrestled against the inexplicable tug of a smile, turning back to your work to hide it and clearing your throat.

“Whenever my father would go to Charlotte,” you said, “he would bring back all sorts of books and pamphlets for me. Anything he could find on the topic of medicine. I employed the latest scholarship on suturing just today on your men, as it were.”

Tavington hummed. “And the latest scholarship on whiskey?” he said. “Do enlighten me.”

Though his tone bore no rancor, you struggled not to sag. Why was this everyone’s sticking point? As if some physicians didn’t use leeches, which was objectively more questionable. You sighed.

“The evidence for its efficacy is irrefutable, Colonel, you’ve seen it yourself.” You dug up a root with a bit more force than necessary. “The same cannot be said for some modern practices.”

Your skin felt like molten iron on your bones, too hot and too heavy. You wanted to peel it free and dunk yourself in a freezing river, rid yourself of this feeling that you’d exposed your innards to him. Whatever had bedeviled you to flay yourself in thin layers for his derision, you needed to find it and squash it to a paste beneath your shoe.

“Such as bloodletting,” he murmured.

Your hands stilled, the breath evaporating from your chest. For the second time, you questioned whether you’d misheard him. Whether it was your own mind’s fabrication that he had somehow actually listened to you, actually heeded your opinions at some point over the course of these past weeks.

You gazed up at him, and his attention moved from your hands to your face.

“Yes,” you replied. “Such as bloodletting.”

The warmth in your chest returned, like a fire granting respite from the bitter, lonely winter. It suffocated you—this man was no hearth. He was the winter, he was the icy, unforgiving cold. Finding belonging here was akin to finding belonging in the belly of a blizzard. The thought twisted your insides. Why was he offering you interest when he’d spent the past weeks staring from afar?

You sat up, abandoning the plant beneath your hands, and looked at him squarely.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” you said, head tilting.

Tavington tensed, his focus darting between your hands and eyes again. “I hardly consider you important enough to avoid.”

Your eyes narrowed. “And yet it’s almost certainly what you’ve been doing since Charleston.”

He snorted. “Name it avoidance if you wish. Duplicitous agitators require surveillance,” he replied. “As of now, your motives remain unidentified after your unanticipated presence at the hospital.”

“Unanticipated?” You folded your arms over your chest. “Did you expect me to just sit in the Goddards’ home until you returned?”

“I expected you to escape at the first opportunity.”

You blinked. Then snorted. “And go where? Back to Catawba, so you could hunt me down, burn my house, and string my sister up in front of me in retribution?”

Tavington’s brows rose slightly. “Do you believe yourself deserving of such a punishment?”

You rolled your eyes. “Do you deny that such a punishment would have been visited upon me, should I deserve it or not?”

He shrugged, glancing at the dandelions still in your lap. “I do not.”

“Of course.” You almost wanted to laugh, if it weren’t so clear to you that both of you continued to fail at reading the other’s next move for reasons you still could not grasp. “Have I defied your expectations sufficiently enough while being here to have warranted my release?”

Tavington clucked his tongue. “If you’re asking whether I trust your commitment to the Crown, the answer is no.”

Sighing, you started to grab some of the fluffy dandelions around you. “I imagine there’s very little I could do to earn that anyway.”

“Not distracting my men would be a start.”

“Dis—” The wind rushed by you, exploding one of the dandelion clocks into your clothes and hair. You sputtered and wagged your head before beginning to pat yourself free of seeds. “Distracting your men?”

“Your relations,” he said, as if it were obvious. “With the ensign.”

You frowned, picking more of the seeds from your shoulders. “The…” Ensign. He couldn’t have been serious. “Goddard?” you balked. “He’s barely seventeen!”

Tavington examined his fingernails before gazing off into the horizon. “I make no assumptions about your predilections.” He returned his attention to you. “I simply observed that you and he were very close.”

“He was being very belligerent, that’s why.” You stood to brush the fluff from your skirt. “I’m not—I have no interest in the ensign.” With a huff, you tried to bat the remaining bits from around your face. “Not that it matters whom I have interest in. I’m my own woman and free to associate with whomever I choose.”

“Perhaps,” he replied, taking a step toward you. “But my concern stands.”

“I fail to see why such a thing should concern you at all.” You raised your chin.

“Because I require my men to be sound of mind and body,” he said. “And any sort of association with you would rend a man like Goddard into ribbons.”

“Ribbons?” A sharp, mocking laugh escaped you. “Is that so?”

“Yes.”

“Pray, then advise me as to the sort of man suitable for me to associate with.”

“One experienced in taming vicious creatures.”

His focus was a blade, penetrating your chest. You went to speak, your mouth parted—but stalled. Your thighs pressed together. You stopped attempting to pull what you thought were the last flyers from your hair. Finally, you inhaled.

“I need to be tamed, do I?” you managed to say.

He took another step. “Moreso than any creature I've encountered.”

In the sun’s embrace, he was luminous, every hair on his cheek filtered through with flame. You could only watch as he reached toward your face, his hand floating toward your hair. Time slowed. The pad of his thumb, as gently as it had skimmed the violet petals, grazed the shell of your ear. You inhaled a shaky breath, your nipples tightened, and you suppressed the tremble that ricocheted through you.

Tavington plucked the two remaining seeds that had nestled into your hair and released them to the breeze. He paused, looking from his fingers to you, stepping back in disbelief as he seemed to come back into his body. Your eyes fluttered, drifted across his face, caught the rusted splotch at his clavicle. The wound Goddard had mentioned. It was obvious he hadn’t treated it at all.

“You…” You swallowed thickly. “You should really allow me—” You reached for his chest.

His gaze widened. He retreated another step, snatching your wrist mid-air before tossing it away like he’d grabbed a hot iron. His jaw stiffened, and he exhaled sharply.

“I said before that it’s nothing,” he growled. “And it is.”

He shouldered past you, stalked through the field to return to camp. You stood, baffled, eyes trailing him as he left. His fingers flicked in and out of a fist as he walked, like he wanted to cleanse himself of your touch.

The dandelions felt heavy in your pockets. Drawing your forearm across your brow, you realized you still needed to collect alder bark. And attend to what you’d left in the pot. You turned, heading toward the woods, the tip of your ear tingling until the sun finally set.

[wheels-of-despair]

Under Pressure | Eric x You vs. The Apocalypse | Series Masterlist

Chapter Four: The Birthday Boy Summary: You meet Eric for a birthday lunch that goes a little awry. Words: 2k

The birthday boy doesn't look very happy.

Eric is in that brown suit again, leaning against the wall outside the restaurant your husband chose Evan may be in California, but his finger is still on the pulse of all things New York. He'd insisted that this restaurant was the talk of the town, reserved a table for two, and lamented that he wouldn't be able to join you for Eric's birthday celebration.

"Fancy meeting you here," you tease, hoping to elicit a smile. Eric tries, but it doesn't quite reach his eyes. You open your arms, and he reluctantly leans in for a quick hug. "Happy Birthday."

"Thank you," he mumbles, pulling back to shove his hands in his pockets and stare at the sidewalk.

"You alright?" you ask.

"Fine," he smiles tensely.

"Lies."

Eric bites his lip and looks to the sky, blinking back tears. He leans back against the wall. You move to stand beside him, shoulder to shoulder, watching the traffic go by and waiting for him to find his words. He lets out a long sigh and speaks to the clouds.

"The barista I told you about broke up with me."

When you'd called to invite him to lunch last week, he told you about a barista he'd been seeing. They'd gone to that play you'd given him tickets to as a Christmas present, and had a great time. You'd offered to hand over the reservations and let him take his friend out to this fancy new restaurant instead of you, but he'd declined. He said he didn't want to do too much too fast and give them the wrong idea.

"I'm sorry," you whisper. The relationship sounded new to you, but new can still hurt.

"This morning."

Your head snaps to him.

"This morning?"

"Yeah."

"You got dumped on your birthday?"

"Yeah," he says miserably.

"Where does she work?"

"What?"

"I have some business to attend to before lunch."

"Business?" he asks, brow knitted in confusion.

"I've got a knuckle sandwich that needs to be delivered." You raise your fist at him threateningly, a smile tugging at your lips. He lets out a laugh when he gets it, and dabs at his eyes with the sleeves of his jacket.

"Sorry if I'm not good company today," he says quietly. "Or ever. Apparently I'm mopey and no fun to be around."

"Mopey and no fun?" you question.

"According to this morning's text."

"You got dumped by text?!"

Eric nods.

"On your birthday."

He nods again.

"You better not ever tell me this bitch's name or where she works, Eric, because I swear to God, I will end her."

He barks out a short laugh that sounds so much like his brother, it makes your heart ache. God, you miss him.

"You know what I think?" you ask, not waiting for an answer. "I think the last thing you need today is to sit quietly and wait for some rude waiter to bring you tiny amounts of weird food. I think we should blow off this place and go do something fun."

"Like what?" he asks. You have to think about it for a second, but a solution presents itself quickly.

"Do you trust me?"

He nods.

"C'mon," you grin, taking his hand and pulling him away from the wall. You cross the street and walk silently for a few blocks. He doesn't question it at all, just falls into step with you on your mysterious journey.

"Here we are," you soon announce, stopping in front of a window decked out in neon signs.

"An arcade?" Eric asks.

"An arcade," you confirm. "Ready forget all your troubles and have some fun?"

"Alright," he agrees, showing off his dimples with a sweet smile.

Eric jumps a step ahead of you and opens the door. This place is everything an arcade should be. An 80s pattern on the carpet. Dim overhead lighting and neon signs everywhere. The smell of fried food. Games galore. This is just what the doctor ordered.

"Ever been anywhere like this before?"

"Not in a very long time," he smiles.

"Should we eat first, or play first?"

You both look over to the crowded food court, and back to each other. "Play," you say together.

You spot the machine you're looking for, stick a credit card in, and listen to the happy jingle of tokens pouring out. You and Eric stuff your pockets full, then decide to walk around and see what games are available.

