#I’m hoping to be out of there by the end of summer

[wandaslittlebird]

As The Summer Ends

Wanda x Natasha x Reader

As the summer comes to a close, you and your girlfriends celebrate with one more day in the sun.

CW: Pure fluff, R calls WandaNat Mama/Daddy but only like once.

Word Count: 1.3k(ish)

A/N: Happy last day of summer everyone! I hope everyone had a wonderful season, and you’re all excited to see what wonders the fall brings.

It was your first year ever attending Pepper Potts’ yearly “end of the summer” pool party: the celebration she had every year the day before it was time to cover the pool for the winter. You’d been invited as Wanda and Natasha’s plus one, as you still didn’t really know Pepper, or anyone else in attendance.

Much to your dismay, none of the other women seemed too eager to actually be in the pool. In fact, aside from you, Natasha was the only other person in the water. And she wasn’t even swimming. She was leaned up against the side of the pool talking to Maria.

Sure it was a little cold, as it was late September and there was a growing chill in the air, but you never got to go swimming. You did so love the water.

Wanda’s heart swelled with affection as she watched you from a beach chair, flopping around the water like a fish. Your child-like nature knew no bounds. You didn’t seem to have a care in a world about what the adults around you were doing, despite being one yourself. You swam laps around the pool, did handstands in the water, dove off the side and swam to the bottom of the deep end. You seemed to be keeping yourself entertained well.

However, as time wore on, Wanda could see you getting restless. You tried to join Natasha and Maria’s conversation, but they didn’t seem interested. Wanda frowned as she watched you try to talk, only to be ignored and talked over by her wife and her friend. Your joyful disposition cracked into one of isolation as you slowly began to feel like an outsider in this group of people.

She huffed, tempted to go over and have a word with Natasha about ignoring you. But, as she remembered how much you had had playing in the water, she got a better idea. She sat down on the lip of the pool, putting her feet into the cool water.

“Honey!” she shouted, making you turn your head as you popped up out of the water. She curled her fingers, beckoning you towards her. Obediently, you stopped everything you were doing to join her on the edge of the pool, laying your head on your hands next to her to avoid getting her wet.

“Yes?” you asked, innocently looking up at her from the water.

She lifted your head and bent over to whisper in your ear. “If you can knock Tasha over in the water, I’ll get you ice cream on the way home.”

You nervously turned around to find Natasha where she’d been this whole time, talking to Maria by the side of the pool. Her top half was completely out of the water. She hadn’t even gotten her hair wet. “But she’s talking to Maria. It would be impolite to-” you attempted to explain.

She cut you off with a soft smile. “Don’t worry, little love. I’m sure their conversation is drier than a sack of flour anyway. Go make your daddy actually have some fun.” She winked, lightly pinching your cheek.

A smile slowly grew across your face as you turned away from Wanda. You planned your approach carefully, deciding to launch yourself off the side wall and throw yourself into the back of her knees as hard as you possibly could.

Natasha stumbled as you knocked against her, immediately annoyed. “What the-” She glanced down at you in the water, then up at Wanda, smirking smugly by the side of the pool. She rolled her eyes and picked you up out of the water.

You squealed as you were caught, disappointed but not surprised that your first attempt had failed.

“Hold on, Maria,” Natasha joked. “I gotta teach this little punk a lesson.” You tried to squirm out of her grasp, but you were quickly thrown ass over head into the deep end of the pool.

You squealed again with excited delight. Wanda smiled, watching as you quickly turned tailed to go for Natasha’s feet again. Once again, you were dragged out of the water and tossed back into the deep end. Natasha had no difficulty dexterously dodging your attempts to knock her down, but you didn’t even really care to be losing the bet. It was reward enough to finally have somebody to play with, even if you were devastatingly out matched.

You were getting out of breath after a few rounds of fighting Natasha just to be effortlessly tossed back into the water again. You grabbed at the side of the pool, breathing heavy. Natasha was laughing now too, enjoying your frazzled and breathless face. She was glad that Wanda could at least pick a game that took way more energy out of you than her.

You turned around, ready to make another pass at Natasha. You didn’t actually think you'd ever be able to knock her down, but you liked it when she threw you into the water. You grabbed at her legs again. However, this time, before she could grab you and pull you out of the water, you saw two scarlet tendrils wrap around her ankles. She shouted before she was quickly pulled under the water.

You stood up, a little dazed, to find Natasha coming out of the water as well, completely and utterly soaked. Her nicely curled hair was now flat and wet against her head.

“You got her!” Wanda laughed.

“Oh it’s on,” Natasha challenged, quickly making her way to the end of the pool, where Wanda sat. Before she could reach her, though, she was wrapped with more scarlet tendrils that hoisted her out of the water, carried her to the deep end of the pool, and dropped her in.

You shrieked with joyous surprise, making your way back to Wanda as well. She let you approach, knowing that, unlike Natasha, you would never dream of pulling her into the water. “Mama, can you throw me next?”

Wanda’s eyebrows raised in surprise. “You want me to throw you in the water like Tasha?”

You nodded eagerly.

She wrapped you up in her magic, pulling you from the water and carrying you across the pool. You giggled as the magic disappeared and you were dropped into the water.

Natasha climbed out of the water, grabbing a towel and drying herself off before sitting down next to Wanda. She laughed as you eagerly swam all the way back to them, looking up at Wanda expectantly.

“Again?” Wanda chuckled.

You nodded, laughing uncontrollably as she picked you again and threw you into the water. She went a bit higher this time, not dropping you until you were a good ten feet above the water.

She threw you a few more times, changing her tactics a little every time. Sometimes she dropped you in upside down. Other times she would hold you still above the water while you waited in anxious anticipation to be dropped. You were roaring with excitement and laughter the whole time.

It wasn’t long before you were completely and utterly spent, physically exhausted from all the swimming. Natasha stood next to the steps, a fluffy towel in her outspread arms. You breathlessly climbed up into her arms, allowing yourself to be dried off.

Wanda made a space for you to sit in between her legs. You happily sat down, putting your feet back into the water as she pulled you so your back was flush to her front. You cuddled into her tiredly.

Somebody tapped your shoulder from behind. You turned your head to find Pepper, holding a waffle cone with chocolate ice cream. “I heard ice cream was on the line. And it looks like you won the bet.”

You smiled and took the ice cream, eagerly licking at it before it could melt in the sun. “Thank you, Mrs. Potts.”

“Of course, kiddo,” she said, playfully ruffling your hair.

Wanda laughed as you proceeded to get the ice cream all over your face. She periodically wiped it away with a towel.

You would miss days like this as the air grew colder. There would be no more pool days, no more opportunities to comfortably spend the days outside in the sun. But fall brought new excitement of its own.

You could only hope you’d be tucked between these same arms by the fireplace come winter.

[fluentmoviequoter]

We've Got Time

Requested Here!

Pairing: Tim Bradford x fem!French/American!reader

Summary: You return to Los Angeles from France to visit your childhood friend Lucy Chen and find everything your heart has needed.

Warnings: fluff, r makes Tim a little nervous

Word Count: 1.6k+ words

Masterlist Directory | Tim Bradford Masterlist | Request Info

“Come on!” Lucy groans. “I told you not to eat macarons when you can’t share.”

You smile guiltily and set the pastel pink macaron back on the hand-painted dish beside your phone. “Sorry, Luce.”

Lucy sighs, and a pang in your heart reminds you how much you miss her. She became your best friend during summers in America as a kid, but you haven’t had a chance to visit the States in too long.

“How’s policing going?” you inquire.

“As good as it can, I guess. Tim is still grumpy and finds something wrong with most of my decisions, but I’m learning.”

“You’re good at everything you decide to put your mind to, Lucy, and no matter what this Tim guy says, you’re going to be a great cop.”

“I think an éclair would make me a better cop,” Lucy replies with a dramatic pout.

“Éclairs au chocolate make everything better.”

“Boot!” someone yells in the background, causing Lucy to roll her eyes.

“Bye, Lucy,” you say. “Je t’aime.”

“If you really loved me, you wouldn’t tease me with macarons and French countryside on all of our calls. But… I love you, too.”

Your phone screen changes as Lucy ends the call, and as you trace the paint on your plate with your eyes, you decide what to do. It’s time to visit your best friend.

You straighten your jacket as the U.S. customs officer looks through your bag. Your French and American passports sit on the metal desk as he lifts a wrapped Saint Laurent box.

“Uhm,” the man begins before mouthing a few words. “Contenu de cette…”

“I speak English,” you offer with a smile. “It’s a purse, gift for a friend.”

He nods and returns the box to your suitcase before he leans forward to zip it. “You’re free to go. Welcome to Los Angeles.”

“Thank you.”

As you pull your suitcases through Los Angeles International Airport, you smile. Your excitement to surprise Lucy increases as you near her police station, hoping to brighten her day.

“You’re  looking for Chen?” someone asks.

You look up from your phone and across the police station lobby. The officer is handsome - stern but attractive, which tells you he’s…

“Officer Bradford, I presume,” you reply as you stand. “I am. I understand if she’s busy, though. I can surprise her later.”

“Surprise? Oh, you’re the friend that lives in France.”

Your eyes widen in surprise that he’d remember that. When you nod, he turns and walks away. Left to stare after him, you shrug and pick up your bag. You have Lucy’s address, so you’ll wait for her at her apartment.

“Yes, sir,” Lucy says.

You stop and watch the doorway where Tim went, and when Lucy steps through, she freezes.

“No more French countryside in the background, as requested,” you joke.

Lucy gasps as she runs toward you, and you’re wrapped in a signature Lucy hug. You tighten your arms around her as she whispers how much she missed you.

“Napa’s not close enough to the French riviera for you, Chen?” Tim asks as she steps out of your arms.

“Oh,” you tut, shaking your head at him. “There’s no comparison, mon chéri.”

Tim’s lips quirk up as he tilts his head to the side. You ignore Lucy’s questioning look or her growing smile following your pet name.

“I know you’re at work,” you tell Lucy, “but I just had to let you know I was here.”

“Thank you! I’ll give you a key to my apartment and you can stay with me, okay?”

“Lucy, I can’t impose-“

“Forget I asked, I’ll get the key.”

Lucy rushes away before you can argue further, and you’re left alone with Tim again.

“Thank you for letting me see her,” you say. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“I just didn’t want to hear her complain about missing you for another hour of patrol.”

You smile and agree, “Sure.”

“Uh, so, how long are you in town?”

“I’m not sure yet,” you answer with a shrug. “I came in on a one-way ticket.”

Tim nods, his fingers fidgeting along his belt. “Chen’s taking a while.”

“She is.”

After an awkward pause, Tim sighs and opens his mouth, but nothing comes out.

