#her daughter sells crack | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

atomicami · 11 months ago

Text

charity work

contractor!abby anderson x joel’s daughter!reader

- summary: it’s the day of the holiday bake sale, and abby’s craving something sweeter than the desserts you’re selling. (part 3)

- content: smut MDNI, no outbreak/modern au, contractor/engineer!abby, texas living, no sarah, joel and jerry are both alive, jerry is not a doctor, reader has a business degree, family & work drama, semi-public sex, pet names instead of y/n, kinda roughdom!abby??, oral & fingering (r!receiving), cockblocking, strap usage (r!receiving), abby hits it from the back 🕺, edging, some mirror play, some degrading, abby referring to the strap as her cock, and i think that’s it but lmk if i missed anything else

- author’s note: merry christmas everyone! what better way to celebrate it than with a contractor abby fic am i right? i hope y’all enjoy this one 🤍

previous parts: quick fix, surprise visit

Seven in the morning, it's only the crack of dawn, and you’re spending the early hours of the day at the farmers market, setting up for the annual holiday bake sale.

Your hands were full of all the pastries and desserts you’d spent baking yesterday while Joel was carrying the chairs and tables to set up with. You tried to walk as carefully as you could to keep yourself from tripping on your knee-high boots or spilling anything on the red sweater dress you had on. When you arrived at your spot, your dad already had everything set up for you.

“Jeez kiddo, thought you’d never make it here in time with them boot heels ya got on,” your dad joked, opening the second folding chair he had in his hand and placing it behind the table.

“Well Dad, I figured I’d make myself presentable for the bake sale, don’t you think?” you replied, carefully setting down the load of sweets on the table.

Well, if we’re being honest here, there’s only one person in particular you’re planning to make an impression on today, and she still hasn’t arrived.

For a moment, you look over to the empty spot where Abby & Jerry are settled before you begin to unpack and arrange your pastries. It’s no surprise to you that Abby still hasn’t arrived yet. After that last-minute encounter you had with her at her place, you figured that she’d be knocked out for at least another hour.

And you were definitely right. About an hour later, Abby and Jerry finally arrived, right before the bake sale officially began.

Joel leans close to you as the two of you watch them quickly rush to set their stand up. “Look at ‘em, I wonder what made Jerry n’ his kid so late to the sale…”

You honestly couldn’t help but laugh to yourself about it too. The fact that Abby and Jerry were now just setting their things up while everyone else was ready was just too funny to you. It seemed like karma got back to her after her need to call you at 1 in the morning that night.

Once the two had their table set up, the bake sale finally started.

You looked over at the table that stood in front of you. A variety of desserts that you’ve made was all spread out on top of it. You’ve spent the past day making every single dessert you could think of: brownies, cinnamon rolls, muffins, even a whole plate of peach pie, because it truly can’t be a Southern bake sale if someone’s table doesn’t have a peach pie.

And lastly, there was the round tray of flan that you made. Out of all the desserts you’ve made, the flan made you the most nervous to sell. Given that this dessert came from your mother’s side of the family, you’ve decided to make it exclusively for family events or traditions out of the fear that others wouldn’t like it.

Nonetheless, your dad practically begged you to make it for the bake sale, and you couldn’t help but oblige.

A couple hours of the bake sale pass by and it feels like years to you. Almost half of your sweets have been sold, which was good, but you can’t help but wish that this community event could be a little more…interesting to you.

And luckily, Abby was about to make her appearance to change that.

While you were distracted with the customers, Abby was watching you from across the room, patiently waiting for Joel to leave the stand to get you by yourself. She had her own plan to be able to get even with you after the stunt you pulled onto her in her office.

Because if there’s anything sweeter than a Texas holiday bake sale, it’s a fresh slice of payback.

Once she noticed that you were by yourself at the table, she excused herself to her now distracted father to walk over to your stand.

You felt a tap on your shoulder from your side and turned around to see Abby standing next to you. “Got some pretty sweet looking pastries here princess, mind if I have a taste?”

“Abby…” you tell her sternly. “You know you’re not supposed to be this close to me right now, especially with both of our dads around.”

Abby simply ignores your warning as she walks around your table, admiring all of the pastries you had set up for sale. “I know that, but I’m just kinda craving something sweet,” she says as she slightly dips the tip of her finger into the white frosting of the cinnamon roll pan before lifting it up to her mouth and sucking it clean.

You roll your eyes at her, grabbing the tray and pulling it away from her. “Well, unless you’re going to buy something, then you shouldn’t be here,” you warn her again.

“Actually…I was craving something a little sweeter than these…” she replies with a smirk, slowing down her pace as she walks around your table.

It took you a while to get her intentions, but the way her eyes were flickering between you and the table, you instantly got the message.

Your eyes widened in shock and you began to shake your head. “No, Abby, don’t you fucking dare—“

But it was too late. Within a matter of seconds, Abby dropped down to her knees and lifted the red tablecloth before crawling under the table.

You tried to kick her away so she could get out, but there wasn’t enough time to do so, because Joel was already coming your way with one of his friends next to him.

“Hey, sweetheart, you remember Martin, right? Used to work f’me when I was startin’ up the company,” he tells you as he points at him.

“Yes, hi Martin, it’s good to see you again.” you tell him with a smile.

You’re trying your best to keep your cool right now, but it’s practically impossible for you to do so now that Abby’s lifting up your sweater dress and spreading your legs open underneath the tablecloth.

Your dad looks over to Martin while gesturing him to all of your pastries arranged on the table. “My kid right here baked up all these sweets for the sale today. But this…” he pauses for a moment, pointing at the pan of flan that stood neatly at the front. “This custard thing right here’s the best thing she could ever make, I’ll tell ya that.”

“That so?” his friend asked, serving himself up a slice. “Whatcha got here, kid?”

“It’s flan, sir. I-It’s my mother’s recipe.” you reply to him, trying not to strain your voice as Abby shifts your underwear to the side from underneath.

You watch the man in front of you take a bite of the dessert, smiling after he’s fully eaten it. “Well I must say, this is one of the best desserts I’ve had in this here bake sale so far.” he said before pulling out a five-dollar bill from his wallet and handing it to you.

At that moment, when you were about to lean forward to grab the money, was when Abby’s hands grabbed ahold of your hips and pushed you back down onto the chair, causing the rest of the table to shake.

You gasp at the sudden impact, and your jaw practically fucking drops once she inserts two fingers into your pussy.

It could have been any other time when she could’ve done that move, but no. She just had to fucking do it right in front of your father, out of all people.

Regardless, you try your best to compose yourself and attempt to cover it up. “S-Sorry about that, I was trying to get up but, my leg kind of fell asleep…must be from sitting down all day.” you said to the other man, extending out your hand to take the bill from him before inserting it in the black cash box that was in front of you.

“S’ no worries ma’am,” the man simply says before waving you goodbye, and looking over to your dad to shake his hand. “Good seeing you as always Joel.” he says to him before walking off.

Your dad shakes his hand back before turning to face you. “You alright sweetheart? Seemed like you were actin’ a bit off just now.” he asked you with a concerned expression on his face.

You simply nod at him, genuinely trying to appear normal, and ignore the fact that Abby’s thick fingers were slowly pumping in and out of your cunt right now. If it weren’t for the loud atmosphere of the event, you’re almost certain that anyone could easily hear the squelching noises it made every time her fingers moved.

“Y-yeah, Dad, sorry…s’just a lot of people here this time.” you tell him nervously.

“Well, if ya need a break, I can try to cover for a bit if—“

“No!” you exclaimed, placing your hands in front of him to keep him from getting closer to you. “N-no, it’s okay, Dad,” you said to him in a quieter tone. “I’ll be alright, promise.”

Your dad opens his mouth to respond but is cut off by a barking sound, which progressively gets louder by the second. The two of you looked around to see what it was, and you seriously couldn’t believe it.

It was Alice, Abby’s dog, and by the looks of it, she was approaching your table.

You slightly flinch a bit once Alice jumps up at your table, barking up at the two of you before quickly getting down and sniffing under the tablecloth.

Joel walks over to the front of the table where the dog is in an attempt to shoo her away. “What the hell are ya doing here?! Get on out of here! Go on, get!”

You’d expect Abby to at least try to help you get her dog out, given the vulnerable position you were in right now, but she doesn’t budge about it. Instead, she only quickens the pace of her fingers inside you and moves closer to you to latch her mouth onto your throbbing clit. You want to help your dad out, you really do, but all you could focus on was trying to be quiet and not let a single moan or whimper leave your lips.

As much as Joel was trying to get the dog away from the table, she still wouldn’t move, she knew that Abby was under there, as if she could have smelled her from miles away.

“Why the hell aren’t ya leavin’?” he says to himself as he continues to move her away. “What are you tryin’ to find there?”

Your dad starts to get closer to the table now, and you can just feel your heart racing. The closer he got to it the faster your heart kept beating. This could be it. Once your dad was about to see what was under the table, it was over for the both of you.

But to your luck, as Joel was about to lift up the tablecloth, Jerry was already making his way there to get ahold of his dog. Talk about perfect timing, right?

“There you are, Alice, I’ve been looking everywhere for you.” he says, leaning forward to pick up her leash from the ground.

Your dad scoffs at him and crosses his arms in disbelief. “Try to get a hold of your mutt, Jerry. Damn dog near knocked down my daughter’s table.”

“Tough talk for someone who just lost two of his clients last week to my company,” Jerry replies, clutching Alice’s leash in his hand. “I’d spend less time worrying about me and more time trying to keep your clientele if I were you, Joel.”

As blissed out as you were feeling from Abby’s mouth and fingers right now, you could still visibly see the anger rushing through your father’s veins right now.

“Don’t act so innocent, Jerry, you know damn well that you offered my clients a better deal for them.” your dad replied before pausing for a moment. “You know, you shouldn’t have gone after them, because I just got a deal to work with the Mitchell family next week. Haven’t you been eyeing them for months now?”

The two of them bicker for what feels like ages. At this point, your brain is just tuning them out, still completely blissed on the movements of Abby’s tongue rolling up and down on your clit, her fingers sliding in and out of your cunt so smoothly while her other hand grips your inner thigh to keep them open. The pleasure she was giving you under that table right now is so intense that you could seriously care less about your surroundings right now. All you wanted at that moment more than anything was to cum undone into her mouth.

“You know what, Joel? I don’t have time for this right now,” he tells him before pausing to hesitate for a moment. “I’m trying to find my daughter, have either of you seen her around?”

Oh, you knew damn well where she was.

Your dad laughs and shakes his head. “Jesus, Jerry. Can’t find your kid either? Seems like you’ve got to put her on a leash too, don’t you think?”

However, the pleasure that Abby was giving you was so intense that you didn’t realize that her name had now slipped out of your mouth.

“Oh, my god, Abby…” you say to yourself before quickly gasping and covering your mouth. You’re finally snapped back into reality as you look up to see Joel and Jerry staring back at you.

“Do you know where she is?” Jerry asked, raising an eyebrow with concern.

“O-Oh um, yeah, I-I think I saw her a few rows down, I-If you can find her there…” you tell him, trying to compose yourself once again.

Jerry simply thanks you in response before walking off with Alice alongside him.

“About damn time he left,” your dad says, watching him walk off. “Can’t stand that man for the life of me.”

Joel’s phone starts to ring moments later, leading him to pull it out of his pocket to check who it is. “Shit, s’ one of my clients…” he says with a sigh before looking up at you. “You sure you’ll be alright by yourself, sweetheart?”

You open your mouth to say yes at first, but then take a moment to reconsider. “A-Actually, do you think you could watch the stand for a bit? I could use a break.”

Abby immediately pauses her movements upon hearing that, removing her mouth and fingers out of you. You try not to whine at the loss.

Your dad nods in response. “ ‘Course I can, just let me take this call real quick, yeah? I’ll be there in just a second.” he says before briefly walking off to take the phone call.

You wait until your dad is out of sight to lift up the tablecloth, seeing the blonde below you with a confused expression on her face. “Why the hell did you tell him that you were leaving?” she whispers to you.

“Because I’m not gonna be fucking sitting here being teased by your mouth all day.” you whisper back to her, trying to keep your voice down. “If you’re going to fuck me here, then you’re gonna do it right.” you pause for a moment to check if the coast was clear. “My dad’s still gone, hurry up and go to the bathroom before he sees you. I’ll be there in five minutes.”

You watch the blonde roll her eyes before pulling the tablecloth down, quickly crawling out of the table and getting back up on her feet. She also checks to see if Joel is still gone before leaving your side and rushing off to the bathroom.

You take a quick moment to adjust your underwear and your dress underneath the table before slowly getting back up to your feet as well. Within minutes, Joel returns to your table and takes a seat down in the chair next to yours.

“Alright so, everything is set up and served for the customers, all you have to do is take the money they give you and put it in the cash box.” you tell him before turning around to leave, only to pause for a moment and looking back at him. “And don’t eat any of the pastries, alright?”

Your dad puts your hands up in defense. “Can’t make a promise ‘bout that, kiddo.”

You simply roll your eyes and playfully punch at his arm before pushing your chair in and leaving the table. Once your dad was out of sight, you began to walk a little faster, now rushing to get to the bathroom with Abby.

After roaming around the market for a bit, you successfully find the bathroom. You lean into the door for a moment and knock twice, hoping that you found the right one.

“It’s open,” Abby calls out from inside.

You twist the knob and open the door, just enough for you to squeeze yourself inside before closing it and turning the lock. You turn around to see Abby leaning against the vanity near the sink, arms crossed with that same stupid smirk on her face. “How’d you know it was me?” you ask her.

“Are you kidding me?” she says, taking her weight off of the vanity. “I can hear those boots of yours from miles away.”

You roll your eyes at her in response “You’re so unbelievable, you know that?” you tell her. “If my dad had lifted up that tablecloth, we would’ve been done for.”

The smirk on her face grows a little wider, and you can just visibly see it happening. “I was just trying to get a taste of something sweet, princess. That’s all I wanted.”

Her cockiness was seriously driving you over the edge right now. However, you still can’t help but get turned on by her when she acts like this.

Feeling that same sense of boldness come through you again, you take a step forward and grab her by the collar of her jacket, pulling her close to you. “Then how about you finish what you started?” you whisper out to her.

She leans in closer to you, both of your lips being just mere inches away from touching.

“Don’t mind if I do.” she whispers back to you.

You lean in to seal the gap, connecting your lips with hers in an intense kiss. Your hands remain tightly gripped on her jacket, while Abby’s hands run down your body, stopping at your hips. She then turns you around to where your back is now pressed against the marble counter.

Her lips pull away from yours for a moment to flip you around, now with your back facing her chest.

“What—What are you doing?” you ask her, trying to turn around to get a look at her.

“You said you wanted me to fuck you right, didn’t you?” she says, taking off her jacket and rolling up the long sleeves of the dark green shirt she had on. “Well, that’s exactly what I’m going to do.”

Abby grabs your hips and bends you over on the counter before lifting your dress up and pushing your panties to the side again, revealing your wet pussy to her. “Jesus, she looks even wetter than before.” she mutters to herself as she gently rubs her thumb on your slit, eliciting a whine from you in response.

Abby moves her hand to herself to unbuckle her tool belt, letting it fall to the ground. She then unzips her cargo pants, pulling out the thick strap she had tucked underneath her boxers before teasing the tip of it in between your puffy folds.

“Oh fuck,” you gasp out, your pussy already starting to clench around nothing. “You brought it, didn’t you?”

Abby lets out a scoff, looking back at you through the mirror. “Of course I did. Been dying to fill this sweet pussy up ever since I first came over to your place.”

You then feel her grab ahold of the strap with one hand and position it against your entrance before slowly pushing the tip in, quietly moaning to herself as she watches your pussy engulf the tip.

A whimper escapes from your mouth as she pushes a few more inches of her cock in you, now reaching halfway. “Oh god, Abby…I-I think it's too big—“

Her other hand grabs a hold of your neck, pulling you up towards her. “I’m sorry, what did you say?” she says into your ear. “Is my cock too big for you? Can you not take it like a big girl?”

“N-No— I mean yes, fuck! I-I can take it, Abs…”

“That’s what I thought.” she mutters back to you, setting you back down on the marble counter as she pushes the rest of her cock inside you without warning.

She keeps her strap nestled inside you for what feels like ages, waiting for your pussy to accommodate itself to the girth of her cock. She tries to move back a bit, but your cunt keeps resisting the toy, sucking it back in.

Abby grunts in frustration and slaps your ass, the sudden sting causing you to flinch a bit. “Quit doing that. I’m not gonna be able to fuck you right if you don’t relax that cunt already.”

“F-Fuck, Abby, m’trying to, please—“

“Jesus, must I do everything myself?” she replies, reaching around your waist to rub your throbbing clit, causing you to moan in pleasure at the stimulation. Abby leans back a bit as she continues rubbing your clit, watching as your pussy visibly relaxes around her cock, now giving her the freedom to move it in and out slowly.

“There we go, just like that now, atta girl…”

Abby begins to fuck you at a painfully slow pace at first, slow to the point where you were now pushing your hips back against her as an indication for her to go faster.

“Whoa there…desperate for more now, aren’t we princess?” she says, instantly speeding up her pace. “If you wanted me to go faster, you could have just asked.”

“I-I know b-but…f-feels too good…” you slur out to her, face pressed against the cold marble as the rest of your body moves up and down with her thrusts.

“Oh, who am I kidding? You’re so drunk on my cock that you can’t even form a coherent sentence right now. Fucking slut…”

Moments later, Abby was now fucking you relentlessly fast to the point where you had to grip the counter to steady yourself. You seriously felt like you could fall off, but honestly, you could also care less about it. You were so close to reaching your peak now, and as long as Abby didn’t stop, you’d be perfectly fine.

That is until…a knock on the door interrupts the both of you.

“Occupied!” Abby calls out from inside, not stopping her pace.

“Abby? Are you in there?”

“Dad?!”

You gasp at the sound of Jerry’s voice, and Abby shushes you and quickly covers your mouth, now slowing down her pace. You whine at the sudden lack of movement, now feeling your orgasm fade away.

“Abby, what’s going on? Someone told me they saw you walk in here. Are you okay?” her dad asks with some concern.

“Y-Yeah Dad, I’m fine, I just—“ Abby stammers out for a moment as she then turns on the sink with her other hand, trying to come up with an excuse on the spot. “S-Someone dropped a cupcake on me. I-I'm trying to wash it out.”

You giggle quietly behind Abby’s hand, only for her to shush you and grab your ass harshly with the other, causing you to wince at the slight pain.

“Alright honey, just come back when you’re done, okay?”

“Yeah, Dad, I’ll be out in a bit!”

Once the sound of Jerry’s footsteps is gone, Abby lets out a sigh of relief, turning off the sink before removing her hand from your mouth.

“Almost got me caught there, princess.” she says to you, now speeding up her thrusts again. “If you pull that again, I might not let you cum at all.”

“No, fuck—please Abby, I-I’m getting close…I need you to let me cum.” you whine out to her, tightening your grip on the marble counter.

“Oh yeah? Are you getting close there, baby?” she asks, to which you nod in response.

Without stopping her thrusts, Abby grabs you by the neck with one hand, lifting your upper body up in front of the mirror so you can see her as well as yourself. “Then I want you to watch yourself cum. Watch yourself cum on my cock like the needy slut you are.”

You try your best to move or look away, but Abby simply moves your face back to the mirror with her hand. “Don’t fucking do that again. Look away one more time and I’ll pull out.”

All you could do was whine and nod in response, keeping your gaze on the mirror. Your eyes then trail down to the bottom where Abby was fucking you. You could just see her cock sliding in and out of your pussy so easily, and just the sight of it alone is making you want to cum even more.

“Oh fuck, Abby—m-gonna…m’gonna cum!” you exclaim out to her, eyes rolling to the back of your head as the tip of her strap keeps touching your g spot.

“G-go ahead, princess, cum on my cock like a good girl.” she grunts out, moving her hand to now cover your mouth.

Within seconds you cum undone onto the strap with a muffled moan, eyes fluttering shut in pleasure as your cunt clenches and creams all over it. Your body quickly goes limp and static fills your brain as you try to catch your breath.

Abby then gently sets you back down on the counter before moving both of her hands down to your hips. She then slowly pulls her cock out of your pussy, causing you to whine at the loss of it.

Despite that your legs are trembling, you try to get up, but Abby keeps you down. “Wait, just give me a second…I still have one more thing left to do.” she tells you, and all you do is just nod in response, still feeling insanely drunk from your orgasm.

Abby quickly drops down to her knees and spreads your ass open, groaning at the sight of your fucked out pussy. Without hesitation, she dives into your pussy to lick you clean, taking in every single bit of your thick release into her mouth. Once she was finished, she got back up on her feet. “Sweetest thing I’ve ever tasted.” she murmurs to herself, wiping her mouth with her thumb before sucking it clean, making sure she’s got every bit of you on her tongue.

Once you’ve recovered from your orgasm, Abby helps you off of the counter, fixing up your underwear and dress before turning you back around to face her. “Do you think you could uh, clean me up there?” she says before looking down and back up at you, indicating for you to clean up her strap.

“Don’t mind if I do,” you tell her with a smirk, getting down on your knees to suck onto her strap, tasting yourself in the process.

Abby lets out a groan as she watches you suck her strap clean. “Fuck, you look so good like this…” she mutters out to you, running a hand through your hair. “I should make you do that more often.”

You remove your mouth from her strap with a ‘pop’ sound and wipe your mouth with the back of your hand before standing up to face her. “I wouldn’t mind doing that for you.” you reply to her, leaning in to give her a quick kiss as she tucks her strap back into her pants.

“So um, should you leave first or—“

“You should go first,” you tell her, cutting off her sentence. “You’ve been gone longer. Don’t wanna keep your dad waiting anymore now.”

Abby nods in agreement, reaching down to grab her tool belt and jacket before getting back up to kiss you goodbye. “I’ll see you around, sweet girl.” she tells you before unlocking the knob and opening the door to let herself out of the bathroom, now leaving you on your own.

You wait inside for a few minutes before shutting off the lights and leaving, quickly making your way back to your table. To your surprise, you return to see your dad standing with a slice of flan in his hands. “Dad…I told you not to eat any of the pastries!”

Your dad sets the plate down and holds up his in defense. “Alright, sweetheart, you got me there.” he says in defeat before reaching out his front pocket and pulling out a five-dollar bill. “Here’s my contribution then.” he says as he hands you the five-dollar bill.

“Okay okay,” you tell him as you grab the bill from his hands. “I’ve got it from here now, Dad, thanks.”

Once you settle back into your seat, you notice your phone buzzing on the table with a text. You pick up your phone and see that the message is from Abby.

“Abby: Wild Randy’s next Saturday?”

You smile to yourself upon reading the text before looking up at her from across the room, seeing her with that same smirk on her face once again. You look back down at your phone and type out your response.

“You: I’ll be there.”

Looks like you’ve got some plans next weekend after all.

- a/n: oh lord this one killed me to write omg. i hope y’all liked it though! let me know if i should do a part 4 (i might tbh)

merry christmas again everyone! wishing you all the best 🤍🎄

requested tags 🏷️: @whore4abby @ourautumn86 @abbyscherry @nyctophiliq @aouiaa @abbysfavewh0rx @lia-winther @grooviestcowboy @pretty-prrincess-13 @iwillkilyou @erinsdeluluworld @elliens4 @totallyghostdgirl @sirenbxby @bellaramslover @echostinn @uraesthete @cherrycolouredflunk @whorn3y @thatonementallyillsimp @elliewilliamsmunch @gaptoothedlesbo @deadbolted @mochiivqi @floptron @swtsuna @naomis-daydream @hunnybunnyhazel @paprikahoernchen @bbglmfao @thesevi0lentdelights @mostlyhornyandsad @littlegingerperson @ur-fav-pixi @abbysgirlll

(striked means i couldn’t tag 😔)

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buckyalpine · 17 hours ago

Text

I love Bucky loving his body. I love Bucky loved by the team. I love Bucky having his happy ending with a family. Imagine Bucky lounging around the sofa with his little baby girl tucked in his arm, her sweet face covered in frosting after smothering half of her cupcake onto her cheeks. The icing is bright red just like Tony's suit and it's his birthday party afterall, so everything is in full swing. Most of the cupcake is squished between her fingers, very little actually making it into her mouth but Bucky doesn't mind. He chuckles, watching her with heart eyes as she happily smears it onto his crisp white shirt, babbling and cooing, now sucking her thumb.

He is absolutely unbothered by this, all he sees is his happy little baby with her cheeky smile licking up all the frosting just like her mama. While Bucky couldn't care less about his shirt, a few others certainly did.

"Better get dunk that shirt into a bucket of tide pens Barnes" Clint snorted.

"Actually the quicker you get it off, the less likely it is to stain. Take it off now" Tony's voice went from fatherly advice to a seductive growl making Bucky's face twist in amusement, pink starting to color his cheeks.

"Yeah, give the little munchkin to y/n and take it off. Cause of the stain" Nat agreed, cocking an eyebrow. You giggled watching the scene unfold before you, your husband growing bashfully shy.

"Can't hurt punk" Steve shrugged and Bucky's eyes nearly popped out of his head until he realized his best friend had been nursing a rather large glass of Asgardian mead. Tipsy Steve was always a little bit of a pervert...

"I-

"For the stain"

"I think you just want me to take my shirt off" Bucky huffed while you grinned, giving his cheek a peck before taking your little princess in your arms.