You're aware that the two of you stand out a bit in your dressy clothes, but stop caring when two empty seats for a driving game catch your eye. You look from it to Eric, and you both grin. You race each other to it, falling into your seats with a laugh. Tokens are dropped into the slot, and the game comes to life.

"Whoever gets the fastest time gets to pick the next game?" you suggest.

"You're on," Eric challenges. "Ready?"

Eric counts down, and you press start at the same time. It's a winding track you're racing down in your virtual car, and the steering wheel's response time isn't great, but you're not doing terribly.

"First lap done, how are you doing over there?"

"I'm… fine…" he grunts, white-knuckling the wheel like it owes him money.

"You sure about that?" you tease. "Sounds like you're having a little trouble. Are you trying to drive on the wrong side of the road?"

"It's a race track, there is no side of the road," he growls. You laugh.

"Two laps for me," you update him. "How's it going over there, England?"

"Leave me alone," he laughs.

"Not a chance," you smirk. "Uh-oh, third and final lap! Are you gonna catch up to me anytime soon, or am I gonna have to come back for you?"

Eric lets out a low growl, still fighting with his plastic steering wheel.

"Is that the finish line? Oh, there's the checkered flag. Guess I won. Wow, and first place, too."

You sit back as the flags wave on the screen declaring you a WINNER and look to Eric. He's in last place. Trying to get his battered car away from a wall he's run into.

"Have you ever driven before?" you ask, angling yourself toward him. "Is that why you're so bad at this?"

"Shut up," he says through clenched teeth, "the steering's all wrong."

"Sure it is," you grin.

Eric finally gets his car out of the grass and back on the track. He sticks his tongue out, total concentration on his face as he tries his best to stay on the road. He takes so long to cross the finish line, the WINNER screen on your game has reverted to the high score screensaver.

You're covering your mouth to hide your smile when he turns to you.

"There's something wrong with the machine," he explains.

"Want to switch places and try again?" you suggest innocently.

Eric narrows his eyes, weighing his options. If there truly is something wrong with the machine, maybe he'll be able to redeem himself. But if you kick his ass again, you're going to be insufferable about it.

"Switch," he orders. You grin and get up to swap seats.

Tokens are inserted. The countdown to pressing START begins again. And you're off!

You withhold the trash-talking this time. You race silently alongside each other, apart from the occasional growl of frustration coming from Eric.

You finish in first place again, but don't say anything. You sit still until he finally sighs and leans back in his seat. Then you turn your head to him.

"You got first again, didn't you?" he asks, still staring straight ahead, utterly defeated.

"Second," you lie.

He turns his head, still leaning back against the plastic, and looks at you with the exhaustion of a man who's just driven Le Mans.

"Lies."

You look to your screen, which no longer shows your results.

"I guess you'll never truly know," you grin. "Ready to try something different?"

Eric nods, and you climb out of your fake racecars to see what else you can get into.

He's not terrible at every game. In fact, your gaming strengths and weaknesses balance each other out nicely. The two-player games are your favorite… until he absolutely wipes the floor with you at a dancing game.

"Food break?" you ask, leaning against a machine, out of breath from trying to keep up with him.

"Why? Did getting your arse kicked make you work up an appetite?"

Your jaw drops, and he cackles.

You link arms and walk to the food court, stopping to peruse the menu on the wall behind the counter.

"What are you in the mood for?" you ask.

"What's good?"

"It's an arcade food court manned by teenagers, so probably nothing," you laugh.

You stare at the menu together for a moment, concentration on your faces and no idea what kind of fried delicacy you're in the mood for.

"I can't decide what I want," you sigh. "Should I order a bunch of stuff to split, so we can try a little bit of everything?"

"Fine by me," he says, looking a little relieved.

"You're in charge of napkins, straws, and ketchup," you inform him, turning him toward the condiment station and giving him a gentle shove. "Pick out a good table. I believe in you."

He chuckles and walks away, and you spend a ridiculous amount of money on an assortment of greasy arcade food.

When he spots the tray you approach the table with, his eyes bulge. He pushes the condiment cups aside to make room for it.

"Okay," you begin, settling into the chair across from him. You remove the drinks and leave everything else on the tray. You're sharing anyway. "If it can be fried, it's on this tray. We've got fries, we've got mozzarella sticks, we've got mini corn dogs, we've got fried pickles, we've got onion rings, we've got pizza bites… and I don't think the chicken wings are fried, but we've got a few of those too."

"Wow," Eric breathes, surveying the food. "What's first?"

"Your call, birthday boy."

Eric smiles warmly across the pile of fried food. That's the only way you can describe it; warm. His kind eyes make you feel like everything's going to be okay. You haven't felt that way in ages.

You reach for something fried and pop it in your mouth, and Eric does the same.

"Not bad," he declares, reaching for the next item before he's even done chewing.

You eat as much as you can hold, and when you offer to buy Eric a birthday milkshake, he turns green. You've had enough fun and grease for one day; you've been at it for nearly four hours. You quickly dump your tray of trash and head back outside, passing off a few remaining tokens to a pair of awestruck kids at the door.

You stroll slowly and quietly as you wind down from the day's excitement, until you realize that you need to head in opposite directions to get home.

"Thank you for today," he says.

"That was the most fun I've had in a long time," you admit. You had so much fun with Eric today, you forgot how miserable you've been without Evan. "Sorry I made you sick, though."

"I'm fine," he smiles.

"I believe you this time."

You stand in silence for a moment before pulling him in for a hug.

"You take care of yourself, okay?" you mumble into his neck.

"I will," he answers.

"Call me if you need anything?"

"I will," he repeats.

You slowly separate, like you don't really want to let each other go.

"See you later," you force a smile.

"See you later," he echoes.

You turn and start walking toward home, not sure if the pain in your chest is from the massive amounts of fried food or the fact that you've never felt so lonely in your fucking life.

Note: This is the last of the fluffy chapters. It's gonna get heavy in the next one, and stay that way 'til the end. There will be several mentions of suicide and y'know, an alien invasion and the stress of trying to survive the end of the world and stuff. You've been warned.

[titiinof]

H!

favorite domestic moments:

- watching anime and eating breakfast together (x)

- any and all baking videos

- the entire video designing dab and evan’s apartment (x)

- dan complaining about all the annoying things phil does as a housemate (x)

[walkingintheheartbreaksatellite]

Don’t Let The Flame Die

Part 1- It Starts With A Match

This is a 9-1-1 fox x Harry Styles crossover. Hope you enjoy!

Summary: Buck dies in a fire, leaving his girlfriend Y/N to pick up the pieces. Y/N is pregnant and depressed after Buck’s death. Despite the efforts of Maddie and the 118, she shuts herself in. But one day, an old friend comes back with a goal in mind: save Y/N.

Warnings: Death, mentions of depression and harmful thoughts, Pregnancy.

————————————————————————

It had been like any other day. I had an OB appointment and I couldn’t wait to show Evan the photos. I pulled out my phone, typing a text when there’s a knock at my apartment door. I sigh, getting up and waddling with my 5 month belly to the door, opening it to reveal Bobby and Eddie.

“Hey guys… um- what’s up…?”

Their eyes are red and just from the sight of them, I’m filled with nerves. Eddie clears his throat and coughs a little before he speaks up.

“Can we uh- come in?”

I nod and step back, letting them in. They walk into the apartment and make their way to the living room, taking a seat on the couch. I follow them hesitantly, taking a seat in the loveseat. It’s quiet for a minute until Bobby starts to speak.

“I’m sorry for showing up like this… And I never wanted to have to do this- I-I’m sorry I can’t-Eddie-.”

Eddie nods and looks at me, tears threatening to spill.

“Y/N… Buck’s gone.. T-There was a fire- He ran in after a kid that was still inside… The structure collapsed on him… I’m so sorry. I’m so so sorry-.”

“When.. When did it happen?”

Eddie drops his head for a minute before he looks back up at me.

“A couple hours ago. We tried to get him out but when we got to him… He was gone… We had to um- alert his parents and Maddie first… I’m so sorry Y/N…”

Tears stream down my face and I let out a loud sob. Eddie pulls me into a hug and I stay there for I don’t even know how long. Everything else… It was a blur.

2 weeks later, the day of the funeral

I wake up to a deafening knock on the door.

“Y/N? Wake up…? We need to leave soon…”

I sigh and sit up, looking around at my surroundings. Ever since Evan’s death, I hadn’t been back to the apartment. I was staying with Bobby and Athena, who so graciously welcomed me in. I knew they were worried, everyone is. I can feel their stares.

“Y/N, I know it’s hard but seriously. We can’t be late…”

“I’m coming Athena, I’m coming.”

I get up, taking a quick shower before putting on the dress I had set out. I don’t have enough energy for makeup, so I pull my hair into a ponytail and slip on my flats before leaving the room. I walk through the house, into the den, to find Bobby and Athena sitting at the kitchen table. Athena gives me a small smile and stands up.

“I’ve got some coffee ready if you’re feeling up to it. Bobby made pancakes but I know you haven’t had much of an appetite.”

I fake a smile and nod.

“Coffee sounds good. I wouldn’t mind that.”

I take a seat at the table and she pours me a cup and places it in front of me.

“Just the way you like. Mocha style.”

I give her an actual smile this time before I start to drink my coffee. After about 20 minutes, we leave for the cemetery. I’m sat smack dab in the front with Maddie, Phillip and Margaret. The sight of his coffin sends chills down my spine, and I just want to scream. I tune out most of the procession, my heart can’t take it… that is until I’m forced to pay attention.

Eddie and Chimney walk up to us, Chimney giving Margaret and Phillip the flag while Eddie lays Evan’s helmet in my lap. I hold it tight with one hand, squeezing Maddie’s hand with the other. I blur out the ringing of the bells and the gun salute… I blur out everything. The next place I find myself is back at Bobby and Athena’s.

Hen sits next to me on the couch, Chimney on the other side, both giving me looks of pity. Hen lays a hand on top of mine and gives me a frown.

