#jim look him in the eyes. look at him. how is offending him the best option

[sweetlullabyebye]

Oswald said 'go big or go home'

[jimsbeetroot]

I love Jim root fluff 😔feed us some more pretty please

𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐢𝐬 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 ♱ 𝐣𝐢𝐦 𝐫𝐨𝐨𝐭

fluff!

warnings! none! just fluff!

this is sort of a drabble and when i read this, i can only hear jims voice but very british like he's straight out of pride and prejudice!

words: 893

The atmosphere is much more peaceful than what it is on the road. There's no huss, no panic, no frustrations. It's just quiet. Silence is suddenly the only noise in your ears, and you don't take it for granted, not at all.

The sun is warm, warmer than it'd been for weeks. The rain has brought you down lately, but just as you'd manifested, the sun has and always will come back around. And it is nothing short of warm and inviting, yet, a cool breeze presents itself once in a while, complimenting the otherwise sizzling temperature.

Immediately to your left, the shape of Jim lays spread out on a cheap sun chair he'd moved from the garden to the front porch of your house. His long legs hang from the sides of the sunchair and his tattoed arms are propped upon his unclothed stomach. His brown locks are tied into a bun at the back of his head, and his baseball cap covers his face, protecting it from the hot sun: he looks truly peaceful. And from the sounds of his quiet snores, you can tell that he's enjoying his time off. You crack a smile as you look at your beloved; you can't help it- he's perfect. A beautifully kind soul, who's never raised his voice at you, hell - he's never even called you a bad name. You have a hard time accepting such wonderful love - admittedly, no one has ever treated you this kindly before.

"James?" a doggish whine slips from your tongue.

A deep and lazy hum leaves his mouth and he reaches up and removes his baseball cap, slowly turning his head towards you. His eyes are squinted together, the sun blazing down at him.

"Do you love me?"

The question makes Jim open his eyes at once and he looks at you, his troubled gaze boring into your soul.

"What?" He asks. He sounds slightly offended and he looks the part as well. You sigh, immediately feeling embarrassed that you even asked the question in the first place.

Two years together, and yet you still seem to doubt yourself. In reality, you wonder if you're just envious of the man beside you. Envious of his personality and ability to brighten any room he enters. Though he's shy, he has this undeniable energy- he's almost too good to be true. You, on the other hand, you'd always been a bit of a wallflower.

"Do i love you?" Jim repeats your question and sits up now. He holds his flat hand above his eyes to shield them from the sun, because he wants to get a good look at you. His naked upper body is sunburnt, and he has clearly ignored your suggestion to wear sunscreen.

"Do i love you?" Jim repeats again but this time, he's putting extra pressure on the word love. You truly can't tell if he's making fun of you now, or simply trying to take the question in fully. Either way, your face turns red and embarrassment floods through your veins.

"I'm crazy about you," Jim mumbles and looks over at you, scanning you up and down as if he has Terminator vision. He's clearly admiring you, but you're too blind- and insecure, to realise it.

"How can you even ask me that question?" He asks, and you shrug your shoulders and sigh. You look down at your thighs and hum softly.

"You know how I am; always doubting myself," you chuckle, but Jim doesn't even crack a smile.

"Yeah, I know," he sighs and furrows his brows. He sounds like a disappointed parent, and his tone makes you feel like a little kid getting scolded. You swallow hard and avoid eye contact with him, even though he's trying his best to get it.

"You're so hard on yourself. Why can't you just see what I see?" Jim asks and moves from the sun chair, over to the spot in front of you. He kneels down on the ground and manages to finally make eye contact with you, even though you refuse.

Both his hands are planted on your bare knees and what started as an innocent, ill-thought-through question, has now turned into a dramatic stand-off between two lovers. We might as well be in Verona, you thought.

When you do look into Jim's eyes, you can see, he's sad, and that makes you so sad too.

"You're the only reason for my sanity," Jim chuckles, and you look at him with starry eyes. His smile is warm and inviting, just like the sun.

"Of course, I love you." Jim huffs, but not in a snappy way like how you did when someone took your parking spot earlier today at the mall. It's a huff of I-love-you-crazy-woman-please-love-yourself-too.

"I love you with everything in my body and I'm so sorry, that you can't see how perfect you are," he mumbles and stands from his kneeling position. He sits down beside you on the bench, his warm hand on your upper thigh.

"I love you, Jim. You help me see it every day," you whisper and rest your head on Jim's shoulder.

The two of you don't say anything. Silence is enough.

With the birds chirping, and the soft wind blowing, everything you've ever wondered about is suddenly crystal clear; happiness is right here.

[tiger-tail]

Joel was utterly helpless. He had fallen for Jimmy so hard and so fast it made his head spin.

Joel was sitting on a campsite, feet in the dirt. In his hand, a beer sweating. The water drips down his hand and falls onto the grass. There's music playing distantly out of a small speaker. Joel had it shuffled on a classical rock playlist, and honestly, he wasn't paying attention to it at all despite loving classical rock. What he was paying attention to was the man sitting next to him.

Jimmy. Beautiful, endearing, funny, sweet, idiotic Jimmy. Jimmy was also holding a beer, but it was much more full. He was a social drinker, so Joel wasn't surprised that he hadn't drank that much of it. His other hand was in the dirt, helping him stay propped up while he was leaning back a little. He was laughing at a joke Joel had made. Joel doesn't even remember what he had said. He was too busy staring at Jimmy.

Jimmy looked so beautiful with the yellow and the orange lights of the campfire flames bouncing off his face. It made his eyes look so beautiful, more orange than brown. It made Joel stare at Jimmy's lips, highlighted by the flames. He looked so kissable.

Maybe it was the beer talking, making Joel want to kiss his best friend, but he didn't think so. Joel could last a while on beer, and he was only a drink and a half in. He's thought about it a few times, kissing Jimmy. This time he was serious. He was fully set on the fact that he wanted this man in front of him.

Jimmy sighs and looks to the flames.

"I'm glad we got this going now that it's dark. What is it, like eleven? It's getting damn cold out."

Joel smiles and takes another sip of his beer. His eyes don't leave Jimmy.

"Yeah- yeah it is getting a little cold. It'll be fine though." He replies.

Jimmy nods softly. His eyes are still fixed on the fire, glowing.

"I'm glad we decided to bring extra blankets for the tent. I think I'd freeze to death without them, since I'm always cold." He giggles at himself when he mentions how he's always got goosebumps.

Joel giggles with him.

"Yeah. If you ever get too cold we can share body warmth or some other shit."

He throws the offer out there hoping Jimmy would want it. Hoping that he'd want to hold hands, cuddle, or even just sit a little closer together. Joel doesn't even know why he was thinking this- it wasn't like he felt this way about Jimmy a month ago. Or maybe- maybe he did. Maybe had fallen for Jimmy like this earlier than he thought and he'd just never noticed. Joel's head was spinning thinking about this.

Jimmy scoffs and rolls his eyes. It doesn't play off the little bit of pink on his face. Joel catches it- he sees how Jimmy reacts to that. Maybe Jimmy was just blushing cause he was embarrassed, or maybe, just maybe, it was something else. Joel hung onto that.

"Well if it ever comes down to that I'm sure I'll let you know."

Joel blinks.

"Comes down to it?" He repeats. "Surely cuddling with your favourite person ever means more to you than that. Honestly? I'm sooo offended. You've hurt my feelings, Tim. I'm hurt."

Jimmy takes a sip of his drink and snorts.

"I lied, I love cuddling with you. You're very warm an' shit. It's nice."

Joel almost freezes, but immediately realises that yeah, they do cuddle and all that stuff pretty often. They have once they've known each other and that's just how they were. Joel teases Jimmy for it anyways.

"Wow Tim. If I didn't know any better I'd think you have a crush on me."

Jimmy looks at him and immediately looks away. He takes another sip of his beer and bites the bottom of his lip lightly. The way he always did when he was thinking too hard. He chuckles slowly, nervous suddenly.

"Well- I mean- not that that'd be a bad thing. I mean, I wouldn't mind havin-" Jimmy stops himself before what he could say even happened.

Joel stares. Not in the lovestruck way this time. Sort of confused, but also humored. Joel raises his eyebrow slowly, giving him that look that begged him to continue. Jimmy frowns, but sort of wobbly. Like he was nervous and not actually upset, and that's just how his face forms that emotion.

"Joel-"

"Do you.. have a crush on me? Like- are you in love with me, Jim." Joel relaxes his face a bunch so Jimmy doesn't feel afraid to tell him, since he was skittish and all.

He knew if he looked anything other than calm then Jimmy would back out immediately and.. Joel was in love with him. He wanted to know if Jimmy felt the same. Jimmy actually frowns this time. His voice is very very quiet, like a mouse. Or at least, Joel thinks he sounds like a mouse.

"Yeah. A whole lot. I- I love you like- like a lover a lot. I uhm- I'm sorry if-"

Jimmy is cut off from whatever uncalled for self degrading shit he was going to spew because Joel had gotten so excited at Jimmy saying that he loved him like that, that Joel had tossed his drink aside and pressed his lips to the other. Jimmy squeaks very loudly in surprise, and turns stiff as stone. After a few beats, he relaxes. He lets Joel kiss him, and he lets go of his drink carefully. Jimmy starts to kiss back, obviously, as you do when you kiss.

Joel pulls back moments after, but not that far from Jimmy. Their faces were still inches apart.

"Woah." Jimmy whispers.

His face looks even more red than he's ever seen it, and his eyes are wide like dinner plates. He looks even more red with the flames of the campfire making his face glow. Camping truly did make the world seem a lot more beautiful, and Jimmy was Joel's world.

[wearfinethingsalltoowell]

Quick TealOranges drabble that I’m dashing off before tomorrow renders it moot!

“I kissed someone.”

Olu couldn’t say he was expecting anything different. They’d been seperated for months after having sex once, it was natural to move on. But he had his best friend back, and that was what mattered.

And Archie was pretty cool. He was looking forward to meeting her properly.

He was appointed to go to the Pirate Queen to beg for the crew’s lives. Captain Bonnet was in no state.

And he wasn’t going to deny that poor man anything, circumstances being what they were. His problems seemed small compared to saving the people who killed the love of your life.

He liked Zheng—they had been fast friends when she masqueraded as a soup seller, and she had taken them in when they were in need. An pirate legend who had a soft spot for those…less skilled (looking at you, Stede). She reminded him of the Blackbeard they had met months ago, before…

He really only intended to talk to her, but when she admitted she was trying to seduce him, he wasn’t opposed. If it crossed his mind that he was evening the score with Jim, he only had to look at Blackbeard and Stede to reassure himself it was hardly the worst thing to do after a breakup.

And she was really, really pretty. He tried to keep his head on, to advocate for the crew, but no one could blame him for getting a bit distracted.

“Get your pants on, they’re escaping!!” Auntie burst in, startling Olu out of his thoughts.

Stood there in shock, all he could say was “I have my pants on.”

Zheng looked at him with fury, and he understood completely. This looked horrible. No one would ever believe he didn’t know.

He wondered if he should go after her, or if it would be pointless, when Jim dropped down from the ceiling.

“We have to go, now!!”

“Are you escaping?” Olu was a bit offended that the crew hadn’t waited to see if he could save them before running. Were they going to leave him?

“We’ll talk about it later!” Jim was frantic, motioning Olu over, but he stayed put. He cast a glance to the door, feeling a rush of guilt for what happened with Zheng.

“Olu!!” Jim called, and at the look in their eye, he followed them out. They were family, and he wasn’t about to let Jim lose any more family.

“Okay, what the fuck?” he asked, when they were safely back on the ship.

“Captain said we were retaking the Revenge, we did a little chloroform, made a makeshift rope, and..ta-da!” Jim punctuated their statement with a thumbs up.

“Did he not know I was negotiating? Was he gonna leave me there?”

“The whole plan was pretty spur of the moment. I feel for the guy, but I could’ve killed him when I asked where you were and he said he didn’t know. You would’ve been killed if you had stayed there!”

“It would probably have been fine,” Olu muttered, not sure how much of the story he should share.

“You’re too optimistic,” Jim sighed, “I wasn’t leaving without you!”

“Thank you,” Olu smiled at them, and Jim dove into his arms for a hug.

“Missed you.”

“I missed you too, you know that.” He wondered again if he should tell Jim about Zheng. This seemed like the perfect opening, and, as Jim had said, they were best friends who told each other things. But he couldn’t make himself do it. What happened would come out, probably in an embarrassing way, and he wanted to keep it to himself for a bit.

They went above deck to join the rest of the crew, sans Stede who had gone to say his goodbyes to Edward. Olu’s heart hurt for them—they were in love, it was plain as day to everyone who knew them. He didn’t understand Jim’s newfound sympathy for Izzy, the man so vile and hateable they were ready to kill him after one day as captain. He couldn’t help but eye him with continued suspicion—that day on deck, before everything had gone to shit, Edward had seemed, if not happy, then content. The marooning only happened after Izzy emerged from his cabin later that day—they might never know what happened, but Olu had known people like Izzy. He would never trust him.

Blackbeard’s half of the crew were settling back in nicely, Frenchie and Fang already having changed out of their Kraken-era garb. Jim kept theirs on—said they liked the style.

Olu took a seat next to the newly-returned Lucius, who had struck up a fast friendship with Archie.

Relief flashed over Lucius’ face when he saw Olu.

“Oh thank God, Olu! Though I wouldn’t have blamed you if you’d chosen to camp out on the Red Flag. Competent captain, you know?”

Seemed like he and Stede were still on the outs.

“Wait, you’re Olu?” Archie broke in, sticking out her hand for an introductory fist bump, “sorry, you’re just kind of a figure of legend on the ship. Jim told me all about you! You’re the smart one!”

“Hey!” Lucius scoffed.

“You’re smart too, bud. I just didn’t hear your name 20 times a day. If I had to hear the cake story one more time, I was going to kill them.”

A smile graced Olu’s face. It was better than her reaction to meeting Stede, from what he’d heard.

Frenchie walked over to him later that night, offering him the room back. Something about bad juju, again.

He didn’t argue, he could use a warm bed.

He curled up into his pillow, trying not to think about the day ahead. Their troubles were far from over, having made an enemy of the queen of Pirates.

When he was half asleep, he heard his door open, which wasn’t necessarily odd, but annoying. He didn’t want to get out of bed in the middle of the night for whatever trouble the crew got themselves in.

He waited for whoever had come in to announce themself, but it didn’t come. He heard near-silent footsteps and began to wonder if they were being invaded.

Instead, he felt the covers pulled back and the cold hit his bare skin, before another body jumped into the bed with him.

He relaxed a bit when he realized it was Jim, who was climbing on top of him and nuzzling their head in his neck.

“Made Frenchie give us the room back.” they announced.

As confused as he was, Olu laughed. Only Jim would bully poor Frenchie for a room that wasn’t even that big.

He could ask Jim what was going on in the morning. Right now, they were sleeping soundly for what was likely the first time in ages, and he didn’t plan to wake them.

[tlexx]

When Sam Met Danny

Summary: Short Blurb on how Sam found out he got his twin flame.

The boy from the alley had been asleep on the couch for more than sixteen hours. It made sense though, he was pretty badly beaten. Josh and I knew what Jake had planned the moment he shooed us away. He never let me watch him turn anyone before, I’m not really sure why it was just them drinking his blood, but it seemed like some type of intimate moment. I remember the pain I felt when he changed me, so maybe Jake was trying to be considerate of their privacy more than his own.

Josh was yelling at Jake in the other room for bringing one of his offspring home. He never really has done this before, he will send them away to his little camp of newborns he had up near the Great Lakes. But, for some reason he brought this one home. Jake knew something that the rest of us didn’t, so I had to trust him. Trusting Jake was easier than trusting myself, he knew what I needed more than I did. He looked out for me more than I looked out for myself. Sometimes I wonder if Jake cared more about if I was alive than I did myself.

But, in all honesty, what is there to really live for? I mean I love my brothers, they are my family. However, I am left out. They are twin flames, they have conversations I never get to hear. The twins will have a connection together that I will never understand, and it simply just gets lonely.

Jake asked me to watch this stranger, just in case he woke up before Josh was done berating him. So, now I am twirling my hair around my fingers staring at Jim Morrison on the wall when I could be out on the boardwalk finding a group of broads that would keep me company.

“We don’t have room for another! What if he says something? Outs us?”

“Who are you to question me? I’m the one that always is protecting the family, Josh! I know what’s best!”

One day those two will get into a fight that ends all fights, and if I’m honest it’s probably going to be about some chick. I laugh to myself, a little too loudly, and the stranger on the couch stirs. I freeze in hopes that he doesn’t wake up, not wanting to deal with his shit. However, my leather pants are slippery and my foot slides off my thigh with a loud bang on the concrete floor.

“Shit.”

His eyes flutter open and instantly land on me, for a moment he was serene but quickly was pushed into full panic.

“Who are you? Where the fuck am I?” His eyes darted around the room, obviously taken aback by his heightened senses. “What the fuck is happening to me?”

“You’re a vampire.” The shrug I gave him may have been a little too nonchalant, but he really does need to calm down.

“Stop joking around, this is serious! I need a hospital!”

“No you don’t.” He opened his mouth to say something, but before he could I showed my fangs to him to prove my last statement. He cowers back into the couch, whole body shaking from fear and Jake’s blood. “I’m not going to hurt you. You’re fine, this is really no big deal.”

“No big deal? Vampires are real? You’re a fucking thing out of Twilight!”

“That’s rude, the Cullens have nothing on us.” He sticks his pointer finger in his mouth, feeling the sharpness of his own fangs. “Your name is Danny, right?”

“Yeah, and you’re Josh?”

“You offend me Danny. No, I am Sam.”

‘The curly one must be Josh.’

“Yeah, he is the one with curly hair.”

“I-How-What just happened?” Danny stopped hiding in the couch and sat like a civilized being, elbows on his knees as he leaned forward.

“You said Josh had curly hair?”

“No, I thought it.”

“No man, you said it.”

“Wait, can all vampires read minds?”

“No, well kinda, but not really. It’s complicated.”

“Tell me what I’m thinking!”

“I can’t, only twin fla-“

‘Tiger Woods is overrated.’

“You golf? Isn’t that kinda boring?”

“See you can read my mind! Wait, can I read yours?”

“Um.” I run my palms on the red leather, weirdly nervous about all of this. Have I found my twin flame? My best friend? I doubt it, but there really was only one way to find out.

‘I said maybe, You're gonna be the one that saves me’

“AND AFTER ALL” Danny screamed at the top of his lungs. Both of us stood straight up from our seats in a rapid excited movement.

Together we finish the lyrics, “YOU’RE MY WONDERWALL!”

“What are you screaming about?” Josh looked like a pissed off mother with his arms crossed and tapping his foot. Jake wasn’t far behind him, leaning on the wall with a cocky smirk he wore so often.

“I, uh, found my twin flame.”

[lifeofkaze]

Valentine's Challenge 2022 - Day 4

Prompt: In-Laws

Find all stories of this challenge in the masterpost here.

A/N: I honestly didn't know whether to tag this as a Seliot or Sethel story. For real, I see where Artemis has got her talent to go and make stories about herself from. Ethel Hexley belongs to @the-al-chemist, the Gerard brothers belong to @kc-and-co

If there was one thing Ethel Hexley loved more than anything it was her family. You wouldn’t always think it when it came to her twin brother Jim, but Ethel loved even him. There wasn’t a lot she wouldn’t do for any member of her family, but this was especially true when it came to Selene Fraser.

Selene and Ethel had been each other’s ride or die from pretty much the beginning, and all Ethel had ever wanted for Selene was her happiness - which was why she had a hard time growing accustomed to the thought of Selene giving her heart to Eliot Gerad, of all people.

It hadn’t taken Ethel longer than a few minutes to come up with a lengthy list of most infallible arguments against a date with Eliot when she had been informed that she and Selene wouldn’t be spending this year’s Valentine’s Day together, but Selene had shrugged off each and every one of them.

After being so rudely disregarded, Ethel had tried to tighten the reins, but neither making Eliot’s laundry disappear from the washing nor sending him an owl telling him Selene had picked up a possibly fatal and definitely highly infectious disease yet unknown to wizardkind had served her purpose.

Unsatisfied with the result of her endeavours, Ethel now sat between two piles of dresses in their dormitory in Gryffindor Tower with a decidedly bad mood, watching Selene twirling in front of a floor length mirror.

Selene had been trying on dresses all morning, and none of them seemed to satisfy her. She was currently wearing a dark red one which made her eyes look even more green than usual. She stopped turning and stepped closer to the mirror, regarding her reflection critically. She then sighed, shook her head and held out her hand.

“Next.”

Ethel frowned as she reached for another dress from the quickly dwindling pile the two girls had compiled from their wardrobes. Selene tossed the red dress onto the pile of discarded clothes and took the navy blue one Ethel was holding out to her.

“Whatever shall I do if none of these dresses fit, Effy?” she called out, her voice muffled as her head vanished inside the dress. “I can’t possibly go wearing anything ordinary.”

“You can’t possibly go at all, if you ask me,” Ethel muttered under her breath, but Selene had heard her regardless. She glowered at Ethel when she emerged from beneath the fabric.

“You certainly aren’t of much help.”

“If I’m so utterly unhelpful, how come you have asked me for assistance instead of the Slytherin witches?” Ethel asked pointedly.

Selene finally decided the blue dress was to her taste and was now busy holding her hair up and away from her face - something Ethel had never seen her do.

“Do you think Eliot would fancy me more with my hair up or down?”

Ethel only snorted in response, which made Selene turn from the mirror and sit down on the bed next to her.

“I know you don’t like him, but do try to be a little bit excited, just for my sake, would you, Effy?” She took Ethel’s hand and looked suddenly worried. “You won’t do anything funny to spoil our date, will you? You have to promise me!”

Ethel was genuinely offended at the idea. “How could you think I would so much as dream of sabotaging you, Selly?” she cried out. “I would never!”

Selene’s face softened and she leaned against her best friend’s shoulder. “I know. Forgive me for saying that. I’m just nervous.”

“If anyone should be nervous, it’s him,” Ethel muttered. “He doesn’t deserve a witch as brilliant as you.”

“Effy…,” Selene said with a warning undertone.

Ethel tried her hardest to not say anything bad about Eliot until it was time for Selene to leave. As soon as she had gone, Ethel looked around the mostly empty common room, undecided on what to do now. Most students had gone to spend Valentine’s Day in Hogsmeade, and thinking about it, there was absolutely no reason for Ethel to not do the same, was there?

Everyone was going, she told herself as she bundled up in her coat, scarf and a woolly hat which covered most of her face; she was just taking out their pet for some fresh air, she reasoned, stowing Alan the ferret inside the pocket of her coat; who knew, she might even find some interesting birds to watch, she thought and grabbed the spyglass Jim had gotten for their last birthday and which had somehow ended up in Ethel’s drawer. Funny how that happened over and over again.

Fully prepped and ready, Ethel set out on her way into Hogsmeade. She walked at a brisk pace and it wasn’t long before she could see Eliot and Selene appear in front of her. Ethel slowed her steps. There was nothing wrong with walking behind them, there was only one way from Hogwarts to the village, after all. She did take care to stay out of sight, however; she didn’t want to disturb the happy couple after all.

Ethel made it into Hogsmeade without either Selene or Eliot noticing her. They really should’ve paid more attention to their surroundings, Ethel thought to herself while hiding behind a stall selling roses. Someone could ambush them at any given moment. Their behaviour was utterly irresponsible. What kind of friend would she be if she didn’t alert them to the possibility of imminent danger?

Not taking her eyes off Eliot, Ethel drew her wand. She just wanted to see if he had what it took to protect Selene. Ethel snorted at the thought; as if Selene needed protection.

When the couple walked past a muddy puddle in the middle of the street, Ethel flicked her wand. Eliot tripped and stumbled, and Ethel was gleefully waiting for him to fall when he suddenly caught his stride with an unnaturally wide step. Selene said something to him, Eliot shrugged, and they continued along their way.