“Yes?” you encourage.

“If you need anything while you’re here, I could- could help you out. If you want.”

“And how would I be able to ask for your help?”

“I could give you my number.”

“What would Lucy think?” you ask quietly, smiling so Tim knows you aren’t saying no.

“Probably a lot.”

You laugh as you pass your unlocked phone to Tim. He types his information in quickly, then sends himself a text before he returns your phone, his fingers brushing yours.

“Here you go!” Lucy announces as she returns. “Make yourself at home, and I’ll be back around 7, after my shift ends.”

“Merci, amie.”

As you hug Lucy, you wink at Tim over her shoulder. A trip to Los Angeles was the right choice for more reasons than you thought.

“What’s mon chéri mean?” Tim asks as he and Lucy leave the station after their shift.

“I think that’s a question for the one who called you that, Tim,” Lucy replies. “Maybe you should take her out to dinner and ask all about it.”

“But we-“

“You’re terrible at hiding your vast emotional range, Tim. Call her.”

The next night, you meet Tim outside a restaurant of his choosing. After you gifted Lucy the YSL bag and a vintage band t-shirt, she repaid your kindness by letting you borrow a dress and helping you prepare for your date with Tim Bradford. Now, you laugh to yourself as Tim walks to greet you.

“Petit Trois,” you murmur. “You do know that taking a French girl to an American French restaurant is probably a terrible idea, right?”

“Probably. But the chef is French, and you’re the only person I know that can tell me if this is authentic cuisine,” Tim answers. “Unless you’re in the mood for American, in which case, there’s a McDonald’s down the street.”

“No, let’s try little three. If they don’t have éclairs au chocolate, though, you owe me a Frosty.”

Tim offers his arm, and you loop your arm through his as he leads you inside. The conversation comes easily, and between Tim, Lucy, and all of the good memories you have here, you’re beginning to wonder if you even want to return to France anytime soon.

“You met Lucy when you were kids?” Tim inquires after you order.

“I did. My dad’s American, and we spent summers in California when I was young. Lucy was the best friend I ever had, and we stayed close. Even after I moved back to France full-time.”

“What’s your favorite thing about France? Besides the pastries, of course.”

“The scenery, the slow and easy pace. It’s so different from America, but it’s beautiful.”

“It sounds amazing.”

“What about you? What makes California home?”

“The Dodgers.” You shake your head, and Tim offers, “Everything I love is here. It’s all I’ve ever known, and I feel most like me in Los Angeles, I guess.”

“That’s beautiful, mon chéri.”

Tim still doesn’t know what it means exactly, but he falls for you when you take his hand and call him yours. Everything that you love about France, what makes it beautiful and special to you, he sees it in you: your beauty, kindness, and grace. Lucy seemed to think something would happen between you and Tim, and, for once, he wouldn’t mind if she was right.

A week after arriving in Los Angeles, you’ve settled into Lucy’s guest room and have made no plans to leave. You’ve gone out with Tim, caught up with Lucy, and remembered why you loved summers in Los Angeles.

“Lucy,” you begin as you bake macarons together. “Can I ask you something?”

“About Tim?” she guesses.

“Not just Tim. I… I’ve been thinking a lot and I’m not sure I want to go back to France. Not for a while, at least.”

“Are you serious?” Lucy asks excitedly, dropping her spoon onto the counter. “Don’t say stuff like that if you don’t mean it.”

“So, you’d be okay with it? Me staying? I could get my own place or pay rent, whatever, but…”

“Of course, I’d love to have you here!”

“Do you think Tim will want to keep seeing me if I stay?” you ask softly.

Lucy lays her hands on your shoulders and smiles. “Tim feels exactly the same. He wants you to stay because he likes spend time with you. Maybe even more than that.”

“But, he-“

“No,” Lucy interrupts. “Trust me on this. You have to follow your heart. You taught me that when we were kids, remember? My heart couldn’t buy me a plane to France, but it was still good advice.”

You nod and lean forward to hug Lucy. “Merci,” you say against her shoulder. “I’ll follow my heart.”

Lucy pushes you back and points to the door. “Do it now.”

“The macarons,” you argue.

“I can finish them!” she replies. Then, she purses her lips and admits, “I can do my best.”

You assure her they’ll be perfect before you grab your bag and rush out the door. Your outfit feels incomplete without the jacket you like to wear over your tied shirt, but it’s the least of your concerns as you follow your heart straight to Tim Bradford.

“Hey,” he greets as he opens the door. “Did we have plans? I was just-“

“Je t’aime,” you interrupt breathlessly. “I love you, Tim. And I’m staying in the States because all that my heart wants is here.”

“Don’t stay just for me or Lucy, okay?” he says, stepping toward you. “Whatever you want-“

“It’s all here. I want to stay.”

Tim smiles and says, “Well, with all this time, maybe you can teach me how to make your first love.”

“Éclairs au chocolat?” you fill in. “Anytime, mon amour.”

“What are you calling me?” he inquires.

You lay your hand against his cheek and promise, “We’ve got time for you to learn.”

[jojo-schmo]

I’m gonna contribute to Metadede week I just need some time aaaaa

I’ve had some irl deadlines to address and they haven’t left a lot of bandwidth in my brain for the gooey lovey ideas I’m so fond of. But they will happen! At least some of them!

Maybe if I think of my contributions as dessert after the official week ends, I won’t feel so bad… :’D /lighthearted

In the meantime I’m gonna tightly hug and snuggle the other amazing and beautiful posts people have made ahahaha!! :D

[strang3lov3]

Hot Date

Roman reminds you of who you belong to after your date.

Tags - stepdaddy!roman, stepcest, manipulation, toxicity, usual roman sexism, usual dubcon, jealousy, roman just has a lot of feelings, crossing some weird familial/romantic lines here, unsafe piv, lack of foreplay, rough sex, multiple cream pies, panties shoved down readers throat, inappropriate use of a vibrating phone. If the succession writers can go there then so can I. Fic Help - @beefrobeefcal @endlessthxxghts thank you for your eyeballs!! A/N - heddo! Fic inspired by this ask from @thesummerpetrichor 💜 Summer, thank you for this because this is my favorite part of stepdaddy so far! I hope this is feral enough for you 😌 love you love you!

Also, because all of you who read my Roman fics seem to be very on the same page as me, putting it out there that I’m open to writing more of your ideas/thots 🥰 make ‘em icky my friends

Important!! If anyone wants to join a succession thirst/discussion server, please lmk 💜 you can comment or message me or send an ask, I just wanna talk about this silly show and everyone with you all 💜🩵

Stepdaddy!Roman Masterlist

You’re in the spacious walk-in closet of your mother and Roman’s bedroom, pulling a pretty, eggplant-colored dress over your body. “Fix your boobs,” your mom says from behind you, tugging on the zipper at your lower back. The small piece of metal and her sharp nails scratch your back.

“Ow, Mom,” you complain, reaching under the fabric of your dress to adjust the way your breasts sit. 

“I know, I know. Zipper’s stuck,” she mumbles. “Here-” Your mom opens the closet door and calls out her husband’s name. “Roman!” she yells, “Can you come help us?”

Your stomach drops. You’ve avoided him all day, purposely. Your mom looks through her shelves of shoes for a pair of heels to match your dress while you toy with the fabric of your dress anxiously. Roman makes his way upstairs, then joins the two of you in the closet. You timidly look at him through the long mirror in front of you. 

“Her zipper’s stuck. She needs a big, strong man to zip her up,” your mom teases.

“Ah, does she now?” Roman doesn’t break eye contact with you in the mirror, just raises an eyebrow. Where are you off to? “Good thing I’m built like a brick shithouse, right?” Roman’s eyes fall upon your bare back as he walks toward you, your skin tingling as he puts one hand on your hip and uses the other to grab hold of the zipper. “Let’s see here,” he murmurs, inspecting the zipper. “Looks like it’s stuck on the dress.” 

 Your mom’s phone begins to ring as Roman works on freeing the small bit of fabric from the zipper. She excuses herself to answer the call, her interior designer Erica is on the other end. Once again leaving you alone with Roman. 

“Hot date?” he asks, waiting for the sound of your mother’s footsteps to disappear. He hopes that’s not the case. Christ, please let it be a girls’ night or something. 

“Mhm.”

“What’s that? I didn’t, uh…”

“Yes.”

“Oh.” Ouch. Roman masks the pain with what barely passes as a smile and a single nod. “That’s new. Didn’t know you were…” he trails off. 

You shrug. Roman struggles with your zipper a bit before pulling it up slowly, smoothing out the fabric with his hand. He watches you pull yourself together the rest of the way, putting two diamond studs from your mom’s jewelry box in your ears. You go for a necklace next, but struggle to clasp it around your neck with your freshly manicured nails. “Fuck,” you curse under your breath.

 “Let me.” Roman takes the chain between his fingers, brushing over your neck and causing you to shiver. “Relax. I’m not doing anything. Not here.” He opens the claw clasp with his thumb nail and loops it through the chain, then lets the necklace fall. You adjust the pendant so it lays flat against your chest.

“Thank you,” you mumble.

 Roman’s hands rest on your shoulders, he watches you fix your hair and catches a whiff of your perfume, something sweet and hypnotic that has his balls tightening and his stomach fluttering. “You, uh-” Roman’s voice cracks and he clears his throat. He’s being so soft, so gentle it has you thrown off. “Fuck. You look really beau-”

“Erica’s gonna be here Tuesday at three to give me an estimate on my office,” your mom interrupts from the bedroom. Roman nearly trips as he backs away from you, your mom walks into the closet just seconds later. You watch in the mirror how he scratches the back of his neck and shakes his head awkwardly, and how his expression changes from sheepish to defensive - brows knit together, a scowl on his lips. He’s angry, embarrassed with himself. Roman leaves and goes back downstairs. 

As your mom picks out a pair of kitten heels for you to wear along with a beaded evening purse to match, your phone lights up with a text from your date. Here. You met him on Hinge a couple of weeks ago and hit it off as well as any two internet strangers could. He seemed funny and charming and genuine, and you found him attractive. He was just a few years older than you and had dark, curly hair. Thick eyebrows, deep brown eyes and a sweet smile. You texted him, played iMessage games together, even had phone sex. You’ve been looking forward to this date. 

You slide on your mom’s heels and slide the purse over your shoulder, then leave the closet. You stop at your room and stuff your purse with a condom and a lip gloss, then go downstairs. You find Roman waiting by the door, peering out of the small, decorative window at your date in his car, holding your wool coat in his arms. “Think you’ll both fit in the backseat of that Honda?” 

