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tjwritesfanfics · 21 days ago

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I’m not jealous (Aaron Hotchner)

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Fem!Reader

Summary: Aaron was going to show you how not jealous he is.

Rating: Mature 18+ only

Warnings: Jealous Aaron (though he is adamant he isn't), Reader taking advantage of a sweet guy, manhandling, Dom!Aaron, condescending, being called good girl (which made me MELT), Aaron spanks her once, fingering, overstimulation, Aaron is a sweet aftercare guy

Words: 2.9k

Main Masterlist | Criminal Minds Masterlist

Jealousy can be very ugly.

It can also be very hot. And on Aaron Hotchner it was sexy as hell. The way his jaw clenched, his eyes darken, and the air around him just got thick with tension you knew about, but the line was never crossed.

You had feelings for Aaron, everyone in the BAU knew it, he knew it, and he still had yet to decide what, and if, he felt for you.

You always tried to push him, loving the way he seemed so close to losing it only to watch him attempt to reel himself in. Once you had danced with a guy at the bar after a long case and your eyes never left Aaron. No matter how many times the guy dipped his head to kiss (more like slobbered with how drunk he was) your neck, you continued to stare at him, surprised that the glass he was holding didn’t break with the force of his grip, his knuckles already white.

And when you decided you were done with your dance partner, you attempted to leave only to have him get aggressive. You knew you could fit him off if need be, but it was much more satisfying when Aaron strode over and introduced him to that amazing right hook of his.

It was even better when he took you roughly by the waist and led you out of the bar.

In his car, you tried to push a little more, wanting him to finally admit something to you.

“God,” You sigh and brush your hand down his arm, admiring the way they flex under your touch, “You are so hot when you are jealous.”

“I’m not jealous.”

“There is no need to deny the chemistry between us, Aaron. We aren’t on the clock so you aren’t my Unit Chief, and I am not your underling, though I would so love to be under you.” You purr, warmth flooding your as his tongue darts out to wet his lower lip, your eyes following the motion longingly.

It would be easier if he would just give in to what was going on between the two of you.

But sadly, that was where the night ended for you.

Aaron took you back to your apartment, walked you up (like the gentleman he was), and left you there all alone.

Over the next few months you tried again and again to prove there was something between you, not only physically, but emotionally as well.

Pulling him out of his office for lunch or bringing it to him, just to make sure he would eat. Putting sticky notes on his monitor or his desk with little encouragements and reminders since you knew he could get too far into his own head and needed some help out.

And it wasn’t like he didn’t do things for you.

Bringing you coffee, made just to your liking, at the beginning of the shift or when you run low on your own coffee. He always seemed to know when you needed your fix. He also would save you a seat on the plane, the one next to the window because he knows you like to look out at the clouds during long flights.

“When we land, Y/n, Reid and I will go to the police station to set up. Morgan, you and Emily check out the crime scene.”

Aaron dished out the rest of the orders as the plane started to descend. Honestly after he told you where you were going to be, which of course was with him because he always seemed to think he needed to keep an eye on you, something you couldn’t decide if was out of how similar your skill sets are or because he has a constant need to be near you, you stopped listening.

You were certain that it was both. You knew Aaron wouldn’t sacrifice the case or the people involved just for a romantic feeling towards you.

Once you landed and got to the police station, everything seemed to flash by in a whirlwind.

You barely had any time to focus on anything other than catching the asshole that was killing women.

“You seem to be running into the ground, Agent.”

Officer Danny Grant was such a little cutie and seemed to immediately take a liking to you.

“I’ll rest when we catch this guy.” You reach for your cup of awful cop coffee, even though it was the only thing keeping you going at the moment, but frowned when you found the cup empty.

Cursing, you turn away from the board to get more.

“Here.” Grant offered you another cup, his face a little flushed and a smile on his lips. “I noticed you were low. I don’t know how you take it so I just made it black. If you need any creamer or sugar I can get it for you.”

“Thanks, Grant.” You smiled and took the cup. The warmth of it not only warming your hands, but your heart a little as well. Usually Aaron would bring you coffee, but this case seemed to take a toll on him, which you remind yourself you would have to check on him later. Now that someone else noticed and cared enough to bring you something so small, yet so vital, was sweet.