Ethel frowned and weighed her options for a moment. She focused and pointed her wand at Eliot. As she gave it another flick, the tails of his coat started smoking and burst into flame. But before Eliot could notice and show that he would certainly panic at the slightest hint of danger, the fire went out.

How odd; setting people on fire had never failed Ethel before.

They continued like this for a while: Ethel made snow fall off a roof and it fell differently than it should have; she made a bin topple to the ground right before Eliot’s feet and it swerved and tilted to the other side.

With every failed attempt to prove to Selene that Eliot was not a suitable match for her, Ethel grew increasingly vexed. She put her wand away and cracked her knuckles. Something was going on, that much was clear, but it took more than something to stop Ethel Hexley on a mission.

She scooped a handful of snow from the ground which she then formed into a ball, and aimed for the back of Eliot’s head. Before it could hit its goal, however, Ethel’s snowball was shot out of the air by another one, right before a second snowball hit her square in the face.

Outraged at being so rudely attacked, Ethel looked around to see where the snowball had been coming from. On the other side of the street, right across from where Ethel was hiding, she could spot a head peeking out from behind a bush. It was Oliver Gerard, Eliot’s older brother and the captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch team.

Oliver looked at her with a serious expression and made a shooing motion with both of his hands. Ethel answered him with a not entirely appropriate gesture that made Oliver blush, but what did he expect? No one enjoyed being sabotaged, after all.

To drive her point home, she formed another snowball, this time aimed at the older Gerard brother. Oliver made a muffled sound as he ducked behind his bush, only to emerge with a snowball of his own he sent right back at Ethel.

Before they knew it a heated snowball fight had ensued. Ethel clearly had the upper hand; she was certain it would be only moments before Oliver would acknowledge her triumph and declare his eat. Ethel was in the process of aiming her final shot when the sound of a throat being cleared made her stop dead in her tracks.

“What exactly do you think you’re doing?” Selene asked, her eyebrows raised and her hands stemmed into her hips.

“Showing Oliver how to properly throw a snowball,” Ethel explained, aimed and threw but her snowball never made it past Selene’s hand, which shot forward and intercepted Ethel’s shot.

“I don’t think that’s what you’re doing at all,” she said and gave Ethel a stern look. “On the contrary, I think you are behind all these little accidents we had the whole day.” A look of disappointment crossed Selene’s face. “You promised me not to interfere, Effy!”

“I wasn’t,” Ethel replied stuffily and clapped the snow off her hands. “I could never do anything to hurt you.”

“Isn’t it ever so fortunate that all the bad luck seemed to fall on Eliot then?”

“Here I am, minding my own affairs and showing Alan our most beautiful village, and yet you are accusing me of such vile intentions. We don’t deserve that, do we Alan?” Ethel cried out and looked down at her pocket where she expected to see Alan’s head poke out, but Alan had already freed himself of Ethel’s coat and climbed up Selene’s skirts up to her shoulder. Ethel glared at him. “Traitorous critter.”

“Why would you try to ruin this for me Effy?” Selene sighed and sounded hurt. “Or you, for that matter?” she addressed Oliver, who was now being dragged over to them by Eliot.

“I would never want to ruin your rendez-vous!” Oliver protested. “I’m not here to stand in true love’s way. Only in hers,” he added and nodded into Ethel’s direction.

“What is that supposed to mean?” Ethel bristled up.

“I’m sabotaging the saboteur.”

“How utterly rude. I wasn’t sabotaging a soul. My whole purpose was to ensure your brother could protect my dear sister in the face of danger.”

“By flinging him into the mud and setting him on fire?”

“Being on fire is not a suitable excuse.”

“Are you even listening to yourself?” Oliver asked and threw his hands in the air.

“Yes, I am,” Ethel said indignantly, “and obviously I am the only person with so much as a little common sense left if you think -”

“Stop it, both of you!” Selene cut into their bickering. She had raised her voice and glared between Ethel and Oliver. “I appreciate the effort of wanting to keep us safe or wanting to keep us safe from anyone trying to keep us safe. But this is enough. Eliot and I are on a date, whether you like it or not, and we are perfectly capable of protecting ourselves. And we don’t need a matchmaking chaperone either,” she added, which wiped Oliver’s triumphant grin off his face.

This was the first time Ethel had even seen Selene being angry at her. She felt miserable for making her best friend upset.

“Do forgive me for ruining your afternoon,” she said contritely and and meant it. “I really only wanted to -”

“I know,” Selene said, sounding decidedly softer than before. “But I am perfectly fine. Trust me, Effy, will you?”

“Who else would I trust more than you, dear sister?” Ethel smiled.

She turned to Oliver, linked arms with him and pulled him away from Selene and his brother. “I feel generous today, so I will treat the loser of our snowball fight to an invigorating drink.”

“Wait,” Oliver said and gave her a sideways-glance, “what would make you think I was losing?”

Ethel looked at him pityingly. “Of course you were. Pray, do you think Cledwyn might be at The Three Broomsticks?”

Their chatter faded as Selene and Eliot stood watching Ethel and Oliver walk away. When she was sure they were out of earshot, Selene exhaled slowly and turned to Eliot with an apologetic smile.

“Family, huh?”

“Worse,” Eliot replied wryly, “in-laws.”

[lifewithdavefarts]

DaveFarts - Episode 6 “Fart Bet, Easy Bucks” [Episode List] When, rather immaturely, Tim’s friends are doing some random, silly bets, things soon turn stinkier and gassier as Dave joins the game…

Fart Bet, Easy Bucks

The immature, roaring laughter of me and my friends echoed in the living-room as another pal of mine, Jim, took one last bite of an onion, his cheeks turning red, teary eyes, almost puking in front us. We clapped our hands like the drunk monkeys we were, ignoring our friend’s gagging sounds, and we all took another shot of vodka in his honor.

“Well done, Jim!” Adam laughed, as tipsy as the rest of us.

That’s what we were doing in Adam’s parent-free house: really mature bets. At late night, it was almost 3:00 a.m. Our onion-eating friend just lost one of those silly bets we were challenging each other to do. Pretty stupid tasks, like standing on one foot for 3 minutes or reading stuff upside down. Quite mundane, easy, but try doing it after two bottles of vodka-lemon. Each.  The loser had to take a couple of bites of an onion, because as I said, we’re very mature. And clever.

The entire room stunk like that stinky vegetable and alcohol, didn’t help that some of us were also burping loudly and proudly, but we were too tipsy to even notice or even be bothered by that (plus, it’s not like I’m not used to… bad-smelling stuff…). When not betting each other to do shit, we were all sitting on two different couches: Adam, Jim and a couple of other guys were all sitting and burping on a longer couch, while I was on a smaller one with Dave, sitting next to me.

As more laughs roared in the room for no reason, in the chaos, Dave elbowed me and chuckled a bit, bringing to my attention the weird vibrations on the couch: he was ripping one of his big farts, the sound completely muffled by the pillows, his loose dark grey jeans probably making it sound even louder and manlier. I only smiled a bit a took another shot of vodka; my gassy friend did the same, finding my awkward reaction hilarious as usual.

“Tim, it’s your turn!”

I almost chocked on my own drink when I heard my name: Dave’s flatulence usually makes me very absent-minded. I finally realized that Adam was standing in the middle of the room, each one of us, one by one, whistling a song to him: if he guessed wrong, then it’s onion-hell for him. It was my turn to whistle a song then. I think about it for a moment, and then I start to whistle this famous hit from a couple of years earlier, but I was pretty drunk, so I didn’t really realize how weird the sounds coming out of my lips were, but my friends laughing should have been a wake-up call.

Eventually, Adam ran out of time, because he couldn’t guess the song I was “singing” to him. He was mad, almost furious, but it was the alcohol talking.

“Tim, you’re an idiot!” he was understandably angry, because it was my fault. “That wasn’t even a real song, you asshole!”

Didn’t help that we were all laughing at him, but my friend didn’t accept defeat, and he actually had all the rights to.

“I’m not going to eat those fucking onions!” Adam shouted. “Tim made me lose: he should be the one choking on that shit!”

I wasn’t offended, to be honest. I was actually laughing like the rest of the guys.

“Dude… we’re out of onions!” Jim said, noticing the empty plate.

We all laughed even more after that and I may have given to my angry friend a smug-ish look. I was just kidding, but he took it very seriously.

“Oh you’re going down, Tim. Just you wait…”

He eventually convinced our other pals that I was, indeed, deserving a “punishment”.

“Make him lick your dog’s balls!” someone suggested. “Leave my princess out of this!” Adam replied, offended.

It’s like the entire group stopped being drunk just to decide what disgusting task I should have done. I just laughed the whole time: it’s part of the game, they were not mean-spirited. Even Dave suggested some stuff, like drinking expired milk with my nostrils. Each suggestion was met with a mixture of laughter and disgust.

After a couple of minutes of discussion, I felt Dave once again elbowing me.

“Gentlemen, please!” he shouted, in a slightly sarcastic tone. “Since you’re wasting my time, I propose an entire new bet. Whether the result, Tim will still get his… punishment, trust me!”

He was trying not to laugh, but he did earn some puzzled looks from our other pals.

“If Tim survives to  this  for 5 minutes straight…” he leaned a bit, the couch shaking again under the pressure of his enormous, muffled fart, which lasted 4 seconds. Our other friends laughed immaturely and I started to sweat. “…then you guys are going to give us 20$. Each.”

Dave was insane. Was he really going to do what I think… no, that’s just crazy. It can’t be, come on! There was people watching us! Our friends were a both amused and disgusted.   But also intrigued.

“But if he gives up, then Tim owes Adam… let’s see… 200$” “What?!” I thought, the money-part being the only thing I disagreed with. The thought of Dave face-farting me was amazingly distracting as usual.

As our friends discussed Dave’s proposal, my gassy friend just patted my shoulder. “Come on Tim, that’s some easy bucks, right?” he whispered, chuckling a bit. My fetish was just a weird, fun game to him, and I couldn’t have been happier. But in front of our pals? That was too strange even for my standards.

When I turned to my gassy bro, however, he was already leaning on his back, his legs cocked up, his loose dark grey jeans forming that well-known “barrage” made of denim, a really familiar sight for me. I heard my friends laugh, Adam getting closer to me, his hands on my shoulders.

“Come on Tim… I want to see your face turn green!”

He was trying to sound threatening, but he couldn’t help but laugh; I know Adam: he’s just a friendly dork trying to act tough and I knew that he was actually finding the entire situation immaturely hilarious. But he had to look mad, it’s part of his… character.

I heard Dave sucking some air in his ass, his jeans now sagging, exposing a bit of his red underwear (interesting color, that’s for sure). The weird sounds coming from my friend’s butt were the only thing I could hear, despite my friends laughing. Every time Dave farted was like a dream coming true, but this time we were not alone. I stopped thinking about how risky the situation was for a moment, knowing that my friends would never suspect what was really going on between me and Dave, and just listened to the chorus of “Sniff it!”.

I gently buried my face in that soft, denim pillow, his legs slowly wrapping around my head, as if he was hugging me, trapping me in his gas-chamber. With my nose touching his underwear-covered anus, I could still feel the air being sucked in. A moment of silence, and then I felt his butt-muscles relax, and a first fart began.

It was so loud it’s hard to describe. Despite being on command, it was incredibly gross and wet-ish. The smell was rancid and unbearable, the mixture of alcohol and onions in Dave’s stomach probably produced something that no human would have been able to handle. The fart was so strong… loud, manly: my entire face was shaking, I swear I’ll never get used to his gassy talent. I could barely hear my friends laughing: my ears were devoted to Dave’s immense display of flatulence.

I coughed a bit, pretending to hate the smell, when the truth was obviously really different. This first fart alone lasted almost 20 seconds, one of the longest I’ve ever experienced from him. Our friends clapped their hands in approval, having yet another shot of vodka, a toast to the incredible display of fart-talent they just witnessed, and just kept laughing immaturely.

As they laughed, I saw Dave’s face just above that “barrage” of sagging jeans: as usual, he was laughing, and smiled at me, and then winked: his ��plan” was working great. I felt his hand brushing through my hair and gently pushing me even deeper into the denim depths of his ass, this time with my nose almost perfectly aligned with his underwear-clad anus.

Dave’s grip, as usual, felt more like a caress, and the fart that immediately followed was just as big as the first one. And hilarious as well. “This is a natural one!” I heard him say, basically bragging about his gassy-abilities, as the fart kept going strong, our friends laughing again. “Pull him closer!” Jim shouted, then (probably him) pushed me even more “inside” of Dave’s butt (I couldn’t tell if it was Jim, as my face –and eyes- was completely buried in my friend’s fart-shooter). Dave made his butt comically wiggle a bit, forcing some toots out: my nostrils were almost burning, the stench being a mixture of rotten onions and burning vodka-lemon.

“That’s so gay!” Adam laughed. Ironically, he was right, about me at least.

“3 minutes already!” I heard somebody scream. I almost lost track of time: as I said, those farts make me absent-minded. Dave just kept ripping this series of loud rips one after one, without even sucking in. I couldn’t tell anymore whether he was farting on command or not anyway: he was just so good at it that the farts always felt natural (and, 99% of times, they were). “Aww man.” Dave chuckled, lying down slowly. He was tired, exhausted. “Can I turn around?!” he asked. They all simply laughed in response, though I also heard some gagging sounds.

My best friend turned around slowly, adjusting his position, his legs somehow keeping my face planted in his ass, as if he was “wrestling” me down, albeit very slowly and gently. He was now lying on his stomach, his loose-jeans butt looking like a beautiful pillow made of denim, his red underwear slightly popping out.

“Do your longest one, Dave!” Adam suggested. I was both mad and grateful for that.

He then came closer and made sure that my face was buried in the farter’s butt, pushing me even deeper in it. Dave just laughed, while I was trying not to get as red as tomato. I just couldn’t believe how open-minded Dave was about this, going as far as face-farting me in front of everyone else; granted, the bet was a smart excuse, but still, I was speechless. I didn’t even feel embarrassed: it was like a big prank, and friends alway prank each other, but the friendship remains intact, if not even stronger.

“Alright, I feel a good one… ready?” my gassy friend said, but it’s like he was talking to me only, as if we were alone as usual, during one of our fart sessions.

It’s like his butt “hugged” my face even more, right before the explosion that engulfed my entire, defenseless head in a cloud of stench. The fart shook my entire face and part of the couch like an earthquake. The chainsaw-like sounds were as loud as a thunder; the whole flatulence sounded fake, but it wasn’t, at all. 10 seconds, but the fart kept going strong, almost unnaturally.

I caught a glimpse of Dave’s smile as he slightly turned his head around, making sure I was enjoying it, but the rest of our friends didn’t notice that apparently, as they were too busy laughing and clapping their hands. “No way!” Adam shouted, in a mixture of anger and hilarity: as the fart was still being ripped, Dave slightly lowered his jeans a bit, fully exposing the red underwear, the sound getting even louder. I felt his hand again pushing me between his buttcheeks, as he spread his legs a bit more. I was having a close-encounter with his anus, the underwear acting as one final line of defense separating me from the real source of that gas. The smell was unbearable: onions smelt nice in comparison. And it was great.

As a “big finale”, as Dave announced it, the flatulence turned as loud as it was humanly possible, the ear-piercing sound almost destroying my own eardrums. My nostrils were burning, my nose getting wet-ish due to Dave’s sweaty buttcheeks. It was the most intense face-farting that my best friend ever made me experience… and he was straight: imagine if he was gay!

“No fucking way!” Adam roared. “5 minutes!”

Everyone else cheered and laughed, playfully throwing pillows at our angry friend. I slowly sat back, Dave doing the same, tying his jeans belt again. He patted on my shoulder, laughing, while I was doing my best to tame my huge boner, hidden by my own jeans.

“No way! You guys did this before, come on!”

Adam asked, ironically (if only he knew…), now laughing too, as he took a 20$ bill out of his wallet. The rest of the guys reluctantly did the same, throwing money at us, disgusted and amused at the same time.

The entire living-room now smelt like onions and rotten alcohol (if rotten-alcohol existed… does it exist?), everyone moaning in disgust, while me and Dave counted the money we just earned… by cheating.

“Easiest bucks we ever made!” he whispered, handing 50% of the cash to me, elbowing me like he did other times. “Great job!” he chuckled.

We all had another shot of vodka-lemon, and the night proceeded as usual, as Jim found another stash of onions hidden in the fridge. As the really clever betting continued, my gaze landed more than once on Dave… just Dave, sitting next to me, as if nothing happened. He’s like a brother, my best friend. He did that for me, he felt he was really gassy because of all the alcohol… and so farted in my face as an excuse, money or not.

Yes, I bet Dave did all of that for me, not just the money. And that’s another bet I’m sure I’ll win.

End of Episode 6

[super-unpredictable98]

Make Me Sway | Song of Sway Lake AU

Chapter 3: Unforgettable

Warning: Strong language, smut, mention of death

(Make Me Sway masterlist)

"Oh, do I have to get in the boat?" Lada swallowed nervously. "I... I don't swim, Nikolai."

"Don't worry, if anything happens, which it won't because I'm here, I'll carry you to the shore," he offered his hand to help her in.

"Are you a good swimmer?"

"What do you think?" he smirked.

"Okay, okay, where do I sit?"

"Here," he helped her down, positioning her between his legs.

"Won't the boat flip with so much weight?"

"Don't worry, Ollie has the motor on the other side, just relax, huh?" he grabbed one of the oars. "You can lay on my chest if you like."

Lada did lean against his chest as the boys started rowing towards the shop. She closed her eyes, not wanting to know how far from the dock they were, but they fluttered open when she heard voices.

"Nice canoe," a lady said.

"Fucking canoe?" Nikolai seemed almost offended. "This is a genuine Adirondack guideboat! Fucking canoe... What are you laughing at?"

"Nothing," Lada giggled quietly.

"You think this is funny?" he smiled, rowing faster.

"A little bit..."

"Derzkiy little thing, aren't you?"

"I don't know what that means, but I'll take it as a compliment."

When they arrived at the dock where the shop was, Nikolai helped Lada up with his hands on her hips, surprisingly not taking advantage of his position to touch her inappropriately in any way.

"See? I told you it would be okay," he used his arms to get up on the dock himself and turned to help Ollie.

"Yeah, it was kinda fun..." she tried taking the motor from her brother's hand, but Nikolai stopped her.

"No, leave it to me, it's too heavy."

"I'm not as weak as I look, you know?" she folded her arms defiantly. "I bet you couldn't keep up with my performance schedule. Broadway workout is serious business."

"A gentleman never lets a lady carry such heavy stuff, and I am gentleman."

As soon as they entered the shop, the owner's face lit up, recognizing them immediately.

"Lada, Oliver! I didn't know you were here, it's been so long!"

"Hey, Jim! It's so nice to see you!" she ran to give the old man a hug.

"I'm so sorry about your dad, it must be really hard on you kids, and your grandma..."

"It is," she watched as Ollie ignored the whole conversation to look around the store like a little kid. "She's definitely shaken."

"Is that your grandpa's old guideboat?" Jim looked out the window.

"Yeah, Nikolai here thought it would be nice to take her for a spin."

"Commander Sway used to row that guideboat every morning, you could set a clock by it..." he smiled fondly. "But what brings you kids here? What do you need?"

"Eight cylinder head gasket for 1939 Chris Craft," Nikolai said without skipping a beat.

"Are you serious?" Jim stared at him surprised. "That old speedboat hasn't been out on the lake in twenty years."

His train of thought was interrupted when Isadora's angry shouts echoed around the dock. Oliver was pulled to the backdoor like a man following a siren sing.

"Hey, it's the girl you were looking for..." Lada nudged her brother's arm.

"College kids, they work a hotel on the lake, but don't know the first thing about boats," Jim shook his head to which Nikolai nodded and waved, encouraging Ollie to go out there and talk to her. "It's nice to have a fella like you on the lake."

"He knows everything about boats, I have no idea where he learned all that," Lada leaned over the counter next to them as her brother left.

"This one's a keeper," Jim murmured, half-joking. "How did you two meet?"

"Us?" she laughed uncomfortably. "We're not actually together."

"Yet," Nikolai grinned a wolfish grin. "You know how it works, right, Jim? Some girls only need a word, but the best ones are the ones that require work, they are hard to get."

"Oh, stop that..." she slapped his shoulder playfully. "We're just friends, but I'm sure he's gonna make some girl very happy one day."

"Come on out," Jim called, still not buying that last statement. "I'll look for a gasket for you."

The young man took Lada's hand on the way out, she didn't fight it, she also felt somewhat flattered by his comment, but she was decided not to let anything happen. It was unreasonable, but mostly to prove her grandma wrong.

"Jim, I can't get this piece of shit to work," Isadora whined, pointing at the motor of her boat.

"That's my kid's venture," he replied, pointing at the boy on the other side of the dock.

"Dad, I fixed it yesterday," he looked down, slightly embarrassed.

"The choke is stuck," Nikolai jumped into the boat without hesitating.

He kneeled next to the motor, confidently jamming his fingers into the engine before pulling the cord, the engine started immediately and Isadora huffed at him in frustration.

"You got lucky," she sneered.

"All my life," he said as he graciously made his way back out.

Lada looked away, swallowing thickly. That was very hot, the way he just knew how to do things was insanely attractive, and she couldn't help but think what else he could do with those hands.

"Something wrong?" he gave her a knowing smile, noticing how flustered she was.

"No, you're very skilled."

"So I've heard," he shrugged. "But it was quite simple actually. Nothing like... Performing on Broadway, for example."

The rest of the way home Lada was quiet, maybe her grandma was right, maybe she was letting this go too far. She was committed to ending all of this, she would talk to Nikolai later, when they were alone, to make sure things were clear.

During dinner, she barely said a word, and immediately disappeared into the kitchen to help with the dishes. When she went looking for him, he was nowhere to be found, just like Ollie, so she sat by the lake, waiting for one of them to show up.

"Did your papa teach you to fight?" Nikolai asked as the guideboat neared the dock.

Hearing his voice, Lada hid behind a bush, she knew she shouldn't be listening to other people's conversation, especially not his and her brother's, but she couldn't resist it.

"He was neither a lover nor a fighter," Ollie replied, he was right, their dad has always been a mystery to her.

"But your pop taught you music..."

"I need to find a girl who likes old records."

"Like your sister?"

"Dude, gross! Why are you so obsessed with her anyway?"

"Remember when you would do anything for a girl because you thought she would save your life?" Nikolai chuckled. "I used to think no woman is worth dying for anymore, but seems like I found one. Lada is worth every drop of my blood, every breath that I take, and she can save my life."

"Man, trust me," Ollie warned. "Lada isn't this person you're thinking she is... She's just like her," he pointed at the house where Charlie was prancing around in her nightgown, listening to music. "If she had no money, she'd just be crazy."

"Why does she not go to the dock?"

"She's afraid she'd jump?"

"And you don't swim," Nikolai pointed out. "Neither does Lada, runs in the family. Speaking of her, do you think she's awake?"

"I don't know, if I were you I'd just give up already."

Lada covered her mouth, waiting for them to get into the house before coming out of the bush and running back inside. Every single room was dark, only the living room had the lights on. She tried to quietly sneak back to her room, but bumped into something, or someone.

"Hey," Nikolai grinned, keeping her from falling. "Where were you? Marlena said you left."

"Are those my grandpa's clothes?" she looked him up and down, he was wearing an old military uniform over his previous outfit.

"Yeah, I hope you don't mind, I was just... Trying it on."

"N-no, they look good on you," she looked away again, resisting that boy was already hard enough without a uniform.

"Are you tired?"

"Not really, we need to talk."

"I was thinking the same thing," he looked through the records on the shelf until he found the perfect one. He placed it on the record player and turned it on, the entire living room was taken by the velvety sound of Unforgettable sung by Nat King Cole. "Dance with me, Lada."

"Nikolai, I-" she tried to fight it, but it was like a magnet inside of him attracted a magnet inside of her, and she let herself be taken into his arms as they swayed to the music.

"Like a song of love that clings to me, how the thought of you does things to me. Never before has someone been more... Unforgettable in every way, and forever more that's how you'll stay," he sang quietly in her ear, his accent only making the song even sexier.