"Can't blame them handsome, c'mon, show em' how lucky I am" you whisper and that sells it. Couldn't hurt and since they were all asking...

"Just take it off!" Nat howled with a wink, a bunch of whistles when Bucky sighed, indulging the team a little. He unbuttons his shirt and hands it off to a genuinely concerned Sam who would normally make sure the shirt got sent to the cleaners but this is too good so he throws it into a bucket of cold water and is back within seconds.

"Good God"

"Jesus"

"You look fuckin' good terminator"

"Alright, alright" Bucky holds his hands up, unable to stop the way his ears are bright red, shaking his head when you blow him a kiss making him blush more.

"Body shots!"

"What?"

"Yes"

Tony's eyes glimmer with excitement, and Bucky snorts, loving the way you egg him on, his daughter also squealing with excitement.

"Go on Sarge, y'know you look good"

He lies down on the bar table, surrounded by just the team, abs beautifully flexed as Nat pours a generous amount of some type of alcohol right on his belly button.

"When else will we get this lucky" She says with a playful smirk while Steve cracks his knuckles.

"Why are you cracking your knuckles, what the hell do you plan on-

"ME FIRST" He doesn't give anyone a chance, face planting himself into Bucky's tummy, his lips sealed, drinking every bit of the burning liquor with a satisfied hum.

"How much has he had to drink"

"Who cares, me next"

"I think you've licked enough of my husband"

"You get him all the time, don't be greedy"

"That cute little chubby ball of frosting and giggles is enough evidence you get him every which way, besides isn't there another one cooking, y'can't have any now git"

"Blink twice if you need help"

"Bro looks like an angel"

"Why aren't you blinking"

"Crafted by the heavens"

"You like this, don't you"

Bucky can't help but chuckle, surrounded by idiots. Drunk idiots. His wife. His baby girl. Another little one on the way. All who love him. Would protect him. Life was good.

355 notes · View notes

fuckyeahdindjarin · 1 year ago

Text

Butter

Joel Miller x F!Reader

{ Main Masterlist }

Rating: None

Summary: What if Joel doesn't forget to buy himself a cake for his birthday? But by the time he remembers, all the bakeries in his neighbourhood are closed - except yours.

Warnings: No outbreak AU, pure fluff, mentions of baking and food, meet cute, some sexual tension but very mild stuff compared to my other fics, single dad!Joel being a sexy menace, reader has a nickname related to her job, reader has an accent similar to Joel, very lightly edited, not my best work, but I'm in my writing for fun era 💁🏻‍♀️

Word count: 3.6k

Notes: It's here! This was an exercise in speed writing, and just putting words to paper without overthinking anything. I really enjoyed writing this sweet little piece, this is dedicated to @psychedelic-ink who has been the biggest cheerleader for this idea since day one. Happy birthday to our favourite single dad who never lived through a cordyceps outbreak ❤️

September 26, 2003 was supposed to be a good day.

It’s Friday, after all. Not that the weekend is relevant to you anymore, with Saturdays and Sundays being the busiest days for business. But you have a date for once tonight, and you’re determined to enjoy it.

If you can get the goddamn security shutter to close, that is.

Standing on your tiptoes, you pull futilely at the bottom of the metal shutter with both hands, but it refuses to budge. You lament the sweat seeping through the fabric of the nice dress you changed into, the hem reaching almost indecent heights on the back of your thighs where it’s climbed up. And you don’t have to look at your reflection to know that stress has already smudged the edges of the eyeliner you hurriedly painted on as soon as you got the last customer out the door.

You can be forgiven for not noticing the wash of yellow headlights over the windows of the shop front and the sound of rolling tyres as a truck pulls up on the curb outside the bakery, until a gravelly voice pipes up behind you alongside hurried footsteps.

‘Ma’am, please tell me you’re still open.’

You tap on the ‘Closed’ sign through the window without turning around, determined to wrangle the shutter into submission. ‘Bad luck buddy, come back tomorrow. We open at nine sharp.’

‘No I can’t, I’m so sorry, but I need a cake now.’

Curiosity turns your head, and over your shoulder, you find a broad-shouldered man in a dark tshirt and casual jeans standing a respectful four paces away. Under eyebrows sloping downwards in a pleading angle that matches the slant of his moustache, his warm and imploring eyes are on you.

‘I’m sorry, sir, but I really need to go,’ you say. ‘Can you give me a hand?’

‘Look, I’ll do you one better. I’ll fix the shutter for you for free - if you sell me a cake.’

You purse your lips, the prospect of saving on what looks like an inevitable repair bill tempting. ‘You can fix it?’

‘I’m a contractor,’ he replies, reaching into his back pocket to pull out a battered looking wallet. ‘Here’s my card, if you think I’m bluffin’.’

Miller & Associates is printed in bold across the top, and underneath, is presumably his name and cell number. Glancing up at him, you say, ‘Look, Mr. Miller, I really want to help, but I’m late for a date, and I’m all sold out of cakes today -’

‘I’ll take anything you got. Cupcakes, cookies, whatever you have left,’ he cuts in, then apologises in quick succession, one hand rubbing the back of his neck. ‘I’m sorry to be so pushy - I’m not, usually - but I promised my daughter I’d bring something home, and by the time I remembered, this is the only place I could think of. Please.’

You feel the exact moment your resolve crack, and then fold like a goddamn lawn chair. What can you say, this contractor really knows how to work those puppy eyes, and you can never say no to a man who refuses to let their kid down.

Especially when the man looks like this.

Shooting off a text to your date to push back your dinner plans, you nod towards the door. ‘Alright. C’mon in, Mr. Miller.’

‘Nice place you got here,’ he remarks politely, hovering by the entrance as the fluorescent lights flicker on, his manners impeccably southern.

‘You don’t have to flatter me, I’ve already let you in,’ you joke, lips quirking at the way he flusters. ‘But I appreciate it. You been here before?’

When he smiles, you notice the corners of his eyes crinkle charmingly. ‘No, but I know I’ll be comin’ back.’

‘I wasn’t lying when I said I was out of ready-made cakes,’ you tell him, holding the door open to the kitchen so he can come in after you. ‘But I have some cake layers in the fridge so I can put together something fairly quickly.’

He ducks his head in a manner that tells you he’s not used to demanding things, and protests, ‘I don’t want to put you out. I meant it, if you just have some cupcakes or somethin’ -’

‘Listen, you promised your daughter a cake, didn’t you?’ you interrupt.

He shrugs. ‘Well, yeah I did -’

‘I’m guessin’ it’s for a birthday?’

He nods sheepishly. ‘It is.’

‘Well, as a baker, ‘mfraid I can’t let a cakeless birthday happen on my watch, Mr. Miller,’ you insist, opening the fridge door with a flourish. ‘Let’s see what we have here. Cake for three, I assume?’

‘Two, actually.’

Hopefully you’re as discreet as you think you are when your eyes drop to his left hand - his fourth finger is conspicuously ringless.

Interesting.

You hum, considering the mismatched options in your inventory. ‘It’s gonna be a bit of a Frankenstein’s monster of a cake, if you don’t mind. How does chocolate and vanilla layers with cookies and cream frosting sound?’

‘Sounds perfect,’ he answers without skipping a beat. ‘Thank you, ma’am.’

You shake your head, hands full of cake rounds wrapped in cling film as you nudge the fridge close. ‘Please, call me Bri, Mr. Miller.’

‘And you can call me Joel,’ he says in return. ‘Is Bri short for somethin’?’

Laying the cakes on the work surface, you reply, ‘Yeah, Bri for brioche, like the bread. It's a silly nickname.’

The single dad surprises you with a low whistle. ‘Can’t say I saw that comin’.’

You grin. ‘You ain’t seen nothin’ yet, Joel.’

You don’t often have an audience while baking, and you find yourself talking Joel through the steps while you prep everything for assembly.

Swirling a spatula through the tub of buttercream you made earlier that day, you explain, ‘I just need to whip up some of this frosting so that it’s nice and soft for putting the cake together. You wanna help me break up some Oreos so we can make it cookies and cream?’

‘I’m all yours, chef,’ he says, one corner of his mouth curling into a teasing smile that has no business warming the apples of your cheek as it does. ‘Just tell me what to do.’

While your Kitchenaid whirrs to life, whipping air into the buttercream, Joel wields a rolling pin, smashing a generous helping of Oreos into crumbs in a Ziplock bag. The almost exaggerated care with which he moves speaks to inexperience in the kitchen, and you muse that either his kid makes up for it in that department, or they live off takeout.

Eventually, he picks up the bag and looks at you in a question. ‘I think I’m done?’

You smile and tap the lip of the mixing bowl. ‘That’s perfect. Why don’t you tip in the crumbs straight in here?’

Before you can step back to allow him space, Joel’s taken two strides towards you, and his arm brushes your shoulder when he lifts the bag and tilts the contents into the frosting. He’s warm and solid, and damnit, he smells good - like sawdust and sweat.

The thought comes to you unbidden - what a man.

There’s a lull, and only when you feel the weight of eyes on you do you realise that you missed his question.

‘Did you say somethin'?’ you squeak, embarrassed.

‘I said, is this ok?’ he repeats, nodding at the mixing bowl.

You nearly stumble over your words. ‘Yes, yes it’s perfect.’

He watches you closely, a touch of concern in his brown eyes. ‘You ok there, honey?’

‘Yup,’ you chirp, far too cheerfully. ‘Just need to mix it all up now -’

If you had your wits about you, you would stir in the crumbs first and set the machine on low. But this man somehow stole said wits by sheer proximity to you, and you accidentally start the Kitchenaid on high, an indignant yelp escaping you when Oreo dust flies aggressively out of the bowl along with a splatter of white buttercream that lands squarely on the front of your dark knit dress.

‘Oh shit!’ you cry out, frantically turning off the mixer. ‘Shit shit shit!’

Over your panicked mantra, Joel is calmness itself. ‘Hang on, honey, I gotcha.’

He makes a beeline towards the sink, grabbing a tea towel and wets it under the tap with a bit of dishwashing liquid. It all screams competent single dad, and you find yourself staring at his unfairly large hand, mapped with thick veins, holding out the damp towel for you to take.

‘Thanks,’ you stutter self-consciously, the tips of your ears hot while swiping at the stain. ‘That was a rookie mistake. I promise I’m actually a good baker.’

He gives you a wink to put you at ease. ‘Don’t worry, I believe you.’

Starting over, the mixer hums as it gently incorporates the Oreos until the buttercream is a speckled grey and doubled in volume. ‘Looks like it’s ready. You wanna taste, Joel?’

‘Sure,’ he says. ‘D’ya have a spoon or somethin’ for me?’

‘You can use your fingers,’ you reply, and it's too late to take it back.

You feel the back of your neck heating up when he shoots you a meaningful look, just a touch of mischief in the tilt of his lips.

‘Can I, now?’ he teases.

You try a nonchalant shrug that probably comes off as painfully awkward. ‘This batch is just for you, I won’t tell the health inspector if you don’t.’

Joel chuckles, his strong shoulders quaking. And so you watch, shamelessly, as he raises his right hand, index and middle fingers at the ready, before diving into the metal bowl, scooping up a generous dollop of buttercream. There’s a peek of his pink tongue when his plush lips part, and then he sucks his fingers into his mouth with a gratuitously loud moan, Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows.

When he turns to you with a pained expression on his face, maintaining eye contact all the while licking an errant streak of frosting off the side of his middle finger, you gape at him for a whole five seconds before you manage to unstick your tongue from the roof of your mouth.

‘Good?’ you barely manage to squeak.

‘You betcha, honey,’ he declares, then adds, ‘Mind if I double dip?’

He doesn’t mean anything by it, you know it, but a hot flush runs through your body and you swallow thickly. ‘You can do whatever you want, cowboy.’

You don’t think you’re imagining the wicked glint in his answering stare - you’re getting yourself into trouble, and don’t you know it.

Clearing your throat, you attempt to thwart your mind's dangerous descent into the gutter by changing the subject. ‘So, I can do somethin’ really snazzy that I think your daughter would like - do you know what a piñata cake is?’

He shakes his head. ‘Sounds dangerous.’

‘Hardly,’ you chuckle. ‘It’s a cake filled with sprinkles, so when you cut into it, it’s a sprinkles surprise!’

He lets out a playful sigh of relief. ‘As long as there’s no whackin’ involved, it’s good by me.’

You gesture at him to follow you across the room. ‘And here’s the fun part - you get to choose the sprinkles.’

Joel whistles at the reveal of your compulsively organised sprinkles cabinet, each shelf sorted by colour, shape and size. He quips, ‘Is this what the inside of your brain looks like, honey?’

You grin. ‘Pretty much. What’s your daughter’s name?’

‘Sarah.’

‘What colour does Sarah like?’

‘Any and all shades of pink.’

‘I can work with that.’

Now that everything is ready and waiting on the work surface, you pull out a lazy Susan and plonk a cake board on top of it, dusting your hands dramatically. ‘Alright, Joel. Ready for the magic to happen?’

Making himself comfortable next to you, he leans on his elbows, and your eyes are immediately drawn to the way his tshirt stretches and strains over his back. ‘Go ahead, I’m ready to be impressed, honey.’

Filling a piping bag full of the cookies and cream buttercream, you ask, ‘You wanna get your hands dirty?’

He raises his palms in surrender. ‘I’ll leave it to you, I don’t want to make you any more late for your date.’

You’re used to working with much bigger cakes, so this one doesn’t take you long. With a cookie cutter, you carve out a small circle from each cake round, then you stack and fill the layers with buttercream. After loading the shaft in the middle with all manner of pink sprinkles, you stopper the top with the cake cut-outs.

‘How old is Sarah turning today?’ you ask conversationally while you spin the cake around, smoothing on the crumb coat.

Joel looks up, surprised. ‘Oh, it’s my birthday today, not hers. ‘

‘Wait, what?’ you cry, throwing your hands up. ‘I made this cake with Sarah in mind - it will literally be vomiting pink sprinkles!’

‘I’m a girl dad. I like pink,’ shrugs Joel easily.

You huff, using an icing smoother to make sure the buttercream is even all over the cake. ‘I would pop the cake into the freezer to firm up before adding a final layer of frosting if I had the time, but this will have to do.’

‘It looks great,’ Joel assures you as you put the finishing touches to the cake, with buttercream swirls all around the top and a final baptism of sprinkles.

‘There, all done. Lemme box it up for you and this bad boy is ready to go.’

‘Amazin’, thank you so much,’ he grins. ‘Please, lemme do the washin’ up while you’re at it.’

‘Oh, Joel, you can’t,’ you protest, but he’s already grabbed the mixing bowl and all the bits and bobs stained with buttercream. ‘You’re the birthday boy!’

‘Least I can do,’ he shoots back over his shoulder, already halfway to the sink.

‘Well no, you promised to fix the security shutter for me, remember?’ you call after him.

‘Damn, I was hopin’ you’d forgotten about that.’

Joel cleans up with a practised air, humming under his breath as he waits for the water to heat up and the soap to lather. You watch him from the corner of your eye while you secure the cake inside the box, throwing in a birthday candle for good measure. You’ve just tied a nice ribbon around the cardboard box when he puts away everything in the drying rack and wipes his hands dry.

‘Didn’t expect you to be good at that,’ you tease, moving towards the door.

‘Sexist much?’ he jokes, no real bite in his retort. Then by way of explanation, he tells you, ‘I work late, so Sarah usually cooks and I wash up afterwards.’

‘Sounds like you guys make a good team.’

Joel helps with the lights and locks the door, and you stand to one side when he grabs the security shutter and forces it into submission by brute force. You can’t help but stare when the bottom of his tshirt rides up, revealing a soft sliver of belly underneath, his biceps bulging and back rippling as the shutter is finally forced shut in a metallic ripple.

You give him a smile. ‘Well, happy birthday, Joel.’

‘Thanks again for the cake.’ He looks around, as if looking for your car, but the sidewalk is empty except for his truck. ‘How are you gettin’ to your date?’

‘I was just gonna call a taxi.’

‘No, you ain’t,’ he nods towards his ride. ‘C’mon, I’ll give you a lift.’

‘Oh, no, it’s late, and you should be getting back to Sarah -’

‘I spoiled your date, so please, let me,’ he insists, holding the door open on the passenger side. Hop in.’

Joel takes the cake off your hands and puts it in the backseat carefully, putting the seat belt over it while you climb in. Glancing over your shoulder, you see toolboxes and newspapers on the floor, and it smells like paint and wood dust.

‘Sorry it’s a bit messy, occupational hazard,’ he apologises as he straps himself in. ‘So, where are we goin’?’

‘Do you know the steakhouse on Third Street?’

‘Vaguely,’ he replies, pulling smoothly away from the curb. ‘It sounds fancy.’

‘You been?’

‘Nope, I barely have time to go anywhere nowadays. It seems like I’m only ever in bed, or at work, or in my truck.’

You turn to smile at him, admiring the way his his thick fingers around the top of the steering wheel, making it look so small. ‘I feel you. Small business owner, am I right?’

‘I hear ya,’ he shoots you a smile. ‘So - what’s the deal with tonight? First date?’

‘Fourth, actually.’

He wriggles his eyebrows suggestively. ‘Fourth date? You know what happens on a fourth date, honey.’

‘I don’t, actually. Tell me, what happens on a fourth date?’

He blows out his cheeks, and admits, ‘Honestly, I can’t tell ya. I haven’t been on a fourth date since 1991.’

You burst into laughter at his unexpected answer. ‘You’re such a dork, Joel Miller.’

When the truck rumbles to a stop outside the steakhouse ten minutes later, he looks at his watch and announces, ‘Here we are, only fifteen minutes late.’ Squinting through the windshield, he points at a man smoking outside, an impatient frown on his face. ‘That him?’

‘Yeah, that’s him,’ you nod, but you stay put in your seat, in no hurry to make a move.

Joel nods, tapping his tidily trimmed nails on the steering wheel. ‘So I’ll swing ‘round tomorrow after work with my toolbelt? ‘Round six thirty?’

‘A toolbelt? What a sight to look forward to,’ you rib, slowly reaching for the seatbelt and unbuckling it.

‘Hell yeah, it’s got a special clip for my Nokia and all,’ he adds mischievously.

'You must fend off the ladies by the dozen,' you tease.

'Daily,' he answers without skipping a beat.

You probably shouldn’t have, especially not with the guy who you’re supposed to be on a date with glaring daggers at you through the windshield. But there’s something cackling in the air between you and this man you just met not an hour ago, and the way the streetlight filters through the window, backlighting his messy curls and scraggly beard, that has you throwing caution to the proverbial wind.

Impulsively, you lean across the gear shift, your left hand finding purchase on his knee before pressing your lips to the side of his whiskered jaw, your kiss fitting right into that little heart-shaped patch on his beard.

You’re not sure who’s more taken aback, but you don’t have time to find out.

‘Happy birthday, Joel Miller.’

He smiles after you as you hop out of his truck.

You’ve just sold your last cupcake of the day when the bell over the bakery door rings. And sure enough, it’s Joel Miller crossing the threshold, right on the dot at six thirty.

‘Hey, Bri,’ he waves, hovering half-in and half-out of the shop, a slight awkwardness having set in overnight.

But it's ok, you're happy to pick up where you left off. Putting your hands on your waist and a cheeky grin, you quip, ‘Wow, you weren’t kidding about that toolbelt, huh?’

Your chest swells as you watch him thaw with an easy smile, and he banters back, ‘I’m a man of my word, honey. You ok with me gettin’ to work now?’

‘Yes, thank you. I’ll be cleanin’ up back in the kitchen, I’ll join you when I’m done.’

Joel shoots you a thumbs up. ‘Great. I’ll grab the ladder and get right to it.’

When you emerge fifteen minutes later, he’s on the fourth rung of the ladder, tinkering the rolling mechanism with a screwdriver and a studious frown on his brow. He looks like he’s wearing the same thing as yesterday - you can believe that he’s a man who buys the same tshirt in bulk - and he smiles at you when you duck out of the shop.

‘Did Sarah like the cake?’ you ask in casual conversation.

‘She went nuts over the piñata surprise,’ he replies. ‘And the cake was delicious, there were hardly any crumbs left when we were done with it. She says we’re definitely ordering a cake from you for her birthday.’

‘I like the sound of that.’

‘How was your evening?’ he asks, glancing down at you from his perch. ‘Did you find out what happens on a fourth date?’

You let out a dry laugh. ‘Yeah, I did, actually. He dumped me.’

Joel freezes, a scowl darkening his countenance. ‘Oh shit, what? Why?’

You shrug, leaning your weight on the ladder as you look at the ground. ‘I mean, I did show up an hour late in some other guy’s truck. And I guess probably shouldn’t have kissed you on the cheek right in front of him.’

You startle when Joel’s fingers slip under your chin, tilting your head up towards him. ‘It’s all my fault. I’m so sorry.’

‘Honestly, you don’t look that sorry, Joel Miller,’ you joke.

He cocks his head to one side. ‘Well, I can't lie, I think you deserve better than him.’

‘Do you now?’ you prompt. ‘Who do you have in mind?’

Joel peers at you from under long lashes with a half-smile that's almost shy. He dodges your question, and says instead, ‘I didn't mean to ruin your night, let me make it up to you, honey.’

‘How?’

Deftly, he climbs down the ladder, landing squarely on two booted feet, his presence comforting as he looms over you, his eyes warm. ‘Can I buy you dinner?’

‘Like - a date kind of dinner?’

‘Yeah, like a date,’ he nods.

You can’t help the dig. ‘And you were just sayin' you haven’t been on a date since...?’

He flashes you a smirk, and you shiver when his hand brushes your waist. ‘Since 1991. Tough sell, I know - but I thought I’d give it a shot.’

Running a finger along his sharp jawline, softened by the endearingly untidy beard, you have to bite your bottom lip to keep yourself from giving away too wide a grin. ‘Why, I think I have a good feelin’ about you, Joel Miller.’

Catching your wrist in his fingers, he presses a sweet kiss to your knuckles, the rough graze of his stubble chasing goosebumps across your skin as his eyes smile at you. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow then, honey.’

More notes: I hope you enjoyed this sweet little oneshot 🥰 I really leaned into the fluff and I have no regrets. Comments/reblogs/asks are much appreciated as always! I don't have plans for a second part right now, but a smutty follow-up is always a possibility...

The adorable dividers are by @firefly-graphics 👩🏻‍🍳

#joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x fem!reader #the last of us fanfiction #joel miller imagine #no outbreak au #joel miller oneshot #the last of us oneshot #fuckyeahshorts

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watchmegetobsessed · 6 months ago

Text

WING IT

A/N: we are slowly getting more content, lets just hope something drops soon!

WORD COUNT: 3k

SUMMARY: It's your first day working in Selma's Home, you're nervous enough already, but when an emergency calls your boss away and you're left alone, the situation is topped when famous CEO Harry Styles casually strolls in.

MASTERLIST | SUPPORT ME!

It doesn’t matter that this job is just an in-between. Something that earns you money until your dream position opens. A first day is always stressful, especially when you have no idea what to do.

You were applying to dozens of jobs at once, just shooting everywhere you could, hoping to get an answer back before your rent was due. Selma’s Home was the first one to invite you for an interview and somehow, miraculously you even got the job despite the fact that you have no experience in retail. You suspect that desperation was a big factor in your hiring, because Selma lost 2 of her employees at once when the young couple that was working for her moved across the country.

Now here you are, walking into the store, nervously fidgeting with your fingers as you head down the aisles where you see Selma behind the cash register already getting ready to open.

“Hi!” you greet her, her head snapping up at your weak voice. Selma is such a fierce, kind of intimidating woman, but you can see how it helped her to open this store and make it one of the most successful home decor stores in the city, offering tasteful stylish pieces along with practical utility items for one’s home.

“Oh, hi! Welcome to your first day, you ready?” She even cracks a smile, but somehow it just makes you gulp hard.

“Yeah, readier than ever!” you manage to squeeze out a nervous chuckle, hoping she doesn’t sense your jitters.

“Alright, then let’s get started.”

With an hour until opening Selma is eager to squeeze in as much information into it as possible. She walks you through the store, talking about the most important items, but also handing you a handbook about everything that’s currently selling in the store.

“Use your downtime to roam around and you’ll learn them by the end of the week without the handbook,” she says, eyes running over the shelves as she is talking, already moving to the storage room in the back.

She talks about the system, how to unload the new arrivals every two weeks and then you move on to the cash register, aka your biggest fear. It’s quite the stress factor to deal with money, making sure everything is neat and correct, you can only hope you won’t mess it all up.

Then the store opens and you follow around Selma to learn the ropes. What’s different here is that whenever a customer comes in you offer them help right away and if needed, you assist them throughout their whole time shopping. There are quite some designer products selling and you’ll need to know everything about them to be able to sell them to the customers just like Selma does.

She is so good at it. No matter who comes in, she so effortlessly talks them into leaving with not only what they came for, but some more as well. She is enchanting, nice, open and warm and you just keep taking notes mentally, though you don’t feel confident enough to be as charming as she can be the moment the bell rings above the door.

When lunch rolls around you allow yourself to feel relieved for a second that you survived half the day already. Selma sends you to the back to have your lunch and you just sit in silence, staring ahead of you, mustering up all your energy for the rest of the workday. You’ve just finished your sandwich when Selma barges into the breakroom.

“Y/N, there’s a bit of an emergency.”

You jump to your feet, scenarios already running through your mind. Is there a fire? Did the storefront just collapse? Someone stole those hella expensive Japanese tablecloths?

“What happened?”