His softness is gone. Somewhere between the closet and in front of the door, Roman built up his walls again. So you do too. “Quit stalking him, you fucking creep,” you spit. You open the front door and pull it open, trying to hit Roman with it in the process. He stops it with his hand, then follows you onto the porch.

“Nuh-uh, get back here.” He grabs you by the wrist before you can pace down the porch steps. “Jacket,” he says, dropping your wrist so he can hold open your warm, wool coat.  “You’re gonna catch a cold.” 

Reluctantly, you slide your arms through the sleeves and Roman turns you around to button it and straighten out the lapels. “You’re not gonna fuck him, right, kiddo?” he murmurs softly, holding on tightly to your coat.

“Let me go, Roman,” you seethe. He’s so handsome tonight, scruff grown out a little and his hair messy. His eyes look so dark, so predatory - a stark change from the sad, warm way they looked before.

“Because that would be unbecoming of a young lady.”

You twist and wriggle a little, but Roman only grips you tighter. “I’m serious. Roman–”

The car’s window rolls down, and Roman waves to the handsome, younger man with a fake smile plastered on his face. “Dude’s not even gonna meet the father, huh? He’s gonna miss out on my shotgun speech. You know, the whole ‘whatever you do to her, I’ll do to you’ thing.” 

“You couldn’t handle a shotgun. Goodnight, Roman.” 

“Ouch. Good one. Night, sweetheart.”  Roman hugs you then, and presses a kiss against your cheek, pinching your ass as he does. “You be good.” 

Roman watches you pace quickly down the steps and into the car. Fucking asshole doesn’t open the door for you? If you can brave the cold drizzle outside, so can he. Prick. Whatever. Roman watches the red glow of the car’s brake lights illuminate the wet asphalt below, thin white vapor pouring from the exhaust. And then you’re gone. 

Roman goes back inside, toeing off his shoes and kicking them haphazardly toward the shelf in the walkway as he huffs in irritation. He flops on the living room couch and pulls out his phone from his front pocket, opening DoorDash. He pulls up your favorite Indian restaurant and orders the same entree you always get, plus something for himself. It is Friday, after all.

Your mom comes down the steps and joins Roman in the living room. “I’m going out with Erica,” she says, her head tilted as she puts in an earring. “Bye.” 

“Yeah, alright. See ya.”  

Today’s probably the most Roman’s spoken to your mother in about a week. Not that it bothers either of them, though. He watches her leave out the front door the same as you did just moments before, and can’t find it in himself to feel anything for her. No guilt, no remorse for cheating on her with you, her daughter. He likes to dangle his marriage to her over your head to torment you but he knows that honestly, she probably wouldn’t care that he’s fucking someone else, fucking you. And that makes him a little sad for you; do you realize this too? She’s so hollow inside. No real substance there. You deserve a better parent than that. 

Your mom leaves and Roman’s left with the house to himself and fuck all to do on this Friday evening. It used to be that on Fridays, you and Roman would order takeout and watch movies together, or you’d play games on the Nintendo switch until your mom, who was always out drinking, would come home. Roman always felt that it was a nice routine, but it’s seemingly over now. And for what? Why are you so fucking pissed at him all the time? You wanted him, and he gave himself to you. He was the one to pursue you and he knows that technically, he was the one to cross the line, not you. But is sex between two adults really so terrible? He wishes you would get the fuck over it already.

 Jesus, he’s hard thinking about the times he’s made you come for him. Roman reaches for his growing erection and groans, rocking his hips into his palm. He thinks of your arousal on his tongue, and how thankful he was that he hadn’t shaved in a while. He waited as long as he could before showering just so he could smell you in his scruff, and be reminded of the taste of your pleasure. 

How you writhed on top of him, underneath him, how he split you open. Roman thinks of those perfect, creamy rings you left on his cock, the way your cunt pulsed around him. Eyes rolled back into your skull, mouth open, his name falling from your lips repeatedly, beautifully. Roman, Roman, Roman.

A knock at the door and Roman snaps out of it. He picks up the tightly-tied bag from the doorstep and places the it on the table, the same table he fucked you on, and tears it open. Roman takes your order and sets it in the fridge, then grabs himself a plate and utensils. He spoons some food onto his plate and wonders if you’ve eaten well tonight. He hopes wherever this asshole took you, that you didn’t order just a salad. That’s not enough, you need protein. You’re cranky without it. Are you moaning your new lover’s name right now, and if so, how loudly? How sweetly? He can’t even stomach the thought of eating right now. Not when you’re probably laid out in the backseat of his car, fucking someone younger, stronger, kinder than himself. Slut. And you’re doing it just to piss him off, undoubtedly. Roman’s food sits uneaten as he ruminates, biting his inner cheek as he sits at the table.

-

You come home a few hours later, and Roman watches you from his bedroom. Your date gets out of the driver’s seat to open your door, then takes your hand and helps you onto the sidewalk. You kiss him, your hands on his cheeks and his arms around your waist, adding insult when you kick your foot up a little into the air behind yourself. Roman watches the man walk you to the door, hears the faint sound of it opening and closing. You walk up the stairs and into the bedroom, the little smile on your lips falls when you see Roman by the window. “Roman.” 

“Hey, you,” he says, following you into the closet. “Good date?”

“Mhm.” You set your phone on top of the vanity before sitting at it, then take out your earrings one at a time, followed by an attempt to unclasp your necklace. You struggle again, what with the nails. “Help, please.” 

Roman unclasps your necklace. “Where’d he take you?” he asks, dropping the pendant and chain into your hand. He walks back to the closet door. 

“Uhmm,” you hum, “Some Italian restaurant. I don’t remember the name. It wasn’t my favorite.” 

“What’d you have?”

“Soup and salad.”

Roman nods. “And after that?”

“We just walked around.” 

Your blood runs cold when you hear the door lock, you look into the mirror and see Roman jiggling the handle. “Just walked around?” he asks.

“Yeah.”

“But it’s cold out. You don’t like to be cold.” You ignore Roman and lean over to take off your borrowed heels, tossing them in the general direction of where the rest of your mother’s shoes are. “And I don’t see any marks or blisters on your ankles, so…you’re lying. I think you fucked him.”

“It’s not your business.” 

“Shut up. Don’t talk back to me.” 

Roman’s staring at you in the mirror, arms folded across his chest. Your heart pounds at the way he looks at you, jaw clenched and eyes dark. Predatory, dangerous. Repulsive, even. You shouldn’t be aroused right now but you are. You always are with him. 

“How’d you fuck him, huh?” Roman’s footsteps are heavy as he makes his way closer to you, one of his hands pushing a bit of hair out of your face when you’re in his reach. “Stand up for me.” 

All it takes is a firm squeeze to the back of your neck, much like the way an animal bites its pup’s scruff to subdue it, and you move at Roman’s will. You’re so pliant, so obedient. Your body moves on its own accord, like you’re not really in control of yourself. Your core is beginning to feel hot, tingling with desire and anticipation as Roman trails the backs of his knuckles down your spine, tracing every joint. 

God, you hate Roman and the way he makes you feel. The anger he stirs in you is palpable, yes. But what’s it born of at this point? Betrayal? For taking advantage of you, putting you in this position? Sure. But maybe on some level, you retaliate because you love the way he bites back, how he reminds you of your role to him. His, whether you want it or not. If you were to let go of your anger and indulge yourself in him the way he does you, what would happen?

“Did you let him come in you?” 

Your mouth goes dry as you attempt to stutter out some sort of response. “I - I d-” 

Roman only nods in response, then bends you over the vanity. He hikes the skirt of your dress up over your hips, exposing your lacy underwear to himself. It’s pretty, and the color you picked looks nice with your skin tone. Roman hooks two fingers under the waistband and pulls, tearing the soft fabric off of your body. Fuck, he loves the sound of it ripping, the sound of your cry. It leaves dark marks on your ass that hurt like rug burn, Roman rubs his fingers in circles over the irritated skin. 

 He thumbs the gusset of your panties, seeing the mess you’ve left for him to clean up. “Mm,” he hums, inspecting the little white ropes of someone else’s come that’ve dripped from your cunt. Roman reaches for your jaw and squeezes the hollows of your cheeks, opening your mouth for him. He shoves your come-stained underwear past your lips, taking care to make sure you taste it, using two fingers to gag you in the process. 

Roman worsens the burns he made in your skin by spanking you fucking hard. He listens to the muffled noises of pain you make as he does it again, your skin rippling beneath his palm. “Shh,” he hushes, quieting you while rubbing his palm over the aching flesh. He spanks you once more for good measure, satisfied when he can see the outline of his hand imprinted on your skin, all swollen and puffy. How easily do you bruise? When Roman looks at you in the mirror, your eyes are red, tear tracks spilling down your cheeks. He spreads your legs apart and unzips his pants, pulling them down just enough to pull his stiff cock out. He spits in his palm and coats himself in it, then drags his head through your folds, feeling for your entrance. “Deep breath,” he instructs, notching himself inside you. You breathe in as best as you can, the action made difficult with a congested nose and panties shoved down your throat. 

Roman sheathes himself in you fully in one swift, harsh motion. You cry into fabric, tears falling from your eyes as you squeeze them shut. It hurts you, your already swollen and raw pussy aching at the cruel intrusion. “Ohh, f-fuck,” Roman groans. In the mirror, you watch him tilt his head back and relish in the pleasure. He pulls out all the way before pushing back in again, harder than he did before. You ball your trembling hands into fists.  

“You can take it,” he says from behind you, “I know you can fucking take it.” 

Roman’s words aren’t encouraging, he isn’t talking you through it like he’s done before. No relax or let daddy take care of you, baby. He doesn’t praise you or call you a good girl. He fucks you like it’s a punishment, because it is. He’s angry, threatened, retaliating. Whether you’re hurting or feeling good right now, he doesn’t care. This is for him. This is his. You are his. 

“Did he make you come?” he pants, pounding his hips against your ass, the head of his cock kissing deep inside you with each of his thrusts. “Did he? Yes or no, it’s a simple fucking question.” 

You shake your head, “Mm-mm,” and it’s the truth.

Roman smiles in satisfaction. “See? So you know what you’re missing. Who makes you come, huh? I do. Right?”

You nod frantically, squirming under Roman as if you could escape the feeling, or at least gain some semblance of control here. It’s too much, too painful. He’s unraveled, lost control of himself. He fucks you unforgivingly like he’s an animal, a slave to his own sick need to satisfy himself. 

“You belong to me,” he says. “Me.”  

Your phone on the vanity begins to vibrate, the screen lit up with the name of your date, a little pink heart emoji next to it. Cute. “Is that your Prince Charming?” Roman takes your phone, holds it up in the mirror for you to see. “The one who can’t make you come?” You nod again. “Should I let him hear what it sounds like when you do?” 