“Athena said you haven’t gone to any of your appointments.”

I push her hand away and stand up.

“Did you expect me to? Seriously? He’s gone Hen. Do I really look like I’m gonna go to the stupid appointments without him? He’s never gonna know. He’s going to have a daughter and I’m never gonna be able to tell him! So no Hen. I’m not going. I’m not gonna go and see our daughter when I know he won’t ever get to.”

Tears pour down my cheeks and Maddie walks out from the kitchen, pulling me into a hug. I bury my head in the crook of her neck as I sob, breaking down as I have many times over the past couple weeks. It wasn’t okay. Nothing was okay.

A few weeks later-

I had finally gone home. I had had enough of their prodding and worried gazes. I was determined to grieve, but I was tired of it the extra attention. And I still had the human growing inside to think about. Not that I don’t constantly. Every kick, every move she makes only makes my heart ache.

I lay on the couch with the tv playing mindlessly in the background when there’s a knock on the door. I sigh and get up, waddling to the door. With another sigh, I open it to see Bobby, Athena and Maddie. I sigh and open the door wide, letting them in.

“What’s going on?”

Maddie takes my hand and leads me to the couch, Athena and Bobby following behind. We take a seat and I look at Maddie, waiting for her to start talking.

“It’s been… Almost months. We’ve all kind of discussed- because we’re so worried-.”

Before she can finish, Athena interrupts her.

“Bobby and I think it’s best that you move in with us.”

My eyes widen and my mouth practically falls to the floor.

“Are you kidding me?!”

Maddie frowns and puts a hand on my back.

“Y/N… We’re worried about you and the baby. You’re not taking care of yourself. No one is blaming you, we just want to help! I know it’s been hard- I miss him too… But there’s nothing we can do… Evan would want you to be happy.”

Athena nods in agreement.

“When that little girl is here, she will become your whole world. I know it’s hard, but you’re not alone in this. We love you, sweetheart. We love Buck. We just want the best for you. Bobby and I want to help. We’ve got an empty house with just the two of us. You wouldn’t have to worry and you wouldn’t be alone. It’s not forever, just until you’re ready…”

I frown and look at the floor, only nodding my head.

“Fine… Alright…You’re right…”

And thus began the longest 2 months of my life. Someone always went with to an appointment, I practically didn’t have to lift a finger moving and I have a cozy bedroom set up at Bobby and Athena’s. Now all that’s left is for baby girl to make her way into the world.

At my 40 week appointment, Evan’s mom, Margaret, asked to accompany me. With Evan gone and now 2 grand babies, she and Phillip have decided to move to California to be closer. We arrive at the hospital and we only wait a few minutes before we’re taken into the exam room. I hop up on the table and lay back, waiting for my doctor.

Not a minute later, Dr. Garcia comes in with a cheery smile as usual.

“40 weeks! How exciting! Let’s check on little girl and see how she’s doing, shall we?”

I give her a small nod and lift up my shirt as she sets up the ultrasound. She moves the doppler around a bit and smiles.

“She’s just about ready, any day no-.”

Before she can finish, we hear a splashing sound.

“Was that-?”

“Did my-?”

She gives me a small nod and stands up.

“I guess she’s ready. Let’s get you settled in a room and we’ll go from there!”

She leaves for a few minutes and I let out a sigh, Margaret giving me a small smile.

“Evan was like that too. He came so quick, it’s almost like he knew he was needed… I know you wish he was here… But I’m sure he’s proud of you, Y/N. You’re going to be a great mother, and you’ll always have a little piece of him with you.”

I give her a small smile and squeeze her hand. Shortly after, I’m wheeled into a room and Maddie meets us here with my hospital bag.

“Alright, Eddie is on his way and I’ll be here too. So I guess now… We just wait.”

I frown and nod, lost in my thoughts again.

“Y/N- Y/N!”

I turn my head to her.

“Hm?”

“Did you think of a name?”

I purse my lips.

“Yeah… I did. Evan- if we had a girl, he wanted to name her after you. Not the same name but something just as cool he said- so I tried to keep to that. Her name will be Maeve Everly Buckley. After her auntie Maddie and her daddy. So she has a little piece of him too…”

I start to tear up and she squeezes my hand.

“He’d love that. I know he would.”

It’s quiet for a minute before I decide to speak up.

“It’s quiet without him, Maddie… It’s cold.. Evan brought so much to my life and he was just gone… I don’t blame him. Or anyone. Evan was always like that and there was nothing anyone could do to change that. That little boy survived because of him… and yet it hurts… Everyday without him just hurts… All the songs I’ve written- I can’t let them go… They mean too much… And I don’t know what to do…”

She hugs my tight, rubbing my back as I cry before she pulls away.

“I may not be the best person for this since Chim is still here and I’m the one that left… But it never gets easier. But one thing I have learned… Reach out. Let us help. Don’t fight it alone. Rely on your friends. They want to know what’s going on! Lean on them. Just like you are now.”

I give her a small smile and nod. After many, many hours of labor, my little girl finally makes her debut into the world.

She is the most beautiful, perfect bundle I have ever seen. She’s quiet but warm, and extremely cuddly. She’s only a few hours old, not even a day… But she’s my whole world.

A Few Weeks Later-

I lounge on the couch as Maeve naps, comfortably on my chest. As much as I’d love to move her, she’s honestly too cute to move. Athena walks into the living room with a smile on her face.

“I swear, that little girl naps more than May or Harry* ever did! Very cuddly too.”

*(Athena has 2 children. May and Harry Grant.)

I smile and nod.

“She must have gotten it from her daddy. I’m just thankful that she’s been sleeping and not crying that much. I was afraid she would keep everyone up but she sleeps better than I do!”

She smiles and nods in agreement.

“Have you thought about going back to work?”

I shrug.

“Yes and no. I’m financially stable but at the same time I miss working. I have a couple people wanting to work with me so maybe I’ll text one of them. She’s pretty quiet so I think it would be okay. But if I’m imposing at all-.”

She lets out a laugh and shakes her head.

“No, but I know you, Y/N. You and Buck were the same. Always working. You enjoy what you do and there’s nothing wrong with that. You’re very creative and I know you’ve missed it…”

I nod and give her a small smile as Maeve starts to wake up.

“Maybe I’ll do that… Get back to it…”

I cuddle Maeve close as she yawns and stretches and I smile, rubbing her back. I decide to text a friend and we agree to meet for lunch the next day. With that to look forward to, I go about my day.

The Next Day

I wake up early and dress myself before pumping some milk for Maeve while she sleeps. I’m able to shower and even do some makeup before Maeve wakes up in tears. I smile and pick her up, cradling her in my arms.

“Well good morning my little princess! Are you hungry? Yeah? Let’s get some milk in you, yeah? We have a long day! You get to meet Mama’s friend and he doesn’t even know you exist! Isn’t that fun! That’ll be a fun surprise for him, huh?”

She gives me a funny look and I laugh. I quickly feed her and dress her before loading up my car with everything I might need. Finally, I get her in her car seat and we hit the road.

After about 15 minutes, I reach the restaurant we agreed to meet at for breakfast. I grab the diaper bag and get Maeve out of the car before heading inside. I look around for a minute before I spot him.

(OF COURSE I HAD TO USE THIS HE’S ADORABLE)

Harry sees me and smiles, waving until his mouth drops. I get to the table and set Maeve down in the booth.

“Hey H! Sorry, had to carry this one in.”

He purses his lips and nods.

“I uh- didn’t know you were pregnant or even had a baby!”

I give him a weak smile and nod, pushing Maeve in so I could sit down.

“Yeah… I’m sorry for kind of going MIA… Things have been hard since Evan- Anyways, yeah. She’s still pretty little. About 3 months? I just- Things have been rough… I pretty much crawled into a shell. Would you- like to meet her?”

He gives me a smile and nods.

“I’d love to!”

I smile and carefully pull her out of her car seat before gently placing her in his arms.

“Harry, I’d like you to meet Maeve Everly Buckley. Maeve, this is your uncle Harry, yeah! Look at her! She likes you!”

Maeve gives him a small gummy smile. Harry smiles wider and holds her close.

“She’s so tiny! Look at her little fingers!”

I laugh and nod. Eventually, hands her back so I can place her in her car seat so we can eat.

“So this is album number four, right? Have you written anything?”

He nods and takes a sip of his coffee.

“Bits and pieces. Nothing finished. Jeff and I were hoping maybe you’d be willing to help? But I understand if you’re not-.”

I laugh and shake my head.

“I’d love to. I haven’t worked on anything in so long and I miss it. Maeve won’t be a problem if you’re okay with her tagging along. She’s pretty quiet and always happy.”

He nods with a smile.

“You know I don’t. I love kids. And besides, I have to hurry up and be the favorite uncle.”

I laugh and nod.

“She loves her uncle Chim, that’s for sure. Not too sure about her cousin but it’ll get easier when Jee gets a bit bigger and mellows out. If you have time, I’m pretty much free to work all day. I packed the car just in case.”

He smiles and nods.

“As long as you don’t mind, I’d love to. It’s been a long time. I’d really like to catch up. “

I smile and nod.

“Oh hey- um Evan’s family is having like a memorial for him- albeit a year later, but they wanted to have a small party in his honor if you want to come. You can meet everyone… I know I’ve been distant but they’ve all kind of forced me to be social these last couple months.”

He laughs and nods.

“I’d love to, as long as I’m not imposing.”

“Not at all! They’re holding it at the station. They’re putting up a plaque in the station and they always find a reason to have cake. I kind of want to take some pictures of Maeve in the station anyways. I was a bit too depressed when she was born to have a newborn photo shoot. But I’m getting there.”

He smiles and takes a sip of coffee.

“Are you still taking the meds?”

“Yeah I’m back on them. I kind of stopped for a while… But after she was born I started back up on them. I’m not over him- but she shouldn’t have to suffer because of that… And I won’t let him be gone… Not forever. She’ll know him. And that’s all I can do…”

He nods and gives me a small smile. We finish breakfast and I follow him in my car to the studio. Harry helps me carry some things in for Maeve. I walk through the door and Jeff looks shocked.