You take a sip of the black coffee, wishing it was sweeter, but the jolt of bitterness was the wake up you needed.

“I usually like it sweet, but black is fine. It’s just what I need.”

Grant continued to stick to your side, helping with the case whenever he could and bringing you more coffee (this time with a side of sugar). He was actually very helpful and you enjoyed the company of him, conversation and ideas bouncing easily.

Aaron on the other hand didn’t like the attention you were getting from the young, wide eyed officer.

He couldn’t stand the fact that he was distracting you from the case at hand (even though he wasn’t actually), the way you laughed when he said something you deemed funny, but it wasn’t, and the thing he hated the most was the smile you beamed at him when he brought you more coffee.

The smile you usually only gave him. Why were you giving it to this guy? Even when the group went out and you flirted with other men, knowing that it would get a rise out of him (though he would never admit it out loud) you never gave them that kind smile, the one that made your nose scrunch up so adorably.

It would be so easy for Aaron to go over there. He can imagine himself pulling you away from Grant. It wasn’t like he didn’t know how you felt pressed against his own body. The amount of nights he had to pull himself away from you, unable to cross that line, the line between boss and subordinate. A line that he’s tiptoed since the first time he saw you.

If only it was that simple to give into you.

A few hours later, you could feel your steam running out and your eyes drooping, no matter how much coffee you drank.

“There hasn’t been any new information.” Aaron’s voice woke you just before your head hit the conference table for the second time that night, “Let’s call it a night and look at this in the morning with fresh eyes.”

“No no,” you whine, failing to lift your eyelids, “I can keep going.”

“Agent Hotchner is right. Come on, let's get you to the hotel.”

Just as Grant reached for you, Aaron was quick to his feet, striding over to you with only a few steps and grabbing your shoulder before Grant could. “I have her.” Aaron lifted you up, one hand resting under both of your legs and the other on your back, smirking at Grant as you wrap your arms around his neck and snuggle into him.

The look of shock on the officer’s face was sickeningly satisfying.

Never would Aaron be this bold, especially in front of others, but he couldn’t help himself. He couldn't just let this man touch you. Not after spending all day watching his poor attempts at flirting.

You could, and probably would, be upset with him tomorrow.

Aaron lifted his chin, daring others to say anything as he made his way through the precinct with you tucked in his arms. Once you were outside, you push your face into his neck subconsciously, inhaling his scent and sending a shiver through him, thankful that at least some part of you waited until you were out of sight to get clingy with him.

“You are,” You yawn, lips brushing against his skin,”so hot when you are jealous.”

“I am not jealous.”

All you did was hum in response as you drift off to sleep in his arms.

For the rest of the case you stuck to Grant every chance you got, barely paying Aaron any attention.

He knew you were doing it on purpose. You knew he knew that you knew you were doing it on purpose.

Thankfully the team was able to wrap up the case and it was only one night left before you left.

No more case. No more reason to stay in California. No more Grant.

Aaron wonders if he should be as happy as he was as he pressed the button for your floor on the elevator. He doesn’t have much time to think about it when a minute later the elevator door opens and he sees Grant standing at your door, leaning against the open door with you.

“So now that the case is over, do you want to get dinner before you leave? I’m sure hotel food isn’t as good as a good burger at this little dive I know down the street.”

You giggle at his forwardness. While you do love and want Aaron, turning down a free meal from a cute man before you never see him again couldn’t hurt, right?

“You know a little dive? Is it a ‘California delicacy?’”

Grant leaned in, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “Oh absolutely.”

Rage and jealousy flows through Aaron, his jaw and fists clenched. His legs carried him towards you before his brain could catch up.

No more games.

In a flash, Aaron grabbed Grant by the collar of his shirt, yanking him back and away from you.

“A Aaron?!” You squeak as the man pushes you into your hotel room, closing and locking the door behind you.

His hands grab your wrists, tugging and trapping them above your head, the air leaving you completely as his lips crash against yours.

The months and months of tension finally exploded within you, arching your hips to meet him, gasping when he grips your wrists tighter in warning.

“You really can’t resist flirting can you?” Aaron’s voice may have been calm, almost bored, but his eyes betrayed the fire, the anger he held. “You just love to rile me up.”