"We should-" she tried to say something, but the words dissolved in her throat.

"You look so pretty covered in goosebumps," he purred, holding her tightly against his chest as they danced.

"You're such a charmer," was all that she could say.

"Only for you, Zvezda."

"I know that isn't true, Ollie told me you had sex with a blonde girl the other night."

"That fucker... I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to curse in front of you, excuse my language. She didn't mean anything, we were both drunk, I don't even remember her name. Girls like her are a dime a dozen, you are different, my Lady of the Flowers."

"I live in the city, Nikolai, I see a million guys just like you every day."

"Maybe, but I have only seen one girl like you my entire life..." he dropped to his knees. "I'm on your hands, Lada, you choose if I live or die."

"What?" she laughed at how dramatic he was, but she'd be lying if she said that wasn't incredibly charming.

"I won't survive another night without your kiss."

"Now you're just lying..."

"You wanna take a chance? Tomorrow on every newspaper: poor Russian orphan killed by broken heart!"

"Well, I wouldn't wanna be responsible for the death of a poor Russian orphan..." Lada got down to her knees as well.

Nikolai slowly took her face in his hands, almost as if he was trying to remember every little detail from that moment, and leaned in, capturing her lips in a devoted kiss.

"If I profane with my unworthiest hand this holy shrine, the gentle sin is this. My lips, two blushing pilgrims, ready stand to smooth that rough touch with a tender kiss," he mumbled under his breath, making her heart race once again, partially surprised that he knew those lines off the top of his head.

"Good pilgrim, you do wrong your hand too much which mannerly devotion shows in this, for saints have hands that pilgrims' hands do touch, and palm to palm is holy palmers' kiss," she threaded her fingers with his, before seeking his lips again.

"God has created the world thinking of you, Lada, every single thing on this planet is here just to complement your infinite beauty. The stars, the sun, the moon, every flower, and every ocean look dull compared to you. Sometimes I am scared to touch you, scared you'll disappear in the air like a mirage."

"Why do you say those things?" a tear escaped her eye, which he promptly wiped away with a kiss.

"Because you deserve to hear them, I'm the one who'll watch over you, if you let me."

"Come on," she got up, offering her hand for Nikolai to take.

"Where are we going?"

"To my room."

He followed suit as quickly as humanly possible and headed upstairs to her bedroom.

Her bed was tiny, but they didn't seem to mind, anxious to be even closer to one another. She shed her dress and took his cap off, throwing it to the side. He watched her, hypnotized, unable to believe this was really happening.

"Are you sure, Zvezda?"

"Yes, Nicky, I want you to make love to me."

"Anything, anything for you," he rapidly got out of his clothes as well and crawled atop of her, kissing every inch of her body on the way, worshiping her with all the love in his heart.

"Oh God... It's been so long," Lada murmured with a sigh as he finally reached her neck.

"So long since a man has touched you?"

"So long since a man has touched me with such passion."

"You deserve it, darling, you are a goddess," Nikolai mumbled in between kisses, his hand wandering around her bare chest.

That wasn't the first girl he had been with. Of course not, far from that, but that was the first woman he had ever been with, and the thought excited him.

"I've tried so hard not to want you," she moaned softly as he finished undressing her.

"I have wanted you from the first time I saw you, Lada," he reached between her legs, his agile fingers teasing her, coated in her arousal. "Are you ready?"

"Ready as I'll ever be," she brought him close again for more ardent kisses.

"Oh, you are perfect," he groaned as he slid into her easily, for a second he froze and just looked at her, admiring her reaction. "Does it feel good?"

"Amazing," she gasped as he started to move, thrusting mindfully, deeply, as if trying to make their bodies merge into one. "S-so good, Nicky."

"I love when you call me Nicky," he confessed, feeling suddenly very vulnerable, barely able to stop himself from saying 'I love you'.

Their breathing in synch was the only sound in the room, the peace of that moment was only interrupted by occasional soft moans and whimpers.

Nikolai couldn't help but think that's what 'the greatest day in Eskimo history' was, maybe that's why Commander Sway was always so anxious to arrive back home, to feel complete the way he felt right now.

"I-I'm getting close, Nicky," Lada cried. "Faster... Please..."

"Where do you want me to finish?" if it was any other girl, he would be wearing a condom and that question wouldn't be necessary, but it was her. He wanted to honor the temple of her body and feel every moment of it fully.

"Inside of me," her coy smile, make Nikolai's heart melt.

"Are you sure?"

"Don't worry, IUD," was all Lada was able to say before she had to cover her mouth not to wake everyone up with the sound of her pleasure.

Truth is, the reason why he asked if she was sure wasn't because of pregnancy. If anything, he wouldn't really mind if she got pregnant with his child, they would be a beautiful family. He asked because that was an act of trust, part of him was gonna be in her, at least for a while, he liked to think of it as more than a simple exchange of fluids.

Not another word was said as they both reached their climax nearly at the same time, none of them had the words to express how they felt right then, in each other's arms, every inch of their skin graced by the gentle touch of their partner. That was the first time either of them had truly made love.

"Was it good?" Nikolai asked, despite already knowing the answer.

"Incredible," Lada responded breathlessly. "I wish we could sleep together."

"And why can't we?"

"People would see us, Ollie and my grandma..."

"Ollie already knows how I feel about you," he stated proudly. "Are you embarrassed of me?"

"No! No, I could never be embarrassed of you, I just don't want my grandma jumping to conclusions."

"I understand," he agreed, knowing how difficult Mrs. Sway could be. "Can I wait until you fall asleep and go?"

"Sure," Lada nodded slowly, running her fingers through his shy curls.

That night, Nikolai held her close to his chest until the moon drowned in the lake and the sun was about to come out.

"Good night, good night! Parting is such sweet sorrow, that I shall say good night till it be morrow," he whispered, taking the pearl necklace from her nightstand and the sunglasses on her dresser.

[kayluh1915]

More Than Anything

Words: 3,813

Pairing(s): Pedro Pascal/Female Reader

Warnings: 18+ Only!

While enjoying a long awaited drink, you find yourself entertained by the young bartender with horrible jokes. Pedro, however, doesn't see the humor in the situation.

DISCLAIMER

This fic is a part of my "Pedro y su Abeja🐝" series. You don't have to read the previous stories to understand this one, but they're there if anyone would like to give them a glance with your peepers. I write them as a reader insert, but they can also be read as an original character. It's up to you.

Follow me on Twitter, Instagram, and TikTok if you'd like. I'm pretty boring but I try. You can also checkout my Pedro Pascal Masterlist if you'd like to read some more Pedro works by me.

Enjoy!

Read on AO3

Additional Warnings: Daddy kink, dom/sub undertones, oral sex (female receiving), dirty talk, hair pulling, vaginal sex, and creampie.

London was beautiful.

Maybe a bit too cold for your tastes, but beautiful nonetheless.

It was your first time ever in the city… actually, it was your first time out of the States period. You always loved to travel, but never had the time or the money to invest in it. So, being in a new city and a new country was extremely exciting.

Big Ben was gorgeous, the London Eye was romantic, and Buckingham Palace was elegant. So many new and exciting sights all around you and yet your only focus was on Pedro, holding on tightly to his arm as he escorted you down the red carpet.

“Okay?” He asked, turning his attention towards you for a moment. You smiled up at him and nodded, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear as you did so. The red carpet still made you incredibly uncomfortable, but you had gotten better at it since Oscar night. It’s not something you enjoy, but you didn’t mind it as long as Pedro was there for you to follow and hold onto.

“After I finish presenting, we can head to the afterparty if you want. There’s really no need to stay if you’re not feeling it.” He offered once you were finally away from the blinding cameras.

“That sounds great, actually. I could use a drink."

"Yeah? What're you feeling?" You pondered for a moment.

"Honestly, I'm not really sure. Maybe something with vodka or bourbon."

"Bourbon, huh? Are you homesick?" You scoffed playfully and rolled your eyes with your tongue stuck out at him, earning a deep chuckle as he placed a kiss on your temple.

He teases you about that every time bourbon is brought up.

After the usual press interviews and greetings with Pedro’s peers, you were finally able to take your seats, getting as close to him as possible while he draped his arm across the back of your seat.

Before meeting Pedro, you loved award shows. It was an excuse to get off your ass with friends and shit on the biased bastards who clearly chose the winners on other criteria besides which film had been best crafted.

Now, you fucking hated them. Having to sit still in a seat and listen to these rich snobs drone on and on about nothing important for hours on end with no booze or idiotic friends to laugh with made it damn near unbearable for you. Pedro knew this and picked up on your fidgeting about 40 minutes into the show. He placed his hand on your bouncing knee, gently rubbing his thumb over it.

"You can go on to the party if you want, Abeja. I still have a bit before my presentation and I know how restless you get with these things.” You shook your head, going back to bouncing your knee, but a bit gentler this time.

“Nah. I want to stay here with you and show my support.” He chuckled.

“You don’t have to prove anything to me and you know that." A split second of silence fell between you as you weighed your options, but he wasn't having it.

"Go. Have a drink and loosen up a bit. I’ll come find you after I present and we can watch the clip together on YouTube later.”

Normally, you wouldn’t listen to him and would tough it out. Pedro lit up like a kid on Christmas anytime he was on camera and you loved to see it, but he was right. The video of him presenting would be on YouTube within minutes of it being aired so you’d still be able to see it.

"... Okay. I have my phone if you want me to come back." You offered.

"Alright. I’ll see you in a bit, honey." You exchanged a quick kiss, bunched your dress up in both hands, and nearly booked it out of the theatre, more than happy to finally be away from all the formal shit.

You were the first one at the party, rushing over the bartender and ordering some Jim Beam and Coke. Pretty basic, but it was just something to get you started.

"Your accent is lovely." The bartender complimented as he slid your drink to you.

"Oh, this ugly thing?" You gestured to your vocal chords. "I respectfully disagree, but thank you. I’d much rather have one like yours. Sounds much nicer than deep fried hick." The young man laughed, resting his elbow on the bar.

"Where you from?" You took a sip of the concoction before answering.

"Kentucky. Born and raised." The bartender looked at your drink and then back at you.

"You're not a little homesick are ya?" He asked, gesturing to your drink. You groaned, rolling your eyes and laying your head on the bar.

"Why does everyone ask me that? I just like bourbon, okay?" The bartender laughed again as you took another sip.

"Yes ma'am. I apologize. I'm Brice." He held his hand out for you to shake. You did, giving him your name in return. "So, this your first time in the UK?"

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

The afterparty had a lot more people now, the three drinks you've had relaxing you and tinting your cheeks blush red. It wasn't enough for you to ditch your filter, but it did make you quite giggly.

Brice especially found your giggle fits endearing. He had been talking to you the entire time you’d been there, only leaving to serve the other guests before coming back over to you. He'd lean on the marble bar as you spoke and he started telling you bad jokes just to get you to giggle. He seemed like a pretty cool dude.

"Can I ask you something?" He asked, watching you closely as you down your shot of whiskey. You put the glass back on the bar with a clank, letting out a sigh as you felt the liquor run warm down to your stomach.

"Sure. What's on your mind?" You answer. Brice takes the glass from you and washes it quickly, drying it off with a towel as he seems to ponder on how to say what he's about to say.

"You know, you're pretty awesome and I would love to get to know you better away from all of this." He started, gesturing around the party atmosphere. "So, I was wondering if you would like to exchange phone numbers? Maybe socials as well?"

Ah Lord. You were nowhere near drunk enough to deal with this shit. Brice seemed like a cool guy, but you didn't think you were coming off that way and immediately felt terrible for leading him on. You opened your mouth to say… something. You weren't really sure, but it was going to be better than dumbass silence. However, you didn't even get a word out before you felt a familiar hand on your back and Pedro’s voice right by your ear.

Perfect. Just in time to be used as a gentle decline.

"There you are, I've been looking everywhere for you." You spun around to come face to face with Pedro, your face instantly lighting up as soon as you saw him. He looked you over with a smile, noticing your flushed cheeks and drunken giggles.

"I see you've had your drink." You nodded, holding up four fingers. "Oh, four. Excuussse me."

Pedro looked over to Brice and ordered his own drink. He noticed that the young man had a melancholy look to him, his blue eyes shifting right back to you as soon as he acknowledged his drink order.

"Is he bothering you?" Pedro whispered, not taking his eyes off of the bartender as he made his drink. You gasped, pretending to be offended.

"Nooooo! Brice would never!"

Pedro wasn't usually a jealous man, but something about the current situation was making his blood boil. He concealed it well and thanked "Brice" when he handed him his drink.

"I'm going to go say hi to some friends. You wanna come with me?" You groaned, not really wanting to put your formal face back on, but your desire to be around Pedro as much as possible outweighed all of it.

“Fiiinnee. I’m not talking, though.” He held his hand out for you to take, helping you down from the bar stool before placing his hand on your lower back. He gave the bartender one last glance, trying his best not to feel the pride swell in his chest when he saw how devastated the poor guy looked.

About an hour had passed when you returned to the bar for another drink, Brice apologizing for being forward as he slid you your shot.

“I didn’t know you were with someone. I’m sorry.” You fanned your hand at him, downing your shot in one go.

“It’s no big deal. I didn’t say anything so you couldn’t have known. For what it’s worth, I think you're an awesome dude and would love to exchange socials with you. You have a discord?” Brice’s eyes lit up as he nodded, grabbing a pen and paper to write his username on.

After exchanging little scraps of paper, you continued chatting with him and ended up getting giggly again from the shot. Brice noticed and started telling his horrible jokes again, but your drunk ass still found them fucking hilarious. You were still sober enough to keep the filter, but you were talking and laughing pretty loudly.

Brice was in the middle of a joke when you felt Pedro’s large and warm hand wrap around your upper arm. You melted into him with a fit of giggles, Pedro laughing at how cute you were as he brushed a few strands of hair out of your eyes.

"C'mon, honey. I think it's time for us to turn in." Pedro said, a groan leaving your lips.

"Let Brice finish this last joke and then I'll come okay?"

This time, Pedro didn't hide his rage, looking up at Brice with the most intimidating look he could muster while he had you drunk in his arms. It definitely worked, the poor dude shrinking in on himself as his eyes widened with fear.

"A-actually I'll send it to you on Discord, okay? I think you should go with your boyfriend." Brice stuttered out, clearly intimidated by your sweet teddy bear which you found hilarious. So hilarious that you didn't even question why he was angry in the first place.

Pedro was satisfied with Brice's answer and deep down felt terrible for being such an asshole, turning his attention back to you leaning on him and still giggling.

"C'mon, Abeja. Let's go."

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

The door to your shared hotel room had barely shut before Pedro had you cornered, his eyes dark and the smell of his cologne dancing under your nostrils. You had sobered up a bit on the drive back to the hotel and was starting to feel tired.

You whine pitifully, mildly upset that he was keeping you from your plans of peaceful dreams.

"What is it, P? M'tired." You groaned. Pedro scoffed above you.

"Am I not enough for you?" He growled. You furrow your eyebrows in confusion and look up at him.

"Huh? What're you tal-"

"Is this old man not enough for your little pussy? Huh?" You froze and swallowed hard, now understanding where he was going with this and you very much liked it, your exhaustion instantly forgotten.

"N-no… You're perfect." He chuckled darkly, leaning down to trail his lips gently over your neck. You moaned quietly, feeling his stubble tickle your sensitive skin.

"Really? Then why would you waste your time with that... boy?”

Ooohhhh. Brice.

"He-he was just being friendly. He seemed like a pretty cool guy an-"

Pedro interrupted you by slamming you against the door, pinning your wrists to the cold steel as he got close to you, his lips only inches away from yours.

"You have no idea what you'd be missing." He snarled, your pussy clenching hard from just his words and voice alone.

"... Show me, then.”

Pedro growls low in his throat and pushes you harder into the door, now holding both of your wrists in his left hand as he caresses your face and lifts his knee up to your clothed cunt.

"Gonna fuck you so good. Your young little pussy won't be able to take it all." You whined quietly, grinding yourself down onto his knee.

"Please..." Pedro's breath hitched, his grip tightening on your wrists.

"See, look at you... You're already coming apart and I've only given you my knee. That boy wouldn't even get you this close with his inexperience. Only I know exactly what you need." You were squirming at this point, your juices already starting to soak through your panties.

"Please, Daddy… Please..." You begged as he pressed his knee even harder into your dripping heat.

"Patience, my sweet Abeja. Daddy will give you everything soon."

He jerked your wrists forward, pulling you close as he let go of his hold to grab your ass and hoist you up. You quietly squeaked in surprise, wrapping your arms and legs around him as he quickly carried you over to the bed. He threw you down on it, the springs protesting lightly from the sudden weight as Pedro began to strip.

He almost had his undershirt unbuttoned when you sat up and tried to unzip your dress, but he stopped you by pinning your wrists to the mattress.

“Only Daddy’s allowed to take that dress off, baby girl.” You whined, another gush soaking your already damp panties.

He let go of your wrists again and continued to undress, looking over your body hungrily as he did so.

“I bet you’re soaked already, aren’t you, pretty girl?” You nodded rubbing your thighs together as your pussy clenched again. He parted your legs and haphazardly lifted your dress. He groaned at the sight of your heather gray panties darkening in color as your arousal continued to seep.

The stylist had highly advised you to wear sexy underwear with the dress, but you didn't care. You'd take comfort over looks anyday and Pedro didn't seem to have a problem with your choice of underwear.

He took his right pointer finger and ran it gently over the darkening patch, the bulge in his boxers twitching and somehow getting harder.

"Fuck, look at you. So shameless." He wraps his arms around your legs and pulls you to the side of the bed while getting down on his knees. You impatiently began to fidget, knowing exactly what he was doing. He pulled your panties aside, the sight of your glistening pussy spurring him on as he yanked you closer and licked you from your opening to your throbbing clit.

“Daddy…” You sighed, your hands instantly tangling in his hair. Pedro groaned, the vibrations and his facial hair feeling heavenly. He wrapped his arms around your thighs and threw them over his shoulders, pulling you even closer and pressing the pads of his fingers into your smooth skin.

“MMmmmm.” You whined, the sudden movement causing your pussy to clench around nothing. You spared a glance down to Pedro. You could only see his eyes, but that was more than enough, his dark chocolate orbs staring up at you with a dizzying mixture of adoration and lust.

Pedro loved how wreaked you looked, your mouth hung open and your eyes hooded. He took pride that he was the one making you feel this way, knowing that he was the only one who got to see you like this.

He’d had plans on taking his time with you, slowly bringing you to one orgasm after another with his tongue, fingers, and cock; but the sight of you losing yourself just on his tounge alone drove him crazy and he grew impatient.

He pulled away from you too soon for your liking, his lips and chin glistening with your arousal as he yanked off your underwear in one swoop. He discarded his boxers as he stood up, pinning you to the bed as he drug the head of his cock through your slick folds a few times.

“You’re mine, understand?” You nodded quickly, wanting so desperately for him to get on with it. “Say it.”

“I-I’m yours, Daddy… Please….” You begged.

“Please what?” Your mind was so fuzzy with arousal, that you could barely process the words he was saying, let alone compose some of your own, but Pedro wasn’t having it. He grabbed a handful of your hair and yanked it, the delicious mixture of pain and pleasure only making your neediness worse.

“Answer me.”

“Fuck me!” You whined, your voice hoarse and weak, but still loud enough for him to get the message. Pedro let go of your hair and caressed your face, the gentle gesture a far cry from how he’d pulled your hair barley seconds ago.

“Good girl.” When he finally pushed himself in, you both made noises of pleasure, Pedro wasting no time. "God, you feel so good, baby." He groaned, starting to thrust into you faster. Though you both were inpatient and did very little foreplay, you were still absolutely soaked.

“You hear that?” He gruffed, his facial hair tickling your jaw as the sounds of your wet pussy squelched almost musically. “That boy could never get you this wet. You’d probably have to- fuck- have to use lube just to get started.”

You were already close. It’d been a hot minute since you’ve seen each other, your music classes revving up for concert season and his schedule getting booked by the day. It was hard to be away from one another for so long, but this… this made it worthwhile. No toy or vibrator could ever top the way Pedro made you feel.

"Pedro…" You groaned.

"That's it. Scream Daddy's name, baby girl. Show the boys who you belong to."

His cock repeatedly rubbing against your g-spot sent waves of tingling pleasure all throughout your lower half, the intensity of it building higher and higher as he continued.

"Don't stop, Daddy. Please don't stop." You whined, your voice getting higher as your orgasm grew closer.”

"Cum on Daddy's cock, Abeja. Let him feel you drip." Like a rubber band being pulled too tight, you snapped, your back arching off the bed and your toes curling. It hit you hard, your pussy drenching his cock and throbbing relentlessly with wave after wave of chilling pleasure.

“Mmm, Daddy’s gonna cum, baby girl. Whe-where do you want it?” He panted, his movements slowing for a few seconds while he waited on your answer.

“Inside…” You whined, your orgasm still wreaking havoc as he sped back up.

“Gonna fill you up, baby. Gonna… gonna…” He thrust his cock into you one last time, his own orgasm tearing through him with the same intensity as yours. The feeling of his cum warming your insides and his throbbing cock brought you to the peak for a second time. It wasn’t very intense, but getting filled up always made your orgasm even if they’re small.

Pedro collapsed onto you, his lips colliding with yours in a slow, passionate kiss. You laid your head back with a sigh on pleasure, Pedro chasing after you to gently kiss and nibble at your chin.

“I know you like me to stay in for a bit after we finish, but can we please make an exception this time? My back is killing me in this position.” You snorted.

“Oh my god, you’re so fucking old.” Pedro pulled out slowly, the feeling of his cum seeping out dazing you again for a moment. He smugly smirked at the sight, his hand gently caressing your upper thigh as he watched it trail down your folds.

“You weren't complaining about it earlier.”

A little later, you were laying on Pedro’s chest as he played with your hair, both of you just enjoying each other's company and the silence after a night of constant noise.

"Since when do you get jealous?" You finally asked, breaking the peace as his hand stilled in your hair.

"M'not… not usually anyway." You traced small circles on his chest for a moment.

"What was so different this time?" He sighed deeply, the silence returning as he thought of an answer.

“I dunno. I guess I just…” He sighed again, running a hand through his hair.

“There’s just... so many people out there… people who have their entire lives ahead of them, who doesn’t have back pain, who doesn’t have gray hair and wrinkles, and who doesn’t sound like rice crispies in the morning and…” He paused, his arms tightening around you.

“... Someone who has the time to give you all the attention you deserve. I feel so guilty knowing that I can’t wake you up with breakfast every morning, that I have to leave you alone for months and months at a time, and that you have to face so much scrutiny because of my age. When I saw you with Brice, you looked so happy and it made me think of all the things that I can’t give you…”

He was choking up at this point, his eyes glassy and brimming with tears. You sat up a bit to face him, your hand caressing his face and gently scratching his facial hair as you stared into his watery eyes.

“Pedro… don’t say things like that. You are more than enough for me. You’re so kind and smart and oh so sweet. You’ll come take care of me when I’m sick, you respect me and treat me as my own person, you spoil me even though I beg you not to, and you love me for who I am.” Pedro sniffled as you rested your forehead atop his.

“You are hands down the most amazing man I’ve ever met and no amount of scrutiny, grey hair, or rice crispy joints is going to change that. You may think that you can’t give me everything, but you give me more than enough and I love you more than anything on this Earth.”

Pedro smiled a small smile, bringing up his left hand up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear and caress your jaw as a tear fell down his cheek.

“I don’t deserve you…” He whispered. You wiped the tear away with your thumb and leaned down to kiss him for a bit.

"That, and you're such a DILF. I mean, did you see yourself in Narcos?" He laughed, wiping his eyes with his wrist as he got up to take a shower.

"Alright, bye. Your fangirl's coming out." You got up as well, hoping to finally take off that stupid dress and join him.

“You know you love it.” His arms suddenly wrap around you from behind, his lips pressing gentle kisses on your shoulders.

“More than anything.”