Roman wears a crooked smile at the look of fear on your face, eyes all wide as you frantically shake your head, muffled protests coming from your mouth. “But you make such - such pretty noises. For me, at least.” Roman seriously considers answering for a second, his thrusts faltering as his thumb hovers over the green button. “Fair enough,” he concedes, “Some things should stay sacred.” 

You exhale a sigh of relief and wait for Roman to decline the call, but he never does. Instead, he wriggles his arm under your torso and presses the corner of your vibrating phone against your clit, causing you to moan loudly. Roman continues to fuck you and by this point, and with the help of the vibrating, the pain has begun to dissipate, replaced with pleasure. Your eyes roll back into your skull, brows knit together as you focus on becoming close. You groan in frustration when the call times out and the vibrating ends. “Awwh,” Roman pouts mockingly. “My poor baby.” 

The vibrating begins again, and Roman raises his brows in amusement. “Wow. Eager guy, huh? I think he misses you. What a girl.” 

With Roman pressing your vibrating phone firmly against your clit and the steadfast slamming of his hips against yours, it’s not long before you’re coming on his cock, harder than he expected you to. You’re pulsing around him, gushing, falling to pieces as he fucks you through it. A little wrinkle appears between Roman’s brows, he has to bare his teeth to stave off his own release. 

He leans over your body. “You listen to me,” Roman says. “Only I get to fuck you. Pull this shit again and watch - oh, fuck - you fucking watch what happens,” he threatens. “Nod if you understand.”

You’re too lost in it all to respond. You just watch him in the mirror, mouth slightly agape with a dumb, fucked out look on your face. 

“What’d I say, huh?” Roman smacks your ass, “Nod- if- you- fuck-” punctuating each of his syllables with a thrust, “ -ing -get -it. Jesus Christ.”  

You nod, nod, nod. Roman fucks you through the tremors of your orgasm until he’s sure it’s come and gone, then pulls your phone away from your cunt, the vibrating long since stopped. He puts your phone face down on the dresser before abruptly pulling you up, pressing your back against his chest as he pumps you full of his come, moaning as he spills inside you. You love the way his cock twitches, the warm filling of his come painting your insides, how it feels when it drips from your cunt after he’s pulled out of you. 

Roman pulls your shredded panties out of your mouth and wipes you clean with them, then drops them on the floor. Your thighs are twitching, knees buckling and Roman helps you down, sits you on the floor with him, your back still against his chest. You rest your forehead against his cheek, breathing deeply. 

Roman absentmindedly draws his fingers up and down one of your arms, his insecurity setting in again. “So how uh…how was it, really? The date with…what’s his fuck, I didn’t catch the gentleman’s name.” 

You wrap your hand around Roman’s to still his fidgeting. “Do you actually wanna know?”

Roman sighs. No, he doesn’t. He changes the subject. “There’s takeout in the fridge if you’re hungry.” 

“What takeout?’

“Your uh, I don’t - you know. Your fuckin’...veggie thing, the one you get from our Indian place,” Roman answers quietly. He’s uncomfortable with your silence, second-guessing telling you about this. Or maybe it’s guilt. “It like, auto-ordered or some shit. I don’t know,” he lies.  

“Oh. Okay.” 

“I can heat it up for you, if you’d like,” he offers. “If you’re hungry.” 

Roman Taglist - I tag you if you've rb'd/commented kind things on my Roman works before, and I know not everyone wants post notifications on @strang3stories since that's mostly Pedro character fic. If you'd like to be removed, say the word <3

@goldenispunk @littlevenicebitch69 @gaeela-6 @bean-is-reading @slutsoutgutsout

@galarian-weezing-on-prep @cum-a-calla @pastelpinkflowerlife @kolsmikaelson

@moth-maam56 @kothku @cult-of-escapism @swiftiegirliepop @bluecookies-and-ink

@romanarose @kappasbbgirl @magpiepills @highinmiamili @verstappensrealwife

@thesummerpetrichor @lilipads @johnflansburghs-blog @pastelpinkflowerlife @baronessvonglitter

@myromeow

[rickybaby]

I honestly don't understand—what would it cost them to just come out and announce on Thursday that if it's Daniel's last race? Why give him false hope? Why don't let him set a proper goodbye? It's not like this would make them lose a lot of money or sth.

The more I think about how this weekend unfolded, the more I’m confused. Daniel showed up on Thursday absolutely certain he wasn’t getting replaced. He even made jokes about the rumours of him getting replaced. I don’t know what changed from the Thursday to last night. Maybe it was his qualifying performance that changed everything. Maybe the questions were so constant that the doubt crept into his mind. With the way the press behaved with Daniel on Saturday, maybe he did ask Red Bull for clarity and he never got that. I mean, Bayer said ‘no but’, Horner conveniently ignored that such rumours even existed and Mekies ended everything by saying oh yeah, think that was Daniel’s last race so we let him have the fastest lap.

Daniel probably never got any clarity and certainty about his future from them that he desperately needed yesterday and so he had to decide for himself how he wanted to approach this race if it were to be his last. He probably didn’t want to have sat in an F1 car for the last time only to find out later that this was his last race and he didn’t take the time to soak everything in.

Whatever the outcome of the so-called meeting will be, whether it’s favourable to Daniel or not, I think there’s no coming back from how things went down yesterday. Daniel’s relationship with Red Bull has been irrevocably damaged and he probably has no trust left at all in them. I think post-summer break, Daniel has been very isolated from the whole red bull machinery. Horner has been busy glazing Checo and pretending as if Daniel doesn’t exist and the Mekies/Bayer duo has not shown him any public support. I can’t imagine how isolating and alone Daniel must have felt this weekend, having to do this whole farewell tour on his own and having to leave the paddock without any more clarity. I mean, even after he’d broken down in tears, they still sent Paul and his fuckass pencil to babysit him and then got him to film a video as if nothing happened. I understand they don’t want to make any official announcement until after the meeting or to show preference or favouritism or whatever odd ideas they currently have, but there were many neutral ways they could have formulated a statement yesterday to somewhat acknowledge the situation and show a modicum of support to Daniel even if he’s on the way out.

At this point, I don’t know how we could ever come back from what Daniel went through yesterday.

[gremlinmodetweeker]

A Quick Warm Up for A Long Marathon

This is literally just being silly. I know it's super short, but honestly for this part of the story? I think it's just hilarious. I love how this story turned out! Anyways, enjoy some hybrid!CoD

TWs: None, except König being an ass

Wordcount: 800

Art from This Post

Story Below the Cut

A Quick Warm Up for A Long Marathon

So the cafe was a disaster. Well, not every idea can be brilliant. You'd hoped to break the ice between you, but so be it. You’d still keep trying with König, even if it killed you. Of course with how determined König seemed to shut you out, it started to look like you’d be taking yourself out pretty soon.

You’d dealt with difficult hybrids before. You’d dealt with a tokoloshe shifter that had been determined to undermine any and every attempt to get through to her. You’d eventually won her over by providing her a plethora of fruits from South Africa and two weeks of vacation to visit her aunt during the summers over the holidays, and after that, it was smooth sailing. Maybe König needed something similar? He seemed so closed off all the time. Maybe it was because he was just overworked?

The thought helped calm you. It was a light at the end of the tunnel to look forward to. The knot that had worked itself twixt your shoulder blades started to unwind as you walked down to the gym. You wondered if maybe König would actually be a bit more relaxed once in the gym. Usually, a bit of light jogging was enough to clear your head, so maybe your hybrid might be more friendly when he’d unwound a bit. That, or he’d be particularly bristly. It was a coin flip, really. Not one that you really wanted to hedge your bets on either. You’d really rather not have to put your fate in somebody else's hands, but König had a firm grip on you and he was happily dragging you down to the bottom of the crab bucket.

The walk to the gym led you winding round the base until you came to a wide door, which in turn led to what seemed more like a stadium than a gymnasium. Inside, you turned around as you walked to get a full lay of the land. Around you was a giant track while the ceiling was lined with hoops for hybrids to duck through or swing off of. Hurdles lined one end of the track while a great obstacle course took up the center of the room. Finally, you spotted the equipment lining the far wall. There, you made your way to the back corner, where a small group of hybrids were training using punching bags and kicking pillars. At the end of a line of ten sandbags, König was practising his hooks.

“Hey!” you held up a hand as you walked over to where your colonel stood, “sorry about being late. I got a bit busy.”

König glanced over towards you before focusing back on the red punching bag.

You looked at the bag and then back at him, “So, do you need me to hold some pads for you?”

König stilled, then slowly turned his head towards you. He didn't bother hiding how his eyes squinted as he looked you up and down, “You think you can do that for me?”

You scoffed, “Of course I can! I’m your handler. It's my job.”

König gave you another once-over before dropping his stance. He shrugged and said, “Try your best.”

You turned away to hide your eye roll, but you figured it was time to finally prove your worth as a handler. If you couldn’t get to him on a personal level, he could respect you as a trainer. You’d dealt with plenty of hybrids before König, how could he be any different?

You sauntered back to him with a hefty body bag over one shoulder, your other hand swinging easily by your side. König tilted his head back, crossing his arms and shifting his weight to one foot in a perfect show of bemusement. You snorted to yourself as you held up the pad to your side, shifting to a proper front stance as you readied yourself for the blow.

“Ten roundhouses on the right, ten on the left,” you declared, “sound good to you?”

“What about stretching?” König countered.

The tips of your ears were flushed as you scrambled and sputtered, “I mean, you were doing some exercise earlier, so didn’t you already do some?”

König shook his head, “I did, but did you?”

You paused. He had a fair point.

“Okay, um, can you give me fifteen and I’ll come back to you?” you asked.

König shrugged, “I’ll be here.”

Good enough.

A good fifteen minutes later, you were fully stretched and ready for whatever König was about to throw at you. You picked up your body bag and returned back to your place by König’s side.

“Alright big guy,” you gave him a wicked grin, “I’m not letting you put off leg day anymore!”

König glanced down at his legs, then back at you. The fact that his thighs were thicker than your head was left unsaid.

“So, remember, ten on one leg, ten on the other, alright?” you hoisted the pad up, “starting on the right. Ready?”

König nodded and fell into a comfortable front stance.

“Alright, one!”

Boom.

With one swing, you were sent clean across the gym. You fell into a jumbled mess of limbs, scrambling for traction on the floor mats as you sprawled out. When you managed to find your footing, you stumbled to your feet and turned to face König.

“Maybe you should use the pillars,” you mumbled.

It didn’t take a genius to figure out that König was grinning behind his mask.