“My daughter, she is ugh! Such a menace, she got into trouble at school, so I have to go there. I need you to cover for a bit, just an hour tops, I swear!”

She is already grabbing her purse, pushing her sunglasses to the top of her head, car keys in hand while you just stand there dumbfounded. Is she actually gonna leave you alone in the store on your first day?

“Selma, I-I don’t…”

“You do, Honey. Just an hour. This is a dead time anyway, if anyone comes in, just try your best to help them and ring them up at the end. Easy, I know you can do it!”

She is storming out and you follow her like a lost puppy.

“B-But what if I mess something up?” you ask, panic setting in.

“As long as you don’t set the store on fire, you’ll be fine. I trust you, Y/N!”

And with that, she is already gone, the bell rings above the door as you stand there like a statue.

You watch the storefront in pure panic, your stomach dropping every time it seems like someone is approaching the shop, but no one comes in.

Until the bell rings above the door.

For a split second you hope it’s Selma, but looking up you see a tall, broad figure and your heart threatens to burst right out of your anxiety filled chest, at first because hello! It’s a customer! But then as he steps further into the shop and takes off his sunglasses, realization settles in.

This is not just a regular customer, this is Harry Fucking Styles, CEO of Pleasing Productions, the studio that’s given the world the absolute best romantic movies in the past decades and the man is famously known for being a ladies favorite, but appearing as a total mystery in the media.

You’ve read about him a lot before, it’s hard not to bump into his name online, thanks to his looks he is always somehow in talk for either having dinner with a model, appearing on the red carpet looking like a fucking snack, or, your personaly favorite, declining giving an answer to a question regarding his private life.

And now he is standing there, looking around the store.

It takes a couple of moments for you to push out of this frozen state and finally step forward.

“Hello!”

Wow. Did your voice actually sound like that?

Clearing your throat you keep moving towards him.

“Hi, can I help you with anything?”

You try to rake your mind to remember everything you’ve seen and heard from Selma to use now, but the moment he looks up, your mind goes blank. He is just as beautiful as he looks in pictures or maybe even more. Unlike on those red carpet photos where he is always dressed in designer suits, now he is wearing a pair of simple pants and a gray long sleeve, his hair is a bit tousled and it appears he is growing his beard out, a bit shaggy, but he makes it look very… hot. That’s all you can say looking at him.

“Oh, hey!” He is sporting a polite smile as he looks up, about to keep talking, but he stops for a moment upon looking at you and he stops.

Everything stops.

It’s as if he is taking you in, you can feel your cheeks heating up, the nervous fidgeting starts again, but you hide your hands behind your back so he doesn’t notice.

“I’m looking for some kitchen stuff,” he then says, hiding his hands in his pockets.

“Great!” you breathe out. “We do have… those.”

You flinch internally, but ignore just how awkward you are in his presence.

You ask him about what he needs specifically as the two of you start walking down the isles and for a moment you think of grabbing the handbook, but that would look awful, so you make a decision on the spot.

You’re gonna just wing it.

What could go wrong? You’ll just pretend like you’re Selma, confident and know everything about the items, you’re gonna say whatever comes to your mind and just… wing it.

All while ignoring how attractive this man is up close. And intimidating. And charming. And…

“I think I want to check out the coffee stuff first,” he suggests and nodding you walk him over to the kitchen items.

“Do you have a coffee machine and you’re looking for some accessories, or…”

“I just got one of those old fashioned moka coffee pots,” he says with a boyish smile. “But I want to get that to the next level, if you know what I mean.” You do not.

“Of course,” you smile, eyes scanning over the shelves.

Your grandmother has one of those old moka coffee makers, but you have absolutely no idea what else could be used for those, so you just start grabbing things and making up what they are used for.

One after the other, you just keep showing him stuff with no idea what you’re talking about, but the longer you’re talking the more confident you’re growing, especially when he just keeps nodding and humming along to anything you say.

“So… which one are you more interested in?” you ask at the end of your little speech. You look at him and find him already looking at you with a tiny smile curling up the corners of his mouth.

“What can you tell me about those?” he asks, ignoring your question and just moving to another shelf.

He keeps asking about items and you just make up everything as you go. Of course, you know some of the stuff, but you were never really a true chef in the kitchen, so there are way too many items you don’t know that much, but somehow, you’ve gathered enough confidence that even you believe what you say.

Slowly, Harry fills his basket as you move through the store and every time you look at him you catch him already looking at you with the same smile you can’t quite decipher.

“What about those?” he points up at a set of plates on the top shelf.

“Oh, those are so pretty! Let me show you them!” you enthuse and run to grab the ladder from the back.

It’s not the steadiest tool for sure, but you ignore the wobble you feel when you start climbing it.

“Are you sure it’s–”

“It’s fine, don’t worry,” you chuckle, reaching the top step, but your knees are definitely shaking. You focus on grabbing the plates and getting off as fast as possible, but right when you take them off the shelf you already feel yourself losing balance.

But Harry is quick to come to your rescue. One of his hands grabs the ladder to steady it and the other… the other one grabs the back of your thigh to help you hold yourself up. Until then you were shaking because of the ladder, but now it’s definitely because of his firm hold on you, the warmth of his touch and the thoughts that unrelease when you realize just how perfectly his fingers are digging into your flesh.

“You good?” he asks in a deep, husky voice.

“Yeah.” Your voice is barely more than just a whisper as you hold onto the plates as if they could hold you up.

You start moving down on the ladder, but Harry’s hand doesn’t leave your body, it works up on your hips and waist, grabbing onto your elbow as you finally step onto the ground and even then, he is still touching you, his eyes locked on yours as you’re still holding those damn plates. The image of dropping them and pushing up against him flashes through your mind and your knees wobble again when you catch his gaze flickering down to your lips for a second.

“The plates,” you blurt out then. He looks down and a smile stretches across his face.

“They really are pretty.”

“Right?” you let out a breathy laugh.

“Now that you risked your life for them, I guess it’s only fair if I actually buy them.”

Fuck, your heart is about to jump right out of your chest, how is he so smooth?

You gather a few more things and then move to the cash register to ring everything up.

“How long have you been working here?” he asks, patiently waiting for you to finish.

“Um… Do you want the truth?” you ask, with a cheeky smile.

“Yeah.”

“This is my first day,” you admit, just as you finish the scanning and when you look at the amount it all added up to, you almost choke on your own saliva. “Um, your total is 1630.”

For a moment you think he’ll question how it’s so much, but without hesitation he whips out his card and taps it on the terminal.

“First day, huh?”

“You wouldn’t have guessed?”

“Oh, I kind of did,” he chuckles and he starts to help you with putting everything away in bags. “You really should learn what the items are used for.”

Normally you’d be embarrassed that he noticed how much you just made up, but the smile he is gifting you with vanishes all negative feelings and you can actually find it funny.

“I will.”

“Thank you for your assistance,” he smirks, grabbing the bags from the counter. “And if I happen to leave a review about the excellent service, what name should I drop?”

“I’m Y/N,” you say with a sheepish smile. He then sticks his hand out and you take it.

“Harry. It was really nice meeting you.”

“You too.”

With a final wave he turns around, slides his sunglasses back to the bridge of his nose and then walks out of the store. You stand there completely overwhelmed by the experience and you have no idea how much time passes by before Selma barges through the door.

“Hi Darling! How did everything go?” she beams, walking up to the counter where you’re still standing.

“Great!”

“Did anyone come in?”

“Yeah. Harry Styles was just here.” Selma freezes for a moment before looking up at you.

“Harry Styles? As in…”

“Yeah. That Harry Styles.”

“How did it go? Did he buy anything?”

“He spent 1600 dollars on kitchen stuff.”

“Y/N, that’s great!” Selma claps her hands. “Was he satisfied? Could you help him?”

“I think I could,” you say with a knowing smile. “He seemed… satisfied, yeah.”

The first day jitters are luckily gone by the next day, especially because Selma looked at you with so much pride after you told her about your encounter with Harry that you feel like you can’t do anything wrong.

Before lunch Selma asks you to rearrange some stuff in the storage and you’re a bit relieved you don’t have to take any customers for now.

But because of that, you’re not out when one specific person walks into the shop. Again.

Harry enters the store confidently, a smile already on his lips as he looks in the direction of the cash register, but it fades when he only sees Selma, but no sight of you. Selma, on the other hand, becomes ecstatic when she sees and recognizes him.

“Welcome! How may I help you?” she chirps, walking towards Harry, who is still looking around, eyes searching for you.

“Hey, is the… Is the woman who worked yesterday here? Y/N?” Selma stops, surprised.

“Y/N? Uh, yes, but she is busy now, I’m sure I can help you–”

“I want her,” he states.

“She is still training, I’m sure I can–”

“Look,” Harry sighs. “What’s your name?”

“I’m Selma, the owner,” she states proudly.

“Selma, I’m more than happy to buy everything in this store if it means I get to talk to her. How does that sound?”

Selma stares back at him, finally understanding the situation. Her stance changes instantly.

“Let me go get her for you.”

You’re going over your list in the back when Selma appears, her spotless appearance feels odd in the storage room’s setting.

“Oh, hey! I just finished with–”

“I need you outside.”

“What? Why?” Panic washes over you, because you can’t read her face and what could she possibly need you for outside on your second day?

“Just come. Now!” She turns around and heads out, not even checking if you’re following her. Of course you do.

“Selma, what did I–” you start mumbling behind her, but just when you step out and spot Harry at the cash register.

His face lights up the moment he sees you and those damn butterflies start raging in your stomach.

“Harry, you’re here. Again,” you state the obvious.

“I am,” he chuckles and you see Selma walk away from the corner of your eyes.

“How, um–What can I… help you with?” you ask, clearing your throat. Why is he here? Could it be… because of you? Yesterday you definitely spent an awful lot of time daydreaming of the way he was touching you on that ladder and you’d be lying if you said you felt disappointed he just walked out, knowing you might never see him again.

Well, so much for that.

“I forgot to get something yesterday.”

“Oh,” is all you can say, the disappointment snaking back into your gut. He is not here because of you, how could you even think about that?

Harry’s smile widens as he watches your face drop and then he finally continues.

“Your number.”

Your eyes widen and you must look quite funny, because Harry chuckles at the sight of your expression.

“Was this too straight forward?”

“No!” you snap right away, maybe a bit too eagerly. “Not at all.”

“Great, then…”

He pulls his phone out of his pocket and hands it over, you type your number in quickly and hand it over. He taps on the screen and a second later your phone starts buzzing in your back pocket.

“Just checking you didn’t give me a pizzeria’s number,” he jokes, making you laugh. “And… now that I’m conveniently here, maybe you can show me some more stuff.”

“What do you need?” you ask as the two of you head down one of the aisles.

“Hmm, how long is your shift?”

“Um, another four hours,” you scoff.

“Then I guess I’m interested in everything. Whatever takes four hours to look at so I can take you out once you’re done.”

Thank you for reading, please like and reblog if you enjoyed and buy me a coffee if you want to support me!

#harry #styles #harry styles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fanfic #harry styles oneshot #harry styles one shot #harry styles fluff #harry styles x you #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x reader #harry styles blurb

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roosterforme · 9 months ago

Text

How Old Are You? | Bob Floyd x OC

Summary: Bob only gets one birthday every four years. When his wife, Molly, realizes it's almost Leap Day, she throws him a party any nine year old would love. And it's the perfect celebration for a thirty-six year old, too.

Warnings: Fluff, adult language, implied smut, 18+

Length: 2500 words

Pairing: Robert "Bob" Floyd x Female OC!Molly (this story accompanies The Curveball)

Check my masterlist for more! Thank you to @mak-32 for the beautiful banner!

Bob was half asleep in bed, post orgasm, when the weird conversation started. "So technically you're about to turn nine? Even though you'll be thirty-six? Is that right?"

He cracked his eyes open again as he watched his wife stretch her arms above her head, her nipple piercings glinting in the soft candlelight that had their bedroom aglow. She was nibbling on her lip, and he could practically see her mind working.

"Yeah," he answered cautiously. "Why do you have that expression on your face, Mo? Like you're plotting something scary?"

"I've never plotted something scary a day in my life!" she told him before leaning down and gently biting his bicep. "I was merely considering what I should get you for your special day."

"I don't need anything," he replied quickly, remembering the naked cowboy statue wearing glasses that she gifted to him last year.

"Well," she said, drawing out the single syllable. "That's where I think you're wrong, Bobby."

"Molly, I don't even want anything." Then he had an idea that he hoped would throw her off. "How about you get some pretty new barbells or rings and let me play with them?"

She rolled her eyes. "That would be a gift for me."

He shrugged as she draped herself across him. "Kind of for both of us when you really think about it."

Her soft lips found his jaw as she whispered, "But it's not every day you turn nine, Coach Cute Glasses. You deserve an extra special treat."

He shook his head in exasperation and said, "I'll really be thirty six though."

"Not according to the calendar." She kissed him sweetly before climbing over him to get out of the bed. "I'll go check on Charlie and Flora one last time before we go to sleep." Bob watched her slip his discarded undershirt on and smooth it down over her gorgeous body, perhaps a little more filled out now that they had two kids.

He reached for her hand and said, "Mo, we really need to sell the condo and get a bigger place. They can't share that tiny room forever."

Even though she told him all the time that she loved the condo and didn't want to leave it, she was finally starting to come around. "I think I'm ready to admit that you might be right about that, Uncle Bob."

"Really?" he asked, jolting up in bed.

She nodded and hummed. "Yes. Besides, your birthday party would be a lot easier to plan if we had more space to accommodate all the guests."

Bob groaned and flopped back down again, and Molly removed his glasses for him. "I don't need a birthday party," he insisted. "I just want a nice, quiet evening with you and the kids. Maybe your sister, Ev and Bradley, too, but that's it."

"We'll see," she replied before leaving the bedroom with a wicked smirk on her face.

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

"Can you get to my sister's house by noon on your birthday? For your party?" Molly asked as she watched Bob feed a mashed up banana to their one year old daughter.

"I thought we ended that discussion with us both accepting the fact that I do not need a birthday party."

"Yeah... it's too late for that," she replied easily as she and Charlie both ate their own dinners. Molly's favorite hobby was keeping her husband on his toes. She figured his life would be sad and boring without her in it, and since he chose to be with her, he must have a deep-seated love for nonsense. She always made sure to bring it out for him, especially for his birthday.

He gave her a stern look. "It's just a small party, right?"

"Sure, Bobby."

"I don't believe you."

"Oh come on," she whined. "This is your first real birthday since we met!"

She knew he would crack. He gave her what she wanted the vast majority of the time anyway, but when she whined for something harmless, it was always hers.

"Fine."

And with that single word, Molly executed the most epic ninth birthday anyone could ever have. She called the vendors. She ordered the piñata. She invited the guests. She procured a balloon arch. And on Bob's birthday, her own sister and brother-in-law were looking at her with shocked expressions from their back deck when she started setting things up at eight in the morning.

"I thought this was going to be a small party?" Bradley asked as he watched her assemble the red and yellow balloon arch.

Molly just laughed. "That's just what I told Bob. I lied. The pony should be arriving soon."

"Pony?" gasped her sister. "I'm sorry, I must have misheard. Did you say a pony is arriving?"

"Yes," Molly said, speaking a little louder now to make her point. "How the hell are we supposed to have a cowboy birthday party without pony rides?"

Then Everett came tearing out onto the back deck, still in his pajamas, shouting, "Someone is bringing a horse around from the driveway!"

"See?" Molly asked as the pony and handler appeared in the backyard. "Ev is excited. He has good taste."

"He's ten!" Bradley snapped as he went running across the yard. "Is this thing going to tear up the grass that I spent months watering so it looked this nice?" But as soon as he saw how excited Everett was to pet the cute animal, Molly knew her brother-in-law would be on her side. It was just her sister glaring at her now.

"Whatever you mess up out here, you need to clean up. That includes the horse poop!"

"It's just a pony," Molly assured her, although the animal was a lot bigger than she expected. And yes, it was actually pooping. "It's fine. It'll be fine."

She was hoping it would be fine.

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

When Bob buckled Charlie and Flora back into their car seats in his truck at Myers park, he checked the time. It was almost noon. "Oh god," he groaned as he opened the driver's door. He had no idea what to expect, but the text from Bradley about how he was going to need help filling in the hoof prints in their yard next week had him on edge.

"Birthday party!" Charlie cheered from the backseat as Bob pulled out onto the main road. Molly had been talking about it so much, their son kept saying it over and over.

"That's right," Bob told him calmly. "But I'm pretty sure Mommy went bananas over the entire thing."

"Nana!" Flora crooned before she burst into tears. He should have known better than to mention her favorite food right in front of her like that. So he drove to his sister-in-law and brother-in-law's house with one delighted child and one who was crying hysterically. When he pulled down their block, there was absolutely nowhere to park, and there was a horse trailer parked right in front of the house.

"Oh, no. No no no. Molly, no," he whispered. When he got closer, he saw the massive banner hanging on the porch that said Happy Birthday, Cowboy Bob. He had to squeeze his truck into the driveway behind the familiar blue Bronco while he gaped at the sight before him.

"Horse!" Charlie screeched. He wasn't wrong. There was some sort of pony walking around the backyard with Everett perched on top of the saddle wearing a cowboy hat. "I want the horse!"

"Okay," Bob told him as he shook his head and climbed out of the truck. He walked around to the back of the house with one child in each arm, and thankfully when Flora saw the pony, she stopped crying, perhaps out of fear.

"Bob!" Molly shouted over the classic country music that was playing as she popped out of the enormous rodeo themed bounce house and ran to him. Literally everyone he'd ever seen in his life seemed to be here, and they were all wearing cowboy hats. Everyone from work was here. Like everyone. Cyclone was wearing a cowboy hat and drinking a beer. Bob thought he saw the doctor that Molly worked with who delivered both of their children. His parents and both of his sisters were here. His niece Piper was taking a turn riding the pony. There were indeed hoof prints in the yard.

Then Molly was somehow in his arms along with both kids, and she was kissing his neck as she said, "Happy birthday," in a voice that would have been a lot more appropriate for their bedroom.

"Mo," he said, shaking his head. "There's a pony. It's making Bradley look constipated."

She just rolled her eyes in response. "He'll get over it as soon as I offer to watch Everett for a few days over spring break so he and my sister can go away and do nasty stuff to each other."

Bob just smiled down at her and said, "You told me this would be a small affair."

"I guess I lied. Oops. Come say hi to Phoenix." She dragged him up onto the deck where Natasha took both kids from him with a kiss to his cheek, and then Molly was yanking his shirt over his head.

"What are you doing?" he asked, standing there in his undershirt with his glasses askew. But as soon as the words were out of his mouth, she was pulling another shirt over his head. It said Birthday Cowboy, and there was a number 9 that looked like it was shaped out of rope.

And that's when everyone started hugging him and running around to get him drinks and chat with him. Mickey was wearing cowboy boots and a cow print vest. Maverick was teaching the kids how to line dance. Bradley's scowl had started to ease up since Everett seemed to be having the time of his life.

"Happy birthday, Uncle Bob," Everett said when he walked over. He hugged Bob and added, "Your birthday party is my favorite birthday party ever, and I can't believe it's in my yard!"

"Thanks, Ev," he replied with a laugh as he watched Molly and Flora dancing with Javy. "It is pretty cool."

"Happy birthday, Bob," his sister-in-law said, handing him a card. "You can open it later. We got you opening day tickets for the Padres. Also, I'm so sorry that my sister is so chaotic, but you should have known what you were getting into when you started dating her."

Bob accepted another kiss on his cheek. "She really can't be stopped once she gets going."

"It's a waste of time to even try. Might as well sit back and enjoy the show."

He did, and the looser he got, the more fun he started to have. He pet the pony while Piper rode around on it. He smashed open a cowboy piñata with one of Everett's baseball bats. He jumped in the bounce house with Charlie and Everett, and Bradley even joined them.

"I'll help you fix your yard next week," Bob promised as Everett did a backflip.

Bradley just laughed and said, "It's hard to be mad about it when Molly just wants everyone to have the time of their life. You're very lucky. Also, I don't know how you deal with her on a daily basis."

Bob laughed, too. "Sometimes I just take it one hour at a time."

"Get ready for cake!" Molly shouted, and it took five people to carry out the biggest sheet cake he'd ever seen in his life. It was cow print and decorated with boots and spurs, and said Happy 9th Birthday, Cowboy Bob!

After he blew out the nine candles he reached for Molly. "Thank you," he whispered, kissing her softly. "I didn't know I needed a ninth birthday party, but I guess I really did."

"You're only a kid once, Bobby," she replied, smiling against his lips.

"You do know I'm actually thirty-six, right?" he asked, pulling her snug against him as her sister started to cut up the cake.

"Not according to the calendar," she responded, patting him gently on the cheek. "Your mom and I had a lovely conversation about how terrible you look for your age."

He tried not to smile, but it was useless. "I'm actually having the best day, Mo."

"I knew it all along."

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

Both kids were sound asleep as soon as Molly tucked them into bed. Charlie went on a sugar high and then crashed, and Flora was played with and held by seemingly everyone at the party. They would probably sleep for a solid twelve hours. Which was good, because Molly wanted to give her husband the rest of his birthday presents.

She found him in their bedroom where he was opening up the cards he got with a soft smile on his face. "You have so many friends," she told him, and he turned to look at her. "Everyone loves Bob Floyd."

He actually blushed which made her want to rip all of his clothing to shreds and have her way with him. He shook his head slightly and said, "Everyone loves the amazing Molly Floyd and her beautiful imagination."

"Bobby," she moaned softly, taking the card from his hand and wrapping her arms around him. "Tell me more about how amazing I am."

He laughed and whispered, "You threw me the equivalent of a kids' ninth birthday party, just because you could. My dad participated in the pie eating contest. My mom learned how to line dance. Bradley almost popped a vein in his forehead. It was wonderful."

She sighed in contentment. "In four more years when you turn ten, we'll be in a bigger house, and we can host your party there. But we'll have to wait and see if you're still into cowboys or if your interests change, Kiddo. Now will you please open your present from me? And put on your cowboy hat? I've always wanted to suck a real cowboy's cock."

Bob grinned. "Molly, you suck my cock when I'm wearing my cowboy hat all the time."

"But you've never had assless chaps before."

Bob let out a strangled sound, and when he opened the box that was wrapped in cowboy paper, there were in fact assless chaps inside. "Please, please, please put them on," Molly moaned. "God, I feel like it's my birthday."

As soon as she started whining, he always gave her what she wanted. It was impossible not to. Five minutes later, Bob was standing in the middle of the bedroom wearing the chaps, his birthday shirt, and his old cowboy hat. Molly was panting and biting her knuckle, already obviously raring to go down on him, which just made him harder.

But she took a step toward him and then stopped, a devilish smirk on his face. "Now wait. I'm having a bit of a moral dilemma with you in that shirt. How old are you again?"

"I'm thirty-six," he replied blandly.

"You sure about that, Cowboy Bob?"

"Molly! I'm thirty-six!"

"Okay, okay. Just checking," she said, reaching for the bottom of his shirt. "But let's just remove this anyway."

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

I had a blast revisiting these two! I'm so deeply in love with Molly. I hope you enjoyed Bob's birthday celebration. Thanks for reading! And thanks @mak-32 and @beyondthesefourwalls

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nipuni · 1 year ago

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My dad died yesterday, he was 63

I would like to share a little about him and our story if anyone wants to read, this is not a happy story

My parents divorced when I was three and I went to live with my mom so I saw my dad's life in snapshots, once a week at first and then once a year when he moved abroad and I would spend the summers with him. Every time I would catch up with him he would have a different partner or apartment.

My time with him was always fun, he was laid back, adventurous and open, he would let me do all kinds of crazy stuff while my mom was the strict one. He was a genius to me, he taught me how to program my own games when I was nine, he would make me take computers and appliances apart and reassemble them to teach me how they worked, he made me love science, the outdoors and travelling. He was great at teaching and cooking and driving. He worked on tours for famous musicians as a sound tech, he made 3D films for museums and theme parks when it was all very new, he was a photographer, a programmer, electrician, mechanic, artist and could play many instruments and write poetry!!

The first crack between us was when there was a huge split between my mom's side of the family and his over money and a lot of ugly truths stared coming to light. I realized that when it came to money he was willing to put himself before me and the fights between him and my mom were awful. But in the end once the dust settled we both pretended it never happened.

One weekend I went to visit him and realized his current girlfriend would stick around at last and she had a daughter almost my age!! I now had a little sister and I loved it.

A year later the country fell apart and he fled abroad along with them and even though I missed them I would visit for months at a time every year. I saw him start his life over, he started his own company and I was so proud of him!!

Everything was great for eight years, until one day he told me that my step mom and sister left him and he would sell everything and come back to the country. This was the last time I would ever hear of them, they vanished, I mourned my step sister for years. This was also when his life fell apart.

At 17 adulthood came with a lot of revelations. My mom told me that my dad had been an addict since he was very young, before I was born, my whole life, cocaine and alcohol amongst other things, and everyone around him had been putting up with it and helping him but couldn't take it anymore. He had cheated on her when they had me and had cheated on my step mom too. He would lie to get what he wanted and trusting him was getting increasingly harder.

All of my memories of him were now seen through a different lens. I felt betrayed. I could now tell every time he had been high, and knew where the money he asked of me when to, I was aware of every little lie. I was angry and frustrated at him for the pain he caused my mom and everyone around him. And for squandering the potential I knew he had, for always making the wrong decisions, one mistake after another. And I hated feeling this way the most.