“Oh my god is that yours?! You had a kid!”

I laugh and nod. We get started and Maeve gets passed around the room, relishing in all the cuddles she’s getting. I can’t help but smile, feeling warm for the first time in a while.

A Couple Months Later, Maeve’s first birthday

After moving out of Bobby and Athena’s, Maeve and I settled in a cute 3 bedroom house in the outskirts of Los Angeles. Time rolled around and before I knew it, I had people piling into my house with presents and balloons, all for Maeve. I open the door for the millionth time, this time to find Harry on the other side.

“Oh my god hi! Thanks for coming!”

He smiles and gives me a bit of a long hug. He lets go and comes inside.

“Maeve is in the living room playing. Can I get you a drink? There’s punch, lemonade, water-.”

He nods.

“Water sounds great. Sorry I’m late, I had to keep myself from buying her anything else.”

I laugh and nod, understanding the feeling. I hand him a bottle of water and lead him to the living room.

“Maevie! Look who’s here!”

Maeve turns to me and sees Harry, her face lighting up with her little baby smile. She steadily gets up off the floor and waddles over to him.

“Ha!”

He laughs and picks her up.

“There’s the birthday girl! Look at you! You’re so big! How did that happen?!”

She laughs and he smiles, hugging her close. He attempts to put her back down but she starts to cry, so of course he cuddles her close. Throughout the party, she stays close to Harry, dragging him everywhere she goes. After everyone leaves, it’s just Harry, Maeve and I. Harry plays with Maeve as I clean up, listening to her little giggles echoing through the house.

I finish up and walk into the living room to find Maeve passed out on Harry’s chest. I smile and sits next to him on the couch.

“Looks like she tuckered herself out.”

He only laughs and nods, rubbing her back as she drools on his shirt. His face falters for a minute before he speaks up.

“Hey… There’s something I- wanted to talk to you about…”

I raise my eyebrows and look at him, giving him my undivided attention.

“I’ve been thing- for a while now… Things have been good Y/N. Being with you and Maeve… It makes me happy… And I just- I have to tell you… I’m falling in love with you.”

————————————————————————

I hope you guys enjoyed!!! Please let me know what you thought! I love love love feedback! Please like and reblog!

Tag List

@be-with-me-so-happily @swiftmendeshoran @babyiamperfectforyou @freedomfireflies @kaminokatie @harrysmimi @violetsandfluff @fruitmans @fruitmansrecs @cupidsdolll @rafaaoli @kimmi-kat @erggggggggg @cayleyhannha-blog @acesofspadess @that-mcu-fan @styles-barnes-bitch @purple9950 @justmystyles @itslottiehere @flickerbuckley

[bongilicus]

❝ 𝐢'𝐯𝐞 𝐠𝐨𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮, ❞ ▬ 𝐬𝐢𝐫 𝐠𝐰𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐞.

𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒; you're the unintentional victim to an attempt on King Arthur's life and wake up days later in bed, being tended to by your beloved knight. ★ gwaine x gn!reader

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒; angst, fear of loss, mentions of poison, mentions of death. {if you notice anything else that i missed let me know}

𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑'𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄; first fic of the new account <3 requested on an old one. this is kinda a sickfic? i sorta went with the reader being unwell without the whole disease route. i love this man sm ugh.

𝐋𝐄𝐍𝐆𝐓𝐇; 1125 words.

𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ★ 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

Waking up to the feeling of a damp cloth being dabbed at your forehead, you slowly blinked open your eyes. The top of his shirt hanging open, sleeves rolled up, his hair slightly dishevelled, Gwaine looked tired. Attempting to wriggle into a more comfortable position, you groaned at the much your entire body ached.

“Hey,” Gwaine said softly, a small smile forming as he looked down at you, “Don’t try and move, sweetheart, you’re still very sick.”

You wanted to cry, your head felt like it was about to explode or topple right off your body. Your neck was as stiff as a board and your throat felt like gravel. “How long was I-” you began, croaking like a frog before he shushed you.

“You’ve been asleep for three days,” he explained, “Gaius thinks it should only be three more before the poison is fully out of your system.” 

You frowned at that. Poison?

“At the feast,” he said, knowing just what you were thinking, “Sir Arnold’s serving girl put something in the wine. Apparently, it was intended for Arthur but it didn’t reach him funnily enough. Leon and Harry’s wife, Lady Evans also drank some.” 

“I-” you started, not really having any thought of what to say. Your eyes began to water and hot tears began down your cheeks.

“Hey, hey, hey, ssh,” Gwaine whispered, reaching out to wipe your cheeks just as fast as they were wetted, “it’s okay now, you’re alright. Gaius had all the ingredients on hand and administered the antidote within the hour. More than long enough to make you better.” He continued to brush your cheek even after you stopped crying.

Putting the rag down on the cupboard at your bedside, he pressed a chaste kiss to your forehead and rose from his chair. “I had Merlin prepare you some soup in case you woke,” he said as he fetched the bowl from the table. As he returned with it, he lifted the spoon to his mouth to taste it. You frowned. 

“Can’t be too careful,” he said, sitting back in his chair. He shuffled it forwards until his knees were pressed against the bed. Taking another spoonful, he held it to your lips. “Just have as much as you can, darling.”

Still relatively warm, it went down smoothly and helped the dry ache of your throat. You had a couple more spoonfuls until you swallowed too fast and began to cough. Gwaine was quick to put down the bowl and spoon before helping you sit up against the pillows.

“I’ll pour you some water.” He took the jug from beside him and filled the goblet that sat next to it. Sipping it slightly, he waited a moment before handing it to you, gently helping tip some into your mouth for you to gulp down. When you put your hand up to say you had enough he put it back.

“Why do you keep doing that?” you breathed, voice steadier than before.

“You’re not having a sip of anything again until it’s passed my lips first,” he vowed, his tone suggesting he was joking but his eyes saying otherwise. Reaching out, you took hold of his hand where it rested on his knee. He gripped your fingers tightly as you smiled at him.

“Have you eaten today?” you asked. He looked down for a moment, chuckling at your ability to be concerned even while you were the one who had so recently faced death.

“Not yet.”

“And when did you last sleep?”

“Not since you’ve been unwell,” he admitted, preparing himself for your disapproval.

“Go to bed, Gwaine,” you whispered, “there’s no sense in us both looking half-dead.” 

He leaned forward and kissed your brow. “You’re a fool if you think I’m letting you out of my sight until you’re up and walking around.”

“Don’t be cruel to yourself,” you said, staring up into his eyes, rubbing your thumb along his knuckles, “you’ll end up bedridden if you don’t eat and sleep. Finish the soup.”

“That’s for you, my darling,” he said.

“I’m not hungry. Finish it and come ‘ere.” You patted the empty spot on the bed next to you. 

“Only for you, my love.”

Not bothering with the spoon, he tipped the bowl back and drank the rest of the soup. When he got up to take off his boots you noticed his sword leaning unsheathed against the wall nearby. Just in reach, you thought which made your heart sink. He grabbed it before he plodded around to his side of the bed. After putting it on his bedside cabinet, he climbed onto the bedding and inched closer to you.

“Expecting a hostile intruder?” you asked.

“You never know who’s gonna try to take you away from me,” he said, wriggling into a comfortable position beside you. Retaking your hand, he brought it to his lips and laid a kiss to your knuckles before holding it to his chest. Shoulders pressed together, you let out a deep breath, eyes falling shut again.

“I’d never let them,” you murmured, “you’re stuck with me.”

“Good.” He was silent for a while before adding: “I thought I was gonna lose you. For a while there it didn’t look like… Gaius wasn’t sure you’d make it.”

Shifting with a slight wince, you turn to look at him better. You tucked a piece of hair behind his ear and he turned his head towards you.

“I’m okay, Gwaine,” you said, “I promise. It’s okay now. I’m safe.”

“No thanks to me,” he breathed, the fear in his voice breaking your heart.

“You didn’t know, how could you have?”

“I don’t know, but I just sat there for a minute. After you fell out of your seat and I had you in my arms. You were so fucking still and I just… I couldn’t move. Percival grabbed you and ran to Gaius. If he’d been any slower, if I’d- you would’ve died because of me.”

Scooching closer, you let go of his hand and wrapped your arm around his middle. He lifted his arm to put it behind your back allowing you to press your cheek into his chest. “You were in shock, it’s not your fault.”

“But it would’ve been.”

“No,” you insisted, “whoever put the poison in the wine is to blame, no one else.” 

“Hmm,” he hummed, not entirely taking your word for it now, “never again. I’ll protect you from anything and everything, whatever it takes.”

“You’re too good to me,” you said, kissing his cheek, “my handsome knight.”

“You’re not so bad yourself, sweetheart,” he said, “now go back to sleep, you need to rest.”

“You best go to sleep too.”

“Of course,” he said, “Sweet dreams, darling.”

𝐄𝐍𝐃 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄; hope you enjoyed <3 if you have any ideas, suggestions, or comments please comment on this post, dm me or drop your thoughts in my inbox! i’d love to talk to you :))

[evan4ever]

Hello babes 😘 just wondering if you could write a pre-death Tate langdon x fem!reader where she catches him cutting himself in the school bathroom and helps him clean up. Major fluff. And since he's only ever been in one night stands sex is the only way he can show his appreciation for her caring for him when not even his mum could. Thanks hun ❤️

You’re so pretty, it hurts

Tate Langdon x f!Reader

Warnings: self harm, blood, p in v penetration, unprotected sex

A/n: I apologize if this isn’t good, Tate is the only Evan character I couldn’t vibe with well (doesn’t mean he’s not hot 🥵) so I tried my best and hope it’s still good!! not proofread

—

The school hallways were empty, considering everyone was in class which is where you were supposed to be. But you were bored, it was a substitute anyways, and you felt like taking a walk. It had only been maybe 10 minutes and you planned on being gone for maybe 15 minutes just to take up some time and make the remainder of class go by faster, so being all the way across the school you figured you’d make your way back and simply take your time.