Konig Dump

Alternate Universe Stories

[lancerliterature]

Just Relax

pairing: young john f. kennedy/reader

summary: the summer before his graduate program at stanford, young jack kennedy brings his new fiancée, president roosevelt's niece, out on a sailboat for some much-needed alone time.

word count: 2.2k

warnings: 18+, smut, some swearing, mildly dubious consent

taglist: @raspberryknees @saturns-flowers @vlyofthedolls @fortheloveofjos @h-l-vlovesvintage @astro-vibes-bro @neverellaxx7 @maudesgf @southernpopprincess @melancholicstation @secretwonderlandcheesecake @kennediva

a/n: first of all, thank you as always to @vintagedebutante for the beautiful moodboard photos!

this fic’s based on a request i got a while ago for jack to be in an arranged kind of marriage with another socialite! i know it's short 😫 but i'm planning on posting another fic in the next few weeks. i hope you all enjoy this one!!

You’re watching Jack Kennedy sail his boat—how his flexing muscles shimmer like knots of cinnamon in the white sun, the way his golden-red hair ruffles around his ears in the fresh late-morning wind, the way his face glows pink from exertion and every few minutes he’ll mutter something like, “Easy now, just like that, there we are” while easing the long wooden tiller back and forth—when, suddenly, the boat rolls over a particularly big wave and you start slipping from your perch at the edge of the deck.

But before you even know what’s happening, Jack’s long, heroic arm comes swooping across your waist to yank you back to safety just as you’re about to tip overboard.

“I‘ve got you, I’ve got you.” You feel his voice, urgent but still self-assuredly calm, on your neck. Then you feel his hot, furry thighs as you stumble back—or what’s more likely is that he’s purposely pulling you—into his lap.

A quiet groan escapes you. This is the last thing you need. The whole reason you left the cockpit to go sit at the far edge of the boat in the first place was to try and put some distance between yourself and him.

“Are you alright?” he asks then, scorching you with one of those slow, coaxing smiles as he looms over you.

“I’m fine,” you say, and you realize from the sound of your voice that you’re a little breathless—but whether that’s from the aftershock of almost falling or the jittery thrill of being pressed against him, you aren’t entirely sure.

This little voyage at sea is the longest you two have ever been completely alone together. Sure, you’ve been technically alone for hours in places like the cinema hall or a restaurant on all of those ridiculous “dates” your families would send the two of you on so you could be photographed together before they announced your engagement, but this is different. You’re truly alone, without another soul in sight. 

Normally when you two find yourselves truly alone like this, it’s only for a few minutes while Jack drives you home from one of those “dates,” and it doesn’t take long before neither of you can handle the tension any longer and he’s pulling over and unbuttoning your blouse. And you’re pretty sure he was envisioning something along those lines when he invited you and you alone out onto his boat the second his family’s breakfast picnic ended. 

Of course, you’re envisioning that, too. How could you not? For almost a half-hour now, you’ve been forced to watch him in all his masculine glory, commanding the sea against the backdrop of the shiny Kennedy mansion on the horizon and the flapping American flag on their beachside lawn. It’s stunning, the way Jack looks like the total embodiment of the youthful, all-American manhood that he and his brothers symbolize to so many. And the fact that he just rescued you certainly isn’t making matters any easier—because what you also can’t help but envision is the scandalous story that would smear across the society column of every major newspaper if an innocent, neighborly passerby boat happened to catch you and Jack with your hands all over each other in public, before you were married, no less. Your reputation would be in ruins. Your mother genuinely might never speak to you again.

The entire world, it sometimes seems, has been involved in every last little day-to-day moment of your courtship with Jack ever since your families first formally introduced you at a dinner party over a year ago now. But that’s the whole point, you suppose, behind two of the most famous families in America betrothing their two eldest children to each other. And now that, as of last month, you and Jack are officially engaged, the country waits with bated breath for the union between the handsome Kennedy celebrity—who, come autumn, will be galavanting off for his glamorous first semester as a graduate student at Stanford, where he’ll likely mingle among a swath of California’s finest singers and matinee idols—and you. If anyone asked, you would say that the most notable thing about you is that you’ve just finished your freshman year at Radcliffe College. A few years ago, you were dubbed “President Roosevelt’s favorite niece” by the New York Times, but in all honesty, you don’t actually have any reason to believe that your uncle prefers you over any of your cousins.

But still, under no circumstances, you tell yourself, will you let Jack make any sort of move on you out here on this boat. At least one of you needs to have your priorities straight.

“I told you not to sit up there, didn’t I?” Jack is saying when you snap out of your thoughts, tilting his chin toward the edge of the deck where, moments ago, you were peacefully sitting. “Remember this next time you decide not to listen to me.”

You can’t help but crane your neck back to try and study his face for some hint as to what he’s really feeling behind all the sarcasm. Does he pity you for almost tumbling overboard? Or does he think this whole situation is just plain funny? Though either one would be sufficiently humiliating, you’re sort of hoping that, whatever he’s thinking, it’s now distracting him from any dirty thoughts.

But, alas, he’s wearing his big, circular sunglasses, so it’s really no use trying to read him. Unlike the rest of his features, his eyes are always so full of soul and emotion, and whenever you can’t see them, he suddenly becomes so distant, like a calculating secret agent who’s completely anonymous to everyone he keeps tabs on yet somehow knows all of their darkest secrets.

Your spine tightens then when you hear the faint chug of another boat cruising by, but thankfully, when you turn to look, you realize it’s not coming close enough for anyone on board to see you in Jack’s lap. Nevertheless, you twist out of Jack’s arms, landing with a soft thud beside him on the wooden bench.

Jack chuckles then, a deep, slightly dark sound. You blow your bangs out of your eyes, trying your best to seem nonchalant while sparks go off inside of you at the sound of his laugh.

“Why’d you wanna sit so far from me, anyway, huh?” he asks, sidling closer simply because he knows perfectly well that you don’t want him to.

The sharp contrast between his dark glasses and the bright, sun-reflecting tape across the freckled bridge of his nose is suddenly making your eyes burn, and you stare down at your sandals. You start to open your mouth to remind him that now isn’t the time or place to do whatever he’s thinking of doing—but your voice dries out in your throat as he places his hand on your thigh and gives it a soft, playful squeeze. Oh, boy, you think. Here we go.

“What’s wrong?” Jack murmurs with exaggerated concern, an electric sound that’s followed immediately by the dangerous, hair-raising sizzle of his lips on your exposed neck. You suck in a sharp breath of air. “Afraid somebody’s gonna see us?”

He moves your hair to the side and kisses your neck again. And again. You know you should move away but the heat from his chest has welded your body to the bench beneath you.

When he speaks again, his voice is suddenly lower and quieter than before, like there’s something inside of him that he, too, is now trying to suppress, to wrangle into control.

“There’s no need to worry,” he says. “If there’s a photo of me bending you over the deck in The Post tomorrow, I’ll make sure none of the blame falls on you. I’ll say I grabbed you and you tried your best to get away but I just wouldn’t let you go.”

He chuckles again, and then, when you sense him suddenly pulling away, you can’t help but feel a clench of disappointment.

Out of the corner of your eye, you see him reach up into the sails and bring the boat to a complete standstill in a whirlwind of brisk, whooshing movements. Then you’re being heaved onto his lap again, facing him this time, your knees thumping against the bench on either side of his legs.

You let out a small, shuddering laugh, pressing your hands to his chest. “Oh, come now, Kennedy,” you say. “As romantic as it sounds, we can’t actually—”

He cuts you off by popping open the button on your shorts.

You’re suppressing a grin as you try your best to push away from him, to squeeze your thighs closed. But his big hands close tightly around your hips, and in a sudden flash of riled-up aggression, he jolts you still with one sharp, warning movement. Almost immediately, you can feel bruises start to form under his fingertips, which makes your stomach somersault.

“Keep still, Y/N,” Jack groans between clenched teeth, the corners of his mouth fighting off a smirk. “Christ. You’re killing me.”

Left with no other choice, you settle back down into his lap, and you quickly realize exactly what he meant by “You’re killing me.” The inside of your thigh brushes against a bulge in his pants that, you can only assume, was created by the friction from all your inadvertent grinding against him.

A shaky gasp leaves your lips then as his long, knuckly finger slips inside your zipper. When that same finger starts to move in slow circles over your clit, your head falls back and you breathe “God dammit, Jack” to the sky.

“Listen,” Jack says into your skin while he kisses across the length of your collarbone, “I promise nobody’s gonna see us. We’re far enough out.”

He brings his free hand to cup your breast over your shirt, and your head tilts forward. Your forehead smushes against his, which, strangely, is kind of soothing. You take the opportunity to let out a deep breath.

“That’s it, kid,” Jack says, his teeth brushing against your lips. “Just relax.”

Into his mouth, you whisper the words, “I hate you.”

One of his eyebrows twitches up over his sunglasses. “Yeah?” he says, and he suddenly sounds even more feverishly out-of-breath than you are. “You hate me, huh?”

He laughs as his finger increases its pressure, and a wave of pleasure so intense you feel like you could vomit cracks through your body. So much for trying to relax. Your mouth falls open, and as you gasp his name, you notice his mouth going slack, too, as he watches yours. An odd, gratifying tingle shoots down your back.

He increases the pressure again. “How does that feel?” he asks, blinding you with the cocky glint of his teeth. When you don’t respond—because your deep-seated competitive side won’t give him the satisfaction—he closes your clit between his thumb and pointer finger in a gentle pinch.

You can’t do anything but groan as that watery pressure starts to reach a breaking point between your legs. 

In a last-ditch attempt to gain some semblance of control over the situation, you shove those god-forsaken sunglasses up off his face and back into his thick tangle of hair. But his eyes are so bright and so full of what looks to be some sort of boyish, appreciative awe as he looks up at you that, once again, you’re rendered stunned and powerless. You’re briefly reminded of that old John Buchan quote you always felt described Jack perfectly: “He disliked emotion, not because he felt lightly, but because he felt deeply.”

“Soon,” Jack says then, as if he’s been waiting to say this until his sunglasses were off and he could truly look you in the eye, “we’ll have our own house and the rest of our lives to be alone every single day.”

The sun starts to melt out from behind a cloud, and Jack’s eyes crease adorably around the edges as he squints up at you. You aren’t quite sure how to respond to his uncharacteristically sentimental remark, but in the end, you don’t have to. You hit your climax right at that moment—you aren’t sure exactly why. But suddenly your whole body is trembling, and you’re gasping his name into his neck, sinking your teeth into his stubbly skin, digging your nails into his shoulders. You feel his throat vibrating as he groans along with you.