After he came back to the country alone he could never recover, he would relapse, overdose, refuse rehab or any medical help. He would escape psychiatrics facilities and hospitals in the middle of the night, he was a menace!! lmao.

Our relationship was still good despite all this, different but still standing, he had always been my friend even if he wasn't the best at being a dad or partner, I would always scold him and tell him of different job opportunities I came up with for him to try out but now there was this distance between us. I became the parent of the relationship in a way and he didn't like being told what to do. I saw him spiral and I was scared for him.

I've always heard all these stories about addicts finding purpose and fighting for their loved ones, so every time he would jokingly talk to me about how high he was and seemed to enjoy it despite my warnings and pleading it made me feel like I was not enough of a reason to get better, as self centered as it may be I was a teen and I felt powerless to stop him, insignificant. People could get better for their children, but not for me.

I knew this way of thinking was flawed and selfish and he was the one struggling, I knew he was a victim. I spent the last of my teenage years and early twenties trying to fight back this feeling so I could preserve our relationship, we always kept in contact but over time he changed and was no longer the person I knew.

He became a stranger, often times incoherent and delusional, his views changed, he was paranoid, his addiction got worse and worse and now all I could feel was pity and guilt, our once good relationship was now reduced to a few interactions where he would ask me for money, I knew I was possibly funding his self destruction and he was likely lying to me but he also needed to pay for medication and so I couldn't refuse him.

I had my own life now, a husband and plans for the future. When I decided to move abroad a few years ago I knew our hug goodbye could be the last, he was broke and unstable but I thought once I was settled and had a job and a citizenship I could have enough money to get him tickets to visit and show him the life I had made for myself like he had done in my childhood.

But then Covid happened, and he would never agree to make calls. Soon after he was diagnosed with cancer, I would ask about his health and he would say he was fine. He wasn't fine, he was smoking 4 packs a day. He got the cancer removed but refused further treatment, he said he didn't have any purpose left in life and no reasons to keep living, he had a stroke and couldn't feel half his body when he was forcibly hospitalized, his cancer had spread and he hadn't been eating for a long time, he hid all this from me, I first heard it from my aunt in tears over the phone yesterday, he tried to escape the hospital in the night and had to be tied up and sedated, he never woke up.

He died alone, all that is left of his family is me and my aunt and we both live in different countries. There is nobody there to even bury him. I feel like I abandoned him. I've always known I would feel this way when this day came, in a way I've been mourning him for many years and have carried this guilt for even longer.

I had the coolest dad, cocaine took him away. I wish this had a better and uplifting message. I just wanted to get this off my chest. He taught me a lot and made me who I am, and I have a lot of great memories with him. He struggled all of his life with his mental health and despite it all he was still amazing and deserved so much better.

He always said that when he was a ghost he would follow me around, I hope he isl!! so I can live for both of us, I love you dad!! and I'm so sorry 🕯️

#personal #extremely so #tw death #tw drugs #I'm sorry for the depressing post #nips blogs

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kadwrites · 1 year ago

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a man with a reputation | T.S

read the next part

or check out the series masterlist

summary ; you cannot talk your way out of this , for the first time in your life, you're given no choice.

warnings ; angst, cursing, mild violence i guess??? , arranged marriage trope.

a/n ; maybe i'll turn this into a series? who knows, let me know what you think <3. also the accent is a mess, but im trying.

"no!" your eyes are wide , glassy with anger filled tears "i will not be treated like some piece of land."

"would you listen? your father and i are thinking of your future." you mother is looking at you with a stern face, sitting beside your father as you stand in front of them

"what future do you think i'll 'ave with thomas fucking shelby?" you raise your voice

"do not speak to me like that , i am your mother."

"we're old, i'm sick with god knows how many illnesses." your father speaks, his cane in his hand as he leans against it, still on the sofa

"don't start with that talk" you shake your head with a chuckle, you sniffle and turn your head away

"i don't know if i'll live another day , i am too sick to work, too sick to care for the farm, there is nothing left for me to give you" he speaks slowly with a serious voice, and it makes your heart sink "this isn't a joke or some game, i've survived the war and lived long enough to see all of you grow , but i know that my time is near, i cannot risk dying and leaving you with nothing"

your father never spoke to you like that, he was always jovial , happy.

it seems like it hits you for the first time, how much your parents have aged, how much the illness took from your father, how his sicknesses have changed him.

"celest got to marry who she chose and so did oliver and so did abraham, but i don't get to do that? i dont get to choose my own husband?" your tears start falling, your voice cracks

"i need to know you'll be taken care of , that you'll be in good hands when im dead and gone."

"and you think his hands are the good hands you speak of?" you cant help the humorless smile that graces your face, hot tears stain your cheek "you can't be serious"

"he is the most feared man in birmingham," your mother chimes in

"you are willing to sell your daughter! to some gangster!" you raise your voice again

your mother stands and faces you

"i am not selling you off, i am securing you a future, with a wealthy man, who can give you everything you can possibly want. you'll live like royalty" her words come through gritted teeth "i am not giving you away to some old pig, you're marrying a respectable man, a man with a reputation."

"a reputation? don't you know what 'appened to his first wife ? you are securing me a grave" you come nose to nose with your mother, both of you almost vibrating in anger "you are killing me is what you're doing, you're selling me off to the highest bidder"

the next thing you hear is the sound of your mother's palm against your cheek, the sound of the slap echos throughout the empty house, your head is turned, your cheek stings

your parents never laid a hand on you, even as a rebellious teenager when they caught you sneaking out the window or smoking on the roof.

your head turns slowly, eyes wide as you look at your mother, she looks mortified at her own actions,

you turn and run off and up the stairs to your room, hearing your father yell at your mother for what shes done.

at some point during the night, you had fallen asleep, but not for long. you were awake when the sun rose, your back pressed against your bed frame, looking ahead at the painting on the wall, it was a family portrait, and you were sitting on your father's lap.

you knew your sister was here when you heard the sounds of her five children, running around the house.

she knocks softly but doesn't bother to wait for an answer when she opens the door after a few seconds, she walks slowly, and sees you on the bed.

your eyes stuck on the portrait , your face almost emotionless, your tears have dried and stained your cheeks, she wonders for how long you cried, your back against the wood of the bed frame, no pillow thrown in her direction for waking you up, no annoyed words saying "you couldn't fucking come in the afternoon?" . the curtains are parted, letting the light in, which is very unusual for you.

you hear the bed creek under her weight when she gets on it, laying next to you

"i heard about yesterday" she says softly, her head turned to look at you

you only glance at her , but your head doesn't turn, then you look back at the portrait

"they're doing this for you, they want whats best for you." she's not sure if it is you she's trying to reassure you or herself , this wasn't ever supposed to happen.

her little sister was supposed to marry a man she wanted, a simple man, a man capable of love

you hum, or you make a sound at least , acknowledging her.

"he isn't all that bad, you know."

a weak chuckle escapes you at her words "in what world is thomas shelby not a bad person?" your voice is hoarse , from screaming and crying all night long no doubt.

"he can give you a good life."

"ya 'ave a good life don't you? with the man you chose, the man you love." your gaze doesn't move, still staring at the painting "its not fair, you lot got to be happy, and i don't."

"ya don't know that." her voice is full of sympathy or maybe pity, you didn't want to know.

you finally turn to your sister, "do you honestly think that i can be happy with 'im ?"

your sister hesitates , she licks her lips "he's a powerful man."

you chuckle at that too "that tends to 'appen when you're a gangster."

"i tried with them, i really did." her voice is weak too, it cracks.

your eyes well with tears again, you didn't know you could even cry anymore "i know..." your voice is a whisper

you knew she'd be against it, she wouldn't agree, maybe oliver would tell you to consider it, abraham would too, just to please your father.

but celest wouldn't

"what are ya goin' to do?" she whispers back, her tears start rolling too

"what can i do?" you ask "i dont 'ave any other choice"

she looks at you as if she didn't expect that. you were always stubborn, always talking your way out of anything you didn't want, you always got your way with your parents, thats what she taught you.

but this time, you don't want to fight back.

"you're goin' through with it?"

"i cant live knowing i disobeyed my father's dying wish."

your father was sick, and getting worse everyday. you were a stubborn woman, but the little girl inside of you couldn't bear to disobey her father.

celest wraps an arm around your shoulder, holding you to her chest, her hands runs up and down your arm , like she did when abraham would bother you to tears, or when oliver wouldn't let you play with him.

"at least he's easy on the eyes, eh?" she tries desperately to lighten the mood, her lips pressed to your forehead

" hes old." you say with a weak laugh

"hes older, not old." she corrects, with a laugh too.

#tommy shelby x reader #thomas shelby imagine #kadwrites #tommy shelby imagine #thomas shelby x reader #thomas shelby fanfiction #tommy shelby fanfiction #peaky blinders fanfiction

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seat-safety-switch · 2 months ago

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When I became a junior detective, I got assigned to work with Detective Math. Bob Math is a legend in the department: he uses arithmetic and problem solving to crack unusually number-specific cases. He's got a nemesis, of course, all the cool detectives back then did. Al Gebra kidnapped his wife once, tried to ransom her for a plane to Mexico. Math didn't stand for it: after figuring out the complex polynomial sequence that revealed the address of the shitty dockside warehouse he was renting, he subtracted a couple of Al's digits using a cleaver.

Thing is, he was all a fraud. One night, while we were riding from one case to another in his beat-to-shit Dodge Rampage, he told me that he never actually graduated high school. Back then you could get away with it, most of the detectives in his generation got there because they had read a book on detective skills by accident while their partner tortured an informant. He didn't know shit about math, in other words. One of the staff sergeants saw him (poorly) doing a Sudoku one day and decided he must be good at math, fast-tracked his detective exam, he was afraid to say no, so now he's "the detective who's good at arithmetic." Math wasn't even his name, either: he took his wife's name in the divorce to keep the scam going.

All this is prologue to the thing that really mattered: our big case. It seemed normal at first, a political corruption thing. "Sorry it's not a numbers racket! Haw!" shouted the chief as he handed out the assignments. Even so, there were still a lot of numbers.

It seemed like the Mayor Himself's Assistant Herself had been helping Herself to some dirty money from various car dealerships in exchange for a favourable ruling from the land zoning department. One of the spoiled rich kids that owned a Chevrolet dealership didn't get what he wanted out of the deal, and blew the whistle. Two days later, he was found dead in a truck stop bathroom, beat to death by a calculus textbook. Math's involved? Get me Bob Math, they no doubt thought. Detective Math was used to it, and he went about the usual pantomime in his role: carrying around an old Texas Instruments calculator with no batteries in it, interrupting meetings in the precinct to measure parts of the room with old bits of string, the whole schtick. Then we went down to City Hall to get a confession.

You guessed it: it was the mayor's assistant's teenage daughter, Becky-Sue, who did in Ted Chevrolet. She was the work-experience hire, selling Topkicks out of the back to her mom's friends, and finally had enough of him skimming her commission. Bob Math sighed as he realized that yet another murder case of his had involved percentage points of a dollar. He would have to put on his fake professor glasses to explain it to the media.

Even so, the press conference went great. The assembled reportage beamed with pride as they hung on every bullshit word of our imaginary arithmetic hero. Something didn't add up, though. I didn't notice that that cameraman in the back, who was missing a couple fingers, until it was too late.

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corroded-hellfire · 9 months ago

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Scout's Honor - Eddie Munson x Reader

Collaboration with my dearest @munson-blurbs

An As You Wish story

Summary: The annual Father-Daughter Girl Scout Square Dance comes around but Eddie and Steve are saddled with some car trouble.

Note: Everyone needs to go thank Bug for this incredibly adorable idea!

Words: 2.1k

[As You Wish masterlist]

Men.

Can’t live with them, can’t…convince them not to go fishing on the day of their daughters’ Girl Scouts events.

Eddie and Steve had promised you and Nancy that they would be home in time to take Eliza and Mia to the annual square dance.

“We’ll get an early start,” they’d said, ignoring Eliza’s insistence that she won’t go with her father if he reeks of fish. He’d just laughed, kissed her cheek, and reiterated that he would shower before the dance.

Maybe you’re naive for believing him. And yet, when the phone rang and Eddie’s sheepish voice explains that Steve’s car broke down—codeword for ‘we ran out of gas’—you’re wholly unsurprised.

“I always made fun of Wayne for fishing.” Eddie muses, the payphone crackling as he exhales. “Called it an old man activity. This is what I get.”

You grit your teeth, hand clenched in a fist. “Just…get home,” you hiss, hanging up the receiver and massaging your temples.

Who could have ever foreseen such an outcome?

While you’re stewing over the men’s incompetence, Mia remains levelheaded—just like her mother—and proposes a solution. “What if Luke and Ryan take us?”

Her suggestion is almost certainly rooted in her crush on your younger son, but it proves to be a worthwhile idea, nonetheless. Eliza’s face lights up, and before you know it, your five-year-old is dragging her brothers from their room.

“Please?” She pouts sweetly, batting her doe eyes up at them. “Daddy and Uncle Steve can’t make it, and we can’t go all alone.” She lays it on thick, knowing full well she doesn’t have to—the boys would do just about anything for her.

Ryan and Luke raid Eddie’s dresser drawers for flannels, finding the ones that he had nabbed from Wayne’s trailer. The girls don cowgirl hats, excitedly giggling as they climb into the back of the minivan. It’s still strange for you to see Ryan behind the wheel, but your heart swells with pride as you watch him double-check Eliza’s booster seat before pulling out of the driveway.

At seventeen years old, Eddie Munson spent his Saturday nights selling cheap weed at high school parties—many of them, ironically, thrown by “King” Steve Harrington.

At seventeen years old, Ryan Munson is spending his Saturday night taking his little sister and her best friend to the Girl Scouts square dance.

“Everyone buckled?” He calls back, already knowing that they are. Still, he waits until he receives a chorus of yeses before he drives off.

Luke turns around from the passenger seat. “Now, do we have to make a perfect square?” He keeps a serious expression, much to Ryan’s amusement. “Like, what if it’s a bit oval-y? Do we get kicked out? Do you two get banished from the Girl Scouts?”

Eliza and Mia are both used to his nonsense, and they burst into a fit of giggles. Ryan cracks a smile of his own, eyes trained on the road.

Precious cargo and all that.

When they arrive at the old VFW hall, the girls immediately pull them over to their group of friends. It’s a sea of young girls and their dads—and some moms—but nary a big brother in sight except for the two Munson boys.

Ryan barely has time to feel out of place. The emcee, a middle-aged woman with bright pink lipstick and a too-wide smile, grabs the mic.

“Welcome to our Father-Daughter Square Dance!” The room erupts into applause, quieting down only to hear about how this fundraiser supports the Girl Scouts of Indiana. The scouts repeat their pledge, which is met with more cheers, and then a western tune bleats over the old sound system.

Eliza grabs Ryan’s hand as the emcee calls out instructions. Mia is a bit shyer with Luke, but they still manage all of the steps without stomping on the other’s toes.

“Liza, I’m sorry Dad couldn’t make it,” Ryan says between songs.

Eliza gives him a small smile. “That’s okay. It’s kinda cooler to bring my big brother.”

He grins. Just wait until his dad hears that.

As everyone is getting into position for the next dance, a new song comes on that has more banjo than Luke has ever heard in his life.

“Oh, yeah. We’re definitely in Indiana,” he says.

Mia chuckles as she peeks up at Luke from beneath the brim of her straw cowgirl hat. A blue ribbon on one of her red pigtail braids is loose so Luke reaches down to fix it for the little girl. Mia’s freckled face blooms as red as her hair. Luke pretends not to notice, not wanting to embarrass her. The big crush on Luke became obvious when she was three, and now at ten, it’s still hanging around. The fifteen-year-old Munson boy thinks it’s flattering and only ever teases her if she starts it first.

“Ready?” Luke asks, offering Mia his hand.

“Ready!”

“But I didn't realize any of this until I was standing alone. In a barn... wife-less. Now, you can imagine my disappointment when it suddenly dawned on me that the woman I love is about to be kicked out of the country. So, Margaret. Marry me. Because I'd like to date you.”

Both you and Nancy hold your wine glasses, neither moving a muscle as you watch Ryan Reynolds catch up to Sandra Bullock in a New York City office building. An empty pint of mint chocolate chip ice cream sits between you on the couch, two green-smudged silver spoons resting inside.

With the men out fishing, Ryan and Luke out with the two girls, and Natalie watching the rest of the kids over at the Harrington house, your place became the ultimate Mom’s Night In for you and Nancy. A chance to drink a little, gossip a little, have some snacks and watch some romcoms.

Your peace has finally come to an end, however, when the front door bursts open and two men who reek of murky water, bug spray, and gasoline come barging in.

“Jesus, Steve,” Nancy says, face pinching up at the foul odor wafting from your husbands.

You wave a hand in front of your face as if that will make the smell dissipate any faster.

“How were the fish?” you ask, turning your head away to give your nostrils a fighting chance.

“We caught a grand total of zero,” Steve says with a sigh, his black fishing boots looking comically misplaced on him. Neither of the men look natural in fishing gear. But when a guy from work offered Eddie the use of his boat for the day, he found he couldn’t turn it down.

“Did you bring the fishing poles?” Nancy asks, sarcasm lining the amusement on her face.

Both men give her an annoyed side eye before Eddie looks around and takes a step towards you.

“Where are the girls?” he asks.

“Ryan and Luke took them to the dance,” you tell him. “They should be back soon.”

Steve grimaces and claps a heavy hand down on Eddie’s shoulder.

“Eliza’s gonna kill you.”

Eddie raises his eyebrows and spins to meet his friend’s eye.

“And Mia won’t kill you?”

Steve grins. “Not if she got to dance with Luke.” This is the only time the man has ever been thankful for Mia’s crush on the Munson teen.

Front door still open from when the men barged in, Ryan, Luke, Eliza, and Mia walk inside, laughing and talking over one another. Ryan is giving Eliza a piggyback ride and Luke has Mia’s too-small cowgirl hat perched on top of his head. The moment Eliza’s wide brown eyes spot her father, she demands answers.

“Daddy, where were you?”

Ryan gently lets her down and she stomps over in her beige cowgirl boots, stopping right in front of Eddie.

“Liza, I’m so sorry,” Eddie pleads. “Our car broke down. We tried everything we could to get back in time—”

Tears build up in Eliza’s eyes and Eddie feels his heart constrict in his chest. It might as well be Eliza’s little fist squeezing it.

“You were s’post to go with me!”

Eddie sighs and runs a ringed, smelly hand over his face. “I know. And I promise I’ll go next time. But I’m glad you got to bring your brothers.

“Did you have fun at least?” Steve asks from behind him.

Mia nods emphatically and both you and Nancy have to bite your lips to keep from smiling.

Eliza nods in agreement, although not as enthusiastically as her friend. “Yeah. And Ryan is a good dancer.”

Luke smirks, and if Eddie were looking at him, he’d see the devious glint in his eye. “Not as good as Dad, I’m sure.”

Loud snickers come from you, Nancy, and Steve. Eddie’s jaw drops open as he looks around the room.

“I can dance!”

“Yeah, Dad?” Ryan asks.

“Yeah!”

“Lucky for you, we’re all right here to witness it,” Luke says with a shrug.

Eddie scoffs and shakes his head. “There’s no music. And I don’t really think my Metallica is easy to groove to.”

“We’ve got my Billy Joel—” you start.

“Or my *NSYNC!” Mia adds.

“No,” Eddie says. “Thank you girls, but no.”

Smirk only growing larger, Luke pats his father on the shoulder. “Lucky for you, we’ve got just what you need.”

Eddie raises an eyebrow as he watches his son take a CD out of a Target bag he was conveniently hiding behind his back.

“How was fishing, by the way?” Luke asks as he wrestles with the plastic engulfing the case.

“Pointless,” Steve says.

“Your uncle didn’t bring enough bait,” Eddie added. Steve is about to refute but Luke speaks before he gets the chance.

“But you would have, Dad? Does that make you a master baiter?”

Ryan is the only one who is unable to contain his laughter. The joke goes over the girls’ heads, but you give your son a soft glare anyway. Never mind that you found it hilarious, just as you know the other adults did as well, but sometimes you’ve got to be the parent.

Luke shrugs it off and pops the finally-freed CD into the stereo and the sound of a bow sawing over fiddle strings fills the room. Your second-oldest nods his head to Eliza.

“Go ahead, Lize. Show the old man how it’s done.”

“There’s not enough room to square dance in here,” Eddie says.

Without even so much as glancing at one another, you and Nancy get off of the couch and push it back, making plenty more space in the living room. The two of you smirk at one another and Nancy crosses her arms over her chest.

“Y’know, I don’t think it’s fair that you guys get to reap the benefits of your daughters being Girl Scouts without putting in the work.”

A grin grows on your face as you see where Nancy is going with this.

“Yeah,” you agree, “maybe you don’t need more Samoas this year.”

Eddie’s face falls, and he looks at Steve, who shrugs in defeat. Gotta hit the guys where it hurts: food.

“All right, show us the moves,” Steve says.

Mia grins, a bounce in her step as she takes Eliza’s smaller hand and walks to the middle of the floor. “Okay, me and Liza will be partners. Just watch us.”

Steve furrows his eyebrows and looks between the two girls, one with now-messy twin red braids, and the other with a light brown cowgirl hat atop two curly pigtails.

“Wait, if you two are dancing together, who are Eddie and I dancing with?” he asks.

Eliza giggles. “Each other.”

“Nope,” Eddie replies. “No way.”

With an over dramatic sigh, you shrug your shoulders at your husband. “No dancing, no Samoas.”

“Damn those little coconut fuckers,” Eddie mumbles under his breath. “All right, big boy. But I get to be the guy.”

“Sure, we’ll play pretend,” Steve quips back. It’ll be a miracle if they both make it through the first dance alive.

Eliza and Mia begin to go through the motions, showing their fathers what to do. Everyone is laughing as they do-si-do and hook arms to swing each other around.

“Did I earn my cookies yet?” Eddie asks once the next song ends.

“That’s up to your daughter,” you tell him with a shrug.

Eddie looks at Eliza expectantly, the big puppy dog eyes that he passed down to her working their magic.

“Almost, Daddy. You gotta dance with me first.”

“Now that, I can do.”

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #older!eddie #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fan fiction #eddie munson fic #eddie munson imagine #dad!eddie #AYW #AYWS

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lowkey-luxe · 6 months ago

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Brigerton S1 Polin Rewatch

okay so I decided to rewatch Bridgerton bc I literally cannot get enough of polin, but I'm skipping most scenes that don't include pen or colin, this is S1. I'm just pointing out what catches my eye be it romantic or showing character. ❤️ will be something I think is related to polin. p.s. I have not read any of the books and I may put some speculation on meanings.

E1:

Pen calls her mother tasteless and tacless as LW, lmao

❤️when leaving the home, Eloise says hi to Pen across the st. and Colin looks over afterwards

❤️Colin stares at Penelope when she is presented to the Queen

LW says she doesn't like the alphabetical naming, and Portia calls LW out on writing a lot about the bridgertons

❤️Pen stares at Colin as he dances w/ another girl

Pen seems happy when Marina receives callers, I mean listen to LW dialogue about her

Portia tells them^ to bid farewell to "even Penelope" - she thinks of her at the bottom of her daughters

❤️Colin ignores Pen's sisters saying goodbye and goes straight to her to crack a joke, no nodding or curtsy or anything

❤️ Colin walks up to Pen at a ball, this time they do curtsy bc it's in society, she tries to get him to notice her dress but he says nothing (bc of Cressida)

❤️Colin denies Cressida a dance and takes Pen in front of her - Pen's first dance!

E2:

Colin is a jokesterrrr (first about Daphne's dress and then about "sticks")

Pen is the only one to go and check on Marina - she cares

Pen thought pregnancy came from cake, lmaooooo

Pen knows how to twist her words to please her mother

E3:

Pen is such a romanticccc and you can see it w/ Marina's situation

Pen goes to try to help Marina like Eloise tried w/ Daphne when Nigel was calling

E4:

Pen even offers to stay in for Marina

my boy Mr. Finch's first appearance! and later they flirt about cheese MY HEART - Pen seems to find it cute too

❤️again Colin goes to Penelope w/ no curtsy and make innapropriate jokes, I mean he sneaks behind her and says a joke w/ the intention to make her laugh - he looks for her reaction!!!!

❤️Colin looks at Pen, but she looks away!!! - who would look at someone like that, oh Colin you were bewitched before you even knew

❤️ Colin then talks about Marina to keep talking to Pen, he couldv'e walked away but decided to extend the convo!