[babbushka]

5 Times Flip Ruined Valentine’s Day (And 1 Time He Didn’t)

Flip Zimmerman x Reader (Darling Jewish Wife AU)

11k ; cw: mild angst, mostly fluff & humor, mentions of baby zimmerman, mentions of war, mentions of undercover with the klansmen, brief hospitalization (sex injury), NSFW (PIV, fingering, praise kink, begging, finger sucking, multiple-orgasms, mild lactation kink, implied marathon sex) 

Available on AO3

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

L is for the way you look at me

February 14th, 1962. Flip Zimmerman is twenty-three years old and has finally worked up the courage to ask you to be his girlfriend. After months of pining, months of agonizing, months of Jimmy makin’ fun of him for being such a chicken, he finally asked and you stunned him by saying yes straight away. It’s his first Valentine’s Day with you, but more than that, it’s his first Valentine’s Day ever. Flip has it all planned out, he’s going to make sure that this memory is a perfect one, wanting to prove to you that he can be not only your best friend, but the best boyfriend.

Oh, if only life were that easy.

It had started out innocently enough, at least he likes to tell himself that. Not wanting to go too big too fast and run out of room on the very first holiday, Flip decided to keep things simple. He was going to cook you dinner. A real dinner too, with all five courses and a dessert. You didn’t know this, but Flip had been taking cooking lessons secretly after his shift at the lumber mill twice a week. He felt bad, knowing that you always do the cooking whenever you’re together, and dammit he plans on marrying you one day, so he figures he better get his act together now. His Ma had even given him the go-ahead to use the good china.

He doesn’t know when exactly, it went wrong.

“Hey Jim, are you busy?” Flip’s just finishing up his shift at the mill, when he calls his best friend to try and get some extra muscle, “I’m about to head to the market, help me with these groceries?”

He had told Jimmy about the plan of course, mostly because he told him everything. He loved telling you everything too, but this was one of those things that he had made Jimmy swear to secrecy, so as to not fuck up the surprise.

“Sure thing, pick me up?” Jimmy’s cheerful voice crackled over the phone line, and with an affirmative reply, Flip is practically bounding out of the little office where he works, and is grabbing his keys.

Ten minutes later, Jimmy is in the passenger seat, reaching into Flip’s jacket pocket for the grocery list, wondering what the hell Flip needs his help for.

“So what’s on the list anyway – holy shit this is a lot of stuff, Flip.” Jimmy’s eyes widen comically when the grocery list seemingly never ends, and he tries to make heads or tails of Flip’s shitty handwriting.

“I know! I’m doing a soup and a salad and then making these bread rolls that I know she’ll love and then for the appetizer course I’m doing – ” Flip doesn’t catch the concern in Jimmy’s voice, so focused on driving down to the market, focused on his mission.

“Uhh, are you sure about all this? Don’t you remember what happened that time you tried to boil water?” Jimmy very gently cuts Flip off, only keeping his best friend’s interests at heart.

Flip, for his part, sours and shoots him a glare, snatching the list back from his friend’s hand.

“Shut the fuck up, I’ve been taking lessons. I got this, now would you help me find everything? I figure it’ll be faster with the two of us, and I really need to get started before she comes over.” There’s a distinct edge to his voice that’s the closest thing to panic that Jimmy’s ever heard – at least since the day that Flip broke his clavicle on that snowboarding accident a decade ago.

Once in the grocery store, Flip can’t help but feel cocky. Between the two of them, everything on the list is found with time to spare, which is good because now that he’s really doing this, Flip won’t deny he’s got butterflies. It has to be perfect, he thinks, it just has to.

“Alright that’ll be everything I think – oh!” At the checkout register, Flip quickly grabs a big chocolate bar of your favorite kind, and adds it to the already enormous pile of shit, “And this too, please.”

Jimmy helps Flip load all the paper bags into the car, and then is a good friend and helps bring everything inside the house. Flip doesn’t let him stick around to help, instead shooing Jimmy out with a big plate of his Ma’s homemade cookies as a payment for all the help, and finally letting out a deep breath that he didn’t even know he had been holding.

“Okay Phil, you can do this.” He whispers to himself, “It’s just like class.”

And surprisingly, it was just like class. Flip prepared all the vegetables and got all the dishes starting in the correct order so they’d be finished in time for your arrival – which was in exactly half an hour. He doesn’t know how the fuck he managed to pull this off, but he’s not about to go tempting fate or anything, so he decides that now would be a good time to freshen up so he doesn’t smell like raw onions when you get there.

Flip agonizes over what to wear, eventually settling on a nice dress shirt and some slacks, willing his hair to part neatly. He hopes you don’t think he looks stupid, he – the doorbell rings, and he sucks in a sharp breath to himself.

Without another second’s hesitation, Flip moves to the front door and opens it, momentarily stunned by your beauty. He should have lit up a cigarette, he thinks, because all of a sudden his hands are shaking, just from the sight of you.

“Hi.” He blurts out inelegantly, but you only give him a big smile.

“Hi, you look really handsome.” You bat your lashes and bite the inside of your cheek, and some of the tension in Flip’s shoulders slip away, because he realizes that you’re nervous too.

Taking in the sight of you, it’s very clear that you tried hard to look nice for him, something that blows Flip’s fuckin’ mind. How’d he ever get so lucky to have a girl like you want to be his? Your nails are freshly done, and he’s pretty sure he’s never seen you in this dress before, you even put on some perfume. The scent of it curls up in his nostrils, and he tries to think of something to say so that he isn’t just staring at you.

“You too.” Is the genius move he comes up with, immediately tripping over his tongue, “I mean, you’re beautiful, not that you’re not also handsome, if you want to be, I – ”

“Can I come in?” You give him a break, and he’s grateful for it.

Opening the door wider for you, he steps to the side and mentally kicks himself for being such an idiot.

“Yes. Yes please do, please come in.” Flip tries his best to remember the manners that he was raised on, although it’s difficult when you’re so beautiful and you’re here and you’re his girlfriend. “Let me take your coat?”

“Sure, thanks.” You grin, before your smile falters and a deep concerning frown dimples your forehead, “Say, something smells…um…Flip is something burning?”

Flip frowns too then, filling his lungs, trying to figure out what you’re talking about when it hits him --

“My roast!” Flip shouts, bolting into the kitchen.

What had just been a perfectly cooked dinner not thirty minutes prior, was now a large grease fire, with flames licking up high high high into the air, threatening to touch the ceiling and spread across the kitchen.

“Fuck – fuck shit! God dammit!” Flip frantically begins searching for something, mind going into overdrive to put the fire out. He grabs a bag of something, he doesn’t even know what it is, flour maybe? All he remembers from the class is to never ever throw water on a grease fire, otherwise he’d really be in trouble.

“Oh my god the stove!” The soup on the stove has boiled over and hit the gas burners, there’s smoke coming out of the oven in thick dark plumes, and you scream, “Where’s your fire extinguisher?!”

“Under the sink!” Flip remembers all of a sudden, and lunges to the cabinet under the sink, yanking on the pin and letting the white frothy foam explode out of the nozzle.

Flip pushes you to stand behind him as he puts the fire out, like some hero in an action movie, but instead of praising his heroism, you run out of the room to the phone in the hallway and dial the emergency number.

“I’m going to call the fire department, the flames could be inside the wall.” You shout to him, opening up the windows to air the place out as you go.

Ten minutes later, the fire department is crawling all through his house, and every single one of the neighbors is standing outside on their front lawns like the nosy people they are. Flip is sitting with you on the front porch, his head hung low between his knees, as you rub his back.

“God my Ma’s gonna fuckin’ murder me.” He groans, praying that the fire didn’t get big enough to ruin the whole kitchen.

“We’ll explain to her that it was just an accident.” You lean your head against his shoulder and keep him calm, a soothing balm that cools all his frayed edges. “We’re okay, and that’s what matters most, right?”

He looks at you then, cups a hand to your cheek and gives you a sheepish sigh.

“Yeah.” He grumbles, really desperate for a cigarette now, “I’m real fuckin’ sorry sweetheart, I had it all figured out and then…”

One of the firefighters walks past him, and Flip just gestures to him with a sigh.

But you, somehow, somehow you’re an angel and all you do is laugh, nudging his side with your elbow, making him look at you with an eyebrow raised. Of all the reactions that he had expected you to have, laughter wasn’t one of them.

“Hey, at least we’ll have a story to tell the grandkids one day.” You offer, and in that one little sentence, Flip’s heart beats double time.

“You’re not dumping me?” His eyes widen in surprise, because he was sure, so sure that that’s where this fucking day was going, he wouldn’t blame you if you had, he almost burned the house down after all.

“Dumping you! After how hard you worked and tried? No way.” You shake your head, almost sounding offended by the thought. “In fact, I think it makes me want to date you even more now. Just promise me next year, we stick to flowers or chocolates, okay?”

“Oh, speaking of which – ” Flip remembers, reaches around for something in his pocket, “Happy Valentine’s Day.”

It’s pitiful really, the way that the chocolate bar from the grocery store has slightly melted and broken while being in his back pocket this entire time, but he figures, no better time than right now to give it to you.

And even though you’re laughing, your arms corralling him into a tight hug to kiss the side of his face and reassure him that you think the gesture was very sweet, Flip still can’t help but feel…well…burned.

O is for the only one I see

February 14th, 1967. Flip Zimmerman is thirty years old and officially (!!) your fiancée. It only took him five years to propose, but you knew Flip, and you knew how hard and long he thought about things like this, wanting everything to be perfect. And it had been, the trip to Egypt was a dream come true! The wedding was set for next month, March 18th to be exact, but Flip didn’t want to rest on that excitement to not give you the incredible Valentine’s Day he’s always dreamed of giving you.

True to his word, the previous few holidays have been spent very lowkey, a quiet night at a nice restaurant, dinner prepared by someone that wasn’t him, chocolates and champagne and big bouquets of roses.

But things were different now, he wasn’t just some lowly boyfriend who worked at the family lumber mill – no, now he was a Detective with the CSPD and more importantly, your fiancée and that had to mean something. He wanted to prove to you that he wasn’t going to start slacking now that you’ve agreed to tie the knot with him.

“Ketsl? It’s me.” Flip’s just finished changing out of his work clothes in the rec room, into something more put together for the surprise date he’s about to take you on.

“Hi honey! I’m almost ready, I’ll be all done by the time you come home.” Your voice is bright and fills him with warmth from the other end of the line.

“Remember to wear something comfortable.” Flip flicks the ash of his cigarette into the ashtray on his desk, looking at the picture of you he keeps framed right next to the phone, that way it’s like you’re really there, even when you’re not.

“Will you tell me where we’re going?” You have that pleading tone in your voice that usually Flip can never deny, but today is a different day, a special day.

“No way, then it won’t be a surprise, would it?” He chuckles into the receiver, and you groan playfully, eventually conceding.

“Okay, I love you, see you soon.” You blow kisses into the phone, and Flip shoots glares to any and everyone who dares to make fun of him for that.

So what if he’s in love? Who could fault him for that?

He had it all figured out. After the disaster that was the grease fire, Flip decided that this year there would be no adventurous cooking. Since that Valentine’s Day, he had moved into a small house right off 21st Street with you, and the last fucking thing he wanted was to burn down that kitchen too.

Instead, Flip had gotten tickets to a play you had been dying to see at the Denver Center for the Preforming Arts. It was a bit of a drive, but the trip would be worth it, especially considering the seats he was able to get thanks to a friend over at Denver PD. He was going to take you out to a nice dinner beforehand, which meant if you were going to make it in time, he needed to hit the road now.

His car makes it halfway to his house, when there’s a strange rattle that comes from somewhere inside the dash.

“Excuse me?” Flip says out loud to himself, praying that what he thinks is happening, isn’t happening right now.

A light goes off on the dash, and then another, and then somehow another light, all lighting up on the dash, as his car rattles and makes all sorts of noises that he knows he can’t fix with his tire-jack.

“Oh no,” He groans, as the car comes to a rolling stop, the engine failing for whatever fucking reason, “No no no.”

Glancing at the clock on the dashboard, he’s already doing the mental math and knowing that he’s going to be late – if he gets home to you at all. To avoid risking an accident, Flip manages to urge the car to the side of the road, and he chucks the flashers on.

“This cannot fucking be happening, not now.” Flip gets out of the car, goes around to the front and opens up the hood. It wasn’t like he didn’t know how to fix things, he was handy and took mechanics in high school, but shit high school was some fuckin’ time ago and he doesn’t even know where to look first, anger and frustration bubbling up inside his chest. “How the fuck am I – Flip, remain calm. De-escalate the situation.”

Two seconds later, he still can’t figure it out, and he slams the hood shut with a loud, “God fucking dammit!”

There’s only one choice, Flip knows. He has to walk to the nearest gas station and use their phone for help. Luckily, he knows of one not too far away, you always give them a gift basket of homemade treats for the winter holidays.

As he walks down the sidewalk, leaving his car there on the street without much other choice, he feels…something.

A light plip of water on his shoulder.

Dread creeps up into his throat, because that plip turns to a downpour in five seconds flat, and Flip really had to just stand there, take a moment, and try not to scream out his frustration as the rain pours and pours and pours out of fucking nowhere.

By the time he makes it to the gas station, he is soaked to the bone, and livid.

The door to the gas station swings open and Flip steps inside, taking deep breaths to try and preserve some dignity that he has left. Of course, he had an umbrella, but it was in the car, and he wasn’t about to double back when he was already wet. The look on his face must have been murderous, because the cashier at the counter approaches him tentatively.

“Hey man, are you okay?” The guy asks. Really he’s a kid, probably not more than sixteen, and Flip composes himself as he lights up a cigarette now that he’s sure the drenching downpour won’t put it out immediately.

“My car broke down a couple miles up the road, can I use your payphone?” He sucks down a couple drags, pulling out his wallet and fishing for a few coins.

“The payphone is out of order.” The kid replies, and Flip freezes, letting that information settle into his bones.

“Of course it is.” He mutters, teeth nearly pinching through the cigarette that he’s now smoking like it’s the last one he’ll ever have.

The kid notices Flip’s darkening mood, and thinks for a minute or two, before noticing one of the other people in the gas station.

“But hey! My buddy here is a mechanic and drives a tow truck. He can give you a lift, can’t you Tony?” The kid offers on his friend Tony’s behalf, and Flip tries not to get his hopes up.

Tony, another teenager who looks like he just got his license, maybe a little older, pops up from around one of the aisles with his arms full of chips.

“Sure thing sir, where you headed?” Tony smiles brightly, and Flip just smokes smokes smokes.

“21st street.” He offers, praying that this kid knows where that is.

By the way his eyes light up, Flip thinks that maybe, just maybe, his luck is turning.

As it would turn out, Flip’s house isn’t too far from the mechanic shop that Tony works at. On the way to his house, they strike up a deal to get the car looked at and fixed up before the day was over.

It’s still pouring rain, Tony pulls the tow truck up to the curb and Flip opens the door, reaching over to shake his hand.

“Thanks, I appreciate this a lot.” Flip says, feeling much less angry and now sort of…defeated.

“No problem, I’ll give you a call when we’ve fixed her up.” Tony gives Flip’s hand a hearty shake, “And thanks again for paying for my snacks, that was pretty cool.”

They part ways, and he only gets two steps closer to the front door when it flies open and you’re rushing out into the rain to hug him, holding him close.

“Phil!” You bury your face in his chest, and automatically Flip’s arms wrap around you tight. “Oh thank god I was so fucking worried about you! It’s been hours! What happened?”

You pull away enough to cup his cheeks in your hand and search his gaze, eyes wide and worried, and Flip’s chest sinks. It’s like the first Valentine’s Day all over again, he sighs to himself, feeling just as shitty now as he had when it was a disaster then.

“The car’s in the shop, I’m sorry ketsl, I tried.” Flip shrugs, not knowing what else to do, or say.

“I know handsome, I know.” You stretch up onto your tiptoes to press a deep kiss to his lips, before grasping his hand in your own and tugging the both of you out of the rain, announcing, “But I planned for this.”

“How the hell could you have planned for this?” Flip mumbles, but you just throw a smile over your shoulder to him, trying to get him into a better mood.

“I had a feeling you’d do something extravagant, and we both know how that tends to turn out – ”

“Hey.”

“So I made us a special dinner and figured we could watch those old black and white movies together like we used to do all the time. Maybe have some champagne in the bubble bath as a pregame.” You waggle a brow, as the both of you find shelter in your front room, door locked safely behind you.

Water drips from your hems onto the floor, and you reach for a very conveniently placed towel that happens to be right by the door, offering it to him.

He has never wanted to marry someone more, in his entire life, than he wants to marry you.

“Next year will be better.” He promises, kissing you sweetly, before taking you up on that promise of a bubble bath.

V is very, very extraordinary

February 14th, 1968. Flip Zimmerman is thirty-one years old and celebrating the holiday, the first Valentine’s Day together since you’ve been married, overseas.

This year was not, in any way shape or form, better.

He listens to the tape you’ve sent him, plays it over and over again just to hear your voice, hoping to drown out the harrowing experience of war just beyond his headphones. He listens to your voice, and wonders if you’re relistening to the voicemails he’s left you once upon a time, wonders if you’re having dinner with your friends, if Jimmy brought you those flowers like he had asked.  

He rewinds the tape, but he knows it’s not the same.

E is even more than anyone that you adore can

February 14th, 1972. Flip Zimmerman is thirty-five and finally back home from Vietnam. He surprises you one sunny day last summer, and the two of you are practically in each other’s back pockets every day thereafter.

There is no place Flip would rather be, than with you. To anyone who didn’t know you, it might look suspiciously lovey-dovey, but no, that’s really just how you are now. You nearly lost him over there, in the war. You went three years without him by your side – you didn’t want to be more than a foot away from him if you could manage it.

This Valentine’s Day, Flip has arranged everything so that you could do just that. He had a fantastic fucking date planned for you – nothing too fancy, but special nonetheless. It was going to be a complete throw-back, he’ll take you to the diner where they now serve the Zimmerman Special -- a combo of the sub sandwiches you always order, and a chocolate milkshake to share; you can’t get the sandwiches on their own, they have to be ordered together, something that always makes your heart flutter – and then afterwards, he got passes for the mini-golf place, one of the very first dates he had taken you on all those years ago when you were first stepping into more-than-friends territory.

You’re about ready to walk out the door, and Flip is right behind you when the phone rings.

Exchanging glances, Flip seriously is tempted to ignore the phone altogether, but you raise a brow at him and he lets out a disgruntled groan, dragging his feet over to the hallway and picking the phone up.

“Zimmerman, it’s Harry.” His boss’ voice has a tone to it that already has Flip developing a localized headache right in his temple.

“Why do you sound like you’re about to give me bad news.” Flip grumbles, and Harry just sighs.

“Because I have bad news.” Harry replies, and you already seem to know what’s coming, because you close the door with a sad sigh and step out of your shoes, “Look, I’m really sorry, but Ron just gave us some new intel, looks like the boys are having some sort of get together at the Bloomin’ Tulip, and we need you there.”

He was on this case with a rookie named Ron, something about infiltrating the local klan chapter. He wasn’t happy about it, not in the fucking least, for a lot of reasons. The men were vile, and he hated spending any more time with them than he needed to, and he had really fucking hoped that he wouldn’t need to today.

“Isn’t that a strip club?” You pipe up having overheard the name of the establishment, and Flip blinks, gearing up to start shouting at his boss.

“Flip I know it’s not how you want to spend the night but – ”

“Are you out of your fucking mind? It’s Valentine’s Day! I’m not going to a strip club with a bunch of neo-nazis on Valentine’s Day! Besides, they know I’m married.” Flip seethes, the hand that’s not holding the phone gesturing wildly even though Harry can’t see it.

You light up a cigarette and hand it to him with a kiss to his cheek, knowing he’s going to need it.

“Felix and a couple of the other guys are married too, and they’re going. I’m sorry Flip but we need to know if they’re planning anything serious.” Harry really does sound apologetic, and at the end of the day, he is Flip’s boss.

Flip looks at you, and you look back at him and give him a sad smile, encouraging him to go with a little nod of your head. You knew what you were signing up for when Flip asked your thoughts on him becoming a detective, and you had agreed all those years ago. It was part of the territory, and you weren’t about to make him feel bad for protecting the town you loved so dearly – for keeping you safe.

“When?” Flip sighs into the receiver, and he can practically feel the relief in Harry’s sigh.

“You have to be there in an hour.” Harry replies quickly, already spouting off directions and whatever other bullshit that Flip’s not listening to.

“Tell Bridges I’m pissed about this.” Flip eventually cuts him off, and hangs up the fucking phone without even so much as a goodbye.

With the phone slammed back onto the wall, Flip smokes his cigarette for a second and lets his shoulders sag. He really couldn’t catch a fucking break, could he? Turning to face you, wondering where you went, he finds you settling on the couch, your pretty coat hung up on the hook, reaching for a book to start leafing through.

“Ketsl I – ” Flip’s heart sinks, and he has half a mind to call Harry back and tell him that he isn’t going to go, but you shake your head.

“Go, it’s okay. Work is more important.” You reach a hand out for him, and he takes a few long strides over to the couch, kneels in front of you and holds it reverently between his palms.

Flip rests his head on your thigh, pressing small kisses to your knuckles, hating this.

“No, it’s really fucking not.” He grumbles, anxious about the thought of leaving you. “How about this: I’ll go for just a couple hours, make some excuse, and then come right back to you and we’ll go on that date?”

He’s really going to give Ron a hard time about this, Flip thinks, when you just pat his cheek lightly and pull out your wallet from the purse you’ve left on the coffee table.

“Do you need some singles?” You rifle through the thick stack of cash and count out roughly fifty dollars.

“Why do you have a ton of singles?” Flip frowns, confused, and the playful suspicion in his tone gets you giggling, a sound that rushes through Flip like the breaking of a dam.

“Don’t worry about it.” You reply, mock-defensively, before you roll your eyes and explain, “It’s from the bake sale, trade me for bigger bills?”

Flip kisses you, a loud smacking smooch right on your cheek, and fishes out his own wallet, not wanting to steal money from the bake sale. Whatever he spends on the case he’ll get back from the station, but still, that money was to go to the children’s hospital.

“I love you more than anything in the entire fucking world and I will be back as soon as I possibly can, I promise.” Flip rushes to say, as the clock chimes, letting him know he’s got to leave now if he wants to make it in time.

“Just go.” You smile, trying to keep the disappointment out of your voice. You kiss Flip once more, and then shoo him away with a parting, “And be respectful to the girls there!”

“Of course! I love you.” Flip calls back as he leaves the house, running back to give you one last kiss, before leaving for real.

Flip has nothing against strip clubs, not at all. He knows and likes pretty much all the dancers, from his days as a rookie himself when he would be the only one around the station to calls on his late night shifts. They know and trust him, and he’s thankful for that; especially when they see he’s clearly undercover, and know to keep an eye on him without making it too obvious.

The klansmen are exactly how Flip had expected them to be – obnoxious, loud, rude. They don’t tip well, spend most of the time jeering at the women and the rest of the time talking shit about their wives or girlfriends. Felix at one point asks Flip to join in, almost a dare to prove how masculine he is, how much of one of them he is, and the words burn in the back of Flip’s throat as he lies through his teeth.

He hates this, he hates them, everything is too loud and the beer is warm, and Flip’s having a terrible fucking time.

He also has no idea how much time has actually passed, because it’s too dark to see his watch, and there aren’t any clocks on the wall. At one point, Ivanhoe decides to get a little too handsy with one of the dancers, violating rule number one of the club, and gets the entire group of them thrown out. Flip had never been happier to get thrown out of an establishment in his life, and used that as an excuse to leave, claiming an early day at work in the morning.

When he gets back in his car and sees that it’s somehow after midnight, he curses the entire fucking way back home.

He opens the front door carefully, not wanting to come home making all sorts of noise in case you’re asleep. There’s an anchor in his stomach, he feels sick, he’s so fucking annoyed with how this day has gone, and all he wants is to be back with you

“(Y/N)?” Flip whispers, making his way through the house. “Are you awake? It’s me.”