That was your plan, anyways. And you were nearly there when something caught your eye.

Tate Langdon.

You saw him enter the boys bathroom with an expression on his face that you couldn’t read. You furrowed your brows in confusion and wonder at what he could be doing. You didn’t know him well, but you knew he was kind of a messed up kid. You didn’t judge him, but he often made you curious. There’d been many times you had caught him in an act of some kind of violence, from placing black tacks in the black chair that Mr May would sit in 5 minutes later, to taping a razor underneath Olivia Carter’s locker handle that would slice her fingers and end with her needing multiple stitches. Both times you’d been the only one to catch him, and both times you guys shared an intense stare but nothing more. You never told. And that earned you a safe spot in Tate’s messed up head. You minded your business and he did too.

And you knew this was one of those times to mind your own, but your curiosity got the best of you so you slowly made your way to the bathroom stopping at the door wondering whether it was a good idea or not to invade his privacy. It was the boys bathroom, after all. But fuck it, you thought.

You pushed the door open as quietly as you could and let yourself in, rounding the corner only to stop dead in your tracks at the sight in front of you.

Tate stood in front of the mirror, his arms over the sink and you had a perfect view of the razor in his hand pressing into his arm that already had 3 precious and obvious deep cuts that were bleeding down his arm and dripping into the sink. You stood wide eyed and the second he saw you through the mirror behind him, he shot you the nastiest flare possible.

“What are fuck are you doing in here?! Can’t read that this is the boys bathroom? Get out!” Tate practically screamed at you, but unfazed you stood still in your place, your eyes only taking in the image in front of you. It was one you had seen so many times before, but so weird seeing it on someone else arms rather than your own. “Are you listening to me? Leave, now!”

Your eyes flicker up to meet his angry ones and instead of listening to him, you make your way to him slowly, not once breaking the eye contact as you reach behind him grabbing a few paper towels, wetting them then cautiously bringing them to his arm that was still dripping blood. He only watched you in confusion, his anger shifting from you catching him to not understanding what you were doing or why you were being so nice to him. He was a freak, he thought.

You gently took ahold of his arm to better help you clean it up as carefully as you could. You dabbed and wiped up the bloodied mess that his arm was, finally wiping over the cuts and holding some pressure on them to stop the bleeding.

“These are really deep.” You state quietly.

“Why are you being so nice to me?” He questions. You finally look up at him again with a sincere look. He was staring at you more calm than before but still with a head spinning in confusion.

“I’ve been where you are. I still am, sometimes. I get it.” You say simply, looking away from him back to your hands as you lift the paper towel away to check if it was bleeding still. It was, so you place it back over again. “Sorry for whatever you’re battling that’s making you do this.”

Tate furrowed his eyebrows again. You were being so nice to him. So caring. He didn’t understand it. Definitely wasn’t used to it. He’s always been some mentally ill monster by his mother. He just figured at this point that everyone believed so also. You were different, he’s knew that for awhile but this was so far from what he was expecting. And as fucked up as it was, his appreciation towards you formed inside of him as a turn on. How else was he supposed to feel? His mom only ever screamed at him and made him feel worse. This feeling made him feel good. He wanted to show you in the only way he knew how.

“You know the school bathroom probably isn’t the best place for the privacy you need to do this-“ you were cut off mid sentence by Tate’s lips crashing onto yours, his hands quickly raking ahold of your waist and pulling you to him. You were caught so off guard that you didn’t even have time to process what was happening before he pulled himself away from you and looked down at you in confusion.

“Do you not want to do to?” He asks bluntly.

“I– sorry. I mean, I don’t.. why are you kissing me?” You definitely weren’t against it but with the situation being what it was it felt inappropriate, you needed to understand first. He was in a vulnerable position and you weren’t going to take advantage. You could also tell your reaction wasn’t what he was expecting, and you quickly realized that this was his gratitude towards your kindness. “Tate, you don’t have to have sex with me for helping you?” You spoke quietly, wanting him to understand that you didn’t expect anything in return, especially not sex, for being a genuine person.

He studied you for a moment, his mind racing with so many thoughts. Like mentioned before, this was the only way he knew how to show his appreciation. He wanted to, needed to.

So he drew closer to you, so close that your noses were touching just barely as you looked up at him and he looked down at you. The immediate tension between the two of you was not unnoticed either, his hands moving to brush the hair that fell on your face and tucking it behind your ears. You were still shocked, nervous now even.

“I don’t want to take advantage of you in your pain..” you whispered again, but he quickly shook his head which silenced you.

“I want to. I want you.” He spoke softly, reassuringly. Your breathing quickened as you studied him for any signs of doubt, but his intense and lustful stare never faltered.

You nodded and he took no time in grabbing your face pulling it back to his, this time returning the kiss and wrapping your arms around his neck while his made their way back to your hips, holding them tightly. You felt his tongue trace over your bottom lip for access and you granted it allowing his tongue to slide into your mouth as yours attempted to do the same but overpowered. The make our deepened and he took the chance to slide his hands down under your thighs and lift you up, your legs wrapping around his waist, carrying you over and placing you on the sink. You both knew you had to be quick, so you wasted no time in undoing his belt and unbuckling his pants, him sliding them down just enough to allow him to pull his dick out. He quickly hoisted your black skirt up and you moved your panties to the side. You hadn’t even realized how wet you already are, neither did Tate until he moved his hand to your heat and began rubbing your clit, groaning when he felt you dripping.

His other hand grabbed your ass and pulled you down so you weren’t even on the sink anymore but only being held by his body between your legs. You watched as he jerked himself a couple times before lining himself up at your entrance, your eyes rolling back when he slipped inside with ease. You both attempted to muffle your moans, your hands flying up to cling into his shoulders while his held your hips again. He began fucking you hard and quick, wanting to fulfill both of your needs in the short time you had. With every thrust it began getting harder to control the small moans that were escaping from your mouth, deciding to bite down on his shoulder for some control which only turned him on more. Tate sucked his bottom lip in between his teeth, his eyes flickering to the mirror in front of him, watching the scene unfold. It was fucking beautiful, seeing you spread open between him and your entire self clung to him as he fucked you. The sight itself could’ve made him cum. But he wanted you to first.

Quickly, he pulled himself out and spun you around so you were leant over the sink and he immediately thrusted himself back into you, your hands reaching forward to hold onto the faucet as the new position filled you up more and began hitting a special spot that had you wanting to scream his name. His hands snuck in front of you and made their way to your clit again, rubbing you just right.

“Look at yourself,” his words rang through your ears and you looked into the mirror, moaning at the picture you were seeing. His other hand traced up to your head, moving the side of your hair and taking ahold of the side of your neck where it met your shoulder and holding you in place, his eyes never leaving yours while he continued playing with your clit and thrusting into you hard. “You’re so pretty, watching me fuck you in the school bathroom.” He groaned and that was all you needed to send yourself over the edge, your organs causing your legs to begin shaking, nearly giving out but he held you up and with one last hard thrust he pulled out and let himself cum undone all over the floor. You watched in the mirror while coming down from your high, his hand on your waist tightly to keep you from falling. It was probably the hottest thing you’d ever seen.

After a minute, you pushed yourself up from the sink, his hand not leaving your waist. Both of your breaths were hard and shaky. He finally fixed his pants after shoving himself back in and buckling his belt while you fixed your skirt, looking in the mirror to make sure you looked like you didn’t just have sex in the bathroom.

“You look beautiful.” Tate’s words broke you from your outfit to meet his eyes that were watching you. You smiled almost embarrassed of yourself, but he moved himself so he was against your backside, wrapping his arms around you which allowed you to relax into his soft hold, leaning your head back against his that now rested on your shoulder.

“We’re gonna be in so much trouble.” You giggled, turning yourself around staying in his hold and wrapping your arms around his neck. He just smiled down at you and shrugged.

“Want to skip?” He suggested, your eyes lighting up at the idea.

“Let’s go.” You whispered, placing a soft kiss on his cheek and removing yourself from his hold and grabbing his hand as he followed you out of the bathroom, leaving the mess behind for the janitor.

[k-evans-reads]

In Living Color

Chapter 16

Summary: When Natalie Marton, lead character designer for Buzz Lightyear, meets the voice of Buzz, Chris Evans, the sparks are undeniable. But when their work pushes them away from each other, both physically and emotionally, will the sheer differences between their worlds be enough to force them apart?

Pairing: Chris Evans x Pixar Animator OFC Natalie Marton

Word Count: 5,466

By: @k-evans-writes and @ourfinest-hour

We do NOT give permission for our works to be reuploaded, translated, or reposted on any other site. Our work is our own.

Warnings: None.

Previous | Main Masterlist | In Living Color Masterlist

December 17th, 2021

Chris shoved his hands in his pockets as he walked down the concrete sidewalk, full after dinner across the table from Scott. He kept laughing as they walked, listening to Scott’s ridiculous story he had started telling when they were leaving dinner and kept on telling the entire time they looked for a spot to parallel park on the LA street. He was fully invested in the story that was starting to wrap up but found his attention being pulled away when he spotted the a-frame sign sitting out on the sidewalk with a familiar name listed and a picture of his Nattie on it. 

Tonight was the opening of her art show and although he’d gone back to Massachusetts after coming to LA for some reshoots when he was fresh off of Disney World, he had flown back out for the weekend specifically for Nat’s art show because there was no way he was going to miss this. He remembered back in August one night when they had been snuggled on the couch watching a movie in her small apartment and she’d received a call from the gallery curator, inviting Nat to be their featured artist for this December show and a smile appeared on his face when he pictured the excitement on her face and the way she had squealed with joy after hanging up the phone. She’d been working in the little bit of spare time she had the past few months creating some new pieces for the show and in all of that time watching her create, he had been in awe, never being able to fully wrap his brain around just how incredibly talented and hardworking she was, watching with amazement each time she put a stroke of her brush on her paper. 