❤️ poor Pen hearing about Marina hoping to entrap Colin, she tries to hard to softly disuade her

instead of saying anything about her feelings, Pen decides to pretend to try to sleep to kick Marina out of her room

Peneloise's first fight :(

Colin brings in his mother drunk lol - you can see how happy drunk she is w/ her little sensitive boy

Colin ends up helping Daphne - he is caring and sensitive towards her situation

E5:

❤️Pen meddles in Colin and Marina's convo, poor Pen seeing her crush courting someone else :(

❤️Pen keeps trying to disuade Marina from Colin and says it outloud

Peneloise angst

❤️Pen staresss at Marina and Colin

gentleman Colin - no kissing Marina, but proposes, he thinks he is so mature and doing the right/expected thing by society standards

E6:

Colin announces his engagement to Marina

❤️poor Pen being hurtful by said news

Anthony think Colin wants to get it on and thinks of him so young and immature with his actions and decisions

Colin says he is hurt in more ways than one when Anthony does not give him blessing - he cares so much of what others think of him

Violet and Colin have a heart to heart convo, and Colin says he is never taken seriously except by Marina - prob why he went to her bc he longs to be seen as such

Pen feels mocked and pitied by Marina? basically she cannot accept a compliment from her and is also mad w/ her by the whole Colin situation

Pen vs her sisters, never seem to have a moment of getting along or fitting in

Colin tries to sell Marina to his family, cracking a joke too

❤️Pen asks Colin for a word and he says "Pen, of course" - as if there is not even a need for her to ask bc he will always have a word w/ her, no hesitation

❤️unchaperoned and alone Pen tries to talk seriously but Colin cracks a joke and then sees her expression and apoligizes to let her talk

❤️Pen tells Colin that Marina is in love w/ someone else - not to her own benefit but to try to get Colin out of a marriage where he is not/ may not be loved

❤️Colin tells Pen she is good, while holding her hand??? - he sees how Pen tries to help him out but it's no matter to him bc he thinks he and Marina know each other so well, but knows Pen was just looking out for him

Colin aplogizes for his family's actions

Colin is such a romantic toooooooooo, he proposes getting eloped

Portia doesn't even care for Pen when she is supposedly sick, she probably has been disregarded most of her life

Pen proves Marina wasn't denied by George to try to end her engagement to Colin and for Marina's love?

❤️Pen worries about Colin being deceived, she knows Marina would be safe but she worries about Colin in the matter

Marina catches on and tells Pen that Colin does not even see Pen as a woman - which tbh is true at the moment bc Colin only sees her as "Pen" girl next door, sister's bestie, and someone he can joke with from childhood

Pen goes to Eloise and cries - now I read someone saying they thought this wasn't bc Colin was getting married or bc Marina called her out but bc she had used LW to hurt/expose someone she cared for, both Marina and Colin, Pen so thoughtful and knowing how harsh words can be just used LW to bring scandal to them in order to end the engagement, to prevent Colin being tricked into marriage

LW publishes Marina is with child and Colin was conned

E7:

❤️Colin's bedsheets are yellow? hmmm

Daphne checks on Colin, he thought he was in love and puts his heart before his brain, he also catches on something going on w/ Daphne - he is so observant on other's emotions and putting those first

Colin thought he was loved and is hurt that was a lie along w/ Marina's entire scam - Colin is emotional, and I don't mean in the way we think of but he shows emotions and is in tuned with his and with others, he again puts other's first as seen when if told the truth he would've married Marina

❤️even though her family is in scandal Pen asks about Colin

Pen finds Marina unconcious - still caring

E8:

Pen comes and checks on Marina, ready to care for her with water and a rag - still caring about her

❤️"one day he will see it" Marina to Pen about Colin

❤️Colin is singing and quiets when he sees Pen - was he just caught by surprise or shy of Pen seeing him in this state?

lol Philippa "did I lose it" - it being her dowry

❤️ Polin catching each others eye across the dance floor, he was ready and already marching to her and then she put her head down - my poor Pen, again no curtsy

❤️Colin acknowledges Pen was looking out for him in his best interests

❤️Pen was ready to declare her feelings for Colin

❤️Colin tells Pen he is leaving and tells it's bc of her bc she reminded him of who he is and what he wanted

❤️Colin asks her to dance, and she says no - he notices something in her saying no and stared at her leaving, whippppedddd before he knew

❤️Colin leaves but looks at Pen's home maybe???

❤️Pen ofc cries as Eloise comforts her about her father but she looks out the window to Colin - crying for both?

Pen is sad to see Marina leave too - someone who seemed to be closer to her than her sisters

#polin #pen x colin #colin x penelope #penelope x colin #bridgerton #colin bridgerton #penelope featherington #bridgerton season 1 #bridgerton s1

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hinaypod · 24 days ago

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So here's the thing about #BIPOCtober... I don't know if we can name ALL the BIPOC characters in Hi Nay because there's TOO MANY

but we can try

(also I'm joking, there's never too many, learn that now)

Mari Datuin - protagonist, 5 foot tall pansexual Filipina immigrant with babaylan heritage and inexplicably powerful magic that may be a problem down the line. She's the only one who seems capable of facing down the magic of the Elders - rich immortal occultists from the 1920s - and their Foci - cursed objects that cause supernatural death.

Detective [redacted] Donner - deuteragonist, a grim-faced, sharp-eyed, Jamaican-Canadian Detective with a horrific supernatural experience in childhood that put him on the path to investigating supernatural deaths with his partner,

Detective Richard "Rick" Murphy - a charming, handsome, hyper-competent, smart aleck of a detective who has Donner's back, and has an unfortunate bit of baggage we learn about later. He's gay, and of mixed Chinese heritage, and seems suspiciously unbothered by all the horrors, known to crack jokes in tense situations. Early in season 1, he forms a romantic relationship with

Ashvin Beeharee - a bisexual conman fake guru of Indian descent, from the island of Mauritius. He uses his fake guru persona to scam people and sell products, and is eventually horrified to learn he has real magic power??? And wants to help people??? And ends up joining the "Scooby Gang" after a horrific run-in with a vengeful ghost of an Elder.

Evelyn Wai - a conscientious young Chinese-Canadian University of Toronto student who's very good at research, and would make a great archivist. She encounters some supernatural threats early in the season and helps out where she can, becoming an honorary member of the group that the others feel the need to protect.

DJ In the Dark - a nonbinary DJ of Filipino heritage, DJ in the Dark runs an in-universe podcast show where they talk about or air stories from listeners. They're at first a "skeptic believer" of the supernatural, until they're targeted by a certain Elder after learning too much about the very real supernatural occurrences taking place in Toronto.

Mary-Anne Weekes - the only Black member of the Elders in the 1920s, and one of the few who apparently formed a conscience when they began siphoning power off of the random, violent deaths of innocent people. She was the daughter of a hotel tycoon, and a genius who created many spells, nearly peerless if not for the show's main villain - the mysterious Benefactor, who matched her spell for spell. Her romantic partner was a fellow Elder named Claudette-Jean, or CJ, who survives her into modern day.

"J", The Journalist - Bearing the pen name "James Callahan" and hiding his real name, J was a pansexual, Black Canadian journalist who dealt with the supernatural and was active from the 1960s to the late 1980s, before his sudden disappearance. He was clever, charming, and had a strong sense of justice, and had run-ins with the immortal Elders, where he was able to triumph due to quick thinking and access to his own magical item - a mysteriously powerful pocketwatch. With his knowledge of the Elders, he was able to write a "Book of Elders" which gives the main cast an edge against their enemies. He was unable to form a relationship with his partner, Detective Dooley, before his disappearance - though he sorely wanted to.

Jack Robin, or John Isaac Weekes - Mary-Anne's brother, who "died too young", not much is known about Jack Robin apart from his connection to J's strange magical pocketwatch (and accompanying magical black cat). He was effervescent, friendly, and his death affected Mary-Anne deeply. More is to be learned about his connection not only to his sister, or the strange pocketwatch, but to the son of the Elders' original leader, Sauvard, and the Benefactor himself. He did, after all, give him the name "Benefactor".

NOT PICTURED ABOVE:

Abe - An urbex ghost hunter who investigates the supernatural in Toronto, Abe has a few run-ins with the protagonists during his investigations after Mari rescues him from a hellmouth that almost kills him. Of Filipino descent, Abe's a bit of an eager beaver, and that gets him into one too many situations, but he means well, and shows his strength at the most surprising of times.

#hinaypod #hi nay podcast #horror podcast #hi nay #audio drama #horror audio drama #filipino podcast #queer podcast #bipoctober #bipoc representation

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cupcakeinat0r · 11 months ago

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Broadway Baby

Ch.1

Nueva York.

The city that never sleeps.

You moved here when you were just 18, with a suitcase and big dreams.

It would’ve been when you were 14, your parents had taken you to the big city to watch a musical on Broadway. It was that faithful night you realized your calling. That moment changed the entire trajectory of your life.

You fell in love with it. The music, the lights, the sets, the performance of it all. It was pure magic. You were entranced from the first note of the overture to the very last bow of the lead player.

There was just one problem: you had the confidence of a chicken nugget.

Since the womb, you’d been a very quiet child, extremely soft spoken when acknowledged, so when you told your parents your dream occupation, they were a bit skeptical. Nonetheless, they were both extremely supportive, especially after that one night when your mom overheard some singing in your shower.

She had been in your room, collecting dirty laundry when she heard a beautiful melody coming from your bathroom. Curious as to what song it was, she pressed the shell of her ear against the door. Still not able to hear the lyrics exactly, she cracked open the door, looking around for a speaker, only to find none. It clicked. It wasn’t some blue-tooth equipped music, but her daughter’s voice. Your voice. You’d been singing the songs from the show they took you to. Her jaw fell open. Never had she heard you produce such beautiful sounds. She made sure not to make her presence known since she knew if she did, you’d surely stop vocalizing out of embarrassment.

You were signed up for voice lessons immediately.

Ever since then, you’d been training, dance and acting classes following shortly after that. It became clear that your talent was a blessing from above after hearing teacher after teacher praising about your prodigious abilities.

4 hard working years later, you decided to spread your wings, kiss mom and dad goodbye, and start your career. A small apartment in Nueva York became home. It was lacking a good AC system and the floors were creaky, but it was an affordable start.

It’s been another 2 years since moving to Nueva York. Each phone call home, your parents are delighted to hear about your accomplishments, happy to hear that you’re in a steady place on your path to stardom. You’ve been in a few shows now, landing supporting roles, featured dancing gigs, and so on… but you’ve yet to land that big lead. Your big break. It’ll come though. Patience.

Raw talent could only get you so far in this business. The only thing that seems to matter nowadays is connections and nepotism. You had to stop cowering in your shell and start networking yourself somehow. It was difficult, being the introvert that you were. If only the persona you embodied on the stage carried over into your every day life. When you’re on stage, you’re a complete different person; almost a character. That’s why you loved doing what you did so much. You felt comfortable on that stage, free to be whoever you wanted to be. It was your sanctuary.

Life in the arts was never safe or secure, and you knew that when you decided to sell your soul to this industry. Despite the endless auditions (rejections) and multiple part-time jobs, you loved your life. You loved being an actress in Nueva York. It gave main-character vibes. You had a part-time job as a waitress downtown during the day, and at night, you’d switch out your apron for a costume that didn’t leave much for imagination. You were currently a featured dancer and supporting character in the city’s most popular musical. You’d remind yourself that many aspiring actors would commit heinous crimes to be in a similar place in their careers as yours. It wasn’t no starring role, but hey, it was something.

Life was good. You were happy.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was just another day, alike all the others on the 2nd year of your 3-year contract in the Musical you were in. It was simple really:

You wake up, do your day time skin care routine, warm-up your voice, brush teeth, put your apron on for the Stardust diner, wait a few tables from 9-5, your house call was at 5:30 so you’d take the train and show up at 5:25, stretched, warmed-up your voice some more, and be ready in the wings by curtain call.

This was the part you looked forward to every day. That minute you stand behind those velvety curtains, heels and exaggerated lashes and all. The sticky residue of the tape that keeps your mic attached to your neck. The sparkles on your body that never seems to come off, even though you shower after every show. The astronomical amount of hairspray that you’d have to brush through when you got home. You loved it all.

When those curtains opened, a new person was born. Ingrained into the crevices of your brain, the muscle memory within your body would perform the dance moves you’ve been repeating for 7 nights in a row for 2 years.

And you’d deliver the same lines you always delivered ( and ate all of them like you always did), and your voice, like an angel. You sang your heart out, the applause fueling your energy and nourishing your soul (and maybe even your ego).

The beauty of live theater is that every show is different. One of the many aspects you loved about it included the audience members; each night, the crowd was different. Today, in particular, there was a young girl in the front row, sitting right in front of where you were dancing. She looked up at you in the same way you looked at those actors all those years ago, with that same awe in her eyes. Noticing her, you flashed her a wink and a smile while performing. You even managed a small wave, which granted an excited expression from her. The little girl, practically bouncing in her seat, then looked up to the large, dark figure sitting next to her, enthusiastically pulling on the black jacket of what seems to be her guardian. “The pretty lady waved at me!” is what her lips read.

This was a normal occurrence for you. You made it a priority to at least engage with some of the youth in the audience if you happened to pass by any. It was for them you performed, after all. It was always so endearing seeing their cute little reactions to the show.

This time was a little more special, though. She reminded you of yourself when you were that age. Down to the tan skin, brown eyes, and dark hair, pulled into a tight ponytail.

You felt this connection to her. It was inexplainable. In one of the dance numbers, you sort of gravitated around that relative area in front of her, interacting with her. You made that girl so happy. This was a night she’d never forget.

With the show coming to a close, you take your final bow for what seems like the millionth time, but it never ceases to feel like the first.

Curtains close, the cast comes together, and you all rejoice in another victorious performance.

You all retreat back to your dressing rooms, hastily wiping off make up, the stripping of fishnets and jazz shoes taking up majority of the already small dressing room.

It wasn’t abnormal for people to come up to you after the show and congratulate you on such a successful portrayal. Sometimes, though, it could be a lot. Sometimes, you just wanted to go home and body slam your twin bed. Not tonight, though. Standing yay high in a line of audience members awaiting autographs was the little girl. When both of your eyes met, your face instantly brightened, hers twice as much. She jumped up and down, again tugging at the towering figure’s jacket, exclaiming, “Look, papa! It’s her! It’s her!”, and you followed the direction of the adorable juvenile voice with a wide smile.

You walked up to her and knelt down to her level, speaking with a voice that could be compared to that of a Disney princess. As you approach the precious young girl, your maternal instincts slowly kick in. You couldn’t help it; you loved engaging with the kids.

“Oh, I remember you! You’re the pretty girl sitting in the front row! Did you enjoy the show?” You ask with a friendly smile. The girl looks at you all starstruck, her cute smile reaching from ear to ear as you tell her you remember her. “H-hi! I loved it! You were really good!” She professes, her dimples adorning her face. “Can I have an autograph?” She asked shyly, presenting the playbill that the ushers hand out to the audience and a pen. Just when you’re about to happily oblige, you see a hand reach down to her shoulder, followed by a low, soft voice,

“That’s not how we ask, mi Vida.”

Your eyes begin a path from the strong hand that rests on the little girl’s shoulder, up a Herculean arm clothed in what looks like black cashmere (it was cold out), next were his broad shoulders, preceding a sharp jaw and the most plump, dark pair of lips you’d ever lay eyes on, across a tanned, sculpted face, until you got to those deep brown, almost crimson eyes. You stared for a little too long, only managing a smile and a soft chuckle, a combo that you’ve practiced in the mirror countless of times in case an agent wanted to make their presence known.

The man looked like a model. Couldn’t have been over his early 30’s, easily standing over 6 feet tall, and from the looks of it, took very good care of his body. He was covered in a black trench coat, more black, yet much more fitted clothing worn under, but you could tell he was hiding massive muscles under it all. You just knew it. The man was freakishly huge, towering over the both of you, making you feel small especially since you were on your knees. His luscious dark hair was slicked back, a hint of greying on the sides, and one strand detached from the rest, falling down his forehead.

“Oh, sorry, papa. May I have an autograph, please?” She corrected herself, holding out the playbill and marker further out. You looked back down at her again, regaining your composure. Taking that she just called him ‘papa’, you assumed he must’ve had a mrs waiting back home, so you clocked this as an admire-from-afar situation. You tried to steal a glance at his hands to see if maybe there was a ring, but he was wearing gloves. Womp Womp. Oh well, whatever, back to the adorable girl in front me, you think.

“Of course you can, beautiful!” You exclaim, accepting the playbill and pen from her. You speak as you write your signature and a short note, “so what’s your name, mama?” (‘Mama’ can be a way of referring to someone younger than you). She looks at you with amazement as you’re focused on writing on the cast list page of the playbill, “My name is Gabriella”, she responds, to which you say, “What a gorgeous name! My name is y/n. How old are you Gabriella?” She seems to be so shocked that you, the coolest person she’s ever seen, wanted to have a conversation with her. “I’m six! I’ll be seven in seven days!” She says proudly. “Oh, such a big girl you are! Happy early birthday! What‘s your favorite thing to do, Gabriella?” You ask her as you finish the note, closing it and letting it sit in your hand as you focus on her now.

She visibly thinks hard, pursing her lips as she comes up with an answer. “Hmm… I really like to draw. I also like to play outside when I leave school and-and…” she twiddles her fingers as she adds,” -and I love to dance! Me and my papa dance at home a lot! You’re a way better dancer than him!” She giggles, looking up at him with a playful grin. He looks down at her with a loving smile, letting a velvety chuckle slip from his lips, allowing a perfect view of his dreamy smile. You could tell the two shared a beautiful relationship. He looked at her like she was his whole world, his hand caressing the top of her head affectionately. This little girl had this big strong man wrapped around her tiny finger, and you softened at the sight. He was probably an amazing dad… Jesus, who ever is sitting at home waiting for him really has scored the jackpot. Lucky.

“Aw, that sounds like fun! And as for your father, it just takes lots of practice, that’s all, mamita. As a matter of fact, I practiced for six years!” I say, holding out six fingers as I say it. She gasps at this fact about your training, her eyes wide. “Six years?! That’s like, forever!” She says. “Do I have to practice for six years to be good like you?” She inquires, her brows raised, waiting for your educated and professional answer. You carefully think of an answer, knowing anything you say could forever stay with this sweet girl. Words that you feel you would’ve appreciated at her age came to your mind, “Well, Gabriella, that’s hard to say. Time is different for everyone. The best thing to do when you want to follow your dreams is to simply be the best version of yourself. No need to copy anyone else. If you do that, you can absolutely do anything your lil heart desires, okay?” You finish, nodding your head, awaiting her confirmation.

You don’t notice, but her dad is watching the two of you interact, and he simply smiles at the exchange. He could tell you had a way with kids. He studied the way you spoke, the way you smiled at her, both being so genuine. He was entranced by you. He loved how engaging you were. You were truly creating a magical core memory for his daughter, and he was beyond appreciative of that.

Her mother had passed away of cancer when she was only 2, so she never truly got to meet her, or had a maternal figure in her life for that matter, so seeing her interact with this kindhearted actress was nice. Seeing the two of you interact reminded him of how important it was for Gabriella to have a female figure in her life. There was no doubt that you were a drop dead gorgeous woman as well, and by the accent he picked up on, it was evident that you were of Latin descent. You had that natural motherly charm to your essence. He was captivated by your presence on the stage already, but now that he was up close with you, he was beginning to feel like a high school boy with a crush. Stunning? Talented? A Latina? AND Gabriella was crazy about her? It had him thinking for sure.

Gabriella absorbs your words like a sponge, clinging on to every syllable. She smiles at you, breaking out in a fit of precious giggles. “Okay!” And with that, you give her playbill back, as well as her pen.

“Take a picture with her, sweetie.” You hear the mysterious, definitely-not-on-the-market dilf say. Gabriella nods eagerly with a, “ohmigosh, yes!”, and you reply with a warm, “definitely! How would you like to pose? Is this okay for you, mama?” You ask her, your hands hovering over her shoulders as she stands in front of you. You didn’t want to touch her unless she gave you an ‘ok’. Once she nods, you gently place your hands on her shoulders, still kneeling on one knee as you smile for the phone her dad was holding. You lower your face down to be next to hers. In the couple of seconds you sat there frozen for the picture, you could’ve sworn her dad had looked you up and down, his eyes stuck on your butt, but you decide to dismiss it. He might’ve just been making sure you were in the frame, is all.

Let’s be real for a second, the photo wasn’t for the record of Gabriella’s memories more than it was for her father’s own indulgence. He was totally thinking about looking back at this picture later and gush about your looks.

Gabriella turns around and asks one more question. “C-can we hug?” She asks timidly. You visibly melt at the request, “Aw, yes, of course we can, mamita!”, she quickly wraps her tiny little arms around you, and yours around her, “Thank you so much for coming to the show! I’m so happy you enjoyed it!” You say, her face still nuzzled into the softness of your sweater as you caress her tiny ponytail. When she pulls away, she only smiles, looking up at you like you were a fairy princess out of a storybook and a unicorn was gonna pull up and carry you away.

“What do we say, mija?” The beautiful man said.

“Thank you, y/n!” She sweetly adds.

You stand now, smiling down at her with your hand gently lifting her chin,“Remember, mama, you can do anything. Don’t let anyone tell you different, okay?” The cutie patootie nods, her smile still plastered on her face and her now signed playbill held tightly to her chest. “Okay. Have a goodnight, Gabriella,” you stand up straight now, your face only reaching up to the chest of her dad, giving him a warm smile as you try to maintain casual eye contact with the Greek god in front of you. Even now that you’re standing, he still towers over you. Lord have mercy, this man was makin you nervous in all the good ways. Thank God you knew how to act. “Thank you so much for coming to the show!“

The man looked down at you and flashed you a dashing smile in return, his gaze narrow yet soft. He then had the audacity to throw in a wink, opening his mouth to say, “No, no, thank you for a wonderful performance. You were absolutely breathtaking.” His gaze was borderline flirtatious, a blush creeping up on your cheeks, but you had to stay professional. Besides, he was totally married already. This was a simple, friendly compliment, one of hundreds you heard each night.

You look down at the floor for a second, in efforts to cover any blushing, a humble wave of your hand leading your reply, “Aw, I really appreciate that. You’re too kind, Thank you! You two get home safe now, I’d hate for either of you to get a cold!” You say, closing the conversation. You wave at the both of them, Gabriella waving the hardest of the three. Her father, on the other hand, seemed like he was distracted by you, not realizing his daughter was yanking on his coat to leave. The dad quickly snaps back to reality and says goodnight to you, and they make their way into the bustling street.

As you’re about to tend to other autographs, you can’t help but overhear Gabriella talk to her father as they leave. You could’ve sworn Gabriella’s words were, “Papa, were you making googly eyes at y/n?” To which her father replied with a chuckle and, “What? That’s silly, mi vida, now look where you’re going and hold onto my hand, por favor”, he said, brushing off her question. “She’s very pretty.” “Yes, she is, isn’t she?” He admits. That was the last of the conversation you heard. You found yourself smiling, internally celebrating because this fine ass man finds you pretty. Too bad he’s taken…right?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

After signing a few playbills and posters and bidding a farewell to some other audience members, you made your way back to the little studio apartment you called home, instantly beginning to knock out the second your head hit the pillow.

Before falling asleep, thoughts of the mystery man filled your mind, recollecting that chiseled jaw, those soft lips, muscles begging to break free from his button down dress shirt. His deep silky voice rang in your head, doing the opposite of lulling you to sleep. Your mind starting settling in the gutter, imagining that deep voice saying sweet yet disgusting things in your ear and those large, calloused hands removing your underwear instead of your own dainty hands. You can imagine his huge body just completely enveloping yours on the bed, him on top, and those soft lips planting wet, lazy kisses along your neck and other much more sensitive places. It was creating a heat within your core, your thighs shamefully pressing against each other to help relieve a growing tension that crept up from a single thought of his intense gaze; those eyes that could make your inexperienced self burst within seconds. You liked to think he’d talk you through it, only igniting the fire in between your legs even more.

Am I seriously fantasizing about a man I exchanged like 3 words with right now? You say to yourself. I don’t even know his name.

He was just so goddamn fine.

You’ve had your fair share of attractive men in the city. It’s Nueva York. And you worked in the performance industry. You were bound to see a 10/10 or two. But this guy… This man would’ve made you drool had you not had an adorable munchkin there to distract you. This man was a 10000/10. He had you contemplating whether or not you were gonna slip a hand into your panties tonight he was that good looking.

You were a virgin. You had spent half your life devoting it to the arts and your craft, so much so that you never got to the whole dating thing. You almost completely forgot about that part of the thing called ‘social life’. All you knew was practice, eat, workout, repeat. The opportunity definitely has presented itself, but you’ve declined because:

A) You weren’t ready to share yourself with someone. You wanted to focus on your career. Or

B) The man wasn’t up to your standards. You couldn’t be with someone unless you saw a future with them. You never really understood hook up culture. You could care less if other people preferred it, it just wasn’t your style.

So here you were, in bed, a hesitant hand slowly making its way to the now wet spot of your panties. You can’t remember the last time you let loose like this…

Yea, you gave in.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The next morning, you didn’t have your 9-5, however, you were called to perform both the matinee and late night show. You showed up early to the house, stretching and warming up along with the rest of the cast.

Already in your own head space as you meditate in a child’s pose, you start picking up some whispering amongst your costars. You lift your head, opening your eyes to eavesdrop.

“Did you hear about the donation this morning? A whopping $10k. I wonder who was it!” One of them says. Another one notices your attention and includes you in the conversation.

“Y/n, do you know about it?” but you only shrug, this being the first you’ve heard about it.

Another one chimes in, “heard it’s a hella loaded guy from Alchemax… he’s like a CEO or something-“ “Alchemax? As in the Laboratory? What’s a science nerd want with a theater troupe?” “Well doesn’t matter, what matters is we can finally update our sets and costumes, hallelujah.”

Your eyes dart from one cast mate to another as more information and whispers flood the stage.

Another one, who’s currently in a middle split, interjects, “Y’all do realize this means he gets a part of the house, right? He’s basically a producer at this point.”