He finds you on the couch right where you had been when he left, and despite the valiant effort you must have given to try and stay up for him, it’s undeniable that you’re dozing. Head resting on the arm of the couch, you’ve got your arms wrapped around one of the throw pillows, and Flip’s chest squeezes because he knows that should be him instead.

“Hmm?” You make a little noise as Flip’s arms scoop you up and hold you against his chest, turning off the lights on his way up the stairs.

“Shh, I gotcha honey-bunny.” Flip presses a kiss to the top of your head, feeling like the worst husband in the fucking world, “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay,” You snuggle into his chest some more, voice thick with sleep. “I ordered a pizza, I hope you don’t mind.”

“Of course I don’t, I can’t have my girl starving, can I?” Flip smiles weakly, bringing you into the bedroom and laying you gently down on the bed.

He tugs the stockings off your feet, works on unbuttoning your blouse to unhook your bra, knowing that must not have been comfortable. You, the spoiled princess that you are, don’t bother helping him, liking when he does all the work. Flip can’t even tease you for it tonight, the weight of how the holiday has been ruined heavy in his chest.

“The pizza place was cute, they made it in the shape of a heart.” You say, watching him with soft eyes.

“I’m going to make this up to you.” Flip promises, mind a little too exhausted to figure out exactly how he’s going to do that just yet.

“You’re here now, that’s what matters.” You shake your head, before groaning dramatically as you get off the bed much to Flip’s confusion, “Come on, let’s go shower.”

Flip checks the clock on the wall, it’s nearing up on one o’clock, and he’s sure a shower will just wake you up even further.

“You’re coming with me?” Flip asks, which is a stupid question because in the back of his tired mind, he knows that you always shower together.

“Well someone’s going to have to get the glitter out of your hair.” You give him a smile, and that stops Flip in his tracks.

“…Glitter?” Flip groans, yanking the bathroom door open and turning on the light switch, seeing how he’s completely and totally covered in the shimmery circles that he loathes probably more than anything for the way they never ever come off, “Aw fuck.”

You just laugh, and get the water running, and Flip feels like the luckiest sonofabitch that exists, even if he is covered in glitter.

Love is all that I can give to you

Love is more than just a game for two

Two in love can make it, take my heart and please don't break it

Love was made for me and you

February 14th, 1974. Flip Zimmerman is thirty-seven and is the proud father of two precious little angels, that he absolutely cannot fucking believe are his. Last Valentine’s Day was hectic with the kids being so little, but now that they weren’t so teenie tiny, he has arranged for them to be watched by his Ma for the evening.

She had of course agreed, because any opportunity she could spend with her grandchildren was a good one in her book, which let you and Flip have the evening alone together for the first time in a long time.

It was silly almost, how excited the two of you were to go out to a fancy steakhouse and have an expensive dinner, how hard you both laughed at the comedian that Flip had managed to get great seats for, even so far as being able to meet him after the show and get a photo with him.

You are still laughing about some of the jokes all the way back home, and Flip is trying his best not to feel cocky. Finally, after so many years of trying to have a good and special evening, he’s finally gotten to give it to you.

There’s some gifts waiting for you at the house that he can’t wait for you to open, but when he gets you through the door, you are on him like a bee on honey. Your hands don’t know where to settle, skimming across his shoulders, his chest, cupping his cheeks and tangling in his hair, desperate and excited in a way that makes Flip’s heart pound.

“You are so fucking sexy.” He breathes, crashing your lips to his, throwing the keys and your purse to the ground as he backs you against the door, as he holds you tight to him, licking into your mouth and working on getting you naked.

“Take me upstairs?” You moan as his teeth clamp down onto your shoulder and he sucks hickies all over your throat, head tipping back for him to get better access.

Flip groans, his cock rock hard in his slacks, and he smacks your ass to get you runnin’ up to the bedroom, chasing after you with a hearty laugh. He pinches at you and you squeak out laughter and yelps of your own, as he tackles you down to the mattress, mouth seeking yours at once.

“How’d I ever get so goddamn lucky, huh?” Flip shoves his hand into the waistband of your panties, two thick fingers pressing right up into your pussy, working eagerly to get you stretched and relaxed and ready for a good hard fucking, he grunts and groans as your pussy sucks his fingers deeper, “I’m going to make you come so fucking hard ketsl.”

“We have all night, I want you to make me come all over this house.” Your eyes glitter and sparkle in the lamp light of the bedroom, and he grins, feeling overheated in his clothes.

Pulling away much to your dissatisfaction, he works on getting himself naked, while you deal with your own clothes. He eyes you as you reveal yourself to him, and his dick twitches, wanting to thrust as far as it can go into your body, your perfect fucking body.  

“Oh I will, you better fucking believe I will,” He growls, yanking your ankle and pulling you across the bed with bright laughter. Flip climbs on top of you and resumes fingering you, “This pretty pussy’s in for a long night I hope you’re ready for my big hard cock.”

Your hands squeeze at his shoulders, traveling across his back, gripping him tight as your legs part and wrap around his hips. Flip lines himself up and begins to thrust inside your wet cunt, the pulsing heat throbbing around him and making him groan, the friction so good.

Moaning and sighing together, you gasp out loud as he builds up a speed that has you bouncing bouncing bouncing on the bed. He’s managed to find your gspot right away, and he wants to make good on his promise to get you fucked until you’re thoroughly and utterly wrecked – so he figures the more orgasms he can get out of you, the better.

Kissing you deeply, groaning into your mouth, he doesn’t realize how the way he’s pistoning his hips has you moving across the mattress, until you’re grasping at his shoulders with a surprised gasp, “Wait, Flip hold on we’re a little too close to the edge.”

He shakes his head and smiles down at you, wanting you to know that you’re always safe with him.

“I’ve got you baby, you don’t worry about a fucking thing – ” He starts saying, not realizing just how close you both really were, and with one particularly eager thrust, the two of you go toppling over the side entirely, landing with a loud thud on the floor.

Shit, he thinks, as he rolls off of you, scrambling to pull out and make sure you’re okay.

When he looks at you, expecting you to be laughing and scolding him and telling him all about how you were right, and instead sees a small trickle of blood across your forehead from where you’ve hit your head on the corner of the nightstand, his body runs cold.

“(Y/N)?” At once, he begs smacking lightly at your cheeks, a heaving feeling starting to rise up in his stomach as he shouts, “Oh my god, I killed my wife!”

Flip’s military training kicks in, and all he can think about is getting you to the hospital. He grabs a pair of pants off the floor and doesn’t even realize he’s put them on backwards, as he wraps you up in the sheet and runs with you down the stairs. His heart thuds and tears blur his eyes, but he swallows them down because you’re okay you have to be okay he doesn’t know what he’s going to do if you’re not fucking okay.

“Oh my god,” Flip manages to get the bleeding to stop by bunching up the sheet and pressing it against your forehead, and he keeps one hand on you as he speeds through every single red fucking light in Colorado Springs on his way to the emergency room, “Oh my god oh my fucking god.”  

The hospital isn’t too far, and thankfully him being a police officer gives him some special perks – like leaving his truck parked right on the curb as he practically kicks the doors open. He’s got you wrapped up in a sheet, carrying you bridal style with thick streams of tears pouring down his cheeks, shouting and shoving his way through the waiting room.

“Everyone out of my fucking way – can someone help my wife?” He’s frantic, must look like a fucking lunatic, but, “She won’t wake up I don’t know what to do.”

“Bring her this way, hurry!” One of the nurses who happens to recognize him buzzes him in, and he doesn’t let you out of his arms until you’re surrounded by nurses and a doctor is on the way.

He watches as they wheel you back somewhere he’s not allowed to go, not even as a police officer, and Flip punches the wall, hating that he can’t do anything else.

Twenty minutes later, one of the nurses has found him and given him a shirt, because he had forgotten to put one on in all the panic, and asked him what the hell was even going on. So he hangs his head between his knees and tries not to be sick, tears and snot hiccupping out of him.

“…And that’s when she fell over the side of the bed and smacked her head and started bleeding all over the fucking place which I know she’s going to hate because I just washed the carpeting this morning for her and fuck is she okay? Will she live?” He rambles on and on, twisting the fabric of this shirt that is too small in some places but too big in others, nervously, wondering what the fuck he’s going to tell everyone – what he’s going to tell his kids.

“Live? Trust me, she’s alive and kicking right about now.” The doc comes over then, sees the state that Flip’s in, and scoffs.

The words barely register in Flip’s mind before he’s running. He doesn’t even know where he’s running to, somewhere they’re keeping you, sticking his head into every room on the way in case it’s yours.

He finds you eventually, and relief makes his knees go weak. Rushing to your side, he carefully carefully carefully kisses you, the words spilling out of him all at once.

“(Y/N)! Oh honey-bunny I am so fucking sorry I didn’t mean for you to fall the way you did you were right I should have listened are you okay the doc told me you had to get stitches?” His eyes are wide with worry, but you have something of an amused if dazed smile on your lips as you comb your fingers through his hair.

“Hi Philly.” Your voice sounds rough, and Flip could cry, maybe he is crying, he doesn’t know, he’s just so happy to hear your voice. You nod, giving him a little sigh, “Yeah, just a couple right where I hit my head. Was I out for very long?”

“No, but then you were in so much pain they put you under while we worked.” The doc says, because how the hell would Flip know, he was having a nervous breakdown outside. Checking on the machines that you’re all hooked up to, he asks, “How do you feel now?”

“Like I was hit by a truck.” You sigh again, before turning to Flip and giving him a dreamy smile, “But you’re a sight for sore eyes.”

Flip kisses you again, once twice three times right on the lips, before cupping your cheek and not looking away from you when he asks the doctor, “Does she have to stay overnight?”

The nurses come in then and begin to unhook the IV and pull all the cables away, bandaging you up nice and securely.

“No you’re free to go, there’s no blunt trauma or damage to the brain. All you have to do Mrs. Zimmerman, is rest up.” The doc pats your blanket-covered foot at the end of the bed, winking, “And take it easy in the bedroom next time.”

This has the both of you immediately embarrassed, feeling like scolded schoolchildren who got caught ditching class, instead of the grown adults you actually were. You give him a glance as if to say I can’t believe you told them how this happened, and he gives you back one as if to say I had to! I thought you died!

“Yes doctor, thank you doctor.” You cough awkwardly, covering your face and muttering to Flip once you’re sure everyone else is gone, “You think we’d get a free ice cream cone with how often we’re here, hm?”

“I’ll get you ice cream, do you want ice cream? We can stop by on the way home.” Flip kisses your hand, presses the tips of your fingers to his lips and smooches all over them, making you chuckle despite it all.

“Actually, that does sound pretty good.” You mull the thought over in your head, “Okay, just hand me my clothes and after I change we’ll go sign some paperwork and head home.”

It is then, that Flip realizes he forgot much more than his own shirt, when he had carried you up and away to the hospital. He looks around, wondering, hoping that the nurses had brought something for you instead of the little paper gown that you’re currently dressed in, but it seems that that hope was in vain.

“Oh…yeah…” He stalls, “Ketsl, about that…”

“You did not bring me to this hospital naked, did you??” For the first time in a long time, you give him an incredulous look, anger clouding over your face as you demand to know.

“Of course not!” Flip stammers, looking around for the proof that he, “I uh, wrapped you in a sheet.”

He holds the sheet up, still covered in the blood from your forehead,

“Philip Daniel Zimmerman!” You shout, covering your face and sinking back down into the bed, pulling the covers over your head as you realize in horror that he had somehow gotten you into the car naked, and carried through the lobby and the waiting room in nothing but a stained sheet, “God that’s so fucking embarrassing!”

“I love you so much, I love you more than anything in the entire world you are my one true love – ” Flip immediately drops to his knees, really lays it on thick as he winces, knowing that he really fucked this one up worse than all the other Valentine’s Days before it.

“Oh give me the fucking sheet.” You bemoan, snatching it from him and getting out of the hospital bed, taking stock of his own appearance.

He’s wearing his pants on backwards, and a shirt that you’ve literally never seen in your life. He’s got one sock on, and one is missing, no shoes in sight, and his face and hair are a travesty. The poor man looks awful, looks like he had spent the past hour bawling his eyes out, and with the redness in his eyes and around his nose, you’re sure that he has.

Despite it all, you can’t be mad at him. So, instead, you swallow your pride and wrap the sheet around your body like some long avant-garde evening gown, and sigh, “You’re so lucky I’m obsessed with you.”

And if anyone has anything to say about your combined appearances as you leave the hospital and head on your way to pick up ice cream from the drive-thru, neither of you notice, too glad to be alive and together to care.

L is for the way you look at me

O is for the only one I see

V is very, very extraordinary

E is even more than anyone that you adore can

February 14th, 1975. Flip Zimmerman is thirty-eight and he is sick and fucking tired of things getting in the way of this damn holiday. He is determined, absolutely fucking determined, to make sure you have the best day imaginable. He’s done everything right – and he means everything – to ensure victory in this long-sought-after, elusive battle.

Every Valentine’s Day disaster has been leading up to this, he thinks as he drives home from dropping the kids off with Uncle Jimmy. He will not be cooking, he will not be working, he has his truck tuned up and running smoothly, and he is on his way to you right now.

Fresh bagels, breakfast sandwiches, warm pastries and hot brewed coffee from that bakery down the street that you like are sitting in the passenger seat of the truck, and he’s going to surprise you with a perfect fucking day so help him.

When he comes back home, he arranges everything neatly on a tray and brings it up to you, smiling to himself that you haven’t woken up yet. He places the tray – decorated with a little rose in a vase and everything – on the dresser, and settles next to you, petting back your hair from your face.

“(Y/N),” He whispers, trying to bring you out of sleep, “Honey-bunny, wake up.”

“Mmmmorning.” You beam up at him, reaching your arms up for a hug, that he is more than happy to give.

“Hungry? I brought you breakfast.” He kisses you with a smile.

With that, you push yourself to sit up against the headboard and regard him lovingly as he leaves your side and brings the tray over. He settles it over your lap and gestures to the assortment of fresh and delicious looking breakfast choices for you to pick from, but you first lift the little rose up to your nose and give it a deep sniff, happily sighing.

“I thought something smelled good, have you been gone long?” You kiss his cheek and pat the spot next to you so he can lay in bed too, so he does, picking up a muffin and doing his best to not get crumbs all over the sheets.

“About an hour, I didn’t want to bother you on your special day.” Flip sidles up next to you and lights a cigarette, and you rest your head on his shoulder as you smile at him through the reflection of the mirror on your dresser.

“My special day huh?” You tease, knowing the track record for when Flip tries to plan something extravagant.

“Yeah, for real this time.” He’s so determined, so fucking determined, everything is going to go right if it’s the last fucking thing he does, but he doesn’t say all that.

You still hear it anyway.

“Do I get to know what we’re doing?” You prompt sweetly, almost convinced of the fact that it’s because he tries to keep things a surprise, that it all goes badly.

Flip must think so too, because he’s sighing and rolling his eyes, unhappy about spoiling the day but knowing it’s probably for the best.

“Yes, I got us a couple’s spa package. I know things have been difficult with the littles toddling around, and you do so much for them and for me, so today is all about pampering you.” He announces, and you let out a loving little squeak from the back of your throat as you aww at him, making him blush.

“That’s very very sweet, thank you honey.” You beam, excited about the prospect of a professional massage, especially because he was right; you loved your children with your entire heart but having two under two was a bit hectic at times.

“Don’t thank me yet – I don’t want to jinx anything.” Flip is quick to say, and you laugh because you know how he must be feeling right about now.

After breakfast and some lazy lovemaking in bed, the afternoon light shines brightly as you and Flip arrive at the spa.

It’s a real fancy place, the kind with a big water feature right on the wall that makes the entire lobby feel serene and luxurious. Flip is halfway expecting something to go wrong – he keeps bracing for it. But as the nice women at the front desk bring you into the couple’s massage room, everything seems to be going off without a hitch.

Hot stones are all the rage, and so for the next sixty minutes, you and Flip enjoy the peaceful quiet and mood music as the knots in your muscles vanish. Afterwards, they put some kind of mud mask on both of your faces, and add little slices of cucumber over your eyes. You both sit like that for a good while, as you’re each given a manicure and pedicure.

You get your favorite color of polish done, and Flip just asks for a clear coat, wanting his nails to look nice but not necessarily colorful. It’s fun, Flip decides, being pampered with you. Maybe this could become more of a regular thing, he sure as shit could use those hot stones now and again after a long fuckin’ week of stakeouts or pouring over paperwork.

By the time you emerge from the spa, it’s practically evening. You suggest going back home, but Flip has other plans – namely, to keep you out of the house for a little while longer. He brings you to a pizza spot that you remember fondly from your days of dating Flip back when he was working at the family mill he now owns, going out for a slice and a cola and kissing in one of the red booths in the back.

Everything is exactly the same, except everyone’s a little older, but the pizza and the company are still great. Flip can’t help but kiss you, even though you’re not in the red booth in the back, but no one seems to mind anymore. It’s been years and years of this, of Flip loving you, they’re all used to it.

Flip chucks a couple quarters into the jukebox and the two of you dance on the black and white checkerboard like you’re the only two people in the entire pizza joint, because when you’re together, it feels like you are. It feels like you’re the only two people in the entire world.

The clock strikes seven, and he knows the coast should be clear at the house by now, so he brings you home and tries not to act too suspicious. You call him out on it, but he refuses to say, manages to keep his big mouth shut the whole way home, until you’re opening the front lock and pushing the door open to reveal a romantic wonderland.

Ron and Jimmy had been working tirelessly the past two hours, blowing up heart shaped balloons, arranging big bouquets of your favorite flowers and roses of all different colors, and a thick trail of rose petals that led up the stairs to your bedroom.

Speechless, you clasp a hand over your mouth and give him a look, impressed and surprised, and Flip can only grin.

“Go up, there’s more.” He whispers, kissing you on the cheek and patting your ass playfully.

Following the trail of rose petals, you push open the bedroom door and your heart fills with so much love and appreciation for your husband, because on the bed are some carefully wrapped boxes with white satin ribbon bows just for you, along with a giant teddy bear, a bucket of ice and a bottle of expensive champagne, and your favorite kinds of chocolate.

“You are so good, you know that?” You whirl around and practically jump into Flip’s arms, hugging him and attacking his face with kisses, making him smug as shit, but rightfully so.

“Want to open them?” He offers, but you’re so overwhelmed by it all in the best way possible, you just keep hugging him.

“Oh Flip – I will, but first, please, please fuck me?” You bat your lashes up at him, suddenly desperate to feel his body against yours, desperate to feel him in and around you.

Flip hadn’t expected that right away, but that doesn’t deter him. He quickly scrambles to get everything off the bed and onto the floor or up on the dresser, and is back to you within a few moments, kissing you deeply, working to get your clothes off with a deep chuckle in the back of his throat.

“Yes, shit you’re so pretty, my pretty girl.” He scoops you up and drops you onto the bed, wrestles with you a little until you’re laughing and grinning at him, his mouth smacking smooches to your lips as he demands, “C’mere.”

“Please don’t let me fall off the side of the bed this time.” You grip his biceps and he flushes a deep embarrassed red, but brings your attention to the floor where the accident had happened all that time ago.

“One step ahead of you, ketsl.” He gestures to a series of plush pillows that he had lined up on either side of the floor by the nightstands so that if you were to fall – which he’s going to make sure you never ever do again – you’d land on something soft, “A perfectly padded landing platform.”

That is the final thing holding you back from pulling him down by his shoulders on top of you, and Flip happily goes, happily settles you underneath him, eagerly slides the head of his cock through your folds. Your pussy grows wet under his touch, and it’s not long before you’re whining for him to really give it to you, so he does – oh fuck, he does.

Lifting your hips with one of his strong hands, Flip lets your legs wrap around his waist as he thrusts shallowly in small motions, wanting to get you stretched and relaxed as he sinks his cock deeper into you, making you moan, your eyes rolling back into your head when he bottoms out in your hot cunt.

“Oh! Oh yes, right there, right – yes!” You gasp as he begins to fuck you in earnest, holding your legs up and bending your body in just the right way to give him deeper action, stronger penetration that has you gasping.

Your back arches and your toes curl just from the feeling of being so full, your head tossed to the side as your hands twist in the pillowcase underneath your head, reaching up to grip the headboard that begins to shake and smack against the wall as Flip moves his hips faster and faster.

“Look at me?” He doesn’t like that he can’t see your face though, with the way you’re tucked against your arm, so he reaches for it and grips your jaw, pulls you to look at him. Your eyes are already unfocused and glassy but you’ve got the brightest smile on your face, that drops into a beautiful perfect O as he pounds into your pussy, “Fuck, you’re the most beautiful fucking thing I’ve ever seen, you know that? I feel like I don’t tell you enough.”

“Tell me again.” You tease, biting your lip and shaking under him, opening your hips and letting him fuck over your gspot with wild abandon, voice wobbling from the effort, “I didn’t hear you.”

“You’re – so – yes! – fucking – beautiful – oh god,” Flip groans long and low as you clench around his cock, your pussy fluttering and pulsing, the tight we velvet heat sucking him in and never letting him go, making Flip’s ears ring with pleasure, “Do that thing again ketsl, do it.”

You do as he says, and your cunt clamps down hard on him, making fucking you even sweeter, the friction driving him insane, making him grind his cock as deep into you as it can go. You can feel it knocking against your cervix and you whine out in pleasure, tears from overstimulation pricking up at the corners of your eyes, clinging to your pretty lashes.

“Flip! Ohhhhh Flip, that’s so good,” You praise him, only spurring him on, making him sweat sweat sweat all over you, dripping sweat down onto your perfect fucking tits that he just cannot not kiss and lave his tongue over and suck on, “Your cock is so good honey, fuck me harder, please!”

“No, I’m gonna take my time with you, make you fall apart, make this pussy soaking wet by the time I’m done with you.” Shaking his head, Flip pulls one of your nipples into his mouth and makes you moan high and loud, and Flip doesn’t even stop when your body confuses him for the baby, and sweet milk floods his mouth.

“H-honey! Right there, right there just a little faster? Please just a little f-faster -- ah!” You’re crying now, your thighs shaking, feet kicking out your pleasure, one of your hands gripped tight in his hair and yanking hard, making him come a little into your cunt, making him never want to stop.

“I should tie you up, keep you right here under me where you belong,” Flip pulls off your nipple and grips your jaw, “Tell you how fucking pretty you look taking my big Jew dick – suck.”

Slipping a few fingers into your mouth to wet them and let them rub against your tongue, gagging you, making the sweetest choking noises spill from your throat as you try to moan and suck at the same time, Flip’s mind blanks out entirely with pleasure, a static sort of hum singing through his body as your pussy pins him and holds him.

“I-I-I’m --!” You wail, and that’s his cue to pull the fingers out of your mouth, drool stringing from your lip to his knuckles, and finds your clit, rubbing steady circles that have your body jackknifing up, tensing up and cry cry crying his name.

“That’s it ketsl, let it out, shh I know it’s good.” He massages your clit slowly, milking it as he fucks you through your orgasm, licks up the tears and sweat on your face, kisses you deeply, passionately.

“Don’t stop, please don’t stop honey!” You beg, trembling against his lips, and Flip wouldn’t dare go against those wishes, not for anything.

You don’t know how many hours pass, before Flip comes in you for the final time. He crashes down onto the bed next to you, chests heaving, bodies sticky with sweat and come and tears of pleasure, of overstimulation, of love.

The night is still young, you still have to open your presents and drink your champagne and all, but for now, all he wants to do is gather your beautiful naked body into his arms and kiss you, so that’s exactly what he does.

“Fuck.” He grunts as his muscles which had been so loose from the spa day, are now burning with all the exertion. He kisses you and pinches your nose, asking with too much hope, “Good?”

“Really good.” You promise him, cupping his cheek with a pleasure-weak hand and kissing him again and again and again, until he’s smiling. You laugh and stretch a little, your entire body made of jell-o, and joke, “At this rate, we’ll be three for fuckin’ three years in a row.”