Just then, you hear another sailboat come putzing by—and this one sounds only a hundred or so feet away. Immediately, you’re ripped from the throes of ecstasy. You sit back up, heart jumping into your throat so fast you almost choke. You feel Jack tense up, too.

But then the man at the helm of the boat waves and shouts hello, and you feel Jack relax.

“Ah,” Jack says. “It’s just old Mr. Newman. He can’t see well. Completely harmless.”

“Are you kids behaving yourselves?” Mr. Newman shouts jovially across the glittering water.

“Always, Mr. Newman,” Jack says, pulling his hand out of your shorts to wave back.

thank you for reading!!

[shekeepswriting]

A Little More Heart (3)

[Syverson x Reader]

Word Count: 5310 (Someone got carried away. Me. It was me.)

Summary: Sy answers your grandmother's summons for dinner.

Warnings: None

A/N: I'm back from the dead hellooooo! Grad school has truly been kicking my ass. I hope this is a fun surprise for everyone

Chapter 1 Chapter 2

Sy was standing three inches from an industrial box fan, sweating his ass off and  questioning every last one of his life decisions when he heard his brother shouting for him from across the garage. 

Easily as tall as Sy but two years younger and with a little less mass, Aaron was the second of three Syverson boys. Unlike Sy, he preferred his hair long and took great pride in caring for it, an abundant mass of dark curls that usually reached his shoulders. But at work, and during most of the summer, he kept it tied in a messy knot on the top of his head. 

“Sy! Phone!”

Aaron moved fast across the floor, hand clamped around the bottom of a cordless landline to block the sound, two cheap blue popsicles still in their conjoined plastic tubes clenched between his teeth. 

“By name?” Sy asked with a sigh as he approached.

Aaron shifted his grip on the phone to take the popsicles out of his mouth.

“Yep. It’s Ms. Bea. We expecting her in for something soon?”

“No, but I drove her granddaughter home last night, so - ”

Aaron’s eyes widened, and he frantically mashed at the button to put Ms. Bea on hold.

“You did what?” he asked, an obnoxious grin taking over his face. 

“Settle down,” Sy mumbled, turning back towards the fan. 

“My permanently single, grumpy-ass older brother drove a girl home last night. I’m not settling down.”

“Not a girl. She’s a woman.” 

Aaron let out a wordless shout, jostling Sy’s shoulder and plopping down on the table beside the fan, grinning even wider than before.

“Oh, there’s no way in hell I’m letting this shit go now. A woman, you say.”

Sy rolled his eyes.

“You gonna give me one of those?” he asked, jerking his chin toward the slowly melting popsicles. 

“Only as a bribe,” Aaron answered, ripping the perforated wrappers apart and holding one out tauntingly. 

“For what?”

“Information, dumbass.”

Sy snatched the popsicle  out of his hand, holding it behind his back when Aaron swatted at it. 

“Saw her walking home in the dark. Stopped to drive her home. Simple as that.” 

“Uh huh. And what earned her the distinction of ‘woman,’ I wonder.”

“She’s a grown-ass woman, that’s what,” Sy said bluntly, stepping out of Aaron’s reach to rip open the top of the popsicle wrapper. 

“Noticed her ass, did ya?”

Sy shot him an unimpressed look, breaking the top inch of frozen blue sugar into his mouth with a harsh bite and holding his hand out.

“Just give me the fuckin phone.”

“Five questions first,” Aaron argued.

“Three.”

“Four.”

“Go.” 

Aaron clapped in delight, taking a moment to think before launching into his limited interrogation.

“Did you smile?”

“Yep.”

“Did she make you laugh?”

“Yep.” 

Aaron smiled again, but this time there was no mischief tied up in it. He looked uncharacteristically sincere.

“Did you get her number?”

“Yes. Last one.”

He squinted thoughtfully.

“Butterflies?”

“Fuck off, Aaron.” 

“Oh, shit, that’s a yes!” But still he wasn’t teasing. His eyes were wide with surprise, his smile still genuine, not mocking.

“Phone.” 

“You could barely grow facial hair the last time you had butterflies! The good butterflies, anyway. Shit, I have so many more questions now.”

“I gave you four, and you asked four. Now, gimme the phone.”

Aaron slapped the phone into Sy’s open palm but kept a hold of the bottom.

“We’re talking about this later.”

“Fine. Don’t tell mom.”

“Fine.” And there was that familiar smile again, the one that rarely ended well for anyone. The little shit. 

Sy retreated to his office in the back of the garage, phone and popsicle in hand, before taking Ms. Bea off of hold. There was little to no chance she’d be able to hear him out on the floor.

“Hello.”

“Hi! Busy day today? Staying cool out there, I hope.”

“Doing my best, Ms. Bea. How are ya? That car of yours still treatin you right?”

“Oh, I’m alright. I haven’t driven in a few days, but as far as I know, it’s just fine.”

“If that changes, you let me know, okay?”

“I will!” There was a brief pause. “So listen! I hear you’re the one to thank for seeing my grandbaby home safe last night.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Well, I didn’t get this far in life leaving my debts unpaid. So you just come on down to the house when you’re through with work, and we’ll treat you to a nice dinner. How does that sound?”

“That’s a very generous offer, but you don’t owe me a thing, Ms. Bea. I didn’t know who she was when I stopped. I would’ve done the same for anyone walking that road at night.”

“Oh, I trust you would have, but that doesn’t mean you don’t deserve some gratitude, now does it?”

Sy shook his head. If he didn’t make an appearance tonight, Ms. Bea would only show up tomorrow with the promised dinner wrapped up in foil and glass containers. He knew better than to expect this to go away on its own. And honestly, if it afforded him the possibility of seeing you again, he may not want it to. 

“Well - ”

“Pardon me, dear. My phone is being stolen.”

Sy raised an eyebrow. There was a shuffling sound, a sigh, the closing of a door. Your voice came through, flustered and apologetic.

“I’m so sorry. I tried to talk her out of it, but the woman will not be denied.”

He smiled a little, imagining the look on your face.  

“That’s alright. I had a feelin’ something like this would happen.”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s just what happens around here. You do someone a favor, they find a way to thank you for it.”

“Oh… I did say thank you though, didn’t I?”

“You did,” he said through another smile. “That’s not what I meant though.”

“So you’re saying it really should be me offering you dinner?” you asked. “Did I accidentally cause a blood feud by not knowing that?”

“Just a short one. Couple decades, tops.” 

Your laugh sounded muffled, like you’d moved the phone down to your chest in an attempt to hide it. 

“So do I have your permission to come see you and Ms. Bea this evening?”

“Depends. Will there be a torch and pitchfork involved?”

“Nah. Lost ‘em both in a poker game.”

“What a shame.”

“That mean I’m in the clear?”

“Yeah, I guess you’d better come around. Especially considering I was sent on a separate grocery run specifically for this dinner.”

“I’d ask you not to go to too much trouble, but I have a feeling it’s not really up to you.”

“Rude but accurate. There’s a whole raw chicken out there. I’m mildly terrified.”

Just as he was opening his mouth to answer, the office door creaked open, letting in a flood of sound and one very stressed woman. 

“Sy!”

“Hold on one sec,” he said to you quickly before lowering the phone to his chest and raising his eyebrows in question.

“Someone up front wants to talk to you.”

Sy grimaced.

“Me specifically or a manager?”

“Manager.”

He gestured her out of the office then followed, eyes sweeping over the collection of cars and people. 

“Aaron!”

“Yeah?” he yelled from under a car Sy had been working on earlier. 

Sy crossed the garage impatiently, reaching down to drag him out from under the car by the ankle. 

“Pretty face up front.”

Aaron groaned.

“I was the pretty face last time!” he complained. “Why can’t you do it?”

“Never been pretty a day in my life.”

“Fuck you. You know there’s no good comeback for that.” 

“And I’m on the phone still. Get.”

“God damn it.” But he was already reaching up for Sy’s hand to haul him up to his feet. 

“Have fun,” Sy called after him before lifting the phone back to his ear. “Sorry about that.”

“No, that’s okay! I should probably let you go. You seem busy.”

“You got me out of talking to a customer. Far as I’m concerned, we can stay on the phone all damn day.” 

You laughed again, but this time you let him hear it.

“Does that mean you owe me a dinner now too?”

“We can talk about it,” Sy said with a smile, turning his back when one of his mechanics looked up curiously at his tone. 

“Either way, I guess I’ll see you tonight.”

“Yes, ma’am. Can I bring anything?”

“Better not. We’ll be stuck in the thank you cycle forever.” 

That really didn’t sound like the worst thing, but he didn’t want to push you farther than he already was with this dinner tonight.

“Alright. I’ll uh… I’ll text you when I’m on my way then.”

“You mean to tell me you have my number?” you gasped. “How did that happen?”

“Some troublemaker gave it to me at the bar last night.”

“Interesting.” 

“I thought so. Haven’t had time to use it yet, but I was planning on it.”

“Very interesting… Well, I’ll let you go now. See you at dinner.”

“Lookin forward to it.” 

Sy tried to keep himself occupied all day, tried not to leave his mind free to dwell on you or try to predict how this dinner would go. Tried not to let himself be cornered by Aaron. Again. 

He took off a little early, running home for a shower and a change into something nicer than a stained t-shirt before heading your way. Though his warning text had prompted you to share your grandmother’s address, Sy didn’t need it. The town was small enough, and he’d been down to the house before, a couple of times, to drive Ms. Bea to church when her car had been out of commission. But he’d never been inside before, or even past the gate. 

By the time Sy’s shoes hit the driveway pavement, you were rounding the corner of the house in a pale green sundress and a clunky pair of slippers several sizes too big for your feet. Confident, as you had every right to be despite the footwear, but maybe a little flustered too. 

“Well, hello,” he said with a small smile. He let himself look you over, let you see him look you over, but only for a second. Before he could pay you an appropriately polite compliment, you blurted out,

“I didn’t wear this for you. Just so you know.”

Sy’s eyebrows rose along with his hands. It had honestly never occurred to him that you might have worn it for him. But three times was enough to pick up the pattern. Walls up at first greeting. He had to earn your ease again.

“I know you didn’t,” he said quietly, keeping his eyes on yours. “Known Ms. Bea long enough that I’d call her an ambulance if I ever saw her in a pair of jeans.” 

The corner of your mouth twitched up for a second, and you took a breath, rolled your shoulders. 

“Yeah… Sorry, I just…”

“You’re not used to this,” Sy offered with an easy shrug, lowering his hands again.

“I’m not,” you agreed. “I don’t introduce people to my grandmother. Ever. And definitely not…” You glanced over your shoulder towards the windows, lowering your voice slightly. “Definitely not a man I was flirting with the night before.”