“I thought,” you moan when he moves to kiss your neck, “you weren’t jealous.”

His laugh is condescending, one of his hands snaking down to your side while the other held tight. This was the Aaron Hotchner you wanted, the one you knew he could be if you just pushed right, but now that he was here you didn’t quite know how to handle him.

Not that you would let him know. Not as your body shivers when he rests his hand on your waist, nails digging through the material of your jeans.

“You and I both know I am not. Why be jealous when your body is so truthful with me? It tells me everything,” His smirk widens as he cupped your cunt and you whine, subconsciously grinding against his hand, seeking the dull pleasure you could get through the two layers of fabric separating you, “I need to know. It is an open book for me.”

You want to cry when Aaron withdraws from you, only proving his point further. God you want him. More than absolutely anything.

“Now be a good girl and get on the bed. I want you naked and on all fours by the time I get out of the bathroom.”

“T The bathr…” Your words die on your lips when Aaron gives you a pointed stare, one that has you clenching around nothing, before he walks away from you and into the bathroom, leaving the door slightly ajar, almost as if daring you to disobey him.

As much as you wanted to, just to see what he would do to you, you decided that would be for a different time. Quickly shedding your top and jeans, you obey like the good girl you want to be for him.

You wait for what feels like an eternity, but was probably only five minutes before you could hear Aaron’s footsteps coming out of the bathroom. Instinct has you turning your head to look at him, “Don’t you fucking move.” but his harsh voice has you snapping it back and a shiver running down your spine.

Or was that his fingers that danced along your back? Honestly you didn’t know, but you didn;t have time to ponder it before he splayed his open palm across one of your ass cheeks, drawing back and coming down with a swift smack.

You moan, the sudden motion causing you to fall forward, your arms giving out.

“Just a little taste of what happens when you play with me.” Aaron rubbed the spot where you were sure was going to be slightly red from the force. “But I won’t give you more since you seemed to follow my orders like such a good girl.”

A whine escapes you at his words. You wanted to hear them over and over. To be praised by him over and over. His fingers ghost from your ass straight to your center, pressing and feeling, but never fully sinking into you.

“Oh fuck,” You squirm under his carful attention, “Please. Please Aaron!”

“Please what? How will I know what you want without words?”

You cry as the tip of his finger comes dangerously close to your clit only for him to pull it away just as quickly. You knew what he was doing. He was teasing you just like you had teased him, almost like a form of sick payback, and though he did have the upper hand, you felt like you had already won.

You had him in bed.

“Please touch me, Aaron. I need your hands on me, in me, anything.”

“There we go.”

The reward for your confession was sweet. His fingers circled your clit, applying the right amount of pressure that had you moaning loudly. Aaron continued to work you, leaving your brain in a haze of pleasure which only intensified when he finally moved to sink one finger into your core.

“Fuck..” Aaron curses, his finger setting a steady pace, thrusting in and out of you, admiring the embarrassingly wet noises your cunt makes. “You are so wet.”

You moan when he slides a second finger in, then a third, the stretch burning oh so deliciously.

He’s got you at his mercy, hips rocking back to meet his thrusts, drool pooling on the hotel sheets below you. “Aaron!” You cry, the coil in your gut pushing and pushing you closer to the edge, threatening to break and toss you into a sweet release.

“Let go.”

With his permission, and his fingers brushing that sweet spot that made you see stars, you do.

You scream as your orgasm crashes into you. If the outside could hear you, you didn’t care. All that mattered was Aaron, his name the only thing occupying your mind and the only thing spilling out of your mouth as if it was the only name you knew.

And right now it was.

Aaron continued to thrust his fingers into you, helping you through your orgasm until you tried to pull away from him, but his other hand gripped your waist, pulling you back and onto his fingers.

“Aaron!” You squirmed. It was too much, but you didn’t want him to stop as his fingers expertly stroked and thrust, bringing you to a second orgasm in record time. Tears prick your eyes, your body shaking, feeling weightless and not here.

You didn’t even notice when Aaron carefully turned you on your back, brushing your hair back from your face and kissing your forehead. He treated you like procaline, peppering kisses all over your face until you came back to him. “There’s my girl.”