“I thought it was just a donation-“ “the directors thought so, too, but then I overheard them discussing business plans. He wants in for sure, why? Have no idea. Total eye candy, though.” “Well, it might be good for us to have a businessman on our side-“

“Good morning, everyone!” Everyone looks over to your bright eyed and bushy tailed director. How can someone be this energetic at this waking hour?

“I don’t mean to interrupt your mingling, but I do bring some stellar news. I want to introduce ya’ll to our new patron of the house!” They say, and next to them appears a familiar tall, dark, and handsome figure adorned in a white dress shirt rolled up to his elbows and jeans; A man that you remember inappropriately touching yourself to the night before. You inwardly thanked him for blessing you with a better view of the outline of his body: those broad shoulders sloping into the sluttiest waist ever to be found on a man. You had to physically hold back moan from the sight.

“Everyone, I’d like you to meet Miguel O’Hara.”

You’re gagged. The gorgeous man that thought you were pretty last night was the CEO of Alchemax, and he just became a partner of your theatre. The sudden realization that he’ll be around regularly tied knots in your stomach, but the good kind.

“Now I want you all to make him feel welcomed. He basically just opened his wallet wide open for us, so this show better be flawless.“ your director reprimands, as if y’all aren’t the city’s finest performers already. People around the world came to see you guys.

“Oh, don’t be so harsh on them, the main reason why I donated in the first place was because of the raw talent you have here,” his eyes fell on you when he says this. His voice pierced through the air like a hot knife on butter, his slight accent adding a bit of heat that sent everyone’s heart fluttering. You fought back a blush once again, looking down at the floor due to his powerful gaze. He smiles at your reaction, “It’ll be a pleasure working with all of you. Now, I know it might be strange, seeing that a scientist has just partnered with your house, but please, don’t let my line of work mislead you; I’m a lover of the arts and… all things beautiful.” His eyes once again fall on you for those last few words with that same narrow yet easy gaze. His smirk alone could make you swoon. He had creases that accentuated his brow lines and cheekbones that only added that much more suave to his look. Could be from the surely scowl he constantly held at his work. To the majority, this would just been seen as a sign of aging, but to you, it was hot.

“I look forward to our partnership. Break legs.” And with this he turns and walks away, stealing one last look at you before he’s out of sight. I’d rather you break my back. Your eyes shamelessly follow him, admiring that tight ass in those jeans of his. Dios mio, you think, biting your lip.

You know, for a virgin, you had the mind of a whore.

You couldn’t believe it. Your cast mate next to you could, though, as they shot you a knowing look, to which you nudged them embarrassingly.

“Seems like our hot new patron likes you, y/n.”

“Stop it!” You rebut along with a roll of your eyes, your friend stifling a laugh. You were in denial. You’d be lying if you said you disagreed. The man was definitely eyeing you, and now you were a flustered mess. However, now that he wasn’t wearing gloves, you can confidently say you don’t remember seeing a ring…

bingo.

A/n: Hope u wike it <3

Enjoy this appetizer, more to come<3

Mwah<3

Ch. 2

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anna-hawk · 2 days ago

Text

Pardon my French

Michael “Mikey” Berzatto x Reader

Summary: You should never assume that the person you're talking about in another language doesn't happen to speak that same language. Rating: T | WC: 5.8k CW: none except my sense of humor, French-speaking reader, French, crack, fluff, meet-cute

Read it on AO3

The happiest of birthdays to my favorite person on here, @darlingshane. Amaya, I don't even know what I could say that I haven't already said 100 times. All I will say is that I love you from the bottom of my heart and that having you as a close friend has been a wonderful experience these past 4 years 🧡🧡🧡

This time, as a gift, I decided to go for Mikey, considering how much you've grown to love him. Your fics for him are some of your best, with “Salt of the Earth”, so I thought I could do a little homage. I was reading through a list of prompts for meet-cutes last month and this really spoke to me. Your Spanish reader fics were extremely fun, which was what inspired me and made me decide to make this into your gift. While I obviously can't write a Spanish reader, I thought you would enjoy something with a French reader instead.

✨Have fun and again, happy birthday!✨

Taking a left at the next street corner, you quickly hurried across the road when you saw the green traffic light for pedestrians.

“You really suck, Caroline,” you grumbled into your phone, as the chill of November blasted a cold gust of wind into your face.

Your cousin laughed before sighing deeply. “I know… Trust me, this was not what I had in mind for today either.”

You sighed in turn as you glanced around for a place to head inside and warm up a bit. “How’s the fever?”

“It’s a bit lower. She’s sleeping for now.”

“Good,” you smiled at the relief in your cousin’s voice.

You had intended to spend the day together, but her daughter had come down with a nasty cold that had held both parents up for most of the night.

“What’s the plan now?” Caroline asked right as you entered the nearest shop to get out of the cold wind.

As soon as you were inside, you were met with the sound of shouting from the register as someone called out orders, while the delicious smell of homemade food hit your nose.

“Getting something to eat,” you replied distractedly while taking in your surroundings.

You hadn’t noticed what kind of establishment you’d entered, but since you hadn’t had breakfast that morning, and with the scents all around you, you figured that you could grab a bite.

“Oh, where?”

“Dunno.” You looked around until you saw a white sign with green lettering. “The Beef… some small place selling Italian beef, apparently… Smells really good,” you added, as you walked up towards the small line at the register.

“Yo, cuz, what’cha doin’ back there?” the man at the register bellowed to the back of the shop. “People fuckin’ waitin’ here. Get a fuckin’ move on.”

“Fuck you, Richie. You come back here if-”

“Hey, hey, hey. Will you calm the fuck down, yeah?” said another man, who was straightening from where he’d been looking for something under the counter next to the shouting one.

Your eyes instantly slid to that man, taking note of the thick, dark hair on top of his head, the sharp jaw and the broad shoulders stretching out the shirt.

“Ah, ben maintenant je sais pourquoi ça s’appelle The Beef, (Well, now I know why it's called The Beef),” you uttered into the phone, automatically switching to French to talk to your cousin, while giving the man a slow once over as you reached the front of the line.

She laughed heartily and made a curious sound. “Pourquoi? (Why?)”

“Hey, what can I get for you today, sweetheart?” asked the guy called Richie as he shot you a smile.

You unfortunately had to look away from the other man and smiled as you looked at the sandwich list.

“Hold on a sec,” you addressed Caroline. “Hey, hi… um… an Original would be good, thanks… and a soda, please.”

“Sure thing… want it to go or you stayin’?”

“Not going back into that wind for a while if possible,” you stated fervently, which had Richie chuckling, while the dark-haired man snorted and nodded his head as he finished another order.

“Right, that’ll be $8.50… Go have a seat. We’ll send someone out in a sec.”

Nodding and quickly paying while Richie bellowed your order towards the back, you made your way to the two-person table that had the best vantage point on the register.

“We’ll definitely have to come back here,” you stated to your cousin, as you sat down and removed your coat while you watched the dark-haired man smiling or shouting his way through the orders.

“I think I’ve actually heard of the place. The name sounds familiar anyway. Family run business, I think.”

“Sure looks like it. From the way they keep freaking yelling at each other, it probably is.”

“So… tell me more about this Mr. Beef,” she snickered.

Switching over to your earphones to make eating easier while talking to Caroline, you made a more detailed description of the man’s features.

A few minutes later, you sat up straight when you noticed him coming into your direction with your order. “He’s coming over, hold on.”

“Here you go, sweetheart,” he smiled, placing the sandwich and soda in front of you.

“Thank you,” you grinned, hearing him calling you sweetheart having a wholly different effect on you than when Richie had said it.

“Lemme know if you need anything else,” he requested, while pulling a rag out of his apron and walking backwards to the table next to yours.

“Thanks. I’m good for now.”

He nodded and turned around, which revealed his denim clad backside to you.

“Tu sais quoi? Je ne t’en veux même plus de ne pas être venue, (You know what? I'm not even mad you couldn't come anymore.),” you told your cousin, as your eyes fixed on the moving ass before you while the man cleaned the table-top.

She snorted at your tone. “Et qu’est-ce qui te fait dire ça? (And what’s making you say this?)”

“Et bien… Il est en train de nettoyer la table juste à côté de la mienne… Et je peux te dire qu’il a une belle paire de miches**. C’est sur elles que j’aimerais manger cet Italian beef. (Well… He's cleaning the table right next to mine… And let me tell you that he has a gorgeous ass. I'd rather eat that Italian beef on that.)”

She burst out laughing this time. “T’es pas possible. (You're the worst.) ”

You grinned at her laughter, while continuing to watch the man, who'd stopped for a second before resuming cleaning the table.

“Je les pétrirais volontiers celles-là. (I'd love to knead that.)”

“Toi et tes blagues de bouffe. (You and your food jokes),” she wheezed, and you could easily imagine her shaking her head.

You chuckled lightly and bit into your sandwich, which turned out to be delicious. You moaned your appreciation.

“We're so coming back here,” you said with enthusiasm and took another bite.

The man turned around and shot you an amused smirk, before walking up to your table and leaning slightly into your space.

“Et comme mes miches, tout est fait maison ici. (And like my ass, everything here's homemade.)”

Your mouth fell open and only reflexes kept the sandwich from slipping through your fingers as you stared at him in utter shock. He winked at you and began walking to the next room where other tables stood.

“Oublie ce que je viens de dire… Je dois quitter la ville, (Forget what I said… I need to leave town.),” you said feebly, while staring after him and hearing him laughing at your words.

“Hein? Pourquoi? Qu'est-ce qui s'est passé? (Huh? Why? What happened?)”

“Caro…” you whispered, still in shock. “Il parle français. (Caro… He speaks French.)”

There was a second of silence, soon followed by your cousin's loud, screaming laughter coming through the earphones.

“Qu'est-ce qu'il a dit? (What did he say?)” she gasped out in between peels of laughter.

“Que, comme ses miches, tout est fait maison ici. (That, like his ass, everything here's homemade.),” you mumbled, while putting the sandwich down and hiding your face in your hands.

She laughed even more, cackling through wheezing breaths.

“I can't show my face here anymore,” you groaned, looking forlornly at your sandwich.

“Was he angry? From what he told you, he didn't seem to be.”

“No… he looked amused. But that's not the point… I talked about kneading that man's ass right in front of him,” you moaned and shook your head.

Caroline chuckled lightly. “At least you weren't badmouthing him.”

You only hummed and folded up the sandwich. There was no way that you could eat this now. About to bemoan going back into the wind to escape your embarrassment, you heard your niece’s tiny voice calling for her mother.

“Sorry, gotta go,” Caroline said hurriedly before speaking softly to her daughter.

“No problem. Give her a big hug from me.”

“Will do… Keep me posted on the hot stranger situation.”

You snorted. “There's no situation at all. I'm gonna slink out of here and never come back.”

Caroline laughed softly. “Whatever… talk later.”

“Yeah, later.”

You removed the earphones and placed them back into their case before checking your surroundings. How could you have been so stupid and run your mouth like that? Caroline was right, he didn’t look angry at all, but you’d rarely felt this embarrassed in your life. You quickly put everything into your bag and left a large tip on the table before getting up. As you put on your coat, you noticed the man standing in front of a wall as he checked the light fixture. Glad that he couldn’t see you, you were about to run out when something held you back. You bit over your bottom lip as you contemplated him and sighed deeply.

“Can I talk to you for a sec?” you asked tentatively as you reached him.

His head turned to you in surprise, before a large smirk appeared on his handsome face as he moved his whole body toward you. Damn, he really did look incredibly good.

“What can I do for you?”

“Uh… well, I just wanted to apologize for earlier. I hope I didn’t offend you or anything. I’m always the first one to tell people to be careful with speaking another language in front of others and not assume they don’t understand you, but here I was doing it anyway,” you said in a rush, glancing at him in between words while mostly avoiding direct eye contact.

“Eh, don't worry, it's not like you were talking shit about me so…” he trailed off with a light shrug, while his grin never left his face.

“Maybe, but still… I'm sorry.”

“Don't be…” He leaned in closer as he lowered his voice. “Ça ne me gêne pas. Surtout quand ça vient d'une aussi belle bouche que la tienne. (I don't mind. Especially when it comes from a pretty mouth like yours.)”

Your eyes widened, while you felt your whole face warming again when his gaze dropped to your parted lips. That’s not what you had expected him to say.

“Well,” you breathed, your eyes locking with his as he looked up again. “Good to know.”

You stood there, watching each other for a few seconds, before Richie’s voice boomed through the snack.

“Hey, Cuz, Fak’s on the line ‘bout the fridge.”

The man in front of you didn’t react except to briefly lift his eyes toward where the voice was coming from before looking at you again.

“Mikey!”

“For fuck’s sake. I heard you. Tell him I’ll call him back in a sec,” he called out irritably.

You laughed to yourself at his annoyance at being interrupted, which had his attention returning to you. Shaking his head with a small grin and a sigh, he put his hands in the pockets of the blue apron.

“You leaving already?” he asked after a beat, as he noticed that you had your coat on and your table was cleaned off.

You grinned inwardly at the word already, as if he was regretting seeing you leave sooner than he had expected.

“Yeah… think I’ll just head home for the day. No weather for nice walks outside.”

Mikey only hummed in agreement and looked down with a small crease between his brows.

“But I’ll be back,” you blurted out, which had him staring back at you with raised eyebrows.

“Yeah?”

“Mhm… best Italian sandwich I’ve had… Need to have another taste and all.”

“Glad to hear it,” he smiled, inclining his head to one side as he stared at you intently.

You suddenly didn’t feel like leaving at all anymore, but sitting back down would seem weird now, right? He was obviously flirting with you, much to your surprised delight, yet you didn’t feel like coming across as too eager either.

“‘Kay, then… I — uh — I’ll see you next time, I guess.”

“Sure thing, sweetheart,” he smiled softly, while his gaze remained focused on you.

“Right… bye, Mikey,” you babbled, finally taking a step back just when you saw him grinning at you using his name.

“A la prochaine. (Until next time),” he replied, following you towards the front of the shop.

Your name came through your lips like a reflex, and you would have felt embarrassed about that too had Mikey not smiled at learning it. When he repeated the goodbyes with your name this time, you left with a wide smile and barely felt the wind across your skin as you headed home.

**The word ‘ miche’ stands for a loaf of bread, but it’s often used to refer to someone’s butt because, as you can guess, of its rounded form. Reader wants to "knead that dough".

After that day, you had returned as promised.

On the first time, they’d had a busy day, with the line far longer than the last time you’d been there. Mikey hadn’t been at the register, which had disappointed you, but you’d still ordered the same thing as last time. You hadn’t lied when you’d said that it was the best Italian beef you’d had. As you’d been about to walk to a free table, Mikey had come out of the kitchen with a large tray filled with orders. He’d stopped in his tracks as he noticed you and smiled brightly in recognition. Unfortunately, this had been the only interaction that day, since he’d had to return to the kitchen immediately.

On your third visit, Caroline insisted on coming along. She told you that she wanted to taste the infamous Italian beef that people raved about at her job, but you knew that it also was to get a look at Mikey. However, like last time, he wasn’t at the register. She looked at Richie and then back at you with a raised eyebrow, but you only rolled your eyes at her.

“Il a les yeux bleus, celui-là (This one has blue eyes.).”

“De très beaux yeux bleus (Very pretty blue eyes.),” she commented with a smile directed at Richie, as he asked for your order.

Caroline ordered a few different things to bring home a little later, while you went with the original as both other times. Richie yelled the order to the back as always, while he invited you to take a seat.

“Maybe he isn’t in,” Caroline said as she looked around herself.

You shrugged as you took a napkin and folded it in half. “Maybe.”

You wanted to sound nonchalant, but you seriously hoped that he’d be around.

A little while later, the kitchen door opened, with Mikey stepping through it while talking to the person behind him. With your direct view of the register, you noticed him immediately. At your sudden silence, Caroline turned to look as well, which had you hissing at her to not be so obvious.

“What? I’m just checking where my order is,” she waved her hand around at you, and you huffed.

Mikey was still talking while he lifted his eyes to stare around the shop distractedly, only to notice you and smile as he spoke. Your face heated, and you bit your bottom lip at the way he smiled at you. You saw him say something to Richie, who looked towards your table before pointing at an order.

“So?” You heard Caroline ask, but you were too busy watching as Mikey picked up the order and walked towards you.

“Hey,” he said with a grin. “So, these two for now” — he placed a sandwich in front of each of you along with your drinks. — “and this to-go, right?” He put a packed order in the center of the table.

“Yes, thank you,” you smiled.

“Alors c’est lui, pas vrai? (So, that’s him, right?)” Caroline asked while staring at him, which had you making wide eyes at her and groaning softly.

“Caro…”

Mikey looked at her with a lifted eyebrow, before glancing at you with a smirk.

“Oui, c’est moi (Yes, it’s me.),” he replied easily.

Caroline grinned and nodded her head. “Alors, tout est fait maison ici, c’est bien ça? (So, everything’s homemade here, correct?)”

“Oh my God,” you whispered, and kicked your cousin under the table.

Mikey laughed heartily and nodded. “Oui, absolument tout. (Yes, absolutely everything.)”

“Great. Good to know,” Caroline shrugged and sat back casually, like she was just a satisfied customer.

Mikey chuckled and looked back at you with a sly smile.

“Anything else I can get you guys?”

“Nope, we’re good, thank you,” you quickly replied before Caroline could jump in and embarrass you more.

Mikey nodded with another small laugh and walked off with a “Bon appétit. (Enjoy.)”

“I fucking hate you,” you hissed at your cousin, who had the gall to snort and roll her eyes.

“I had to see if the man can take a joke, and he does.” She took a bite from her sandwich and groaned in satisfaction as she chewed. “Besides, the man already knows you find him hot… Which, you were right about, he’s a good-looking dude… But, I’ll take the yelling, blue-eyed one,” she added matter-of-factly after taking another bite.

You snorted at her words. Caroline was married to one of the chillest men on this planet, and she loved the hell out of him. But she’d always had a thing for the loud ones. Except that it never worked out with them because of her fiery personality. She and her husband balanced each other out perfectly, though.

“Still, you didn’t have to remind him of what I said,” you grumbled, biting into your own sandwich. “I was more hoping he’d forget about it.”

Caroline snorted softly. “That first impression is gonna be unforgettable. But I really don’t think he minds that at all… The opposite, really.”

“Right…” You rolled your eyes and sipped from your drink this time. “He might have flirted with me last time, but it doesn’t mean anything. He was just being nice.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure,” she said, while swallowing another bite and glancing at you with a smirk. “The attraction clearly does go both ways with how he can’t stop looking at you.”

“What?” you asked in surprise and sat up straight in your chair.

“He’s talking to customers a few tables over, and he’s looked at you at least ten times already.”

You blinked at her at the revelation and ducked your head with a shrug.

“Maybe he’s just looking at our table in general.”

“Yeah, right. I could be dancing around naked that he wouldn’t even notice it.”

This had you uttering a loud laugh of amusement, which turned into a small, pleased smile as you took in her words.

“He’s coming back,” she whispered suddenly, having you jerking in your seat.

“Ça vous plait? (Do you like it?)” he asked Caroline, although he glanced at you.

“Aussi bon qu’on me l’avait dit. (As good as I was told.)” She nodded with a hum of approval.

“Content de l’entendre… Et toi? (Glad to hear it… What about you?)” he glanced your way with a lifted eyebrow.

“Délicieux (Delicious.),” you smiled, feeling your face warming as you saw your cousin watching the two of you with a smirk.

Mikey nodded with a pleased smile and was about to say something when Richie called for him. He sighed.

“Enjoy the rest of your meal,” he said and shot you a smile that was obviously only for you before he headed back.

You followed him with your eyes until he vanished in the kitchen, which had you noticing Caroline’s lifted eyebrow that clearly said ‘told you so’.

“Could be dancing naked,” she repeated meaningfully with a smirk.

Shaking your head at her with a small laugh, you went on eating the sandwich.

An hour later, you left The Beef, but Mikey never came back from the kitchen.

In the following weeks, The Beef became one of your regular places. It had everything to do with Mikey, obviously, however, as the weeks went on, you got into talking to the other people working there. The place was chaotic, with everyone running around and shouting obscenities at each other, but you quickly realized how deeply everyone cared about each other. Caroline, and even her husband, came along a couple more times. However, you mostly went by yourself. For the simple reason that Mikey would often come to your table and strike up a conversation whenever you went alone.

You seriously enjoyed talking to him. He could be as loud and all over the place as the rest of the Beef’s staff, and flirt with you in a very obvious way, while he could also give off this more introverted and thoughtful persona. It was during the later moments that you talked the most, with Mikey sometimes sitting down at your table and talking about the most mundane stuff. You shared stories about your jobs and families, which told you that he also had a younger brother along with the younger sister you’d seen a couple of times. Watching her interact with the loud men in the restaurant, looking so sweet and calm, only to see her biting back if needed, had been an incredibly funny moment.

Caroline was getting more and more frustrated with the two of you for not moving things along, though. However, you really didn’t care. Did you want there to be more? Yes, but you also genuinely enjoyed spending the time with Mikey the way that you currently were, despite how much you wanted to kiss him when he stared at you from under his eyebrows like he often did. Only time would tell, and you weren’t in any particular hurry.

“Hey, Basic Beef. How’s it goin’ today?” Richie hollered as soon as he saw you.

You chuckled at the nickname and walked up to him. Richie had taken to calling you that a few visits back after you’d been talking about your choice of order. He’d teased you about always taking the same thing and not being adventurous enough. To which you’d laughed and shrugged, telling him that you were okay with being a basic bitch. Richie had almost keeled over with laughter at your words, wheezing out the word Basic Beef. To no one’s surprise, Caroline had almost lost it after you’d told her the following day. These two got along far too well.

“Hey, Ducon. (Hey, Asshole),” you snorted and leaned against the counter.

He grinned and turned towards the list of sandwiches with a hum of faked curiosity.

“What will it be today?” he singsonged.

“You’re such a dick,” you laughed.

“Hey, Mikey,” Richie smirked, as he shouted to the back while maintaining eye contact with you. “Your girlfriend’s here.”

You groaned and shook your head, while you heard Mikey’s voice from the kitchen.

“Hope you ain’t being a dick about her order again.”

Richie grinned at you, which had you fighting down the warmth rushing into your face at the fact that Mikey knew exactly who Richie was talking about.

“Yes, he is,” you called out with a laugh to hide your embarrassment, knowing that the other customers could hear everything too.

“She insulted me in French,” Richie threw back with mock outrage.

“Serves you right,” Mikey said, stepping out of the kitchen with a wide grin directed at you. “Hey, Sweetheart.”

“Hey,” you smiled.

You saw Richie sighing and rolling his eyes at the two of you before moving towards the kitchen. “Guess I’ll be making that sandwich myself.”

“God, you’re such a fucking drama queen,” Mikey snorted, while you laughed at Richie’s theatrics. “Can’t I just say hi?”

“That’s not sayin’ hi, cuz, that’s undressin’ her with your eyes.”

You almost choked on your spit, while Mikey closed his eyes as if praying for patience and sighed. “Why do I even let you work here?”

“Cause this place would come crashin’ down without me, asshole.”

Mikey shoved him hard with a huff of a laugh and took a step back before looking at you and then back at Richie.

“I’ll have that order out in two,” he finally said after looking at you again.

“Uh, thanks,” you nodded, while Richie watched him with a raised eyebrow as Mikey made his way back to the kitchen.

Richie sighed again while you took out your wallet, and nodded at the customer who had just entered the place and was waiting behind you. Handing over the cash, your money was met by Richie waving it away.

“Go have a seat, Love. It’s on the house tonight,” he said with a much softer tone.

“Oh… Um, okay, thanks, Richie.”

“No problem,” he winked with a genuine smile. A smile that you returned easily.

One thing had to be said about Richie; he might be loud and obnoxious most of the time, he was also a nice guy who you actually really liked. Putting everything back into your bag, you made your way to your usual table.

As promised, Mikey was out with your order barely two minutes later.

“There you go.” He placed everything neatly in front of you.

“Thanks,” you smiled brightly, looking into his face.

Mikey nodded and looked back towards the register and the kitchen with a tiny frown.

“I — uh — I’m kinda stuck back there with preparing stuff for the weekend and-”

“Oh, uh, that’s okay. I know you can’t chat every time,” you cut in, nodding your head in understanding. You didn’t want him to feel bad about not coming out to talk if he was busy.

“Yeah, no, I know, but I was kinda thinking…” he trailed off and looked down for a beat, sucking on his bottom lip. “Will you stay after we close?” he finally asked, looking at you from under his lashes.

You blinked a couple of times at the unexpected question. “Oh… um, yeah, sure. Of course.”

“Yeah?” he smiled softly. “It’s gonna be” — he looked around the place — “another hour at least, though.”

“That’s okay. I don’t mind waiting. I can go pester Richie if I get too bored.”

Mikey barked out a laugh at that and nodded his head a few times.

“‘Kay… See you later.”

You smiled in acknowledgment and watched him walk back, stopping next to Richie, whose eyes shot to you after a moment, but you quickly averted your gaze. Picking up your sandwich, you took a bite to stop yourself from looking up again. Your face felt warm as you thought about Mikey’s request to stay. That had never happened, and you couldn’t stop yourself from wondering what was going to happen. In any case, you could only imagine Richie grinning like a lunatic at Mikey informing him that you’d be staying. To distract yourself, you pulled out your phone and went through your various social media platforms while you ate and then sat out to wait.

A little while later, you were reading through an article about a show you were looking forward to when Richie appeared at your side.