“Did you flirt with me? Can’t recall. Where was I when all that was going on?

You rolled your eyes, more tension leaving your shoulders.

“You know I did.”

“Now, let’s see…” Sy said, running a hand over his beard in a way that earned him a real smile this time. “I remember you making fun of my handwriting. Making fun of my pickup lines. Threatening me with a knife.”

“I didn’t threaten you with a knife,” you laughed. 

Sy smiled at the sound. Now he was getting somewhere.

“No? So that was you flirtin’ then?”

“Must have been. Couldn’t be when I asked for your number.”

“Nah, I asked first.”

“No, you didn’t!”

“In my own way.” 

You narrowed your eyes at him, but the smile was still there. Like you knew what he was doing, but you couldn’t bring yourself to be annoyed by it. 

“Well, anyway,” Sy continued. “You’re not introducing me because I already know your grandma. And I’m well aware that I’m here on her invitation, not yours. So when I tell you that you look nice, it’s just an observation. No motive behind it beyond the fact that I think you ought to hear it.”

A couple of rapid blinks in surprise, a deep breath, a slow nod.

“Well… Thank you.”

Sy nodded back, and then you were turning in a pretty flutter of skirts, heading back towards the gate with a call for him to follow. 

“Rules of the house. No cursing. No wandering unsupervised. And dinner guests don’t enter the kitchen for any reason ever,” you listed, closing the gate behind him.

“Got it.”

“One more thing. Nana takes hosting extremely seriously and therefore takes my hosting extremely seriously. A lot of pageantry went into this evening. But despite all of that, rest assured you are not being husband hunted.”

“Should’ve left the ring at home then, huh?” 

“Don’t even let her hear that,” you warned with a grimace.

“Wouldn’t let me leave?”

“On the contrary. She’d light the house on fire just to get you out of it.” 

“Well now you’re just hurtin my feelings.” 

You rolled your eyes, the corner of your mouth tugging up in a reluctant smile.

“Don’t go feeling special. She’d do that to anyone she thought was proposing to me.” 

You spun around again, as graceful as you could manage to be in oversized slippers on pebbledash, and Sy smiled at the extra, intentional swish in your skirt as you led him to the back door.

“Ready?” you asked, hand pausing on the handle.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll protect you from the dogs,” you said breezily as you opened the screen door. 

You were ambushed the second you walked through the door. There was a small black terrier, hopping around on two feet, desperate for your attention, and following behind at a slower pace was the largest boxer that Sy had ever seen.

“Hi, Bertie. Go make a friend,” you said softly, ruffling the small dog’s ears and shooing her gently away from you as you stepped to the side to intercept the dog that was staring down Sy with laser focus. 

Bertie came hopping up to Sy, bright pink tongue lolling out from her underbite as she braced her front feet on his shin. 

“Pleased to meet ya, little miss,” he said with a smile, crouching slowly to give her the attention she was seeking. She was a sweet one, falling all over herself to love on him.

A sharp whistle drew both Sy and Bertie’s attention, but you remained focused on the boxer, who had been leaning around you to take a peek at him.

“Brass,” you said firmly when the dog’s attention was back on you. “He’s okay.” 

Brass let out an unconvinced grumble, going back to monitor Sy until you snapped your fingers. 

“Hey. Look at me,” you said firmly. “He’s okay. Be nice. And I promise you can help me run him off if he misbehaves.” 

You held out your hand, and Brass sat just long enough to offer you her large paw. You shook it gently, laughing at the baleful eyes she was still giving you.

“Can she perform a routine inspection?” you asked over your shoulder. 

“Of course,” Sy said, sitting all the way down on the kitchen floor. 

“Be nice,” you reminded Brass as you stepped aside to let her pass. 

Sy kept still, leaving his hands open and palm up as Brass made a slow circuit around him, sniffing diligently. Up close, she was even more impressive, one of the most solid and imposing dogs he’d ever seen, not yet softening with the age that had a few greys growing around her mouth and eyes. Brass completed her loop quickly, stopping in front of him to stare at him just a little longer.

“Ma’am,” he greeted quietly, and he saw you smiling as you called her back over to you. 

“Got yourself a real guard dog, don’t you?” Sy asked, watching as Brass bumped your hand with her nose before retreating to lay in the archway between the kitchen and living room. 

“Oh yes. The General takes her job very seriously. And she’s not a fan of men. Try not to take it personally.” 

“Ms. Bea named her General Brass?” he asked with a smile. “Or do you just want a dog to outrank me to prove a point?”

“How dare you,” you gasped. “I’ll have you know we named her General Brass Knuckles together.” 

“Well, now I know you’re lyin,” he laughed.

“I would never - Nana!” you called as your grandmother finally entered the kitchen. “Tell Sy what Brass’s full name is.” 

“General Brass Knuckles. Why?” she said, holding a hand out to Sy as she approached with a welcoming smile. 

“Your granddaughter likes to tease me,” he said, squeezing her hand gently in greeting. “It’s good to see you, Ms. Bea.” 

“She’ll do that. But I happen to think it’s a wonderful name. Suits her. She’s tough like me and like my granddaughter.” Ms. Bea squeezed his hand back. “Did you come hungry?”

“Yes, ma’am, I did.”

“Good! Go on and sit. Table’s already set.” 

Set very nicely too. Cloth napkins and the fancy salt and pepper shakers. Matching serving dishes. Ms. Bea didn’t do anything by half measures. 

Sy took the seat you gestured to, hesitating just long enough for you and your grandmother to sit before he did. 

The way you’d spoken on the phone made it sound like this was an unfamiliar process to you, but it didn’t show. You began serving and passing food smoothly, your expression pleasant but neutral as Ms. Bea took the lead on conversation.

“How’s your family? We’re getting lots of sun this summer. Your mama’s garden must be a vision.”

“She sends me pictures every day,” Sy said with a polite smile. “And she’s been doing her research, trying to figure out what to put in the greenhouse now it’s finished.”

“I think that woman could plant just about anything and make it grow. She has a real gift.”

“That was the plan. As long as she gets some use out of it, I’ll be happy.”

“Wait, did you build a greenhouse?” you cut in curiously, pausing with a forkful of roasted potatoes halfway to your mouth. 

“Not as hard as it sounds,” Sy said, chancing a wink when you squinted skeptically at him. 

“I doubt that very much,” Ms. Bea said mildly, making you laugh. “And your grandmother? She still living out there in the country on her own?”

“Nana, this is out there in the country.” 

“Alright, city girl,” she said, patting your cheek as your mouth dropped open in surprise.

“You were literally born in Brooklyn.”

“Were you really?” Sy asked, surprised. She sure didn’t sound like it, never had to his memory. Her accent was soft, but it was there, syrupy and southern like every other elderly woman in town. 

“A lifetime ago,” Ms. Bea said with a secretive little smile. “Wouldn’t recognize it now.” 

“With how many pictures I sent you last month?” you challenged with a fond smile. “You know, you could come with me next time I go.” 

“You don’t need an old lady slowing you down.” The look she gave you put an end to that conversation, and you raised your hands slightly in surrender. “Now, you still owe me news of my old friend.”

Sy nodded as her attention turned back on him.

“She’s doing alright. Gonna head up that way tomorrow to fix her air conditioner.”

“Okay, seriously? You can build a greenhouse and fix an air conditioner?” 

You almost sounded irritated, and Sy tried not to smile.

“Oh this man can fix just about everything,” Ms. Bea said.

“Wow,” you said mildly, smiling around a sip of water. “Take that compliment and run. I’ve never heard her speak so highly of a man in my life.”

“Oh, hush. Yes, you have,” your grandmother said in a no-nonsense tone.

Hush, Sy mouthed at you with mock sternness when you glanced his way. Your eyes narrowed playfully, and you kicked at his shin under the table. 

“How are those brothers of yours?”

“Oooo brothers. Now that’s interesting.” And that grin you were wearing was specifically designed to get a rise out of him. Sy eyed you, watching that smile widen just a touch before he turned his attention back to Ms. Bea. 

“They’re doing good. Jimmy’s teaching summer school. Aaron’s just the same as always. But he has been eating instant potatoes for lunch every day if you want to have a word with him about it.”

Ms. Bea gave him a knowing look, her pursed lips relaxed into a smile that verged on mischievous.

“I certainly will. That boy get a haircut yet?”

“No, ma’am. Past his shoulders now when it’s not tied up.”

You hummed with interest.

“Did he steal all of yours?”

Ms. Bea let out half a surprised laugh before she pressed a napkin to her lips demurely, regaining her composure. You were staring at him, eyes bright with amusement and challenge as he shook his head slowly at you, huffing a laugh through his nose. 

“Now don’t go giving him too hard a time,” Ms. Bea said before Sy could respond. “He did you a good turn last night.”

“He did,” you agreed.

“You should have seen it before he started cutting it all off. Just as soft and curly as anything.”

“Like a poodle,” you supplied, looking him over with a poorly-suppressed grin, as if trying to imagine it.

“You wicked thing,” Ms. Bea said with a little grin, nudging you with her elbow. “He looked just exactly like a porcelain doll when he was younger.”

Sy took a breath, wishing Ms. Bea would kindly stop digging his grave as your smile grew.

“Oh, really? Do you have any pictures?”

“I’m sure I do. Somewhere.” She squinted thoughtfully towards the living room. “In the old Christmas cards if nowhere else.”

“You’re really not giving up on that, are you?” he sighed.

“Absolutely not,” you answered. “I might have before, but a porcelain doll? Come on, now. I’m not walking away from that.”

Ms. Bea shot you a curious look but didn’t comment, guiding the three of you to a different subject with the confident ease of someone who had been navigating the passive aggressive waters of southern social life for decades. 

Things carried on that way for quite a while: Ms. Bea asking polite questions and you finding ways to subtly or not-so-subtly tease him. 

The plates had long been clear when Brass interrupted the conversation with a single, sharp warning bark, rising from her position in the doorway to bully her way behind the blinds on the nearest kitchen window. Sy heard it a few seconds later: a car making the turn onto the long driveway.

“Were you expecting anyone else?” you asked, glancing to your grandmother with a frown.

When Ms. Bea shook her head, Sy leaned back in his chair, moving his head to the side until he caught a glimpse through the window over the sink.

“Little blue Toyota, looks like.” 

Ms. Bea rose quickly, her lips pursed to the point of disappearing.

“Darling, would you take our guest out to the pool house so he can pick a drink for the road? I’d like a private word with your cousin.” 

Your eyebrows raised, but you nodded wordlessly, grabbing at Sy’s arm as you stood from the table. He followed your lead, letting you tug him along out the back door.

“Poor Kat,” you said once the door closed behind you. 