But now it was different. Now he was pulling open the glass door of the gallery, letting Scott walk in first before he followed right after as they walked into the bustling gallery full of people to see her art. He could picture her in his home, standing near the windows with that crazy curly hair pulled up haphazardly as one of his old tee shirts hung on her frame as she painted. Chris remembered how he had teased her about stealing his clothes and then getting them covered in paint and how she just laughed and shrugged, telling him there wasn’t much of hers that didn’t get covered in paint before she went back to her artwork. She hadn’t known it then but he had just sat on the couch with his laptop open but hadn’t looked at it. Instead, he’d just sat there and watched her dab her brush in the messy palette before swiping deliberate strokes across her canvas, furiously working for a long time before she’d let out a small mutter as she thought, taking a step back to study her work, tilting her head so cutely before stepping back closer and kept painting. And now, that piece of art was hanging up on these grandiose walls while a group of people stood around praising it. 

Scott nudged his arm, breaking him out of his deep thought to get Chris to move out of the doorway and hunker a little closer to the walls. Chris didn’t know what tonight would hold and if anyone would recognize him. As he looked around the room at the high brow group, he thought that there was a good chance none of them would be able to pinpoint him but somehow he just didn’t care even if they did. Tonight was Nattie’s night and he wasn’t going to let anything stop him from being here. They slowly walked over to the table where someone was putting down fresh appetizers, each grabbing one and a glass of champagne before surveying the room from the edges. 

As Chris scanned the crowd, he recognized a few people, some of Nat’s co-workers, a few of her friends that he’d met briefly here and there, but that wasn’t who he was looking for. He wanted to spy that head of curly hair that he had run his hands through late last night when he’d arrived in LA and went straight to her apartment, crawling into bed with her and holding her close. His blue eyes kept scanning the crowd of elegant black and white perfectly dressed people before his eyes finally landed on her. 

There she was, standing in that mustard yellow suit that she had been so excited about, finding it online when they had been laying in her tiny childhood bed at her dad’s house the week of Thanksgiving. He remembered teasing her that it was the color of dijon mustard but she had just told him that she wasn’t going to take style tips from a guy who’s closet consisted of tee shirts and baseball hats. Chris chuckled at the memory but remembered how she had quickly exited out of the page not long after, making him feel bad about his teasing and apologize for it but Nat had just waved it off, telling him instead that it was much too expensive and promptly forgot about it as she turned her phone off and fell asleep. 

But he hadn’t forgotten and had ordered it while in line for Space Mountain with his family at Disney World and had it sent to her apartment which had resulted in her calling him in tears only minutes after it was delivered. He was happy he had ordered it for her, knowing she looked like a million bucks in it, but more so because he knew it made her happy and anything that brought a smile to her face was worth any price to him. Chris was excited to go over to her, but in this moment he just took a minute to watch the way she animatedly spoke to the small group around her, hands moving wildly and curls shaking as her comically expressive face showed every happy emotion flowing through her. 

He was so in love with her that it almost hurt. 

Chris felt tears in his eyes as he looked around at all she had accomplished seeing each piece on the wall. Sure he knew she was talented, she was one of the lead designers at fucking Pixar which said more than enough for her talent, but there was something about seeing her dedicate so much time to a personal project, seeing her own original art come to life in a different way than on a screen and have every bit of this be hers without influence or help from anyone else. 

As the group stepped aside to look around some more and get some more champagne, Nat’s eyes looked hopefully around the room, her hands moving restlessly at her sides. He watched as she stared at the door, biting her lip as no one she recognized walked in, but as she scanned the room once more, she looked past Scott and Chris quickly before her eyes suddenly jumped back to them, her face lighting up as she finally found him. 

Chris abandoned his glass of champagne and plate on the high-top table and quickly made his way over to Nat’s display, unable to help the smile on his face as she met him halfway and wrapped her arms around him excitedly, the heels on her feet making her too tall for him to rest his chin on her head. His arms embraced her tightly as he squeezed her, feeling nothing but pride as he glanced at the pieces hanging on the wall in front of him. 

“I’m so glad you’re here,” she told him, her voice muffled as she tucked her face down against his shoulder. 

“I am too,” he murmured, eyes still moving over the various pieces before he glanced at her, smiling as she lifted her face and met his eyes. “I’m so proud of you, Nattie. So fucking proud.” 

He saw the emotions swirling through her eyes before her hand rested a hand on his stubbled cheek, his beard not having fully grown back in after he had shaved it for reshoots as Lloyd, before Nat pressed her lips against his that he happily reciprocated. Their kiss didn’t linger being in such a busy public place but he stole one last quick peck before she pulled back, hoping to fully communicate just how deep his pride in her ran. 

Scott had come over during the tender moment and shared his own hug with Nat before she took each of their hands and toured them around the space. Chris felt like an excited puppy, wanting to bounce around with excitement as he got to see each piece of hers here on display and listen to the eloquent and emotional way that she explained each one. He wanted to just stay there and listen to her all night but when a couple had come over wanting to speak with the artist, Chris and Scott took it as their moment to bow out and let Nat work the room in the authentic and charismatic way that was so uniquely her. 

They were back at a table, talking quietly as they looked at other artists’ work from a distance when a familiar group of people approached them, a smile on each of their faces. “Hey, I didn’t realize you guys were already here,” Chris smiled, hugging Lauren in greeting before he shook Mark and Jamie’s hands. 

“We just finished walking through all the other artwork,” Jamie explained, gesturing behind them before he took a sip from his champagne glass. “Have you guys been here long?” 

Chris shook his head as he ate one of the appetizers, his lips flipping into a sheepish smirk as the guys laughed at him eating, then explained to them, “No we just got here a few minutes ago.” 

They all nodded, then Lauren asked Scott, “Where’s Steve? Is he here?” 

Scott sighed and shook his head with a frown on his lips. Chris knew how much they’d all wanted Steve to be able to come tonight, but the plans couldn’t change. “He had to work late so we’re going to come back on Sunday with Chris and Nat so that she can give him the tour of the show then,” he explained to the group. 

Chris jutted his chin over to the other man, asking Mark, “What about you, Mark? Where’s the boyfriend?” 

Their group – of Scott, Steve, Chris, Nat, Jamie, Lauren, Mark, and his partner, Nick – had all become close over the past several months through standing weekly game nights. The guest list changed depending on who was in town, who was busy, and how Lightyear production was doing, with Chris coming in and out as he worked or spent time elsewhere and Nat, Mark, and Jamie occasionally skipping out if their work weeks had been especially high-stress. But overall, they got together at least twice a month at someone’s home, with jokes, drinks, and take out always on the menu. 

Mark frowned, shrugging as he informed Chris, “Things kind of fizzled around Thanksgiving.” 

“Oh I think Nat told me that when we were in Disney World. I’m sorry to hear that,” Chris apologized, shaking his head as he suddenly remembered that nugget of information. It’d slipped his mind after the crazy weeks he had in Washington and Florida, then flying straight to Los Angeles to get back into reshoots before heading home to Massachusetts… all before coming back here. 

“It’s okay, I didn’t really see it going anywhere so I’m not that upset about it,” Mark laughed, shrugging as he sipped his champagne. 

“Well in case you are, I’ll make sure to have plenty of beer stocked tomorrow when you all come over,” Chris offered, laughing when not only Mark, but every person in their group, including Scott, agreed wholeheartedly with his offer. 

They quieted down a bit before Jamie quietly told them all, “Nat really did an incredible job with this show, didn’t she?” 

“She really did,” Lauren agreed as she plucked a piece of lint off of her dress. “And everyone seems to think so from what I’ve heard people saying.” 

“I certainly do,” Chris replied, his voice low as his eyes found Nat from across the room, watching as she explained some of her pieces to a group of guests. “I’m just so fucking amazed at her. I just can’t believe that she did all of this.” 

Jamie knocked Chris’ hip with his elbow as he raised an eyebrow at him, telling Chris, “You’ve got one talented girl there, Evans.” 

“Don’t I know it,” Chris laughed, a smirk on his lips as he continued observing Nat. 

Soon enough, the group launched into catching up with each other. Chris had been so busy earlier in the month when he was out here that he hadn’t seen most of them, so they talked about what they did for Thanksgiving, about how Jamie and Lauren’s kids were, and about how work was going for everyone. It was nice to be back with them, but it was also nice to have a circle of non-industry friends, for once, out here, ones with more normal lives than he and some of his other friends had, where they went home every night to their kids and pets, and most of all weren’t scared to give him some shit but not judge him for what his life had since become, even if it sometimes threw their best friend for a loop sometimes. 

“Are you going to be in California a while, Chris?” Lauren asked as she sipped at a glass of seltzer, a single eyebrow raised as she looked at him. 

“Just for the weekend. I just flew in for Nat’s show and to spend a few days with her but Scott and I are headed back to Boston on Monday for a few weeks for Christmas,” Chris explained, knowing he and Nat were eating up any last visits they could get before the start of his busy season coming in a few weeks. “I’m already looking forward to New Year’s though.” 

“We are too,” Mark assured Chris, an excited look on his face as his hands began gesturing wildly. “That’s pretty much all we’ve been talking about during lunch at work ever since Nat invited us a couple weeks ago.” 

Scott laughed and Chris couldn’t help but tell the group, “We always used to go skiing on New Year’s in Vermont when we were younger and have been doing it for a few years again now so we thought it’d be fun to continue the tradition in Washington.” 

“I honestly thought that when Nat invited us, she’d be inviting us to the East Coast. I kind of figured you’d be spending Christmas together,” Jamie divulged, his voice low and quiet as the rest of the group murmured in agreement. 

“We talked about it but with me not being with my family on Thanksgiving and Nat having her new nephew and everything we thought it just made sense for us each to have Christmas with our families,” Chris explained, knowing they’d both instantly wanted to spend Christmas with their own families. He had been relieved that Nat was so willing to split Christmas after spending Thanksgiving together, but there was something else he was looking forward to as he told everyone, “There will be plenty of Christmases in the future that we’ll spend together.” 