“Would that be so bad?” Flip thinks of the kids that should be fast asleep by now, and his chest grows warm.

You duck your head bashfully, feeling so loved and cared for and wanted by your husband. You always do, truly, but you can’t deny that it feels a little more special today.

“I gotta say, Flip,” You turn to face him and prop your head up on your bent elbow, “You really knocked it out of the park this time.”

If there were a Heaven, this would be it, Flip thinks as joy and elation course through his veins. He grins and punches the air with happiness, feeling like he suddenly has the energy for a victory lap around the property. You laugh at how display of theatrics, and he surges up then, wrestles with you playfully and nips at your jaw with his teeth, finally finally finally having succeeded in something he had tried for over a decade to do.

“Would you mind saying that again?” Flip echoes your earlier sentiment with cheeky sarcasm, “I didn’t hear you.”

And you can only laugh and tell him again and again, wanting him to know that you have had a wonderful, a perfect, a beautiful Valentine’s Day, not just this year, but every year that you’ve been together.

Love is all that I can give to you

Love is more than just a game for two

Two in love can make it, take my heart and please don't break it

Love was made for me and you

Love was made for me and you

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

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

Tagging some pals! Thank you all for reading, I hope you enjoyed :) @mochabucky @sacklerscumrag  @artsymaddie @bitchydecisions  @direnightshade  @reyloaddict55  @thembohux  @kylorenswhxre  @sunflowersinthesnow  @babayagakeanu  @safarigirlsp  @rennasiance-mama @steeevienicks  @mousemakingjam @the-unmanaged-mischief  @materialisthicc  @drake-bells-waxed-penis @dutchiepie @slut-for-harri  @littleevilme13 @erys-targaryen @leillaa @hswritingrecs @miabelay11 @han68000​

[lucycola]

Hey could you do a Spock X reader where she knows nothing about Vulcans and like keeps accidentally doing taboo things e.g touching hands or touching his ears

I thoroughly enjoyed writing this! I accidentally made it gender neutral, because I forgot what pronouns, you used. I’m sorry! I hope you like it.

WARNINGS: Fluff, affection, ignorance of affection in Vulcan culture idk. Maybe Spock is slightly OOC but who cares. I took a little liberty of giving the reader a pinch of background.

To say you were oblivious was an understatement. You weren’t a complete idiot, or anything, just innocently scatterbrained. Perhaps that was the explanation why you didn’t flinch when every you were chastised for a mistake or given a strict order by your commanding officer. As a blue shirt, you fell under the command of the Enterprise’s first officer, and his reputation as a stony, unfeeling, authoritarian preceded him. You were never bothered by this. He was most terrifying, others noted, when Captain Kirk left him in charge when unable to take the chair. You were warned about him-to never cross him and always do exactly as he said. Spock was a hard-ass. He was handsome and perhaps at first you wondered, but it had been made clear to by others he wasn’t interested in anyone.

You had met more terrifying people. You had nine brothers and a strict, often unfair and bully of a father. Commander Spock was a piece of cake. It was in your nature to be gentle, welcoming, and comforting despite the constitution of your upbringing. It was your personality. You didn’t like to let people bring you down.

You were elated alone to be living your dream, anyway. You weren’t going to let the attitude of anyone around you affect your nature or happiness.

You obviously didn’t know anything about Vulcans either.

The first touch was accidental. It always is.

You never took the Vulcan to be clumsy, but on one occasion while discussing your current assignment in passing he dropped his holotape. You both reached  for it, and in a cliché manner brushed hands. While your boss pulled away, you did not and picked up the tape.

“Here ya go!” You cheerily patted the tape in his hand for good measure, “I’ll have that report in the morning like you’ve requested, sir.”

Bypassers gawked as you cheerily skipped away. Your commanding officer only quirked a brow and went on his way.

The next time was less on purpose and more out of your kindness as your commander internally lamented about his captain’s safety during an emergency situation. He had donned the chair and even while appearing composed and direct you had an eye for spotting worry in well kept men. In an brief moment you pressed your hand to his wrist and said softly, “He will be okay. You’ll make sure of it.”

He tensed under your touch and you removed your hand a smiled.

“Report to your station, Ensign,” he said in his usual tone, no hint of distaste or approval in his voice.

“Yes sir.”

The third time was even worse. Somehow you had been suckered to prompting Spock by Doctor McCoy into reporting to an impromptu physical. Confidentiality be damned, the Vulcan’s stress levels were unusually high and it was affecting his demeanor. You accidentally overheard the nurse and the doctor whispering something perhaps about pon farr happening again, but no it hadn’t been seven years yet. Whatever that was.

“I don’t think he’ll listen to me, but if you say it’s important, I’ll try.”

“You’re his favorite, so you’re my best bet.”

“Mister Spock doesn’t have favorites,” you laughed, “But I’ll do it anyway. Someone has to draw the shortest straw. I never mind it being me.”

“Thankyou, Ensign. And good luck.”

You skipped along to the your commander’s quarters. You had never been inside and only rarely had delivered your reports to him in person when requested. He couldn’t always come to you and that was understandable.

At the chime the door slid open and though it was subtle, your boss clearly wasn’t expecting you.

“Hello, Mister Spock,” you greeted, “Doctor McCoy-”

“I am aware of the doctor’s request. As it is not mandatory  I do not find it necessary to attend.”

It wasn’t like him to interrupt you. He was tense and though he stood perfectly erect like a statue there was a little shake in his right hand. Without thinking, you grasped it to still the quiver.

“Are you alright?”

Many would expect his to snatch it away, but he didn’t and stood there. If he was caught off guard, it wasn’t apparent. His expression was unmoving and his eye contact never wavered.

“I am fine, Ensign. Report back to your duties.”

“Doctor McCoy said it was important.”

“I am not here to entertain the doctor’s every illogical human whim.” He pulled his hand away, “There is no empirical evidence to suggest I am ill.”

“You’re shivering.�� You put your hands on your hip and gave him the most mothering look you could muster.

“Multiple factors such as the natural low temperature of deep space can illicit such a reaction,” he retorted.

“It’s broiling in your cabin, Mister Spock. Only people with fevers do things like that.”

“Humans, Ensign. Humans,” he corrected, “I deduce you are not aware of Vulcan biology or customs.”

“Please don’t lie to me,” you requested softly, “How am I supposed to work efficiently under an ill commanding officer?”

The way you spoke nearly convinced him to do your bidding, but still he remained stubborn.

“I do not comprehend how that would deter your work efficiency.”

You grabbed his hand again, “I am going to worry myself to death if you really are ill and you’re just trying to act like you’re alright. That will keep me from working like I’m supposed to. Efficient crew needs an efficient captain.” You winked at him.

“But Captain Kirk-”

“It’s a metaphor, Mister Spock. Now please come so the doctor can stop paging me and I can work on my report concerning the Althenian plant’s healing properties and various uses from its sap.”

“I yield,” he said after a small beat and without releasing your hand, followed you to the medbay. More people inwardly gawked watching to drag him down the hall. His face was tense, albeit slightly amused.

After reaching your destination you waved him and the doctor off sweetly and made your way back to the lab. You heart wrapped around the thought of him being ill and you hid that worry ill. A little heat bloomed in your chest at his previous touch. You brushed it away. No, you told yourself.

The doctor was only a little surprised. His suspicions were confirmed.

“I had my doubts at first, Spock, but now I see it’s true.”

“Despite Vulcan’s telepathic abilities, I cannot automatically read your mind. Elaborate, Doctor.”

The doctor chucked, “That ensign is your favorite.”

“I do not understand.”

“Who else could have convinced you to come here to let me scan you? Probably not even Jim-”

“I am inclined to follow the captain’s every order.”

“You don’t let anyone touch you like that. Especially not for a long time. If I’m not mistaken you two were practically kiss-”

“That will be enough elaboration, doctor. Please proceed with your medical assessment, as I have much work to attend to.”

The doctor chuckled again. “It’s too bad I can’t tell with that one. They act like that towards everyone.”

“Everyone,” Spock repeated flatly although it was intended to be a question.

“Sweetest soul I’ve ever met. Lights up a room as soon as they enter it.”

“Indeed,” Spock nodded, familiar with the colloquialism.

The doctor’s eyebrows raised and he grinned, “I knew it.”

You of course were oblivious to all of this as you continued through your work, happy as a clam.

After some deliberation one of your coworkers decided to explain the delicacies of Vulcan culture after viewing a friendly hand grasp as a greeting between you and your commanding officer. You were elated to see his shivering had stopped and once again he tensed under the touch, but nodded his head at your greeting. You had blushed while doing so. It was sweet, but your coworker had to break it to you as they had before when warning you last time about him not being interested in anyone.

“Vulcans don’t like to be touched, you know,” they said to you, taking you aside.

“What do you mean?”

“They’re very sensitive to skin to skin contact. They guard themselves mostly, but hand touching is extremely taboo the way kissing in public or other sexual acts are.”

“You mean...” you blushed, “I’ve been--! I hope he’s not offended.”

“Normally he’s not afraid to explain things or clear up-“ you coworker coughed,”-unwanted affection. I’ve seen plenty girls get a talking down to.”

“What are you saying?”

“Perhaps he’s forcing himself to be polite.”

“Oh, I’ve got to apologize right away!”

You felt so stupid! How could you be so offensive to him or his culture? You should have read up on his customs before truly interacting with him. It would seem like a smart thing to do-but you were so lost to the world it was embarrassing.

You paused in front of his door for the first time in your life, afraid to speak to him.

The door open quickly and you stepped back, surprised. He had looked like he had been going to leave and you sheepishly smiled, “I’m sorry for interrupting you, sir. I need to speak to you.”

“Come inside.”

You blushed at the request, wringing your hands as you entered.

You turned to him and blurted, “I had no idea what I was doing, sir, I swear. Had I known that touching you was wrong I would stop. I’m so used to being touchy-feely on Earth I forgot that not everyone-”

“Ensign,” he said firmly.

“Yes?” you squeaked.

“Had those interactions provoked me I would have made it known. I should be the one offering an apology. I should have explained what such interactions mean on Vulcan before anyone else claimed the opportunity. I assume someone took the liberty of doing so.”

“Yessir. I’m sorry.”

“Do not apologize.”

“Why not?’

“Because your actions did not provoke me, but precisely did the opposite.”

“What-what do you mean?” Your face was fully red and you obscured it with your hands. He let out a sound that was the closest Vulcan thing as a sigh and stepped closed to you.

He grasped your hands and lowered them from your face. His eyes were soft and the most vulnerable as you had every seen them.

He pressed his right hand that was shivering terribly to the side of your face. It stilled instantly.

“I am aware of your affection for me and I return the sentiment.”

You couldn’t find your voice and after a long moment of studying your features he leaned down to give you a kiss, warm and firm.

You gasped into his lips and pressed back.

He released you and you looked at him starry eyed.

“So it was true, what the doctor said, you said in a hushed tone.

Spock’s arms were around you gently, “Elaborate.”

“I am your favorite.”

“Affirmative.”

FIN

[ri-ahhh]

good vibes

sometimes best friends get a little curious

warnings: badly written smut

***

“Gray, can you help me with this?”

Inspired by your best friend’s new affinity for minimalism, you had decided to clean out the junk drawer of your nightstand. You had been hit by one of those random whims to do something productive, and the mess in there had been bothering you for months.

But now, even though it’s practically empty and a good few pounds lighter after removing nearly all of its previous contents, you’re struggling to shove the damn thing back into the nightstand. The solid wood is heavy, and the high of accomplishing something is starting to wear off in wake of the frustration that the stupid thing just won’t go in. It’s like a reverse of the prank Jim pulled on Dwight when he jammed his drawers to only half open; yours will only half shut.

The final straw is when you pinch your finger between the drawer and the corner of the opening in the nightstand, and you let the whole thing fall to the floor with a heavy thump that your downstairs neighbors will most definitely not appreciate.

“Ow, fuck!” you exclaim, holding your finger with enough pressure to keep the throbbing at bay for a moment and to check if your nail broke. “Gray!”

A dark head peaks around the doorframe, handsome features drawn in concern. “What the hell are you doing?” he asks, stepping into your bedroom.

It always takes you by surprise somehow, how much space he takes up in here. He’s shirtless and still slightly sweaty, having taken advantage of your apartment gym while you did your cleaning thing.

You pout at him. “I need help.”

Grayson rolls his eyes and chuckles, glancing at the drawer on the ground as he puts two and two together. “You’re lucky you’re cute,” he says as he strides next to you and squats down so he’s level with the nightstand.

“Shut up,” you mumble, flushing as you suck the little spec of blood off your cuticle (the biggest casualty from your drawer mishap) and shove his giant, rounded shoulder with the other.

He barely budges, and squints at the open space. “There’s something stuck that must have fallen from the top drawer when you took this one out.”

Before you can even think to stop him, he’s pulling the top drawer — your underwear drawer — out of the nightstand now. And there, right where you left it that morning on top of a pile of skimpy lace and cotton, is your hot pink vibrator.

Grayson stares at it for a moment, and you can tell he’s processing what it is before smirking as you gasp and snatch it away from his curious gaze. “Nice.”

You scoff. “Don’t be gross. Girls masturbate too, Dolan.”

“I’m well aware,” he retorts, eyebrow raised at the way you’re hiding the object behind your back as if he’ll forget about it if he can’t see it. “Fingers don’t get the job done?”

You don’t think you’ve ever blushed this hard in your life. But, after all, it’s just Grayson — he’s your best friend. And, with his track list, there’s probably nothing the man hasn’t seen.

“I keep my nails too long,” you say with more confidence than you really have. “Plus it’s just... better.”

“I’ve never seen a girl use one in person,” he says. He looks at you and cocks his head. “You should show me.”

A purely instinctual bark of laughter escapes your lips. “In your dreams.”

“You are,” Grayson admits, his smile cocky but soft. “Way too often lately.”

You pause and consider that, your belly heating and head swimming momentarily at the idea that you might have some semblance of the same effect on him that he does you. “Only because we’ve been spending so much time together the past few weeks.”

“We can over-analyze the reasons later,” he says dismissively. “I’m serious, I’ve only seen these things in porn. I wanna see first hand what they do that I can’t.”

You can’t resist digging at him a little. “And here I thought fuckboy extraordinaire Grayson Dolan had seen it all.”

“I’m not a fuckboy,” he says pointedly. “That implies a certain level of shitty behavior that I don’t believe in.”

“Fair enough,” you concede with a shrug. You really look at him for a moment, and much like the urge to clean, a similarly sudden wave of “fuck it” overtakes you. You bring the vibrator back into sight, and watch him look at it curiously again. “You’re telling me you’ve really never had one of your little girlfriends use this with you in the room?”

“Nope, I swear,” he says with an insistent shake of his head, hazel eyes wide as he realizes you’re maybe about to actually agree to his suggestion. “Please?”

Are you really about to say yes to this? You take in his shirtless self, muscles bulging from their recent exertion, skin a leftover honey bronze from the summer, eyes warm, lips pink and inviting...

An idea hits you.

“Fine,” you say, crossing your arms and smirking up at him. “But you have to do it with me. Jerk off, I mean. It’s not fair if I show you mine but you don’t show me yours.”

His arched brows shoot up into his flop of hair with surprise, but it only takes him a second for a wide, crooked smile to break across those lips you were just admiring. “Deal.”

You roll your eyes, but the grin won’t leave your lips. “That was way too easy.”

“What can I say? I have no shame,” Grayson shrugs, dropping the drawer he was still holding onto your bed. He reaches down and picks up your favorite leopard-print thong, letting it dangle from two of his thick fingers. “These are cute, by the way.”

“Don’t push your luck here,” you warn, only half-joking; you’re still a little cautious about this whole plan, no matter what your pussy is telling you right now at the thought of seeing Grayson completely naked.

He follows you without question out to the living room. You choose the couch rather than your bed for a couple of reasons. Easier to see. Less intimacy. He can take his pick of which one he wants to think was your driving force behind it.

You settle on one end of the couch, and he the other. You’re surprised to see the half-hard outline of him already through his sweats, and it’s truly pathetic how fast it has you clenching your thighs together.

“How do we start?” you ask, head tossed back with an embarrassed, breathless giggle. Your toes wiggle next to his against the middle seat cushion. “I didn’t think this far.”

When you look back at him, Grayson is staring at you with a surprising intensity. He’s got a palm over his sweats, right over his dick, and your eyes are drawn there for a hot, sticky second. His hand itself is turning you on, wide and veined and masculine.

“Let’s talk,” he finally says, drawing hour gaze back to his handsome face. “What do you like?”

“What do I like?”

“Yeah. Like... what’s your favorite position?”

You’re catching on. It’s not the most conventional dirty talk, but the simplicity in just learning these new things about him so casually is kind of hot in its own right. The thought alone makes your nipples tighten behind your shirt — his shirt, you’re just now realizing.

You hope he can see them through the thin white fabric as you answer, “Doggy.”

“Mm.” The corner of his lips turn up in a quick smirk and his hand starts to move over his crotch in slow strokes. “I think I like missionary most, to be honest. The kind where I’ve got her legs pushed back or over my shoulders. Super deep. Eye contact. All that.”

Fuck. “So we’re opposites,” you grin, and to Grayson’s visible approval you allow your legs to open some — his eyes zero in on your center, hidden beneath your tiny sleep shorts. “Do you eat pussy? I can’t get the vibe if you do or don’t.”

He looks genuinely offended, and pauses the motion of his hand, eyes meeting yours again. “Of course I do. Wait, do you really get the impression that I wouldn’t?”

You shrug and drop a palm to rest low on your belly. “I just have it on good authority that Ethan does it very well and very willingly. And you guys are so opposite. You just never know.”

Grayson deadpans you, his breathing picking up along with the movement of his hand again. “Are you asking me to eat you out? Because that sounds like a challenge you know I can’t refuse.”

“No. I like the idea of being your first ‘something,’” you say. Grayson’s dark eyes glance to the object in question clutched in the grasp of one hand, then follow the fingertips of your other as they start to trail lightly across your waistband. The heat of his gaze makes your pussy throb, and you’re actually getting more and more excited about this. “And I thought tonight was about what you can’t do.”

“Tonight, maybe. But then there’s always tomorrow,” he says, voice low and gruff. He squeezes his dick through his pants and growls a little. “Fuck. Can we — fuck, your tits look so cute in my shirt. And it’s taking everything in me not to rip off those damn shorts.”

“You wanna see my pussy?” you ask in an almost-whisper, lip caught between your teeth. His words and the neediness behind them flood you with confidence and desire. The vibrator is warm and heavy and apparent in your hand, calling your name as your body heats steadily at the sight and sound of Grayson a mere six feet from you.

“As much as you wanna see my dick,” he counters, and his fingers finally hook teasingly in his own elastic waistband.

You’ll feed his ego, if that’s what he wants. You’d expect nothing less from him — and, to be fair, he’s not wrong.

“That must be a lot, then,” you say, and then you’re both pulling down your pants and underwear until you’re naked from the waist down and he is completely.

Your legs close shyly once your bottoms are discarded to the floor, the hand cupping your pussy trapped between your thighs. You’re nervous again for a few seconds, but then you see his cock wrapped loosely in his big fist, and you can’t help but relax again.

Dicks are ugly, in a general sense, but not Grayson’s, you think. Long and thick, ridged on the shaft and swollen at the tip. You instantly think about what it would taste like, or feel like buried inside you. Because he’s definitely got the vibrator beat in that department.

“Lemme see,” he murmurs.

You take a deep breath and obey, knees still bent but parted as you move your hand from completely covering your center to tracing the smooth skin with your middle finger. Grayson groans, and his hand leaves his dick long enough for him to spit in it for lubrication when he instantly returns it there.

“I can see how wet you are,” he says, and you wonder if he’s even talking to you or just making an observation.

You answer him anyway. “You have a nice dick.” Your fingers migrate to your clit, and you twitch with a little gasp. “Big. I always kinda wondered if you were just compensating.”

“Of course not,” he grins, and it just makes him way too sexy. His teeth gleaming in the low light of your living room, tattoos covering his legs — one of them bent on the couch and the other planted firmly on the floor, muscles hard... you don’t even realize you’re sucking your fingers into your mouth so they’re nice and wet when you bring them back to your clit to start rubbing slow circles in time with the strokes he’s giving his cock.

“Damn,” Grayson mutters. His eyes are wide and fixated on your pussy, and his hand starts moving quicker. The beats of his chest pick up, too. “Can you use it now? Please?”

You nod, starting to feel desperate for release yourself. You push the button a couple of times until the silicone buzzes to life on a medium setting; there’s enough teasing going on between you and Gray, and you don’t need anything other than a good, steady vibe to help get you to the edge.

“This isn’t gonna last long,” you admit, gasping when you trace it against your pussy so it can become coated in your arousal.

If Grayson responds, you don’t hear it, because as soon as you directly stimulate your clit with the vibrator, your mind is going blank as you moan wantonly. Definitely not going to last long.

He speaks, and your eyes open at the sound of his gravelly voice. They lock first on the rapid pumps of his fist over his cock, then on his face with his brows drawn and his jaw clenched.

“Feel good?”

“Really good,” you whimper, tugging on your nipple through your shirt with your free hand. “God, you’re so hot, Gray.”

“Yeah?” His voice turns a little whiny in the sexiest way possible, but still low and a hardwire to your pussy. “You’re fuckin beautiful. Can’t believe I get to see you like this.”

You moan quietly and press a little harder with the vibrator and finding the perfect spot with the perfect pressure. Your back arches and you instinctively fling a hand behind your head to find a grip on the back cushion of the couch. “Fuck!”

“Oh, shit, are you really gonna cum already?” Grayson asks in disbelief.

You whine out mindlessly in affirmation. Your breaths come sharper, you moans higher pitched. The wet noise of Grayson’s fist moving faster and faster on his cock prompts you to let your eyes open to watch him, and all it takes for you to fall over the edge is to watch him watch you.

Your legs shake and you whine pretty moans as the continuous vibrations drag out your orgasm perfectly. You come down just in time to hear the rough groan and raspy grunts of Grayson cumming too, and open your eyes to the glorious sight of his head tossed back so his thick neck is open and begging to be sucked on. His balls are drawn tight, abs clenching, fingers and chest painted with white streaks that you’re kind of sad you missed.

Something tells you this might not be your only chance to see it happen, though.

You turn off your vibrator when you become far too sensitive to take any more and toss it to the side. Your body slumps into the couch cushions, and the room is silent other than both of your heavy breathing for what feels like ages as you both come down.

Grayson shifts at the end of the couch, and it prompts you to do the same. You reach to the floor for your shorts and pull them hastily back up your legs, mind still hazy as you sit up and tuck your legs beneath you. You stare at him unashamedly, not feeling nearly as awkward as you think you should, all things considered.

Gray pulls his underwear on, and reaches his hand out to you. You take it with a sheepish little grin, and let him pull you closer.

“So, be honest, was it really the vibrator that made you cum that fast, or did I have any part of that?”

You laugh and slap his chest playfully. “Maybe when I find out what your mouth can do, I’ll consider you competition for the vibrator. You need to be knocked down a peg or two, Dolan.”

“Hm. Well, like I said, we always have tomorrow.”

[purple-fireflies]

try to slip past his defense (without granting innocence)

A/N: Soy Luna Grey’s Anatomy au -- some plot devices will be the same, others may differ. (This is just an excerpt, I'll post the full chapter on ao3 & tumblr when I'm done with it!)

Other notes:

The title is from The Fray’s “How To Save A Life” which is basically the show’s anthem song (that and chasing cars)

Sometimes, certain dialogue may be verbatim from the show (this is only for medical-related plot devices, ie meeting patients, assigning lab reports, establishing exposition, etc) so I’m stating here right now that that specific dialogue belongs to Grey’s Anatomy, and the characters belong to Soy Luna, but everything else belongs to me

Juliana never had the last name given in the show, so for story’s sake, it’s Bahiense.

She’s referred to as “The Nazi” but that’s not meant to offend anyone at all, it was the nickname given in the show, so I’m transferring it here.