“You can already go through to the back. Everyone’s left there, and I’m gonna finish with the couple customers left and close the front.”

“Oh, okay.” You got up and looked towards the kitchen.

“Okay, listen,” Richie started, looking suddenly serious. “I know I’ve been givin’ you shit and all that about him, but truth is, Mikey’s been… kinda all over the place lately. But since you showed up, speaking French and all that… I’ve seen more glimpses of my best friend than I have in a while.”

You stared at him in surprise. That’s not what you had expected to hear.

“Shit… I don’t wanna scare you off or anything. But… shit… Mikey, when he falls, he falls hard, yeah? And I can tell that you’re not some bitch out to hurt him or nothin’.”

You chuckled at his agitation.

“Nah… I’m just some Basic Beef, remember?” you said softly.

Richie snorted and nodded his head.

“But seriously, thank you, Richie. I’m glad that he has someone looking out for him… But yeah…” You looked towards the door leading to the kitchen. “Mikey, he… I just really, really like him”, you stated with a smile that you knew revealed how smitten you were by the man.

Richie nodded again with a small smile.

“Yeah…” He finally cleared his throat and waved towards the kitchen. “Right… Go ahead… And please, don’t do anything I wouldn’t do, yeah? Remember, kitchen, sanitary measures.”

You groaned and shoved at his arm. Now, that was what you had expected. “Don’t be gross, Jerimovich.”

You heard him laughing as you walked towards the kitchen.

Stepping through the door, you looked around at the rows of appliances, pots, and pans, while you hung your coat and bag on a hook near the staff door. As you moved to the deepest part, you found Mikey in front of the stove, with three large pots bubbling away on it.

“Hey,” you said softly, coming to stand next to him with your hip against the counter as you faced his profile.

Mikey lifted his head from one of the pots he’d been leaning over and stirring, his hair curling at the top from the steam. He beamed as he saw you.

“Hey. Richie gone yet?”

“No, not yet. There was still a table left. He said he’d close the front and leave from there.”

Mikey looked towards where the front of the shop was, as if he could see Richie, and smiled.

“Smells delicious in here,” you said after a second, staring at the insides of the pots.

Mikey grinned. “Making the last batch of pulled pork and beef.”

You made a long hum of appreciation at that, which had Mikey uttering a pleased chuckle.

“Can I help you with anything?” you wondered, looking around yourself.

“Nah, I’m good. There ain’t much left to do except wait a bit, but…” he trailed off like earlier.

You tilted your head in question. He was being incredibly tentative tonight, which was kind of cute. “But?”

Mikey shot you a small glance and cleared his throat.

“Just wanted to see you for a bit longer.”

You ducked your head and smiled. While Mikey had flirted with you intensely over the last weeks, it had all been done in a lighthearted fashion. The interest had been genuine, but it had never been this open. This confession was raw and hit you straight in the heart.

“Yeah? Well… While I love the food you guys make here, you know that’s not really what has me coming back every time.”

Mikey smiled warmly, before he smirked. “C’est mon cul, pas vrai? (It’s my ass, right?)”

“Ah non mais t’es pas possible, arrête. (Oh come on, you’re the worst, stop it),” you half groaned, half laughed while pushing at his shoulder.

Mikey laughed heartily and caught your hand as he turned to face you fully. You looked into his eyes, filled with mirth, but also something so tender that it took your breath away.

“Wanna know something embarrassing about me?” he asked in a soft tone.

You nodded lightly, your heart in your throat and unable to speak with the way he was looking at you.

“J’avais déjà envie de t’embrasser le jour où on s’est rencontré. (I already wanted to kiss you on the day we met.)”

Your heart missed a beat before it started to beat faster.

“Alors pourquoi tu ne l’as pas encore fait? (Then why haven’t you done it yet?)” you breathed.

Mikey smiled and cupped one side of your face with a large and warm palm. “Bonne question. (Good question.),” he whispered, before slowly leaning in.

Your eyes automatically fell shut when his lips met yours. It was a soft kiss, just his lips pressing onto yours, as if testing the waters. You lifted your hands to his waist, your fingers gripping at his t-shirt as you slanted your head in request for more. Mikey huffed out a small breath against your lips, and moved in closer, giving you what you wanted. His hand went to the back of your head, with the fingers sliding into your hair as he parted your lips with his. You moaned at the first, soft stroke of his tongue against your bottom lip, just grazing the skin teasingly before he delved in further. Your fingers tightened in his shirt as the kiss turned into something more. More intense. Hungrier. Leaning against the stove, Mikey’s other hand went to the middle of your back, pulling you as close together as possible. In turn, you wrapped your arms around his chest and clung to his shirt like it was the only thing keeping you upright. You suddenly felt ridiculous about ever thinking that you didn’t have any issues with just seeing where this thing with Mikey was going, since you had clearly underestimated how much you actually wanted this. Wanted him. And from how he was kissing you, holding you so tightly against him, the feeling was unmistakably mutual.

You couldn’t say how long you stood there, locked together, with no signs of letting up, but you were pulled out of the moment by the pots suddenly bubbling wildly. Mikey cursed while you gasped, the two of you springing apart to see the contents of the pots sputtering around and almost starting to overflow. Jumping into action instantly, Mikey turned the heat down and stirred the pots while muttering under his breath.

Once everything was under control again, Mikey held himself up with his hands on the counter and exhaled deeply as he turned his head towards you.

“I think my ass is responsible for this too… I turned the heat back on high when I leaned against the stove,” he explained sheepishly.

You stared at him for a second, before you burst into laughter, while he watched you with an amused smile.

“You know,” you said lightly and stepped into his space again, wrapping your arms around his neck while he circled your waist with his. “I think I need to take some responsibility for this too.”

“Hm… you did distract me,” Mikey agreed with a chuckle, and leaned in to kiss you.

You grinned against his mouth, the kiss about to continue like you’d never been interrupted, when Mikey forcefully leaned his head away with a grunt and kissed your forehead instead.

“Okay… let’s just…”

“Am I distracting you again,” you laughed softly, looking into his warm, brown eyes.

“You have no idea,” he confessed, pulling you into a hug this time.

You smiled into the embrace and took in a deep breath, staying in this position for a few long minutes.

“Rentre avec moi? (Come home with me?)” you finally asked, although you kept your face against his shoulder.

Mikey cupped your face and tilted your head until he could look into your eyes, revealing his warm gaze.

“Avec plaisir. (It would be my pleasure.)”

#mikey berzatto #mikey berzatto x reader #michael berzatto #michael berzatto x reader #the bear #mikey berzatto fanfiction #the bear fanfiction #jon bernthal #darlingshane #birthday fic #mes fics

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smolvenger · 11 months ago

Text

The Twelfth Night Ball, A Cinderella Story (Henry V x fem! Reader one-shot)

Summary: As a lady turned servant, every day you survive under immense cruelty. Then one day, it is declared the King of England, Henry V, is throwing a ball, looking for a potential bride...

Word Count: 7535 (have snackies)

Warnings: Physical and verbal abuse from the "stepfamily" (this is a Cinderella story after all). Some curse words here and there. Grammar and spelling mistakes that slip past my radar. LOTS of angst, but it becomes tooth-rotting fluff.

A/N: Happy Holiday Season! This was gonna be a Christmas ball but things got busy, so it's Twelfth Night (that was a bigger deal back then, anyway, ehehhe) but I hope you enjoy this any time of the year! Comments, dms, reblogs, and comments about my work are always appreciated!

A03//My Ko-Fi//My Etsy Shop//Masterlist//Wattpad

Taglist: @asgards-princess-of-mischief @jennyggggrrr @five-miles-over @fictive-sl0th @ladycamillewrites @villainousshakespeare @holdmytesseract @eleniblue @twhxhck @lokisgoodgirl @lovelysizzlingbluebird @raqnarokr @holymultiplefandomsbatman @michelleleewise @wolfsmom1 @cheekyscamp @mochie85 @fandxmslxt69 @skittslackoffilter @mischief2sarawr @loz-3 @muddyorbsblr

Once upon a time, you were a little child delivered to a house of strangers. Your dear parents, an established lord and lady, both died of a deadly illness that spread. You were separated from them- sparing your life. But without even a final goodbye.

It the Lord and Lady Brentford who took you in, for they were distant relatives. You could still feel the guard's hand, much bigger than your own, support you when the carriage door opened before the Brentford Manor. You stepped out of the carriage and onto their grounds. They looked at you with polite smiles…but nothing warm behind their eyes as they led you in.

It began small. At first, they were merely strict in their lessons with you. As any daughter of a lord. You tried to adapt, to please them. As much as your little eight-year-old self could allow. Even at your best behavior, they always reminded you of one thing: you were mere charity. Their one daughter you had never met. She was sent off to stay in a convent for her education.

It was when you were thirteen that one day, they requested you to move into a shabbier room. The one you slept in had to be used for guests.

Then they kept insisting the servants needed help with things. Mending, cracking eggs, a stone on the floor that needed scrubbing. You wanted to help, to please them. So you said yes.

Then, you realized one day your pretty dresses were gone. They said that what was left of your family's fortune had been spent already. You had to make ends meet, they said, by selling what nice ones you had. Leaving you with only servants' clothes.

Then, finally, when you were fourteen, you went down after helping cook breakfast. To eat with them…and there were only two chairs at the table.

“Where may I…I sit?” you asked.

The Lord glared up at you.

“You do not eat with us.”

“But…you are my guardians,” you replied.

He snorted. “You. Family?”

His eyes were cold.

“You were never our family, girl,” Lady Brentford agreed.

The stomach within you dropped. Hot tears welled up.

“Bring us our bread, girl.” she ordered.

“If…If my father was alive, he-”

Lord Brentford stood up.

“He is dead. Are you going to keep talking or should I get the horsewhip to get you to shut up? Bring. Us. Our. Meal.”

You went back, sobbing hot tears. Then delivered their meal to them. Banished. No longer as a member of the family. Or of any family that wanted you, loved you. You were unloved. Unwanted.

The Lord and Lady threatened to throw you out if you ran away resisted, or fought back. To beg on the streets. Or whore to survive. So you were stuck as a servant.

And so your life as a servant began for years here. Some of them gaped at first- the Lady Y/L/N turned into a drudgery maid. They pitied you. They did not laugh at you for not knowing initially how to cook an egg but would show you how. They let you hug them and cry and rage. Only in private. For all knew how the Lord and Lady reacted to defiance. You got to know them and talk to them, It was Miss Anne who would give you oranges when they were in season to bite into. It was Mr. Page who would show you the secret bird's nest when you had to gather the apples in the orchard. Their kindness was appreciated.

There was one other consolation in your life- the Brentford’s only daughter, Jane. The time arrived when her long stay at the convent for her education was done. She was considered of age to be married and she moved back. A woman of your age, your very height and size but with pale skin, long chestnut hair, and bright green eyes.

After Jane got home, you brought her some food to her room but found she wasn’t there. You saw her outside in the garden climbing an apple tree in bloom to gather the fruit and flowers. As she stepped on one branch, it broke beneath her weight. With a scream she fell a great distance, breaking her leg. At once, you alerted the servants and helped her in. It was you who stayed by her side, nursing her until she healed.

Since then, a friendship began between you both.

Lady Jane was the sort who became a very different person than her parents. She was kind. If you brought something a little late, she gave you no chiding. Jane was always getting into some sort of mischief, for sometimes she would scrape her hand or burn something, and you would patch her up.

You became each other’s confidantes…and then she considered you not as a servant, but an equal. You were sometimes tasked to be with her, and those were the easiest- delivering her correspondence two and fro, brushing her hair, and dressing her. Even picking flowers for her room to cheer her. Jane loved animals and her pride and joy was her mare, Psyche, who you would be tasked to feed and brush.

It was only a shame she had no interest in marriage or even romance. If only she got married so you could become her chambermaid and live far away from this place! But no. She refused to be forced into a marriage. You were amazed at her bravery to refuse her parents boldly. However, she was their natural daughter and a Lady. She had the privilege to rebel. You did not.

Sometimes you wished you were her, you had to admit. Jane was something of a recluse, not wanting to go to balls and parties and be out in society. Her beautiful dresses only caught her mild interest, preferring riding her mare, her books, climbing trees, and talking with the servants despite her parent's protests.

You wished she’d say yes to one ball- how beautiful it must be to wear a gown and dance the dances you were taught when your parents lived! And to maybe have men show interest in you and show up to see you- to be considered and wanted for marriage by some good-looking, nice lord!

But…what money your family left for your dowry was left to the Brentfords….who naturally spent it for their desires until you had none left. Without even a dowry, you would be considered useless for any Lord’s bride.

Maybe not marriage…but perhaps, as you looked at the married couple kept as servants here- Mr. and Mrs. Kent. Saw them hold hands and exchange small kisses in hallways and smile…love. To be loved. To fall in love. To find romance. Somehow. Something you had never heard, experienced, and could only yearn for in your deepest heart…perhaps there was someone out there who could love you…

But perhaps that was only for daydreams and for sad romances with Knights pining for already married ladies. Much less a scullery maid.

❛ ━━━━━━･❪ ❁ ❫ ･━━━━━━ ❜

One December morning, you spent one of the few hours you had alone walking in the woods. You reached the clearing of a field not far away. The Natural spot was so peaceful. No Lord or Lady Brentford. No threats. No names. Just the early winter morning.

You shivered in your dress. It was all you had on you.

That morning, you awoke to see the Lady Brentford. You did not mend her skirts to her liking. So she went to your room and in revenge, ripped apart your only cloak. She tossed it at you.

“There. Until you learn how to mend clothes the right way, stupid girl.”

You only held the torn cloak, tears pouring down over it.

The sun was bright, and the grass frosted. The world was brisk and cold, but it got warm after exercise. The sun was bright. Your breath comes out in puffs of smoke.

Suddenly, you heard horse hooves. Turning your head, you jumped to see a great white stallion galloping and on top of it was a man in a red cloak. You took a few steps in retreat.

Before you could have a good look at the rider, the horse suddenly stopped and bucked, his front hooves in the air with a whinny. It was so sudden, that with a masculine shout, his rider fell off of his horse onto the grass.

You let out a gasp-was he injured? Yes, this was a stranger. And a man. And you were alone. But he could use the help! And if he was injured, he couldn’t hurt you!

“Sir, sir, are you hurt?” you cried, picking up your skirt to go there to see him.

Up got the man with a small grunt.

You finally saw his face and you felt yourself stiffen.

He was incredibly handsome. Young with high cheekbones and a high forehead. Auburn curls and trim facial hair with soft blue eyes and ivory skin. Tall and lean yet muscular and broad. Virile and powerful, but an air of charm, and elegance to him, though you could not name why you could tell.

He managed to get up and wipe off his dirt on him, looking at you. He smiled, hands up in pace.

“I am alright! I’ve suffered worse!” he assured you.

“Are you sure?” you asked.

“Of course, my lady!” he replied, bowing his head.

You felt yourself go warm. You had not been called “my lady” in years. Much less by a handsome man!

You then saw the horse a small distance away. Trotting off. The man whistled, but the horse did not respond.

You knew you had to feed Psyche later today. Her carrots were in your pocket. You pulled one out and lured it over. Surely, the white stallion walked over. Once you fed him the carrot, you pulled him by the reigns over to the man.

“Thank you- he’s not used to me. A rather naughty fellow, but he shall be my good friend long enough,” the man laughed.

“If you give him enough treats, I’m sure he will be your friend quickly.”

“Thank you, my lady, you’re very kind. Do you need assistance getting home?” he asked.

For you to go home with a man?! They would think something less than chaste was happening out there. Especially since you were both a woman and a servant. Whores and thieves, that was what all thought maids to be.

“No thank you, I do not live too far,” you explained.

The sun went behind a cloud, giving it a slight chill. Though there was concern on his handsome face.

“But without a cloak?” he asked, tilting his head.

“I…I have no cloak I may use and I wanted to walk. I could brave the cold. Once one moves about, it does get warm,” you told him.

“Here, my lady…”

He took off his red cloak and put it over you You let out a small gasp. Feeling his hands brush past your shoulders as he sealed the clasp. It was so large it felt warm on you- the heat of his body and his scent still on it.

“Sir- this is too much!” you gasped.

“No, you may have it. I have a dozen others and you have none,” he refused, a kind smile on his face.

It was like an embrace. You touched the material, feeling it in your hands. It was high-quality cloth, likely expensive from the bright red. He must be some great lord who happened to ride by.

In his nice red leather jacket (it hugged his lean but broad form very nicely, you noted, feeling a sudden heat in you) he swung himself back up on the white stallion.

“Thank you, dear lady. For your concern to me.”

“And thank you, my lord, for your generous gift,” you replied.

“Farewell for now.”

He smiled at you, nodding his head, and then he rode off. You couldn’t help but watch him as he left.

You burst into giggles as you walked through the forest, feeling as if you could float from such an encounter with such a handsome man. For one brief moment, the love story you craved had happened. You drew the cloak around you. Your mind racing with fantasies of an actual embrace from him. Or even more- if he kissed you!

You returned very warm. You folded the cloak and set it down among your things, even the torn-up cloak. You smiled- always keeping that memory in your heart. You would make sure to guard it carefully. But even if the Brentfords tore it up, they could never tear up your memory, your moment, your encounter with this dream of a man. Or your hope that you would someday see him again.

❛ ━━━━━━･❪ ❁ ❫ ･━━━━━━ ❜

The next day, amidst the fasting and preparations for the Christmastide season, there was a messenger who arrived at the door. He was dressed in fine reds and handed one male servant the letter. Up the servant came as you attended to the Brentfords. Eating their breakfast of simpler fare than they would like.

The servant looked flushed and wide-eyed. He held up the letter, declaring “My lord- it is an invitation from the king!”

There were gasps around the table. From none other than the king! The newly crowned Henry the Fifth. Lady Brentford grabbed it and opened it, reading it aloud.

“We do cordially invite all eligible, unmarried ladies of this household to attend the ball hosted by the king on Twelfth Night. Each lady shall be introduced to his majesty the king in addition to a night of dancing, feasting, and frivolity.”

Eyes went wide. You felt your heart begin to pound in your chest.

“Oh! A ball! How wonderful!” cried the Lady Brentford.

“To have him write us alone is an honor!” agreed the Lord. Though their eyes turned greedily to their daughter. Lady Jane stopped eating her bread, it nearly dropped on her plate.

You looked up from where you poured more drink into Jane’s cup.

“If he is asking to be introduced to eligible maidens...it means only one thing…” Jane began. Her face turned white, her appetite gone.

“He is looking for a bride! Oh, could you imagine? Our Jane- Wife to the King and Queen of England?”

Jane gripped the edges of the table.

“Mother, father, please- I don’t want to go. Please. There are plenty of other women who would be more happy to be there than me! I don’t want to be sold like cattle to a man I don’t know, please! And I hear he was a drunkard and a thief- I don’t want to marry a man like that, please!” Jane pleaded.

“And risk losing the chance to become queen? Besides, we hear he’s a young, comely man, it could be worse! There are lots of old men we could consider marrying you off to! You must go!” argued Lord Brentford

You stepped forward.

“What if…I went instead of Jane?” you asked meekly.

Eyes turned to you, but you stood your ground.

“It said all eligible, unmarried ladies. I shall go in Jane’s place, so she doesn’t have to,” you said, a sudden rush of boldness in you. Perhaps it was the incident with the man the other day. You always wanted to go to a ball. And to go to a royal one was an honor.

Their heads turned.

“It shall break sumptuary laws for a maid to dress in finery. They could fine you. Or worse.” sneered Lord Brentworth.

“But I am Lady Y/L/N, like my mother was before me,” you blurted.

The Lord Brentford got up and slapped you hard across the face.

Your eyes brimmed with tears, feeling the sting of the impact.

“You are our servant and you will remember your place! And will hold your tongue and stay where you are, impertinent, foolish girl!”

You held your cheek, keeping your eyes down. The Lord continued.

“To think. You. A king’s bride- a queen? Yes, women like you were offered to him as whores, but I doubt he’d even want your filth in his bed, much less as his wife. You’d be lucky to polish his boots.”

They sat down, glaring at you.

“Now, there is laundry to be finished. And we have a ball to prepare Jane for- you must do it.”

You turned away, so they wouldn’t see you. You reached the smaller room for laundry. Where you could finally crumple to the ground and sob.

❛ ━━━━━━･❪ ❁ ❫ ･━━━━━━ ❜

Jane’s dress purchased for the ball was the most beautiful thing you had ever seen.

It was a creamy white with pearl embellishments. Richly made, beautiful. It shimmered in the light and seemed to glow when it became dark. Everyone smiled big at it as it was brought up. But the envy and greed in your heart stirred, making you feel heavy and bitter. Sometimes, You forced your eyes away from it.

Christmastide arrived. With it numerous feasts. Some drinking and exchanging of gifts. The Lord and Lady were in sour moods but only softened when discussing their ambitions for their reluctant daughter.

Before you knew it, the new year arrived and the fifth of January. The day before the ball.

Jane looked at the dress laid out on her bed. You had merely sat on a chair behind her, mending her stockings. Everything in you not to cry.

“It is beautiful, I will admit. But…I have met cats more pleasant to talk to than some of the lords that will be there,” she sighed. “I love gossip and a nice meal as much as anyone else, but…how horrid I am at dancing! I know I will step on all of my poor partner's toes tomorrow night!”

Finally overcome, you set the stockings down.

“Jane, how can you say such things? Don’t you realize how fortunate you are?! Just merely go and enjoy yourself and think of your blessings!” you blurted out.

She turned to you. You were tearing up.

“I’m so sorry, I’ll be quiet now-” you apologized.

“Y/N, you know I’m not my parents. I won’t punish you for being honest. What is it? You’re crying, tell me!” she asked. She walked away from you and knelt as you sat.

She gave you a handkerchief and you began to wipe away your tears. Her eyes looked concerned.

“You’ll laugh at me,” you mused.

“I will not. Tell me what troubles you,” she offered.

You gripped the handkerchief in your hands, squeezing it for support as you began to confess.

“I wish I could be you. To go to a ball and to meet a king and dance. To feel equal to the other ladies who get to be introduced to him. Yes, becoming queen does sound like a nice dream. But, it’s not just that…I just…always wanted to try a pretty dress and not have to spend my nights working. If my parents lived, I would have experienced one. If the Lord and Lady weren’t who they are, I would have, but now……”

She hugged you in comfort.

“Oh, I’m a selfish being, I am! I am so sorry, poor Y/N! I’ll be more careful, I swear it!”

You hugged her back. Then she looked at the dress, then you. There was a look in her face- a light in her eyes. One that could only be when she had an idea.

“Jane…what are you thinking of?” you asked.

“What if…you were the one to go? Wear the dress and attend the party? ” she asked.

“What! What if- what if they catch us? We’ll get in trouble! There will be other balls!" you cried.

“There won’t be other royal balls. And I know how every servant hates my parent and they love you! Please, we can trust them!”

“But…will they watch?”

“My mother and father are rather fond of strong wine on Twelfth Night….”

You felt your heart race.

“You said you always wanted to. And you should go. We’ll switch clothes in case they wake up! They’ll be too drunk anyway. And you know it is a royal carriage they are lending us with a royal driver and footman- they won’t know you! Would you like that?” she continued.

You paused, your heart racing.

“You are a lady- you must accept it. Here- we shall keep it between us. We shall ask only a few servants…you will go to accompany me and wait- then we shall switch clothes. I shall be the maid to attend on you and you the lady! That way, if Mother and Father arrive in my room, they’ll see me gone and won’t suspect a thing!”

She was getting more excited, pacing about and talking. But then she turned to you.

“But…that is only if you want. It’s just an idea," Jane offered.

Your heart beat hard. A chance. It made you scared. You could get in trouble…but you never wanted to so badly to do it. You would go. Or die trying. At least once, you would fight for something you wanted.

“Jane, I accept your plan. Let’s make it happen.”

❛ ━━━━━━･❪ ❁ ❫ ･━━━━━━ ❜

At last, it was Twelfth Night finally arrived. You and the other servants managed to get the Lord and Lady Brentford so drunk, they were laughing and red-faced. Jane was presented in her pretty dress and curtsied for their applause. Then they had to go to bed to sleep it off. It would be minutes until the carriage arrived.

Jane grabbed your hand.

“Now, haste!” she hissed.

You raced to her room. She took off the dress, the servants all helping. She got into your plain dress and apron easily. You were given her fine necklace and her rings. Her little silvery slippers fit your feet perfectly. Then, at last, the dress was slipped over your head and sealed. It adjusts perfectly to your body. There was a soft gasp from one servant as they looked at you. Their eyes were made big and there were smiles.

“Is it…bad?” you asked.

“No…look,” Jabe offered, gesturing to the mirror in her room.

You hardly recognized the reflection.

You were radiant- the way its color complimented you. It brought out your eyes and your skin seemed to glow almost. The gems sparkled as if they were stars adorned on your chest and fingers.

“I…I look…” you muttered.

“I’ll say it- you look beautiful,” Jane said.

“Fie, Lady Y/L/N looks quite like a princess! They’ll think she’s sailed from France and my, won’t that be something!” agreed one servant.

The carriage arrived. You both stepped forward. A footman in his finest gave came forth and helped you both into the carriage- the Lady and her maid. Then off it went. There was snow on the ground that shone in the darkness as it went forth.

The stone castle arrived. You both were helped off. You could hardly believe it. It was at least three times the size of the Brentford Manor! Picking up your skirt, you went with Jane behind you.

There was already laughter and music. You could smell spices that made your mouth water.