“With the way Nat talks, I’m sure that’s true,” Mark laughed with a knowing look on his face. 

Lauren raised a single brow as she looked at Chris from across the high-top table, pointing out, “It seems like things are getting kind of serious between you two.” 

“Yeah, Nat told us what a hit you were at Thanksgiving,” Jamie agreed, a smirk on his lips as the rest of the group nodded and Scott laughed. Chris shook his head, looking down at the white tablecloth as a group of people passed them without a second glance. “It sounds like you officially were accepted into the Marton family.” 

Mark scowled, a twinkle in his eyes as he shrugged and spoke, “I don’t know about that, I mean, the Marton’s like you so…” 

“I’m also not Nat’s boyfriend,” Jamie laughed as he shook his head, then his expression turned sincere as he met Chris’ eyes. “I honestly thought after Shane that they’d be really giving the side eye to any guy she brought home so you obviously won them over.” 

“I genuinely like them all. They’re a great family and I’m so glad I get to be around them,” Chris told the group without a hint of hesitation. He truly enjoyed getting to spend time with Nat’s family, especially in the place that she’d grown up. They’d welcomed him with open arms and he’d never take that for granted, especially after – as Jamie said – the ringer that Shane put them all through. But having spent time back in Washington with them, watching football games throughout the week, taking the kids on walks around the neighborhood with Nat, running to the grocery store with Ryan and Zach… it all just had felt so right that he couldn’t imagine spending his life with anyone else but her. 

“God, you’re in so deep,” Scott muttered as he rolled his eyes, but the hint of a smile on his face betrayed him. “Poor Nattie.” 

Lauren laughed, a smirk on her lips as she interjected, “I don’t think that Nat seems to mind that he is.” 

Chris heard the round of laughter that went through the group before the subject changed to some of the latest funny stories from the office but not for the first time that night, Chris felt his mind wandering. His eyes flickered back over to where Nat was, laughing loudly and expressively chatting and those words Scott had just said, echoed in his mind. You’re in so deep. And boy was that true. 

There wasn’t hardly anything that he didn’t imagine in the future without thinking about if Nat would be able to be there or what she would think of it when he told her. He wondered if Nat would be able to come out to Boston for more extended time next fall once he was done with Lightyear and The Gray Man press, or if he would be out here in California. Although he wasn’t planning on proposing yet, the thought of them getting married wasn’t far from his mind because he already knew that she was the one for him in every way, shape and form. 

The whole group lingered around longer, taking in all the art and getting to talk with Nattie in spurts throughout the night but as it was growing later, each of their friends started filtering out while Chris stayed until the last glass of champagne was empty and the gallery was closing its doors. He finally got to have his arm slung around Nat’s shoulders as they walked down the street to her car, climbing in and heading back to his home in the Hollywood Hills. 

They were both quiet for a bit as she drove, enjoying the silence of the car after a long few hours of non-stop chatting. But before long, Chris glanced to the side, watching Nat as she drove with a faint smile on his lips, whispering, “Now I finally get to have the famous artist all to myself.” 

“I think the word famous is pretty exaggerated,” she laughed, but a smile made its way onto her face as she shifted into the turn lane, rolling to a stop at an intersection. 

“Well certainly the most talented,” Chris murmured, meaning every word of it. He was practically bursting with pride the whole night, knowing how much work she’d poured into this night, the countless hours of painting, then followed by stress over the layout of the pieces, all culminating in a few hectic days. “Your art is the only stuff that anyone wanted to see.” 

But Nat shook her head and shrugged off his praise by explaining, “Only because I was the featured artist and the other stuff had been there since the beginning of December.”

“I’m trying to brag about my girl here and all you’re doing is shooting me down!” He laughed, sitting up a bit straighter as she turned onto his dark street. 

“Your ego is already so big enough for the both of us,” she retorted with a chuckle, laughing at the mock-insulted look on Chris’ face as she reached for the garage door opener on her visor.

“Glad to see you haven’t lost your sarcasm now that you’re famous,” Chris replied as she pulled into the garage, next to his Tesla. He let out a yawn as she turned off her car, the pair each unbuckling and climbing out of the car to head inside. 

They’d barely stepped into his home when Nat slipped off her heels with a relieved sigh, but the smile she gave him when they caught each other’s eyes made his entire night. He stepped closer to her, slipping his arms around her waist just as hers looped around his neck, gazing up at him with a tired but happy smile. 

Chris leaned down, pressing his lips to hers and finally giving her the long kiss that he’d been wanting to all night. He felt her relax even more against him, a tiny sigh escaping her before she smiled into the kiss and caused him to do the same. His hands pressed into the small of her back as they pulled apart, and Chris shook his head faintly to himself as he looked down at his girl. 

“I’m so fucking proud of you, baby,” he couldn’t help but tell her again. “I just kept looking over at you thinking, ‘that’s my Nattie’ and I just was so amazed at you tonight.” 

“I’m just so happy that people actually showed up,” she laughed, shaking her head in disbelief. Her hand slowly made its way up and rested on the nape on his neck, her nails gently scratching his skin absentmindedly. “I honestly was nervous that nobody would come, but then I also was nervous that people would come and then hate it.” 

“Nobody did. I saw the looks on people’s faces and they loved it, Nat. Your work is beautiful and emotional and I guess I’d say even sensitive, but honestly it’s just fun,” he rambled, knowing just how much everyone had to enjoy her work. She had a tiny grin on her face, but her hand suddenly stopped its path up and down his neck as she leaned up, pressing another long, soft kiss to his lips. When they pulled apart, he pressed his lips to her forehead and told her quietly, “And it’s just like you. That’s exactly who you are and I just love you Nattie, and I’m so proud.” 

“That means so much to me,” she truthfully replied, her eyes tired but full of pride. “And I love you too, but I think you already knew that.” 

He shrugged, smirking as he mused, “I may have heard a rumor about something like that.” 

Nat pecked his lips again before she pulled her arms back to her sides and sighed, informing Chris, “I think after such a big night I deserve something to celebrate.” 

“I’ve got some champagne in the kitchen,” Chris suggested, raising a brow at her as he let go of her.

But there was a mischievous look on her face as she amended, “I was thinking more like ice cream.” 

“There’s my Nattie,” Chris laughed, slapping her ass lightly as he nodded towards the hall to his room. “Let’s go change and then I’ll grab that good chocolate stuff out of the freezer.” 

And that’s exactly where they ended up once they both had changed into sweatpants, Nat having wiped her face free of makeup and hair wrangled up before they plopped on the couch. Chris had sat with his feet up on the coffee table while Nat curled up next to him with her knees up, Chris reaching out to pull her legs across his lap before opening the carton of ice cream as they both dug in with their spoons. 

“I sent a bunch of pictures of your show to my family and they told me to tell you how great it looked,” he murmured, his voice low as they mindlessly half-watched an episode of The Office. He felt Nat’s head turn against his shoulder to look at him, adding, “Ma said she’s sad that she couldn’t see it in person but I told her that she’ll get to see the feature piece next time she comes out.” 

“My three main pieces? Actually she won’t see those, they all sold,” she informed him, but soon enough her brow furrowed and she frowned, whispering, “Chris… you didn’t…” 

He felt a blush spread across his cheeks and he gave her a timid smile before he explained, “I actually tried, but I could only get the big one. I got beat out by other people.” And it was the truth – he was so blown away by her art, by the culmination of almost four months of her hard work coming to life that he had wanted every piece. He was tired of everything he had here except for the family pictures anyways, and what better way to have his home refreshed than by his favorite artist? But when he’d gone to officially purchase them, there was only one piece left, and while it was certainly his favorite of them all and he could envision it hanging in either his dining room here or above the piano. 

“Really?” She asked, her brows raised as her eyes softened. 

“Yeah, that couple you were talking to for a while bought a lot of your pieces,” he told her, a sideways grin on his face as he remembered them introducing themselves to Nat, knowing that she had to have made quite the impression to have them purchase so much of her work after only an evening. “When I found out I couldn’t get the three main ones, I was going to buy one of the others but they were all sold too.” 

“I can’t even believe that,” she whispered, her hand sliding up from his lap to rest on his chest. She was quiet as she dipped her spoon into the ice cream, eating it for a moment before she added, “And I can’t believe you bought one.” 

“Well you painted it in my house, it seems only right that it stay here,” he shrugged, leaning his head back against the fluffy couch cushion. He abandoned his spoon, letting Nat finish the carton as he yawned and murmured, “Although I was really hoping for those other two for my place in Boston.” 

She chuckled as she ate the last spoonful of ice cream, leaning forward to put the empty pint and their spoons on the coffee table. “Luckily for you, you’ve got an in with the artist so I bet she’d paint you something,” she suggested to him, smirking as Chris laughed. 

“You think she would? She’s kind of a big deal now so I’m not sure that she’ll have time,” he told her, sighing with a grin. 

She cuddled back up against him, a comfortable sigh escaping them both as his arm wrapped around her, his hand holding her hip. “I have a feeling she’d make time for you,” she assured Chris. 

A smile crossed his lips at her words, feeling so touched that he got to be that special person in her life. He had known so many wonderful people in his life and he truly felt so privileged by that, but Nat seemed to be in her own category. Chris was just so in awe of her in every way. Sure he loved her creativity, but there was so much more to her than that. She was the most sensitive and authentic person he’d just about ever met. She knew how to say what she was feeling and speak so much truth while also simultaneously being the biggest cheerleader of everyone in her life. He loved everything about her but tonight he got to see that beautiful creative soul on display and shining so brightly. 