His girl. The thought had you smiling like a lovesick fool, which was appropriate because you were. No longer were the steel eyes and lustful gaze, but soft brown eyes filled with an adoration you weren’t used to seeing. You swallow and reach for him. Aaron wrapped you in his arms and held you close.

“Hey.”

“Hi.”

Now what? Was he going to continue? Fuck you? Or, and something you hoped he wouldn’t do, leave you.

Aaron, the ever brilliant profiler he was, could see the war going on in your head before you could speak. He leaned down to kiss you, hand gently rubbing shapes on your upper thigh.

“Don’t worry. I will be right here for more when you wake.”

You feel a little guilty about not returning the favor, but Aaron quickly shuts that down. He grabs the hotel comfort and pulls it up, covering the two of you, tucking you into his chest. Your eyes feel heavy from the force of cumming twice (and Aaron’s skilled fingers) that you couldn’t seem to argue, eyes closing as sleep takes over.

You definitely would make him feel good when you wake up.

(Banners by cafekitsune)

#aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fanfiction #aaron hotchner x reader #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds x reader #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotch fanfiction #aaron hotchner smut #criminal minds smut

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mrderondncefloor · 3 months ago

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new to town.

wolverine (logan howlett x f!reader)

summary: logan is new to town and a frequent patron at the bar you work at.

wc: 1.5k

warnings/tags: MDNI. porn with plot. lumberjack!logan. reader has no description besides hair that is long enough to push behind ear. logan looks at readers cleavage. public sex kinda?? size kink if you squint. unspecified age gap. dirty talk. fingering. logan is a MUNCH. unprotected sex (wrap it up!). facial. i think this is it but lmk if i missed something!!

authors note: pls like reblog and follow if you enjoy!! also leave a request for my future logan writing!

you remember the first time he came in the bar like it was yesterday. a face you’d never seen before, god knows you would’ve remembered him if you had. he was handsome, gauging the scene with a slow look around the bar, most eyes fixed on him. your town was small, quiet, tucked away in the mountains, passerby’s few and far between which meant he stood out like a sore thumb. that was a month ago now, and in the time since the handsome stranger has become a regular at the bar, sat at his same barstool a couple nights a week. he kept to himself, only muttering a quiet “thanks” for his drinks before he’d leave, a generous tip tucked under his empty bottle. you’d heard from your coworker june that he was a logger with her husband- as if he needed to be any more attractive than he already was. the bell strung up above the door rang when it pushed open, heat flushing through you upon sight of him. you didn’t even know his name but had a physical reaction to the sight of him. his work boots thud against the floor as he made his way up to the counter, you already had a beer open by time he slid onto the stool and for a second he pauses, looking up at you then back at his drink. “m’that predictable already?” he asks, bottle grasped by the neck and brought to his lips. it seemed so small in his large hands but you’re careful not to let your eyes linger long, wiping down the back of the bar. “you come in three times a week for the same drink, figured i was right in assuming.. which, by the looks of it, i was.” you nod. he breathes out a laugh, “tracking my schedule too?” “take a look around. i know every regulars schedule.” you muse, motioning around the almost empty bar. even on the busiest nights you could still find an empty seat. he shrugs his shoulders as if to say fair enough. “know enough about me already and i haven’t even got your name?” he cocks a brow, watching as you turn from him to grab a bottle off the back shelf for another patron that stepped up to the counter beside his stool. you fill the bottom of the glass and slide it across the counter to dave, a regular who worked at the only gas station in town, looking between the both of you before he walked back to his table. you share your name, leaned against the back of the bar, pressing your breasts together with your forearms folded against the polished wood. “and you are?” “took you long enough to ask. logan.” his bottle meets the counter again with a soft thud and you watch as his tongue licks out at his wet bottom lip. it’s brief but you catch the way his eyes dip lower to take a glimpse at your pushed out cleavage, his mouth curling up at the corners.