“Well, she did leave you stranded,” Sy said quietly. 

“Turned out okay,” you said with a shrug, dropping your hand back to your side when you caught his eyes. 

Sy held your gaze with an easy nod, not pulling back or looking away until you took a flustered breath and tilted your head to the side.

“Let’s get out of here before the fireworks start, huh?”

You hopped off the porch steps, following the end of the driveway to a small carport that backed into an even smaller outbuilding. A later addition, it looked like. Several decades newer than the house. 

“You gonna tell me why we’re calling this a pool house? Not seeing a pool anywhere.”

“Patience,” you huffed, skirting around the two cars that were squeezed together beneath the carport. 

You paused at the door, bouncing lightly on your feet as if to gather some nerve.

“Alright, full disclosure, sometimes a lizard or a snake gets in here. And if I open this door and see a snake, I will either fully abandon you to deal with that shit by yourself or climb you like a tree.”

And there were all sorts of things he could say to that, but he chose to keep his damn mouth shut and nod instead. 

You led the way into the tiny building, wading through air that somehow felt even hotter than it had outside. After a second of endearingly impatient flailing, you caught hold of the thin chain hanging from the light on the ceiling, turning it on with a swift tug. 

It didn’t do much for the space, which remained dim and dusty. There was very little room to walk, a thin avenue of clear concrete circled a large tarped object in the center of the room. Boxes, folding chairs and tables, and a long abandoned workbench lined the back wall. To the left, nearly overlapping the door, was a refrigerator and large separate freezer.  

“Pool table,” you said, lifting up a corner of the tarp to reveal a glossy wood corner. 

Sy smiled a little. 

“Pool house. Cute.” 

“We’re unbearably adorable. We can’t help it,” you said breezily, turning away from him to open the refrigerator door. “Adorable and overstocked with beverages.” 

Every Coke product known to man filled the fridge, accented by bottles of peach tea and cans of lemonade. And…

“Are those Capri-Suns?”

Your eyes widened when you followed his gaze to the three shiny pouches tucked away on the bottom shelf. 

“Huh…” you said softly, turning one over in your hand to check the expiration date. “Why does she even have these?”

“Gotta have all the bases covered, I guess.” 

You hummed, turning your head to look up at him. For half a second, you seemed a little startled at his proximity, blinking rapidly and taking a sharp breath. Sy was doing his best not to crowd you, but there honestly wasn’t enough room for personal space. When he tried to back off a little, all he really managed to do was hip check the pool table and throw off his balance, shrinking the distance even more when you grabbed a handful of his shirt in a quick attempt to steady him. 

There was a pause, neither of you daring to take a breath. The hot, still air of the tiny outbuilding seemed to draw in a little closer, barely cut by the draft from the open refrigerator. 

“Um…” You blinked hard, pulling your hand away like he’d burned you, shuffling to the side to earn a few precious inches of space. 

“Sorry,” he said softly, belatedly. 

“S’okay…” You shook your head a little. “Uh, do you want…?” 

You lifted the little juice pouch still in your hand.

“Sure.” 

It took further rearranging to get the refrigerator door closed again, and Sy tried not to feel too bad at the speed with which you rushed from the building. 

The open air seemed to soothe you a little, the sight of you rolling your shoulders with a deep breath greeting Sy when his eyes readjusted to the bright sunlight. 

That playful confidence crept back over you, a little more tentative but still a sight to see. 

“Are you qualified to open one of these?” you asked, tossing Sy his juice. “Don’t know how much experience you’ve got.”

“Plenty,” Sy said, arching a brow at the smirk that set across your face. “Said what I said.” 

You laughed, reaching to pull the plastic-wrapped straw from the back of the pouch. 

“You sure? You can’t brute force it, ya know. You’ll just stab through both sides and end up with a mess. It takes finesse.”

“I can do finesse.”

He took the straw back from you, making smooth and efficient work of pushing it through the clear plastic circle at the top of the pouch. He took a smug sip, earning a grin from you as you raised your hands in surrender.

“Fine, fine. You have the dexterity of an eight year old. I’m sorry for doubting you.”

“No winning with you, is there?”

“No, sir!” you said proudly, glancing quickly towards the back door at the sound of raised voices, your smile fading slightly. “Guess I should escort you to safety.”

You plucked lightly at his sleeve as you headed back towards the gate where his truck was parked. He followed, falling into step beside you.

“Sure you don’t need backup?” 

Through a gap in the curtain, Sy caught sight of Kat, her face pinched, arms crossed. 

“Oh, I’m not going back in there,” you scoffed. “I’ll walk a lap of the neighborhood or something. Go sit by the pond for a bit, maybe.”

Sy hesitated, his steps slowing.

“I could - We could go somewhere, if you want. Give them time to cool off a little.”

You glanced at him curiously.

“Go where?”

“I don’t know,” he shrugged. “Wherever. Get a drink or something.”

“Two nights in a row? The town would implode.”

He smiled a little, leaned against the door of his truck. 

“That’s not a no.”

You shot him a look, mouth twisted up in something that looked very promisingly like indecision.

“Should be a no. Wouldn’t want anyone to get the wrong idea.”

“What’s the wrong idea?”

You let out a slow breath.

“You know I’m only going to be around a couple weeks.”

He hummed, standing up straight again.

“Doesn’t have to be a drink. Could just go for a drive. No getting any wrong ideas about a drive.”

“No wrong ideas about sunset on a backroad?”

Sy cleared his throat.

“No ma’am. We’re in for a platonic sunset tonight. It told me so.”

You laughed, but there was something a little sad in it. 

“Drink your juice and get outta here before I do something stupid, please.”

Sy knew better than to push, but damn if he didn’t like the sound of that. 

“Yeah, alright.” 

You made no attempt to mask the once-over you gave him as he got into the driver’s seat. He risked holding out his hand one last time, rolling down the window before closing the door. 

“Mind if I use that number you gave me? Sometime.”

“I think you’d better.”

He smiled at that, let it be a full one, earned himself a smile back. 

“I’ll do that then. Thank you for dinner.”

“You’re welcome.”

Sy lingered a moment longer, taking in the sight of you barefoot on the driveway, a late summer breeze making the hem of your dress dance lazily around your legs. 

You shook your head at him, shooing him away with a smile.

As he pulled out of the driveway, he could see you still standing at the gate, watching him until the truck tail lights were out of sight.

*****

A/N: Thank you for reading! I've really missed this story. Would love, love, LOVE to hear what you think.

Tags: @firstcashheroathlete @melissareadsstuff @juliaorpll78 @mrsevans90 @kajjaka @kebabgirl67 @foxyjwls007 @luckydiorxoxo @just-chirpin @deandoesthingstome @mindingmyownbusiness @summersong69 @endofalldays01 @happydistraction @identity2212 @henryownsme @mysweetlittledesire @islacharlotte @cynic-spirit @mollymal @emily-roberts @mrs-degenerate @sweetandgentlecreature @paintlavillered @geralts-yenn @enchantedbytomandhenry @sillyrabbit81

[jjungkookislife]

I have my resignation letter ready lmao my husband said I can just change the date continuously until I have to give it 🤣

[ozzyfromthecafeteria]

y’know what. i feel like sharing so have a snippet from a big wip i’m working on currently. this one’s tilted static sroadtrip and i had an idea of the wyatt masons, quitter, and megan getting tossed out of the static into minneapolis and embarking on a roadtrip to seattle:

About 41 minutes out of Minneapolis, Megan turns into Monticello, trying to remember how to get to the Perkins restaurant. Everything’s eerily silent and empty, save for the radio playing Park It and the discussion about lamprey eels between Lev and Trip. Nines promptly searches for images of lamprey eels (fae got some service 20 minutes ago, so even with Minnesota appearing entirely deserted, someone must be around to be maintaining the cell towers) and Midnight shrieks.

“WHAT IS THAT?!” Di twists in her seat, eager to see what Midnight just screamed at. Jasmine flinches, startled awake from her nap.

“EWW!” Di yelps, swatting her arm and missing Nines’ phone. “Their mouths look so weird!”

“What?” Jasmine whispers, craning her head upwards. “What’s going on?”

“Be nice to them!” Trip defensively snaps. WY-8’s antennae flicks up and down, intrigued. “Their mouths are adapted to better help them latch onto their prey! Hey, quit giggling! I said stop!” Trip swipes lightly at Lev, who’s failing to suppress their laughter.

[honorthysalad]

Alright yall place your bets on who Yoshiki is going to strangle. I hope it’s maki

[onedirecton]

last night was the first night in about week where I had absolutely peace so I hope it continues 💗🫶

[e77y]

Trying to fix my resume ☝️🤓 Small problem: I sound like a loser no matter what

[petpluto]

A tv moment that unfortunately lives rent free in my head is Faith’s “What are you gonna do, B? Kill me? You become me.” line in Enemies. Because, no, Buffy won’t.

Shows in general, and BtVS in particular in this arc, do this whole, “the hero can’t kill the villain - that’s just as bad as what the villain is doing!” And it’s just not. I understand Xander’s line episodes later in Graduation Day Pt 1, when he says, “I don’t want to lose you”, because killing someone, even someone who is hell bent on destroying the world and cannot be held by the normal judicial system, would definitively hurt and possibly change Buffy at a core level. Because killing people - hurting people - has been shown time and again to be something Buffy mourns deeply. But killing Faith in Enemies, killing her in Graduation Day, killing her in season 4’s This Year’s Girl, isn’t the same as Faith killing indiscriminately or for the purpose of ending the world. Faith tried to release Angelus. Faith is down with the Mayor’s plans. Faith is pissed off that after those things, Buffy had the *nerve* to fight back. It’s Buffy’s job to protect humanity from the things normal human systems can’t handle, and evil Slayers fall under that purview. The show makes the argument, through Faith and then a bit through Xander, that this is different, because Faith is different. Because killing Faith puts Buffy on a path to, what, killing more people? But that’s just not true. Faith didn’t continue killing because she accidentally killed Allen Finch and got a taste for it. She keeps killing because she - at this point - is a nihilistic character who doesn’t see or understand the good in the world. She has been failed time and time again, by her family, by the system, by The Watcher’s Council - and her rage and fear and self-loathing brings her down this path. But that’s not Buffy’s path. If Buffy kills Faith here, it hurts Buffy. It might even destroy a real and vulnerable part of her. But she won’t become Faith. She’ll still be a hero - just maybe one who won’t like herself as much. And, hey, we got that in season 6, so.

[milflewis]

not kyle sending me weird men in soccer vids when mark is watching pacific rim which means i need to rewatch it and dive properly back into my google docs au

[cynical-cemeteries]

LOOK HOW CUTE SHE IS STOPPPPP