“Nattie, I just loved getting to see your show tonight but what I really loved was seeing the whole process,” he breathed, his voice barely above a whisper but at her hum, he couldn’t help but feel encouraged and want to tell her what he’d been thinking for the last several hours. He was just so in awe of Nat and her talent, and he knew she’d never be satisfied with herself, but she defied expectations and blew past any misconceptions, proving her talent to not only every person in that gallery tonight, but also to herself. “It felt really special to see you sketching out the ideas for the theme on that receipt when we were out to dinner that night back in September to get to watch you actually bring it to life and now see it hanging in that gallery.” 

“It was so much more rewarding than I even realized,” she agreed with him, shrugging with a tiny smile on her lips. “I loved having the show and all of that, but I almost forgot just how good it feels to be creating again.” 

His lips flicked up into a grin, assuring Nat, “I’m pretty sure you create every day.” 

“Yeah, but doing it for work is different. This was painting and bringing something to life that I decided. It was a piece of myself that I put into those pieces and when I was creating them it just felt… centering almost,” she explained to him, struggling to be able to fully put it into words but he understood where she was coming from, knowing how it felt with his own creative appetite in acting and bringing characters to life.

“I can understand that,” Chris began, nodding as he mulled over her words, a slight frown on his lips. He shrugged, knowing how much of an outlet that the art show had given her over the last several months, but it didn’t mean she needed to keep putting her life aside for her work. “I know you love creating for Pixar but it’s still a job.” 

“Exactly. A job I love but still a job,” Nat nodded before motioning with her hands before she finished her thought, “So it’s completely different just creating purely for the sake of creating and it just felt good,” 

“I think you should do more things like this in the future,” Chris began, and at the slight frown on Nat’s lips he rushed to explain, “Not even doing shows necessarily but just creating more or even selling them if you want to.” 

“I’d like to, it’s just hard to have a lot of time for it when we’re closer to finishing on a movie at work because usually by the time I get home, I’m so exhausted or on the weekends usually we’re together,” Nat acknowledged while reaching up to tuck a stray curl behind her ear, Chris being able to see her sudden deflation as she thought about the future for her. 

“It seems like something you should prioritize though, Nattie,” he encouraged, wanting nothing more than for Nat to finally do something outside of Pixar that made her creatively fulfilled. “It makes you so happy.” 

She was quiet for a moment, thinking over his words before smiling softly as she reached out to play with his fingers, staring at his hand and telling him, “I think you’re right. I love animation and digital art but it just feels good to paint.” 

Chris smiled, leaning down to press a kiss to her forehead as he squeezed her against him. “And if you ever need a place to store your finished paintings, the walls of my house would be a really good place for them,” he reminded her, smirking as Nat burst into laughter. 

And although Nat had just used the phrase moments earlier to describe painting, Chris thought her phrase of something just feeling good was the best way to describe how he felt when he was with her. While Chris wasn’t sure exactly what the future would look like in the day to day, the one thing he was completely sure of was that no matter what happened in their lives, he wanted their days to end like this - with them together. 

A/N: We hope you enjoyed this part of their story! We loved getting to share some of Nat's talents and loved writing it from Chris' perspective. Just as a quick disclaimer - we know that at this time in the US (and specifically CA), COVID was rampant. For the purposes of the story and plot, we are focusing more on the big picture vs the restrictions at the time. We don't want to be insensitive, but we also think that after the last 3 years, we all deserve a little bit of a break from that!

[jungle-angel]

Dad!Rhett Abbott Headcannons: Part 1 (Rhett Abbott x Reader)

It was pretty tough the first year you guys had adopted Amy as your own

She was still very, very little when you and Rhett officially became her parents

Because it was very clear that Perry could not and would not take care of her. Royal and Cecelia were absolutely pissed beyond words when Perry had left the baby in the Wabang General Store

But it was an absolute blessing that you and Rhett were able to take her. It was actually Cecelia’s idea because even though Rhett had gotten into some shit in the past, he always had his head screwed on straight

And all the better that your dream home in Bozeman was finally done, Rhett knew that Amy would be better off far away from her biological father

So you packed up the week before, putting everything you could into boxes 

And you guys woke up at two in the morning to make the six hour drive. You had never seen Royal cry before, but the thought of you and Rhett leaving with his grandbaby was more than he could handle at that moment

Luckily for the two of you, the Duttons were close to where your land was, so if you needed anything, you could always holler

And when you finally got to the house, you knew it was heaven

Later that day, you had gotten a FaceTime call from Rip, Kayce, Jimmy, Teeter and Colby. They had finished the place for you guys while you and Rhett had to slug your way through the custody battle for Amy

Rhett was almost in tears when he saw what Monica, Beth and Avery had done for Amy’s nursery. It took them at least a month to paint the murals on the walls

Your new home was the first place that Amy learned how to crawl and walk. You and Rhett were constantly sending videos to Royal and Cece 

Some days after you’d come in from the garden or tending the horses, you’d find Rhett asleep on the couch with Amy right on top of him

When she started walking and picking things up? Hilarity was sure to ensue

Like the time Rhett was asleep and she just randomly clunked him between the eyes with the TV remote

Or when she’d hide in the laundry basket and would pop out and scare the shit out of Rhett

And the time she was teething and gnawed on Rhett’s nasty work boots. Rhett felt horrible when she’d cry so he’d take a little bit of the Evan Williams with honey in the cabinet and dab a little on her gums to put her to sleep

When she tried her first Oreo cookie it was the mega-stuffed variety and Amy ended up eating Rhett’s entire stash of Oreos......it did not end well 

You and Rhett were the happiest you’d ever been

Because you were building the best memories you could’ve ever wanted

And ones that you would carry with you for the rest of your days

[introverted-tree]

DOES ANYONE REMEMBER THIS FIC?

Okay so I've been looking for a Dear Evan Hansen Treebros fic that was on Wattpad sometime around 2020-2022 and it also doubled as an Alana x Zoe fic (they were a cute side ship) and I'm pretty sure it started out with Evan waking up from a dream he had where the events of the musical happened and he like called Connor to comfort him cos they were best friends. Then the next day, Evan tells Zoe about his dream in their science (I think chemistry) class and she is visibly distract by this idea but gets over it quickly.

I remember the fic being very funny but also very sad and there were a few chapters covering a sleepover all the characters had and Evan (?) dares Jared to eat a bath bomb so Jared takes one of Heidi's bath bombs and takes a bite and says he hates it, then a little later, the kids go to a gas station (maybe 7/11) and Alana--who showed up to the sleepover late because she got a lot of her hair cut off and Zoe was like infatuated) was laughing with Connor over something stupid (might've been a 'good kush' reference) When they got home, they couldn't find where Jared went and when they walked into the kitchen, they found him sitting on top of the fridge eating a bath bomb. (I made fanart of this so I know this happened in /some/ fic at least)

It's also implied that Connor and Evan have been in love and kissed last summer (the summer Evan broke his arm I think) and I remember their romance being very well-put-together

and I also remember that Someone gave Zoe a box of 'Froot Loops' so she would dab instead of shaking hands and/or taking her diploma (She does do this which is sort of my proof that this probably was made shortly after the original musical came out--probably 2017-18)

And I'm pretty sure the fic ended with the characters all hanging out in a bathroom at a college party or smth like that.

IF ANYONE KNOWS ANYTHING AT ALL PLEASE TELL ME, I'VE BEEN LOOKING FOR THIS FIC FOR ABOUT NINE MONTHS

[betaphannie]

Guys let's have a RAWRsome Tumblr wedding party for Dab and Evan!!!! xD

Rules:

Wear your shmaniest attire and post a smexy selfie with it on xD

Get a mutual to be your +1! U can ask a mutual via an ask or message or fan mail !!

This is a YAOI (boy x boy) (slash) (home of sexual) wedding. Don't like don't attend.

Keep posting way after the ceremony for the reception!! That's right, we're gonna be NIGHTBLOGGING so prepare to see some rAnDuM posts xD

Have fun and hope to see you there!1!!!111

[cinnudelx]

About Me 🎀

hey hotties! my name is jules, i’m 18 and im a film student 🤍 i thought i’d make a little ‘about me’ post for my page just for fun x

also follow my new ig if u want :)

⋆｡°✩ my celeb crushes ⋆｡

𖡎 chris evans (was literally my first celeb crush when i was 8 ☠️)

𖡎 elisabeth olsen

𖡎 henry cavill

𖡎 ryan gosling

𖡎 scarlett johansson

𖡎 kristen stewart

⋆｡°✩ random facts ⋆｡

𖡎 i’m a huuuuuuuuuge cinephile. anything to do with cinema, im all in. and i aspire to be a director one day!

𖡎 music! i sing and play both electric and acoustic guitar, along with piano and a little dab of the drums here and there.

𖡎 i paint, sculpt and draw, was huge into art since i was about to walk :)

𖡎 i love going on walks. i make it my goal to reach 10k steps a day, which i’ve been going strong for 3 months now!

𖡎 english isn’t my first language and im fluent in 4 languages.

𖡎 the only celeb i’ve ever met was troye sivan and holy shit. i love him so much he’s my bae. (troye come back i miss u)

⋆｡°✩ my favourite music artists (in order) ⋆｡

𖡎 billie eilish (been listening to her religiously since i was 10)

𖡎 suki waterhouse

𖡎 lana del rey

𖡎 phoebe bridgers/boygenius

⋆｡°✩ my favourite movies ⋆｡

𖡎 coraline

𖡎 what’s your number (sex list)

𖡎 la la land

𖡎 am i okay?

𖡎 the nice guys (2016)

𖡎 literally the entirety of the mcu

ahhhhhh! i think that’s everything covered :’) love you guys 🩷🩷🩷

also i think i have a crippling addiction to character ai. i swear to god i’ve been using it for a year and a half now every day non stop. it’s a drug.

[dnpsuck]

for real i cannot tell you how much serotonin my brain produces when hearing "hello danandphilgames nouns" even 4 years later

i would give them all my money for it to come back

i'm so convinced all of my problems would cease to exist if they just uploaded the dab x evan wedding episode, like. just finish that one storyline please. i won't even ask for a full comeback, just give dab and evan the happy ending they deserve, that's literally all i ask