In Soy Luna, Ámbar is one year older than Luna, but here she’s the same age as her

In Grey’s Anatomy, there are only 5 people in each group of interns, but for plot’s sake, there are 7 each

In the show, Benicio’s name was never mentioned, so for writing purposes, his last name is going to be Calisto

Luna sits up quickly—bad idea.

She winces at the light coming in through the window and groans at her headache.

And someone stirs next to her.

Exactly how much did she drink?

Enough so she doesn’t remember the name of the smirky boy staring at her, pulling on his boxers.

She is never drinking again.

And he needs to leave.

“You are?” He asks, grinning the grin that probably got Luna into this mess.

“Humiliated on so many levels,” She mutters, “And I’m late, as well. So if you could just, I dunno, leave, that would be perfect,”

“Or we could pick up where we left off?” He asks, with a grin that tells Luna he isn’t used to being rejected.

“No, seriously. I’m late. Which I shouldn’t be on my first day of work, so?”

Take the hint.

“Wait, so you live here?”

Jesus Christ, she’s going to be late.

“Huh? Oh yeah, it was my aunt’s house, but I’m selling it so technically, not for long.” She rushes out.

“I’m sorry,” He replies, actual emotion in his eyes.

“My aunt is still ali—you know, we don’t have to do the thing,”

“We can do whatever you want,”

Really?

“No, the thing. Where you pretend you care or ask me nice questions or whatever. Listen. I’m going to go upstairs and shower, and when I get back, you’re not going to be here, uh…”

What was his name?

He laughs softly, “Matteo.”

“Luna,” She replies, shaking his hand.

“Bye, Luna,” He says winking at her.

She smiles in response and jerks her head towards the door.

“Bye, Matteo,”

And that’s the last she has to see of him.

𝅘𝅥𝅮𝅘𝅥𝅮

“Each of you comes here hopeful. Wanting in on the game. A month ago you were in med school being taught by doctors. Today, you are the doctors. The seven years you spend here as a surgical resident will be the best and worst of your life. You will be pushed to the breaking point. Look around you. Say hello to your competition. Eight of you will switch to an easier specialty. Five of you will crack under the pressure. Two of you will be asked to leave. This is your starting line. This is your arena. How well you play? That's up to you,” The chief, Tamara Rios, says as Luna stumbles into the room, causing everyone to stare at her.

Great job, Valente.

Luna walks around the room. She sees Ámbar, avoiding her gaze as if it was poisonous. She sees another girl, a brunette, looking around the room with wide eyes. She sees Simón, looking back at her, and resists waving at him as a kindergartner would. She walks around the OR a little more and sees two girls so close they might as well be stuck together, one a blonde and the other a redhead. She bumps into another boy, who just huffs softly and brushes her off.

Rude.

𝅘𝅥𝅮𝅘𝅥𝅮

The resident takes 3 more interns, leaving Luna with the brunette she saw at the orientation.

“Only 6 women out of 20,” She says, sighing, as if mad at the statistic itself.

“And I think one of them’s a model. As if that would’ve helped with the whole respect thing,” The redhead interjects.

Luna and Ámbar share a look.

Luna turns to the brunette.

“You’re Nina, right?” She says, smiling.

Nina nods, “Which resident did you get assigned to? I got Bahiense.”

“The Nazi? Me too,” Luna replies.

The guy who bumped into her says, “You got the Nazi? So did I. At least we’ll be tortured together,” He says, trying to lean into Luna’s space.

Luna and Nina exchange a quick look saying, God, can you believe him?

A doctor comes up and calls out “Smith, Valente, Ponce, Simonetti, Medina, Sánchez, Álvarez,”

Ámbar walks up to the guy and asks, “Bahiense?”

He points down the hall.

The seven look down to see who he’s pointing at. It’s a woman slightly shorter than them, using a cane to stand up, ordering some other resident around.

The guy who bumped into her says, “I thought the Nazi would be a guy,”

Sexist much?

“I thought the Nazi would be...you know, the Nazi,” Luna mutters.

“Guys seriously? Maybe it’s just professional jealousy. You know, maybe she’s just brilliant and they’re so jealous so they call her the Nazi. Maybe she’s nice.” The redhead says, and Luna sees her nametag saying Jimena Medina.

The blonde next to her, Yamila Sánchez, Luna supposes, nods.

Which means the only one left that she doesn’t know would be...Luna cranes her neck to see his nametag.

Ramiro Ponce. Who is currently staring wistfully at Yamila.

Please.

“Let me guess, you still have hope left in your heart,” Ámbar says to Jimena, rolling her eyes as if it’s what she was born to do.

Jimena shoots Ámbar a dirty look (wow, Luna wishes her luck with that can of worms) and proceeds to try to shake Dr. Bahiense’s hand when she walks over.

Dr. Bahiense looks at her hand as if it’s infectious.

Jimena, undeterred, continues to say, “Right, well. I’m Jimena Medina, but you can call me Jim if it’s easier,”

Yamila, who seemed to jump out of thin air, says, “And you can call me Yam,”

Bahiense looks so unimpressed Luna thinks that if contempt alone was enough to murder someone, Bahiense would be a serial killer.

Luna shares a quick look with Simón, who gives her a reassuring nod.

Bahiense looks them all up and down, evidently annoyed with being stuck with their group (ouch).

"I have five rules. Memorize them. Rule number one, don't bother sucking up, I already hate you, that's not gonna change,” She starts, then moves to a bench, filled with different objects, “Trauma protocol, phone lists, pagers. Nurses will page you, you answer every page at a run. A run, that's rule number two. Your first shift starts now and lasts forty-eight hours,”

Everyone rushes to grab their pagers, studying them before Bahiense starts talking again.

“You’re interns, grunts, nobodies, bottom of the surgical food chain, you run labs, write orders, work every second night till you drop, and don't complain!”

Bahiense opens what Luna supposes is an on-call room, “On-call rooms. Attendings hog them, sleep when you can, where you can, which brings me to rule number three, if I'm sleeping, don't wake me, unless your patient is actually dying. Rule number four, the dying patient better not be dead when I get there, not only would you have killed someone, you would have also woken me for no good reason, we clear?”

Luna rushes to nod, writing furiously on her notepad, and then goes, oh.

She raises her hand.

Dr. Bahiense looks extremely pissed at Luna for having the audacity to have a question.

“Yes?”

“You said five rules. Those were only four.” Luna says, trying not to wilt against Dr. Bahiense’s gaze.

“Rule number five. When I move, you move,” She says after her pager beeps.

That’s some TV show shit right there.

They break into a run and watch as Dr. Bahiense runs down a couple of doctors.

𝅘𝅥𝅮𝅘𝅥𝅮

The helicopter—yes, a helicopter—lands, and a doctor pulls out a teenager on a stretcher.

This is way too much for Luna on her first day.

“What do we got?” Bahiense asks, and Luna hears Nina correct the grammar under her breath.

As the paramedic puts the girl on the stretcher (while she’s seizing) he says, “Katie Bryce, fifteen-year-old female, new-onset seizures, intermittent for the past week, ID lost en route, started grand mal seizing as we descended,”

Bahiense stops, leaning on her cane for a second, and then it’s all business.

“All right. Yam, put her on the side, 10 milligrams diazepam,” Bahiense groans when Yam does it incorrectly, “No, no, the white lead is on the right, righty whitey, smoke over fire, a large-bore I.V. don't let the blood haemolyse, let's go!”

Yam injects the diazepam and Katie stops seizing.

Luna releases the breath that she wasn’t aware she was holding.

Another doctor, in dark blue scrubs, another doctor comes up in stark contrast to what she and the other interns are wearing. Luna catches his name very quickly. Gastón Perida.

Nina sucks in a breath as he walks past them, Luna realizes with a start.

“So I heard we got a wet fish on dry land?” Dr. Perida says, and Luna catches how Nina stares at him with intent.

Dr. Bahiense, her sudden brashness gone, replaced with respect as she says, “Absolutely Dr. Perida,”

Dr. Perida nods, his eyes brushing over the intern group, stopping at Nina, and he then continues.

“All right, Dr. Bahiense, I’m gonna shotgun her,”

“That means every test in the book, CT, CBC, chem. seven, a tox screen, Nina and Ámbar, you're on labs, Ramiro and Yam, patient workups, Luna, get Katie for a CT, she's your responsibility now,”

Wonderful. Her first day and she gets the really hard patient.

“What about me and Simón?” Jim asks.

Bahiense looks so tired when she stares at Jim, “Right, you two, uh. You get to do rectal exams. Okay?”

Jim and Simón have faces that say no, not okay.

Luna makes a face gloating at Simón and he just glares at her in return.

𝅘𝅥𝅮𝅘𝅥𝅮

Ámbar peeks into the OR where Dr. Bahiense is. Bahiense comes out and looks at her expectantly.

“Um, Katie Bryce's labs came out clear, there's nothing in the results that explain her seizures,” She says, hoping to catch Dr. Bahiense to ask her what she really wants to ask her.

“And…?”

“ I heard every year the attending on-call picks the best intern and, and lets them perform a procedure, during the first shift?” Ámbar asks, glaring back at Dr. Bahiense when she tries to stare her down.

Ámbar Smith does not get stared down.

“Go away. Now.” Dr. Bahiense says, and Ámbar groans internally.

𝅘𝅥𝅮𝅘𝅥𝅮

Yam sighs at yet another ill-tried joke Ramiro attempts.

Flirty in med school and flirty now.

Why should she even bother?

“We have one more patient to work up,” She mumbles and he nods, walking slower to keep up with her pace.

She places her stethoscope and hears for a heartbeat. “Everything seems to be in order,”

“So he’ll be fine?” The woman next to him—presumably his wife—asks.

“If you don’t count that my bacon days are over, sure,” The patient replies.

Yam shares a smirk with Ramiro.

“You'll have surgery tomorrow with Dr. Perida, I hear he's good, and after that, you can have all of the bacon-flavored soy product you can eat,” Ramiro interjects, speaking easily with the patients.

“Please, kill me now,” the patient jokes.

“Wish I could, but I took the Hippocratic Oath for a reason,” Yam replies absently, going over and signing his charts.

She blushes at the weird looks she gets and rolls her eyes at Ramiro’s never-ending smirk.

𝅘𝅥𝅮𝅘𝅥𝅮

Katie. Won’t. Stop. Talking. Which isn’t helping Luna find her way through these halls.

Did she just miss the last turn?

“You’re lost,” the kid says, grumbling.

What do you think I’m trying to fix right now? Luna thinks to herself and just about stops herself from saying.

“I’m not lost.” Luna insists, then remembers she’s a doctor, “How’re you feeling?”

“I’m missing my pageant. How do you think I feel?”

“Right. You’re missing your pageant.”

This poor girl is in the hospital with seizures and the only thing that she can think about is her pageant.

Luna feels sorry for her.

“The Spokane Teen Miss? I was in the top ten after the first two rounds. This is my year. I could've won,”

Luna absently hums and realizes that they’re going the wrong way. Again.

She turns around and pushes Katie back the same way.

“You are so lost. What are you, new?”

Luna chokes back a laugh. Yeah, something like that.

𝅘𝅥𝅮𝅘𝅥𝅮

Yam watches Ramiro try to give their patient a central line. It’s not working.

And it’s visibly hurting the patient.

She groans and pushes past him, about to put the line in when Dr. Perida waltzes into their room and raises his eyebrows.

“Out.” He says, his nice demeanor replaced with annoyance.

Do all of the residents and attendings just hate interns on principle?

Yam glares at Ramiro and pulls him out, watching from the window as Perida puts the line in perfectly.

“Bet you used to mess up a lot when you started out,” Ramiro tries to joke with Perida.

Yam just winces and nods at Dr. Perida as she leaves.

Ramiro at least has the decency to look sheepish.

This is going to be a long shift.

𝅘𝅥𝅮𝅘𝅥𝅮

Luna sits, taking Katie’s patient history and generally listening to her incessant babbling.

“I twisted my ankle. I do rhythmic gymnastics, which is like, really cool. Nobody else does it. And I tripped over my ribbon, and I didn't get stuck with someone this clueless. And that was like, a nurse,” Katie says.

Luna bites back a retort.

𝅘𝅥𝅮𝅘𝅥𝅮

Simón groans at the plate of food in front of him. The number of rectal exams he and Jim had to do was enough to take the appetite away from anyone.

“This shift is 80 hours long, you have to eat, Simón,” Ámbar mutters, her gaze hardening after leaving Simón’s eyes.

“I can’t.”

“Eat.” Ámbar insists, pushing Simón’s plate towards him.

“You try eating after performing 17 rectal exams. The Nazi hates me. I want to puke.” Simón says, his face contorting.

“Just don’t puke near me,” Ámbar mutters.

“The Nazi’s just a resident. Attendings hate me,” Ramiro replies.

“Did you know Luna is inbred?” Nina asks, and all heads whip to her immediately.

Partly because no one expected the shy ingenue to say anything.

And partly because Luna being inbred is very surprising.

Simón hurries to say “It’s not uncommon to be the kid of a doctor,”

“I mean royally inbred. Her mother is Lili Benson.”

“Shut up. The Lili Benson?” Jim asks.

Nina nods.

“Who’s Lili Benson?” Ramiro asks.

“The Benson method? Where’d you go to med school, Antarctica?” Yam says incredulously.

No one notices how Simón and Ámbar tense up as Yam continues talking. “She was one of the biggest women surgeons. She practically invented th—”

“She won the Harper Avery. Twice.” Jim says, rolling her eyes at Ramiro.

“So I didn’t know one thing.”

“I would kill to have Lili Benson as my mother. Scratch that, I’d kill to be Lili Benson.” Nina says, her eyes alight.

“Katie Bryce is a pain in the ass. I swear if it wouldn’t get me fired, I’d strangle her with my bare hands.” Luna says, walking over to their table, sitting next to Nina.

She seems to miss the wistful glance Simón throws her way.

She does seem to notice the way everyone’s staring at her.

“What?”

Nina opens her mouth to say something but stops immediately when Dr. Perida walks over.

“Good afternoon interns. It's posted, but I thought I'd share the good news personally. As you know, the honor of performing the first surgery is reserved for the intern that shows the most promise. As I'm running the OR today, I get to make that choice,” Dr. Perida says, and Luna feels a rush of hope.

Or. Felt. Seeing as Dr. Perida is clapping Ramiro on his back (it was kind of worth it to see him choke a little on his salad) and saying, “Ramiro Ponce. You’ll be scrubbing in on an appendectomy this afternoon. Congrats.”

Luna deflates.

She wanted that surgery.

She wanted it really badly.

“Me?” Ramiro asks, not quite believing it. Or maybe he’s just wilting under Yam’s intense glare.

“Enjoy.” Dr. Perida says, nodding to everyone.

Luna doesn’t fail to notice that he’s staring at Nina while he says that.

Nina doesn’t fail to notice either, if the blush on her cheeks has anything to say about it.

Ramiro looks like he’s still in shock.

𝅘𝅥𝅮𝅘𝅥𝅮

“I’ve seen his file. Ramiro Ponce barely even made the cut to get into the program. He’s not your guy.” Juliana says to Gastón, raising her eyebrows.

“Oh, he’s my guy alright,” Gastón responds, absently checking the labs.

Juliana sighs, “Every year you pick your guy, and every year your guy suffers most.”

Gastón smiles. Everyone who knows him knows his easy nature, his inclination to being on the side of less serious.

Unless of course, it has to do with work.

“Terrorize one, and the rest fall in line, Bahiense.”

“I get it. I respect it. But Ramiro? Ponce is a puppy. A cute little puppy that is waiting to be killed. He can’t take the pressure. Think about it, Perida.” Juliana says, walking away.

𝅘𝅥𝅮𝅘𝅥𝅮

Luna watches as Katie’s parents stumble into Katie’s room.

The look of pure worry and fear on their faces makes Luna warm to them immediately.

A couple of hours ago, their kid was supposed to go on stage and wear a sash and be a kid.

Now they’re scared that their kid could be dying.

“Katie?” The mom asks, trying to hold her hand.

Luna falters, not wanting to break their little window.

“They gave her a sedative for the CT scan, so she’s just a tad groggy,” Luna says, standing up.

“Will she be okay?”

“Does she need surgery?” The parents ask at the same time.

Their urging faces make Luna wish she had an answer.

“Uh. You know, I’m not her doctor, I am a doctor, just not hers. Anyway, I’m not Katie’s doctor. I’ll go find him.” Luna rambles.

Luna finds Bahiense, “Katie’s parents have questions. Should I get Dr. Perida to answer them?”

“What? No. Perida’s off the case. The case is the new neuro attending’s case, Dr. Balsano. He’s over there.” Bahiense says, pointing to…

Oh god.

Please.

Not today.

This is not happening.

Matteo turns and stops dead in his tracks, his eyes clicking in recognition.

This is not happening.

Luna is not dealing with this.

She turns away from his gaze and walks away. What is she going to do?

She walks towards the stairwell and gets grabbed in.

She stumbles and Matteo catches her, running a hand through his hair, which Luna grudgingly admits looks not bad.

No. Luna. Stop it. Luna. No.

“Dr. Balsano. Did you need anything?” Luna asks, trying to not look at flustered as she is.

Matteo looks positively ecstatic at this turn of events. “Dr. Balsano? This morning it was Matteo. Now it’s Dr. Balsano.”

Luna dearly wants to slap that smirk off of his face.

“Dr. Balsano, we should pretend this never happened,”

“What never happened? You sleeping with me last night or kicking me out this morning because I don’t know about you, but both are memories I’d dearly love to keep.”

This guy really can’t take a hint.

“No. No. No. This is not happening. There are no memories of anything. I’m not the girl in the bar and you’re not the guy in the bar. I am your intern, Dr. Balsano.”

“I see how it is. You took advantage of me last night and now you want to forget about it.” He says, smirking incessantly.

“I most certainly did not,”

“I was drunk and vulnerable. Not to mention, insanely good-looking,”

“You’re not that good-looking,” Luna says, while her traitorous brain says Liar over and over.

“Sure I’m not. But last night, I was wearing my red shirt and I was extremely good-looking and you took advantage,”

He’s not entirely wrong about the red shirt.

“I didn—”

“Want to take advantage again? Say, Friday night?”

He’s smiling again, only this time it’s a smile, not a smirk.

Maybe Luna wouldn’t have said no if he wasn’t an attending.

“No. You’re an attending. I’m your intern. And I would seriously appreciate it if you stopped looking at me like that,” Luna says, glaring at him. It doesn’t seem to deter him.

“Like what?” He asks innocently as if he has no idea what he’s doing right now.

“Like you’ve slept with me,”

Matteo smirks.

“Dr. Balsano. Have you ever considered the fact that this is inappropriate?” Luna breathes.

He doesn’t say anything.

Luna sighs and leaves, the door slamming behind her.

𝅘𝅥𝅮𝅘𝅥𝅮

“Open. Identify. Irrigate. Close.” Jim instructs, and Yam sighs.

“Jim, I think he’d know,”

“He looks like he’s going to puke,” Jim shoots back.

Yam looks at Ramiro and says, “We have to go to the gallery now. Don’t screw it up.”

They walk up and take a seat behind Luna and Nina.

The intern above them says, “He’s going to faint. He’s a fainter.”

Yam fights back a if you only knew.

“Nah, I’m guessing code brown. Right in his pants,” another intern snickers.

Yam and Jim share a look.

Sure, she’s not a huge fan of Ramiro but he helped her a lot in med school. He helped Jim a lot in med school.

This is just savage.

“He’s going to sweat himself unsterile,”

“10 bucks he’s messing up the McBird,” someone says.

Oh god, they’re betting on Ramiro.

“20 says he cries,” Ámbar says, and sends an apologetic look at Luna.

“I’ll put 20 on him melting down completely,”

“50 says he pulls the whole thing off.” Yam hears herself say.

Luna grins at her, “That’s one of us down there. The first one of us. Where the hell is your loyalty?”

Yam breathes out.

The entire gallery, while it was buzzing before, is now silent.

“75 he can’t even ID the appendix,” Ámbar says again.

This time it’s Simón shooting her the look.

“I’ll take that action,” someone says.

Eric, Yam realizes.

The idiot from their bio class.

Nina elbows Luna when Dr. Perida says, “Okay, Ponce, let’s see what you can do,”

Jim breathes in quickly and Yam also holds her breath.

Do it right do it right please do it right.

“Here it comes,” Simón says.

“Scalpel,” Ramiro says and the nurse hands it to him, echoing the word.

Ramiro takes it and everyone cheers.

Perida motions for them to shut up as Nina says, “God, he’s quite a bit of trouble,”

Ramiro gets ready to cut as Perida instructs, “More pressure.”

Ramiro manages to do it without any mishaps and then proceeds to say, “Pickups.”

The scrub nurse echoes the command and hands him the instrument.

They go on for a little bit, and Yam thinks he might actually pull it off.

Until it goes downhill after Ramiro takes out the appendix.

Perida mutters an angry remark as all the interns in the gallery call him Double O’7.

Jim shares a worried look with Yam and asks Luna, “What does 007 mean?”

Luna sends them an apologetic look.

“License to Kill.”

𝅘𝅥𝅮𝅘𝅥𝅮

The cool air rushes into the basement that Bahiense’s interns have settled into.

The majority of them pile onto the gurney as Nina goes to the vending machine looking for some chocolate.

Luna winces at the whine that Ramiro makes as he walks into their “hideout”.

“They’re calling me 007 aren’t they?”

Luna groans and shoves Simón’s head off of Ámbar’s lap so she can fall asleep in it.

She’s too tired to deal with any human interaction that requires her to, you know, have any sort of emotional security.

“No one’s calling you 007,” Jim and Yam lie (but they do it in unison so like, props).

Ramiro shoots Yam an annoyed look, “I was on an elevator and Eric whispered 007,”

Ámbar pushes Luna’s head off of her lap and glares at Ramiro, “How many times do we have to go through with this? 5, 10, 15? Please tell me soon or I’m going to rim your head off.”

Ramiro sits on the gurney and groans “Eric whispered 007 in the elevator and everyone laughed,”

Luna picks her head up from where she’s trying (unsuccessfully) to fall asleep and actually feels sorry for the guy for a second but the aching limbs and pounding migraine make it kind of hard to console the poor guy.

“They weren’t laughing at you,” Jim says.

“You sure?”

“Would we lie to you?” Jim asks.

“Yes,” Ramiro, Ámbar, Simon and Luna say.

“007 is a state of mind,” Nina yells from the vending machine and throws a packet of chips at Luna as she walks back.

“Says the girl who finished first at freaking Stanford,” Simón yells at her.

Nina just rolls her eyes in response.

Just as Luna finally feels the call of sleep, her pager beeps.

She just wanted 5 minutes.

“It’s 911. Damn. I gotta go,” and Luna takes off at a sprint.

“I should’ve gone into geriatrics. No one cares if you kill an old person.” Ramiro continues after Luna leaves.

“Yes. Yes, they do care if you kill an old person. Plus. Surgery is hot. Geriatrics is… Well, it’s for freaks who live in the basement with their mom,” Simón replies.

“I have got to move out of my mom’s,” Ramiro mutters.

Nina and Ámbar share a grin.

𝅘𝅥𝅮𝅘𝅥𝅮

Luna’s out of breath by the time she gets to Katie’s room.

She really has to go to the gym more.

“Finally,” Katie mutters.

Luna looks around, seeing if anything’s wrong.

Oh god, please tell me she has a good reason for this. She has a good reason. Maybe. Hopefully.

“Are you alright?” The nurse paged me 911.”

“Ha, it took me forever to get her to even pick up the phone. I had to go full Hulk.”

“Wait. So there’s nothing wrong? Nothing medically wrong?”

“I’m bored.” Katie shrugs.

Luna likes to think she’s a nice person. A little absentminded at times, but a nice person nonetheless.

Katie, however, is really testing the whole “do no harm” thing.

“I am not your babysitter. I am not your cruise director. You can’t just page me for anything.”

“Don’t be so overdramatic. My pageant is supposed to be on cable, but it’s like this hospital lives in the ’90s. I can’t find anything. If someone who’s not me gets the crown, I should at least get to see it.”