You entered forth, seeing the torches lit around. There was a warm orange light. Part of the hall was cleared so couples could dance. Chatter erupted and wine flowed. You even felt eyes on you, admiring you in your dress. Though, you saw a line of women before one end of the room. The women to be introduced to the king.

“Lie to him, tell him you’re Lady Brentford!” advised Jane.

“I cannot lie to the king. Not without getting into trouble. I’ll only tell him my family name.” you said.

“S’blood, you are right there…best of luck!” she wished as she headed to help herself to the feast.

So all came forward to be introduced. Each lady. You all were smiling. You managed to chat with several by you. All excited and trying to suppress giggling. But it was brief, as there were many women. Apparently, according to them, you just told him your name, curtsied, and perhaps exchanged a sentence or two. Then you were dismissed for the next woman. Nothing more, nothing less. The line went lower- you were happy to chat with them all. But all stilled as they got closer to the curtsy.

Then, before you knew it, it was down to the last three ladies before you. Then two. Then the last one turned and you faced the King of England, Scotland, Ireland, and Wales.

There, on the throne, sat the man who fell from his horse.

The king?! The king!? The entire time it was the king! Oh God’s blood! He was the king! Harry of England! I have a cloak from none other than the king! You panicked internally. Though your body tightened.

Your skin tingled and a coldness hit your stomach when you saw him. Your hands were suddenly clammy. The wind was out of you.

Henry the Fifth of England sat rigid. You saw his jaw drop a little and his face go pale. He too was in surprise.

Then he let out a small half laugh, a shaky smile growing on his face.

You gathered yourself together. Then, taking in a breath to ground yourself, you announced.

“I am Lady Y/F/N Y/L/N, your highness,” you introduced. Dipping into a curtsy.

He gestured his hand up to stop you from leaving. Your eyes fluttered down, folding your hands properly. Your heart hammered as he walked up, taking your chin and tilting it up. Your heart beat even harder. It was a miracle you were still standing.

He smiled, almost ironically.

“How are you, Lady Y/L/N?” he asked.

“Well, your grace.” you replied.

“Do you have a partner for the next dance?” he asked.

“No, your grace.”

“I believe I have sat long enough. I would like a dance with you, my lady, if you will have me, ” he offered. He extended his hand to you.

“You may, my lord,” you replied. Despite the slight trepidation, you accepted it.

He smiled at you, leading you down to the floor. You heard gasps, whispers, and saw many eyes staring. Some of the women from the line turning red as strawberries, fumes practically blaring out at them. You kept your eyes away from it all. Only at the floor, then up to him.

“I must warn you, I have no strength in dancing,” he warned you.

“Then perhaps this is only a practice dance, your grace,” you replied.

The couples went into lines. You curtsied and bowed. Took hands, walking back and forth. You realized Henry sometimes mixed up counts, but he was definitely not the worst. You smiled at him.

“How is your stallion, my lord?” you asked.

“He listens to me more. Would you like to know why?” he asked.

“Why?”

He turned to you in the dance.

“He cannot resist being given food. And that I learned from a certain lady I met,” he answered.

You grinned up at him. The dance continued. You found your eyes could not lower from his. Yet you knew the steps, knew every one. You were almost floating. As he touched your hand and would lead you, it seemed he was getting better with each other count of the music. You could feel how soft his hands were, how warm. Sense his presence, his steps. Feel the tingles from his touch, from when he looked at you. For a while, it was as if you were the only ones dancing.

Before you knew it, your dance with the king ended. He bowed and you curtsied. He then turned to line of women.

“I shall meet all of you, and shall spare a few dances, sweet, fair ladies,” he promised.

That seemed to appease them- you couldn’t blame them in the slightest.

Jane was already there to fetch you food and drinks now that she was satiated. To make sure all in your attire was well and good, ever the one to accompany a lady to make sure nothing less than chaste was occurring.

As the line shortened, you did notice Henry dancing with a few other ladies. Though there was a slight pang of jealousy, you did your best to ignore it for the other delights of the party- the rich decorations, the sumptuous food, the sweet sips of wine. Besides, as you got to know plenty of people here, men and women, young and old, married or unmarried, you found them all kind and friendly to you. Your fellow eligible ladies befriended you as one among them, not as a rival to be torn apart. None even suspecting you were a servant- only a fellow and equal guest of this ball. Even seeing if you could come to this dinner or this ball in the future or visit. You were making friends outside of your small circle. Friends who wanted you to be with them.

Though you found that since the king had danced with you, you got attention from several other men. And there were more dances you had with them. They were handsome and some were lovely dancers in all. Though one gentleman with scruffy red hair and boyish freckles seemed stiff as a board as you danced with him.

“What is it, my lord?” you asked.

“His grace, the king, is staring-” he whispered.

“He watches everything that goes on,” you dismissed as you took and retook hands in the dance.

“Not at me. He’s stared at you the entire night,” he grumbled.

As your eyes flashed, you saw it was true. Henry’s eyes were on you. Floating up to meet yours again. Recatching your breath, you made yourself focus again on the dance until it ended.

As soon it ended, the king approached you.

“May I have another dance, my lady?” he asked.

After you accepted, he did not hesitate to lead you on the floor. This time, not a single word passed. You felt his eyes, and noticed his touch more. You felt very warm all over all of a sudden. His dancing was better, no counts or steps missed at all. You had to catch your breath from his quiet intensity. Before you knew it, it ended.

The king allowed the party to go on, but asked to speak to you in private. Jane was there to chaperone in the back. Her eyes big as you knew it was everything in her not to say or react to something. She merely folded her hands and watched in awe and suppressed laughter.

“I know you…we met before, Lady Y/L/N” he said.

“We have, my lord.”

“And you truly did not have a cloak at all, my lady?” he asked, noticing your fine gown.

“If I may be honest…it was destroyed by someone in an act of cruelty,” you replied.

His brow furrowed a little in response.

“But I am grateful his majesty was generous to give me his, I am,” you assured him.

“You are…and you live with this cruel person?”

You let out a slight sigh.

“I only wish I could…I could be like you in your wars and fight as you do with France. I’m not a brave person, your grace.” you replied.

His blue eyes softened.

“I wish it hadn’t happened to you. You do not deserve it."

“She would disagree,” you mused.

“No! You are a good lady-you have been nothing but the sweetest maid I have met, even that morning!” he cried.

You felt yourself get a little dizzy at his words. He even blushed, then he looked at you.

“ Perhaps, like my dancing, you may practice being brave.”

“I…I believe I could, my lord,” you replied.

He offered his hand again. How lovely the garden looked with the snow, cooling you from all the exercise with dancing. Already it was late-the ball was winding down.

“I enjoyed my time with you, my lady Y/L/N.”

“As have I, my lord…”

There was the pealing of a bell. The time was winding down. A servant went up and whispered to Jane. She hurried up.

“Our carriage is about to leave, my lady,” she said.

She turned back to the corner, watching the party guests begin to leave. But…Henry’s hand in yours…nothing ever felt so…so right. You hadn’t the heart to flee him. Not with the sad look on his face.

“The Y/L/N family…that is a house that is of good repute, but small. Where is your father, my lady? Is he here tonight?” he asked.

You only eyed back at the vanishing crowd. “He…he is not here,” you finally answered.

You felt emotions bubbling in you. He let go and you began to increase your steps from him. But then he grabbed your hand and you turned.

“My lord!” you cried.

“Please, tell me one thing- where can I call on you? Invite you? Find you? See you again?” he asked, almost pleading.

The look in his eyes was almost heartbreaking. Though Jane was getting huffy and impatient, you went up to him, your voice a whisper.

“I live in the Brentford Manor, with the Lord and Lady there.” you replied.

His jaw hung a little loose. Then his hand let you go. They both hung in the air until they fell.

“I shall see you anon then, my lady.”

“I shall see you anon then, my lord.”

With that, you left, picking up your skirts to hurry to the carriage.

As soon as you got into the carriage with Jane and closed the door, she laughed and applauded.

“Not one but two dances with the king?! Oh fie! How incredible! And you met him already?!”

The carriage jerked into motion as it headed back to the manor. Breathlessly, you explained everything to her.

“Am I in danger?” you asked.

“In danger of making him fall for you! But at least one day you’ll have the most incredible story to tell your children! How glad I am it all worked!” she laughed.

When you returned at the ungodly hour, you hurried to her room and switched clothes. Yet your head was still ringing and your heart beating fast, your mind and body still reeling until it could shut down for a little sleep. You wished you could write it all down- of your one night where you danced with the king.

❛ ━━━━━━･❪ ❁ ❫ ･━━━━━━ ❜

It was four days since Twelfth Night and the Tenth day of the new year. You had to content yourself with your life as a servant. The Lord and Lady were of a milder temper. As far as they knew, Jane introduced herself and curtsied before the king and that was it.

That morning, you were serving their breakfast. You cut the bread into slices and brought it up to the table to the family. They placed it down, the knife still on there with the other cutlery.

There was a knock. Heads turned. A servant ran over in.. Red cheeked and breathless, his voice a high cry.

“His Majesty, the king, is here!” he yelled.

There was half a scream and Lady Jane nearly dropped her plate out of her hands. There was a flutter like no other, making sure all was clean and presentable.

“He’s here for you- I know it! He’s here for you!” cried the Lady Brentford.

She began pinching her daughters cheeks to make them redder and prettier in her eyes and fussing and whispering. One heard the marching of boots. Your own heart beat harder than it ever had and you shook as you tried with the other servants to dress the place up.

Finally, a servant announced his presence and all stood up. In, sure enough, walked King Henry in his beautiful red leathers and his crown. Your breath stopped as you noticed a little bouquet of flowers in his hands.

All bowed and curtsied respectfully, then returned to await what he would say.

Henry took off his crown and handed it to a servant. Then he looked around the crowd. You didn’t know if you wanted to shrink or run or both.

“I am here for the Lady Y/L/N. Does she reside here?” he asked.

Their lips curled. They gasped.

“Her-her??” Lady Brentford cried.

The Lord Brentford turned her head to you, his nose flaring. His hands reaching forward, ready to grab you, drag you by the ear to be beaten, box an answer out of you.

“What have you done with the king, you little slut?!”

There was a shift in that second, some of Henry’s guards, even Henry himself was ready to intervene.

Acting quickly, quicker than you ever had, You reached for the table and got the knife, pointing it to Lord Brentford.

“Do not lay a hand on me or you won’t have one!” you rebuked.

Henry stepped forward, his voice angry.

“Lord Brentford, Are you going to deny the King an answer to his question?” he asked.

Heads turned over to you. Jane was smiling seeing the knife still in your hand. Then the Lord Brentford relented and gestured to you.

“She lives here, your majesty.”

Setting the knife back down on the table, you were gestured to step forward and curtsy. He looked at you in your servant's clothes which made your stomach twist in shame. But you held your own ground, poised with folded hands and kept your eyes up at him.

“May I have a word with her in private, Lord Brentford?” he asked.

They all bowed and relented- his servants to accompany you.

He stepped forth and seemed to blush as he handed you the flowers.

“These are for you, my lady” he said.

“They’re beautiful, thank you,” you replied. You took the bouquet in your hands, feeling it’s sweet scent.

His hands free, you saw him clench and unclench his fists nervously.

“Fair lady-I do not know how to say this. I’m not good with words, or speaking with women…” he began.

That itself made you smile.

“Lady Y/L/N, I am a king…and I am a man too. And I speak to you as one now. Should you refuse, I shall never bother you again. But if you shall, would you allow a hardened soldier to speak of tenderness and affection? To spend time to know this lady and plead his cause to her heart? I offer my friendship at least. At most, as your suitor. Only if you shall have me, Harry of England, as yours. To pursue you, ask for you, care for you. To court you, not as king and subject, but as a man and a woman, only if you accept me. What say you, dearest, fairest lady?”

You brimmed with joy. You felt a free hand clutch your chest, wondering if this was even real. But you knew who was the one in fine leather and who was the one in simple cloth.

“My lord, I must tell you something…”

He nodded, listening. You took in a breath and began.

“I am the Lady Y/L/N. My parents died and their fortune dwindled. Leaving me with nothing but the title and what dignity we had left. As you can see, the house of Brentford took me in. But other than the kindness shown by their daughter, the Lord and Lady…do not consider me family. They have made me a servant here and I have worked as one since I was very young. If you are willing to court a lady with nothing but an empty title and a heart full of affection for you, you may. If not, I shall let you go. I shall not begrudge or ask you to change your ways. I understand them. I have nothing to offer to you that you may benefit- no lands, no armies, no alliances, and most of all, no dowry.”

“My lady, you yourself are a dowry,” Henry replied.

A gasp escaped you and you felt everything inside you become warm.

He offered your hand. And you placed yours in it.

“Then…I Accept you as my suitor, my lord.” you said.

He smiled even wider, putting his other hand over yours.

“We have a special dinner prepared in the palace. Would you dine with me?” he asked.

“I shall be glad to…I only ask one thing and one thing in turn in our courtship. This and nothing else…I only ask for shelter. For an escape from this place. To stay in a different home far from Lord and Lady Brentford. You saw what happened-this has been my life for many long years. I want to leave this place, to no longer be under their power. But give only the dearest blessing to their daughter, the lady Jane, and their servants, for without their help the years would have been unbearable…and we would not have crossed paths again. If you cannot grant me shelter from the Lord and Lady, then protection from them,” you requested.

He clutched your hands a little tighter, almost shaking them.

“I shall my lady, you need not be afraid of the Lord and Lady anymore. I will fulfill your wish…and you shall be safe. I shall do everything in my power…may I kiss your hand?”

“Yes.”

He took your hand and kissed it gently, and sweetly. His goatee tickling a little of your skin and his lips soft.

He asked his servants to gather your things, quickly. Much to the astonishment of the whole house. But none dare resist the orders of the king.

“You shall stay as a guest of the palace until a family, a new one, may take you in. I promise, there are plenty who shall not treat you as they have,” he vowed.

He looked at you with a smile. You then went to your room and wrapped the warm red cloak over you. Then, right before the door, stood the family. You embraced each servant as they congratulated you. Then you went to you hugged Jane with a smile.

“Oh, I feel like I am abandoning you!” you sighed.

“Oh no! Do not fret! I can handle my parents, I will not let my them break me. I will fight them every step of the way. Just write to me often, promise.”

“This wouldn’t have happened without you, I am forever in your debt, Jane.” you replied.

“You already helped heal my leg back then. Then your friendship is the only credit I shall ask for.” she replied.

You hugged again as a goodbye.

You then turned to the Lord and Lady Brentford. They did not speak, but you did.

“I shall never forget your cruelty. Your harshness. I held my tongue to survive-but now I can speak. I do not love either of you. I dislike you both more than any person in the world. If anyone asks me of you, I shall tell them everything you said and did to me, for it is the truth. Of the names you called me, the things of mine you destroyed, and of the times you beat me and broke me. And do not think, should the day ever come that God makes me queen, that you shall receive any help from me. I shall never step foot in this place again or call on you.From this day on, I do not know who either of you are. You are both cruel, heartless, selfish miscreants. May you answer to God and only He may show you any mercy He deigns you both to deserve. You shall have none from me.”

King Henry offered you his arm and you took it. How warm it felt-you could feel his muscles beneath his leathers, but how smooth it was and how pleasant he even smelled!

“Now…are you ready my lady?” he asked.

You only looked back at the place, and the people standing there. Then back at the handsome, kind face of your regal suitor.

“I am, my most gracious Lord.”

He walked you to outside the door where the carriage awaited. The snow falling gently, blanketing the world in soft, white blankets.

“When we are alone…would you call me Harry? Henry perhaps, too,” he replied.

“Yes, Henry,” you replied.

He blushed a little to hear his name. He were helped into the carriage next to him.

Henry smiled at you kindly as he sat next to you.

“Thank you. For everything” you wished him.

“Of course, Y/F/N.”

You could have melted how he said your first name. He then held up your hand again and gave it another peck from his lips.

“My, you like to hold and kiss my hand, Henry!” you teased.

“If only it wasn’t so easy to hold and dear to kiss!” he replied with a smile.

Your eyes forward, not daring to look back. Only forward as the carriage moved away. One part of your life ending and another beginning. To live a new life from now on.

A life where you were finally loved.

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themaclean · 7 months ago

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hi i just came from ao3 and firstly, i have read ur vaultghoul fic probably 20 times already it’s just so good with spot on characterization and amazing writing, thank u so much 🙏

secondly, i was reading the comments on it and came across one abt wanting to see a pre-war au where cooper and lucy start an affair and immediately my ears perked up like 👀 all i could imagine is her being cast as his love interest, her being a big fan of his already, and them having a wedding scene where they fuck in her wedding dress after they call cut

n e way so sorry for rambling haha but unfortunately ive got the brainrot now

I MEAN HYPOTHETICALLY -- I'm mobile (and somehow wrote 2k words still wheeze) so I'll finish this when I'm on my PC but I played around with the idea a bit thanks to this ask. :)

...

Summary; Cooper Howard x Lucy MacLean, 2077 AU where Lucy and Cooper star in a movie together.

...

There's a whole host of ways that Vault-Tec could have cracked down on Cooper. Given the infringement of their security protocols and the divorce and the way they choked him out of all the good roles...

It wasn't such a far stretch that he'd have to take place in the biggest circle jerk of a film production where his super-fan shoved his daughter into a starring role using Cooper's connections.

Because, so far as the public knew, he was still a supporter of Vault-Tec and he'd do just about anything to sell that delusion.

Cooper crushed the heel of his palms against his eyes, a limp cigarette hung between his teeth.

The girl was a nightmare.

Stiff, picky, absent-minded. No emotion, either, no semblance of self-awareness. It was like some Disney Princess popped out of the cartoons in the worst way, quick to parrot the lines she was meant to say with perfect diction but nothing more than that.

And it was somehow his fucking job to coach the girl -- Lucy -- into a leading lady. The idea was that she was the daughter of the Overseer, played by her actual father, and Cooper was some vault dweller from another section.

The whole thing was convoluted. He did cowboy flicks and the sort that had a showdown at the end. This sci-fi garbage went right over his head, this future projection of the what-if. He didn't have time for the what-if.

He had a daughter he needed to vy for custody of and an expensive divorce on the horizon. And Barb had the best lawyers money could buy and he'd never thought they'd end up like this. There was no pre-nup and nothing to protect him.

And he didn't have a goddamn lighter.

"You shouldn't smoke."

Cooper near growled around the butt of his cigarette, only just keeping himself civil at the last moment. He turned towards Lucy, unable to mistake her for anyone else. There was something about her vacant, pretty face that irked him, those giant goddamn eyes.

"It's bad for you. I read an article about it."

"Maybe you'd be better off reading your lines again," Cooper said with a wave of his hand. He dug in his jacket pocket, the one he'd worn to set.

Bingo.

Lucy crossed her arms and leaned against the vault railing. It was strange to do the filming down, a hundred feet or so beneath the surface, but it made for impressive sets. They were around the corner from the rest of the camera crew and cast.

And they were alone for the first time since shooting. Most times, Cooper had a few stage hands or interns at his heel. And he didn't see Lucy around much, except for scenes. Didn't chase her down, didn't much think of her.

Except now he's aware she's still in the wedding dress she'd been in earlier. Stage blood soaked the stomach of it, thick streams of blood from where she'd been stabbed. But he'd saved her and they'd shared a chaste kiss for the camera.

And then he hadn't seen her.

"I thought you'd be a better kisser."

Cooper didn't withhold the glare, couldn't bring himself to give a fuck. "Pardon?"

"Just -- the kiss. Didn't really..." Lucy narrowed her eyes at him. "I grew up watching your movies. My dad is a big fan. I always figured you'd be a good kisser, but you aren't."

"You ain't much yourself, either," Cooper said with a raised brow. "Like a fish, sweetheart. Cold."

"I'm not a fish," she snapped back. "That's very mean. I -- I know I was mean first but I just thought you could do better."

Cooper couldn't help but laugh to himself at this miserable brat who'd sought him out to complain about an on-screen kiss. He took a long drag, his gaze slanted across the backs of his knuckles.

"You're here 'cause your daddy yanked some strings," Cooper shrugged a shoulder. "My only obligation is to make a movie for the studio. I'm not your damn boyfriend-for-hire, trying to get you off for the cameras."

Cooper was a professional and on his best behaviour -- usually. But the long days of filming for a corporation rooted in the exploitation of the country he'd fought for... That patience wore thinner with each moment he was alone with this brat.

"I'm here as an actress -- "

"You can act?" Cooper asked, mock surprise as he pressed a hand to his chest.

Lucy had the gall to look offended.

Cooper took another drag, his hip notched against the railing. "It's a movie, darling. I've been doing this shit for years. They ain't gonna let people tongue each other to high hell."

"That..."

"That is exactly how it works," Cooper said as he ashed his cigarette onto the grate beneath his feet. "It's not about you, it's about the shot."

Lucy looked at him like he'd slapped her. "I know it's about the shot."

"Could've fooled me." Cooper huffed out a breath. He'd kissed plenty of women for his films and he was a consummate professional. If the audience bought into it, that was all he needed. He didn't give a damn if his co-star got butterflies over it.

Especially not the daughter of some jackass at Vault-Tec, for a project that was nothing more than an empty propaganda piece. But he didn't have much choice.

"I'm here because it's important to my father. Vault-Tec wanted to keep as many roles as they could within the company -- "

"Nepotism."

"To promote the culture they want within the movie, which is carefully curated -- "

"Cultish."

"To their... Could you stop doing that?"

Cooper crossed his arms, his cigarette nearly finished. The vault had good enough ventilation that the smoke disappeared but the smell lingered. He pushed away from the railing, his expensive smile slack across his lips.

"I had my fill of the Vault-Tec propaganda, sweetheart. Don't make a difference if it's from a pamphlet or a pretty girl, I'm just doing what I'm being paid to."

"Wasn't it your wife -- ex-wife -- who brought you in originally?"

Cooper's neck twitched as he looked down at Lucy, as she smart-mouthed her way right into some shit she didn't know anything about. He tipped his head to the side, the annoying collar of the vault suit biting into his jawline.

"So you believed what Vault-Tec thought originally." Lucy toyed with the stain on her white dress, her fingers tugged at the frayed edge. "What changed?"

"Nothing," Cooper said, his voice flat.

Lucy met his eye, her head tilted to contrast the angle of his head. She settled a hand on the railing, uncertainty replaced her uppity edge from before. "I'm not trying to spy on you or get information. You just -- had your life together, and then you're getting divorced."

"It happens," Cooper said, aware now that she was between him and the crew. The vault split into spidery webs in all directions, though. He could leave her if he wanted. But then he'd end up who knows where, deep in the belly of this steel nest.

But they were alone, and she'd inched closer to him.

Cooper saw the leading ladies he worked with as colleagues. Sometimes they'd have to kiss or imitate gentle moments or intimacy -- but for the most part, he could compartmentalise it. But Lucy didn't act. She couldn't. She was an atrocious leading lady and she read everything as if she were saying it herself.

Like a porn actress, saying shit to get through to the action, rushing through the writing like it didn't matter.

It wasn't her fault. He had the sneaking suspicious she had no interest in acting or in this movie; that she was only doing it because her father asked her to do it. Maybe even so she could have an excuse to meet him, he realized dimly as she looked up at him with wide hazel eyes.

That separation -- of leading lady and of a romantic partner -- muddled with her. Because he didn't even like her. He didn't want to get to know her. He hated her father and he wanted nothing to do with this company.

And she was closer to him than not, and they'd kissed a handful of times, and she'd said he sucked at it.

Cooper rolled his jaw as Lucy didn't have the guts to do more than she had. Her moony eyes fixed up at him like a challenge. And then he felt his resolve snap because it wasn't like he had much to lose. This wasn't a real acting gig and she wasn't a real leading lady.

His hand snapped out, fingers and thumb dug into her cheek. He brought her close, to see what she'd do. The answer was -- not much. She didn't shout or push him away, their mouths inches apart as he hovered close to her, examining her beneath his lashes.

"Bad kisser -- that what you said?"

Lucy swallowed hard enough to nudge his hand. "Well, you were. I'm not going to lie to you to spare your ego."

Cooper made a soft sound from the back of his throat as he kissed her. The distant crack and shift of the crew as they moved their cameras from one vault room to another should be a deterent but Cooper doesn't care.

He's single, isn't he. Has been for a few months. He'd not acted on it, hadn't felt the urge to, but he's as trapped as ever in the shadow of what Barb had done to him. It's only fair he make use of that shadow to indulge, even if it's just to prove a point to this girl Lucy.

There's some inherent amusement to how she melted into the kiss. She wanted it far more than she'd let on, that soft mewing, moaning neediness as he stroked her long brown hair out of her face. He threaded his fingers softly through her hair, hand on either side of her face, fingers combing through her hair.

Her back was arched over the railing as he gave her the kiss she'd probably expected earlier, the one he wasn't about to throw out on camera. There's standards for cinema and he didn't want to waste film or time.

But then her fingers were on the zipper of the stupid fucking vault suit. He didn't stop her, even as she yanked it down and slipped her hand along his stomach.

If anything, he pushed harder against her. The fluffy white skirt of her wedding dress made it hard to get much for himself. But with a yank of her knee and the shift of her weight, he had her seated on the railing. Her shoulder caught one of the metal frames, to keep her pinned in place.

If this were any other job or any other actress, he'd give a fuck.

But it's Vault-Tec, through and through.

#anonymous #my writing #vaultghoul #answered

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