Luna takes a deep breath. She’s a teenager. You were also stupid as a teenager.

“Okay. This is a hospital. There are sick people here. Go to sleep and stop wasting my time.”

“I can’t sleep, my head’s all full.”

“Those are called thoughts. Run with them.” Luna says in a fit of anger.

She’s been working for almost 24 hours and she just wanted 2 minutes of rest.

But maybe she shouldn’t have snapped at a patient.

But that’s a lesson for another day.

𝅘𝅥𝅮𝅘𝅥𝅮

Luna and Nina are in the ER when they hear a loud voice.

“4B has post-op pneumonia. Let’s get her started on antibiotics, okay?” An intern says to a nurse.

Someone didn’t tell the newbie not to piss off the nurses.

“Are you sure it’s the right diagnosis?”

“Oh gee, I don’t know. I’m only an intern. But here’s an idea. You go and spend 4 years in med school and then talk to me. She’s got shortness of breath and fever. It’s post-op pneumonia. Start antibiotics.” He sneers.

Luna rolls her eyes.

The same guy walks over to her and Nina, “God, I hate nurses. I’m Benicio. I’m with Jeremy. You guys are with the Nazi, right?”

“You know it doesn’t have to be pneumonia, right? It could be splinting. Or she could have aPE.”

He sneers again (does it ever leave his face?), “As I said, I hate nurses.” and walks away.

“Well, he’s an absolute idiot,” Nina says, shooting daggers towards Benicios across the room.

Luna’s about to respond, but her pager beeps again.

“Dammit, Katie.”

This time she walks.

𝅘𝅥𝅮𝅘𝅥𝅮

[brookewritesyk]

o n e

Warnings- Swearing

2016 Words

───── 𝐑𝐞𝐮𝐧𝐢𝗼𝐧  ─────

𝐈𝐓 𝐇𝐀𝐒 𝐁𝐄𝐄𝐍 𝐘𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐒 since the Goodmans family last saw Charlie-Rose. Charlie was always a very pretty girl or female as Martin would say. Since a young age, she's had the aspiration to become an actress. Not because of the fame and wealth that came with it if she made it big, unlike most people.

You may be wondering who are the Goodmans? The Goodmans were a family of 4 and Jonny Goodman was her best friend up until near the end of high school when she had to move. Deep down Charlie knew she always felt something for Jonny that was more than just friendship. That explains why she is sitting in a taxi with nerves coursing through her.

She was going to see the Goodmans again.

───── 𝐀𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐆𝗼𝗼𝐝𝗺𝐚𝐧'𝐬 𝐡𝗼𝐮𝐬𝐞  ─────

"For someone who doesn't stop going on about formula 1 your surprisingly shit at driving," Adam commented getting out of Jonny's car. "Like seriously no control of the vehicle."

"No control of the vehicle?" Jonny repeated offended. Then the car alarm went off and Adam gave Jonny the I-told-you-so look.

Whilst continuing bickering they walked towards their parents' front door and they noticed it was left open.

"Why is the door open?" Adam asked puzzled.

Not answering, Jonny went and fully opened the door to find Wilson, their neighbour's dog sitting on the carpet.

"Hello", Jim, the neighbour said slightly surprised whilst coming out of the bathroom and to see Adam and Jonny were there.

"Uhh hi Jim," Adam said but it sounded like a question as he was getting more confused.

"Jonny?" He asked unsurely and slightly tilting his head.

"I'm Adam," Adam replied getting annoyed.

"I'm Jonny.." The younger brother said dumbfoundedly.

"Why are you..." Adam trailed off.

"Hmm?" Jim mumbled trying to avoid answering the question.

"Nothing." Adam sighed knowing he wouldn't get an answer.

Cautiously, Jim went to pick up Wilson's lead and flinching while the brothers looked at each other confused and bewildered. Then Jim went through the boys to leave.

"Right.." Adam said whilst closing the door. "That wasn't strange."

Still confused, they went through the house to find their parents in the garage.

"Hi, mum." Jonny greeted blankly.

"Hi." The older brother sang.

"Hi boys," Jackie responded distractedly.

"What are you doing in the garage?" Jonny asked.

"We're having a clear-out," Jackie explained now looking at the boys.

"Don't you mean what's Jim doing in our loo?" Adam joked whilst smiling.

"Martin you do know the boys are here, say 'hello'," Jackie told Martin and not answering the question.

"What?" Martin asked pointing to his hearing aid then turned around and said: "Oh hello bambinos."

"No top tonight?" Jonny jokingly asked.

"He's boiling," Jackie said.

"I'm boiling," Martin said louder thinking that Jonny didn't hear Jackie,

"Well, you're going to have to put a top on soon as we have a guest coming." Jackie reminded Martin whilst pointing to his naked chest. Then they all went to the kitchen.

Both of the boys groaned they didn't like guests coming over on a Friday night. "Why didn't you tell us there was going to be a bloody guest!" Adam complained.

"Because it's a surprise!" Jackie explained excitedly.

"So who is it?" Jonny asked whilst opening the fridge getting the whipped cream and squirting it directly into his mouth.

"Stop eating cream, its an old family friend." Jackie hinted vaguely whilst smiling wickedly and started to stir the soup.

"Well, that wasn't vague," Adam smirked sarcastically and eating bread.

"So when is Lily coming?" Martin asked from coming downstairs finally having a shirt on.

"Lily?" Asked Adam and Jonny at the same time.

"Lily? No, its Charlie. Charlie-Rose Evans." Jackie reminded her husband annoyed.

"Wait, Charlie-Rose is coming here?" Jonny asked shocked and slightly blushing.

"Yes I got in touch with her on Tuesday and I invited her over for dinner," Jackie explained.

"The Charlie-Rose Evans is coming over, the one Pissface had a massive crush on?" Adam said excitedly knowing he could take the piss out of him for the night.

"Used too, in year 10 before she had to move to Paris," Jonny defended "Plus I've got a girlfriend, Allison."

"That's never been proved," Adam stated.

"You're just jealous that I have a girlfriend," Jonny argued.

"Yes, I'm jealous that you have a girlfriend which you share with another man." Adam sarcastically agreed.

"Simon is not her boyfriend!" Jonny huffed.

Then the door went.

"Oh my God, that will be her!" Jackie exclaimed whilst excitingly clapping her hands and rushing to the front door.

"Hello, Char- Oh hi Jim," Jackie said disappointed. "IT'S NOT CHARLIE EVERYONE, IT NOT CHARLIE!" Jackie loudly informed everyone and turning her head down the hall then turned her attention back to Jim who was trying to spray breath mints but played it off as glasses cleaner.

"Nice and shiny," Jim commented whilst fastly whipping his glasses with a cloth.

"Right, sorry Jim what do you need?" Jackie asked fake smiling.

"Yes I was wondering if you had any soy sauce, I ran out and need some for my ice-cream," Jim explained while trying to stroke Wilson but flinching away.

"Ok, Jonny!" Jackie called.

"What mum?" Jonny asked annoyed walking up behind his mum.

"Could you get the soy sauce from the cupboard?" Jackie asked disturbed.

"Sure." Jonny agreed yet confused so he went to the kitchen and grabbed the sauce and lazily gave it to Jim then went back in the living room.

Then the door went again.

"I swear to God if that's Jim-" Jackie muttered whilst opening the door again to realise it wasn't Jim it was Charlie-Rose. "Oh, hello love! Aww, it's been ages how are you and how was Paris?" She asked excitedly.

"Hi, Jackie I'm doing great! Paris was magnifique. In my apartment, I had a perfect view of the Effiel Tower but it's good to be back home." Charlie explained cheerfully.

"That sounds amazing." Jackie tutted happily and guided Charlie through to the living room. "Boys guess who's here!"

"The lady strangler?" Adam joked thinking it was Jim as he was focused on his phone.

"Horrible Adam! No look." Jackie insisted.

"Oh my-" Jonny breathed shocked.

Charlie had long flowing brunette hair and hazel eyes which complemented her perfect pale skin. She was wearing minimalistic makeup and an off-white leather jacket and a white dress with blue vines on it.

"Hi, Pusface." Charlie joked smiling.

"Great that's still stuck." Adam mumbled, "Hey Paris hows it been?"

"It's been going good and original nickname. Quick question do you write jingles now?" Charlie asked unsurely.

"Uhhh yeah how did you know?" Adam asked caught off guard.

"Right I thought it was one of yours as I heard one in a cafe in Paris." She explained.

"Wow, the shit composer made it all the way to Paris." Jonny joked "H-hi Charlie.." Greeted shyly by Jonny who forgot Charlie was actually there.

"Still haven't matured have we Pissface?"  You teased going in for a hug.

"You know I haven't." Jonny laughed returning the hug.

Suddenly, Charlie-Rose started to kiss both of Jonny's cheeks which caused Jonny to blush furiously and Charlie pulled away and quickly said: "Oh my God I'm so sorry I forgot in Paris you-"

"Don't worry about it." Jonny comforted rubbing her arm.

Then Martin walked in, not wearing a top again.

"Martin," Jackie moaned.

"But Jackie, oh hello, Bambina!" Martin happily greeted and surprisingly hugged her.

"Who knew dad was capable of emotions," Adam said amused.

"Yeah who knew?" Jonny laughed.

"So how was Italy?" Martin asked pulling away and fiddling with his hearing aid.

"Italy?" Jackie asked.

"Italy?" Adam asked as well at the same time as his mum but louder.

"Yeah, she went to Italy didn't she?" Martin asked in clarification.

"Umm no I went to Paris, you know France," Charlie explained perplexed.

"Oh right," Martin said nodding.

"Sorry about that love, so how is the acting thing going?" Jackie asked intrigued whilst sitting down on the sofa along with everyone else.

"It's going well I've been in a few adverts here and there but still just looking for auditions," Charlie explained, happy and surprised that she remembered.

"Aww, little Charlie-Rose is a celebrity," Jackie said with pure excitement.

"Well not yet." Charlie joked while smirking.

"Charlie-Rose?" Martin said

"Yes?" She replied sweetly turning around to face him.

"Any males?" Martin asked.

"Males?" Charlie looked at Adam and Jonny confused.

"Have you been seeing a guy," Jackie explained rolling her eyes at Martin.

"Oh umm, not at the moment no." She said slightly sad.

"Are you a homosexual?" Martin asked.

"Dad!" Adam moaned.

"What? She's a pretty female if she hasn't got a male she must have a female." Martin logically explained

"No I-I'm not gay just haven't found the right guy yet," Charlie answered.

"If that's the case I could set you up with-" Jackie started to offer until Jonny protectively declared, "Mum set me and Adam up all you like with someone but not Charlie."

"Rather protective for someone who's got a girlfriend," Adam commented snidely. "Oh sorry, you don't as she doesn't exist." He corrected himself.

"Shut up Pusface, she does exist and she's amazing!" Jonny exclaimed a bit too defensively.

"Boys enough we have a bloody guest!" Jackie shouted at them "Sorry about them sweetie come through to dinner."

In the midst of it all, Charlie-Rose's heart sank at the idea of her best friend being with someone who wasn't her.

                                                                  ───── 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐃𝐢𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐫 ─────

"So where should I sit?" Charlie asked as Martin sat next to Jackie.

"Oh, you can sit next to Martin or Adam." Jackie offered using her knife to point to the empty seats.

"Ok great." She replied happily and sat next to Martin who was eating his roast.

"Jackie?" Martin said.

"Hmmm.." Jackie responded

"This is a lovely bit of squirrel." Martin calmly stated then bursts out in hysterics along with Jackie.

After calming down Jackie asked looking over at Jonny, "So are you going to tell me why she couldn't come tonight?"

"Hmmm?" Jonny asked back in response and carried on eating.

"Allison?" Jackie rolled her eyes getting frustrated.

"You know your pretend girlfriend." Adam mock informed Jonny.

"I'm not having the conversation with you right now," Jonny said looking at Jackie dead in the eye.

"Why not, has something happened?" Jackie whined disappointed.

"As I haven't seen Charlie in at least 5 years and I don't really want to talk about my girlfriend while she's here and make her uncomfortable," Jonny explained thoughtfully.

"Awww, Jonny-boo fine but only tonight." Jackie cooed

"Thank you!" Jonny sighed. "So what else did you get up into Paris?" Jonny asked trying to change the subject as quickly as possible.

"Well I went up the Eiffel Tower which was fun, did a Coco Channel advert and I went to the Louvre." Charlie listed.

"Is that the museum that takes like 3 days to see it all of it?" Marin asked.

"Yeah, it was long but definitely worth it." You told Martin.

───── 𝐂𝐫𝐢𝗺𝐛𝐥𝐞 𝐂𝐫𝐮𝗺𝐛𝐥𝐞 ─────

"Crimble crumble!" Jackie said excitedly.

"That crumble looks dry, good thing we've got water." Jonny suspiciously commented.

"What?" Charlie asked confused but in response, Jonny just did the hush symbol at her and he repeated: "Nothing I'm just saying luckily we have water."

"Oh, I know what you have done!" Adam said pointing at him and took Jonny's glass and drank from it and quickly realised "You put salt in your cup!"

"Oh my god, you still do that!" Charlie said after recovering from her fit of laughter.

"Yep." They both said in unison but in different tones.

───── 𝐋𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐫 ─────

Whilst walking out of the Goodman residence Jonny stopped and looked at Charlie and said: "I really missed you."

"I missed you too," Charlie-Rose replied.

Then Jonny went in to hug her and murmured in her ear "Please come over again next week."

Smiling she said "Of course"

[malereader-inserts]

Falling

Fandom: Gotham Pairing: Oswald Cobblepot x Male!Reader Summary: Oswald knows he’s turned to someone you don’t want or recognise anymore. Word Count: 1,011 A/n: ANgst shit maybe???

Oswald turns in bed, and you’re not there anymore.

The reminder that you’re not there anymore makes the bed a lot bigger than it seems, Oswald swallows, as he lets out a heavy breath. He turns around, so he doesn’t look at the empty side that you no longer occupy. But, even with his back facing the empty space, he can feel how much colder the room is now.

“Wish you were here,” Oswald mumbles to himself, craving for your warm arms to wrap him from behind.

Oswald can’t fall asleep anymore, he doesn’t get a good night rest. Falling asleep is hard without you engulfing him in your tight embrace. There’s no joy for Oswald to take up to see you peacefully sleeping or sometimes to wake up to enjoy the view of Oswald’s peaceful state. 

It’s his fault.

It’s all Oswald’s fault.

He’ll make mistakes and will never learn.

You’re an idiot, Oswald. He thinks to himself.

There's no one to blame but the drink and his wandering hands. Oswald got angry, he lost control, he killed people. You knew that and it didn’t scare you at all. You’ve done your fair share of bad deeds. Oswald is distracted most of the time, he gulps down the glass of whiskey of the morning. 

You’re not there anymore, giving him sweet kisses, gentle hugs and soft nicknames that make him feel good.

He walks down the stairs, in his freshly pressed suit, walking down the corridor his mind replaying the argument that caused the break up. He can’t remember what he even said that night, he was drunk and he knows you were fully sober.

It hurts to know that you’ll always remember the night he never will.

But, he wants you to forget what he said. It's not what he meant, but Oswald is terrible with words and it seems like he’s lost you as a contact. And Oswald can't take it back, he can't unpack the baggage you left. 

“Consider me gone, Oswald, I hope you burn in Hell,” You sneered, grabbing your stuff and leaving.

Oswald remembers coming home from work to see you’ve snuck in and completely took all evidence of you living in his manor. Just like that, you’ve disappeared, took off and continued with your life. Sometimes, Oswald sits about in his dining room, looking across the long table, with the roaring fire behind him. 

A glass of wine by his hand and he thinks to himself, what has he become, because he doesn’t know who he is anymore. He wonders if he’s become a person he doesn’t want to be around. Oswald can feel himself spirally down into depression. He’s falling and there’s no one there to catch him. 

The hole in Oswald’s heart when Edward rejected him was something that could easily be fixed. You fixed it, but you being gone. There’s a gap that no one could replace. And Oswald is well aware he could have just become another person in your life you don’t talk about. 

A few weeks after the break up, he sees you again.

You look vibrant, happier and it breaks him. You wonder how you’re not dead yet, how you haven’t been shot due to Oswald sending a hit-man after you. You’d think that you being gone would have driven Oswald crazy, you’d think he would be so persistent in having you back, he would go through the lengths in kidnapping you, threatening you. 

But, you’ve only had quietness. It was nice to get away from the rush of murder. 

But, you’re alive and you’re talking to the two police detectives outside the park. Jim signals Oswald down, to talk about recent stuff. Oswald would never do anything to hurt you, sure, you’ve broken his heart but it’s his fault and you don’t deserve to be hurt - he’s hurt you enough he doesn’t want to make it worst.

Oswald gives you a sheepish smile, a side glance every now and then as you continue to talk to Harvey. You give him a tight-lipped smile, there was awkward small talk between you and Oswald as Jim and Harvey talk between each other.

“Hey, (Y/n),” Oswald says softly, he’s feeling nervous.

“Hello,” You answered courtly, nodded, keeping your heart closed.

Oswald wanted to tell you that you look very handsome, but he knows that you already know. It was a thing he liked about you that you know your self-worth. He guesses that’s why the relationship backfired on him because you deserve a lot more than him.

“I know you don’t want to see me again, but, just to keep myself at peace - did you care?”

“Of course I did,” You replied, eyebrows furrowed confused and somewhat offended that he would accuse you of not caring, “I’d be lying if I told you I don’t miss you.”

You miss him, it echoes in his head. You nodded at him, turning to look at the detectives in front of you, you talk about things naturally but between him and you? Well, it kills Oswald, cause he knows you've run out of things you can say. 

Oswald walks away first, leaving you with the detectives. Jim turns to you, eyes soft.

“How are you?” 

He means it as you give him a pained smile, looking to where Oswald had disappeared - eyes heavily showing you’re in pain.

“I’m coping better without him, but it hurts.”

“It’ll always do, and it’ll pass eventually. It’s for the best.”

You sighed, looking at Jim, “Yeah.”

Oswald seems to be relieved that he barely sees you or the process of getting over you would be harder, if he saw you on a daily basis he would probably murder you - just so he doesn’t have to see you smiling and carrying on with life, enjoying it without him. He gets the feeling that you’ll never need him again.

It pains his heart. 

But, he’s falling out of your grasp, he’s fallen too deep in his murderous ways. He’s become someone you don’t want around anymore. 

[bfictioncorner]

Rock Candy

One of my few (newish) Chief Hopper fics. Like no plot at all. Just indulgence. Inspired in part by the song “Rock Candy” by Montrose.

Pairing: Hopper x OC (or self insert if you use your imagination)

Warnings: Rated M (idk how we rate things here... it’s adult material); public displays, daddy kink, handcuffs, a bit of humiliation kink...

I’m new to posting my writings here so... with everything mentioned above, if you don’t like, move along. If you like how this sounds, please enjoy!

“You’re rock candy, baby--hard, sweet, and sticky...”

The young woman very willingly pressed herself against the hood of his vehicle, popping out her backside, strategically widening her stance.

“Cut that out and get off the vehicle. I will call back up if you make a scene.” The chief of police was exhausted. Just wanted to go back to the station and... well, not deal with petty theft from the local metalheads.

“Are you arresting me, officer?” She let her hands fall behind her back, resting just above the curve of her back. “You going to cuff me?”

“ExCUSE mE???” His tone was partially irritated, but more so baffled at what was just said to him. He had to make sure he hadn’t slipped out of it. He may have been wearing his dark shades, but his expression wasn’t hard to read; he was perplexed, and a bit agitated.

Hopper proceeded to unclip the cuffs from his belt and brace them around the offender. Something felt weird and maybe a bit humiliating that the woman had goaded him into it and was now making a bit of a show. People nearby who had been walking to their cars slowed down to watch the encounter. Most of them were women with little quirked grins on their faces.

The now-arrested woman in question had started making small grinding motions against Hopper’s pants, as he was partially draped against her in the cuffing process.

“Hey, HEY,” he barked in his usual frantic way. “None of that!” His eyes widened under his sunglasses. “Jesus Christ, what is with this?”

He moved back and clamped his big hands tight around her forearms, in some effort to get her to cooperate.

“Ooof, maybe harder... please?” She laughed giddily, her expression showing nothing but flirtatious humor at the whole situation.

Hopper just couldn’t comprehend. He wasn’t stupid, but sometimes he was as thick, thought-wise, as he was in his build. His biggest concern was that this display of disrespect was going to make him seem like a joke.

At no point had he ever realized that more and more women around Hawkins were absolutely thirsty for him.

He hated to admit that something was weirdly hot and confusing about this. He felt himself getting stiff. But he was working. Had to keep it together.

“How ‘bout you show a little respect,” Hopper grumbled. He wasn’t that fond of pulling the authority card because he believed it, but more because it was convenient at times. 

“Yes officer,” the young woman chuckled with the most put-on dainty voice. “I mean, ahem, daddy.”

Jim choked up. He felt himself turn pink. He tried his hardest not to let it be obvious, so reactively slammed a hand on the hood of the vehicle to steady himself.

“Young lady...”

“Oooo, you talk like a daddy too,” she teased. “Big Chief Daddy.”

Was she sticking her tongue out? She was!

More and more people seemed to have stopped to watch the “altercation”, which was making Hopper weirdly more anxious, embarrassed, and... turned on?

Now’s a bad time to learn I have a humiliation fetish, he thought to himself.

He had stepped back to get a better grip on the cuffs, now that Little Miss Trouble was fastened in.

Don’t think about the cuffs like that. Nope, not like that. Not now.

The woman turned her head as best as she could to look at the chief behind her. Her voluminous hair parted like a curtain to show a bratty, pleased expression.

“You know, I’ve never been roughed up by a pig before. Pigs are pretty gross. But I think I kinda like that.” A big, pleased grin spread across her red lips.

Hopper sharply removed his sunglasses. He probably shouldn’t have, as it was partially covering the frustrated blush around his cheeks. But he wanted to make one last effort at intimidation. He still had to do his job.

He glared very seriously at her, blue eyes angry under a heavy, furrowed brow. She responded by running her ankle along one of his legs.

How could he be so pissed and so aroused at the same time? But he couldn’t help the thoughts in his mind, let alone what was happening in his tight uniform pants. (If she turned her head any further she might just get too good a look there.)

“Seriously, that’s enough,” he said, attempting to sound calmer, but definitely more exasperated. He smoothed his mustache down with his fingers from the corners of his mouth, the way he often did when he was stressed.

“Oooo, I’d like to know what a ride on that feels like. I’ve never had a mustache ride from a pig before. I bet you eat pussy pretty good.”

She had gotten bold, biting her lip, not hiding her expression after that statement.

It was too much. The forbidden imagery of letting such a sassy little woman sit on him, maybe step on him, call him “daddy” and “pig”... The idea of draping her over his knee and spanking her... Even the image of her crawling on top of him and squeezing her thighs around his face, all while he eagerly licked his long tongue deep in her... That was all too much.

He couldn’t just let her go, with much of the town watching, especially with the record she had stolen very obviously on the ground beside her feet.

“Okay, that’s it. Come on, let’s go.”

The chief knew this was going to be a mistake—a mistake for awkward reasons—but it was better than just letting her go. Maybe.

He grabbed the offending party and guided her into his vehicle. Surprisingly, she calmed down with the quips, and just let him seat her inside.

After giving the station a quick head’s up on the radio, they drove off, silently for a bit.

“Still pitchin’ a tent there?” the woman laughed.

Hopper didn’t want to answer.

“It’s okay. Maybe we can revisit some of this handcuff stuff when I’m not being taken in. I’m free most Tuesday evenings.”

The officer rolled his eyes.

“I mean it.”

By this time they had stopped right in front of the station entrance. Jim was trying to figure out his words. He hated admitting that maybe he wanted to take her up on it.

“Look, just behave in there, okay?” He sighed, gesturing to the door. He knew he’d regret that wording.

“Yes, Daddy, I’ll behave,” the woman smirked.