since that first night he walked into the bar logan has never stayed until closing, that is, until tonight. jesus, maybe you had been tracking his schedule. the bar cleared out early tonight, and as you switched off the open sign in the window you caught sight of his reflection where he’s sat at the bar, flannel stretched across his broad back where he’s sat nursing his last drink of the night. “so what brought you out here anyway?” you ask, room falling silent when you unplug the jukebox for the night, floors creaking beneath you as you made your way around the bar, picking up glasses and empty baskets of food. he shifts on the stool, turned to face you, leaned back slightly against the counter with his arms crossed over his chest and his thighs slightly spread. “it’s quiet. i needed quiet.” he answers after a second of thought, brow furrowed in. “well you found the right place.” you tuck a piece of hair behind your ear. “ain’t this the part where you kick me out, bub?” he checks his watch and you look back at him from across the bar, “well maybe i just like the company? that too hard to believe?” you muse and logan shakes his head with a quiet laugh, “promise m’not the company you should want to keep.” you hum in response, bent over into a booth to grab a couple napkins left behind. logan’s eyes fixed on the swell of your ass as you bent forward, trailing back up your spine when you stood upright again. when he came here he told himself that he’d keep out of trouble but fuck you were asking for it. “seem like fine company to me.” you shrug, turning back to him with a smile curled on your lips, looking sweeter than ever. a true test of his patience. “that right?” he leaves the stool with a deep sigh, sauntering closer around the tables that stand between the two of you.

your pulse is incessant, pounding harder with each step he drew closer until his taller frame stood before you. “guess there’s one reason i might be decent company.” your head tilts with curiosity, lips parted to question what that reason is but he cuts you off with a hard kiss before you could get the words out. your hands slide up over his shoulders, coming up into his hair as he stepped closer into you, back of your thighs knocking the table behind you. you might as well be weightless with the swiftness he has while lifting you onto the table, hips drawn towards the edge so they’re flush with his own. your hands push at the flannel he wore, feeling the warmth of his bare arms beneath his t-shirt that you claw at next. “easy, girl. m’goin’ to give you what you want.” he nods, giving your thigh a firm squeeze before he comes back to your lips, swallowing hard breaths you exhaled. his fingers work at the button of your jeans, lips moving over your jaw as he tugged the pair down your thighs, discarded thoughtless on the floor. you shouldn’t want this as bad as you do, on the table at your job with a man whose name you leaned mere hours ago but as he knelt down between your legs any comprehensive thought went out the window, laying back against the table as his tongue licked a slow strip against your core. “logan,” you gasp, reaching a hand into his dark hair, a low groan muffled against your pussy when you tug. the way he eats at you is unlike anything you’ve ever experienced, his tongue desperately rolling against your clit while he sunk two fingers inside, slowly thrusting inside you. you choke for air between moans, chest heaving as your nails dig into his arm that had reached up to pull down the front of your tank top, bare breast engulfed by the warmth of his palm. the feeling rips you from the inside out, thighs trembling as you come undone under the assault of his tongue against your swollen clit and the plunge of his thick fingers combined. “atta girl.” he grins, pulling himself up from between your thighs, glistening fingers already tugging at his belt. the metal clanks and the tug of his zipper follows, “c’mere. turn around, bub.” he nods, watching as you stand from the table with wobbly legs, hands pressed to the tabletop to steady your yourself, ass arched out. he fills you slow, your hands grasping at the table as your head drops forward. “fuck, logan. s’so big.” you cry and his mouth curls up to a slow grin, “ain’t many boys your own age here to fill you up. guess i’ll have to do the job. could tell you been wantin’ me to fuck you anyway, girl. smelled it on you first time i walked in this place. desperate.” he shook his head, rocking his hips into yours with a hand held around the middle of your throat. “what’d your boss say f’he knew his best bartender was gettin’ fucked on his table while she’s still on the clock?” his brows sink in a furrow, looking up at the reflection of you both in the glass, pulling your hips back into his hard thrusts. your vision goes blurry as you watch yourself, tears welling up in the corners, rolling down over your cheeks slowly as he fucks into you. “it’s so good, logan, fuck.” you whine, desperately pushing back against him. “takin’ it so fuckin’ good,” logan groaned, gritting his jaw as his head rolled back against his shoulders, the soft slap of skin filling the room. you’re a mess when the second orgasm rips through you, legs threatening to give out beneath you as they tremble, clawing hard at the arm logan has around you which earns a hiss from him in response. “onto your knees, bub.” he nods, drawing his hips back from yours and and wraps a hand around himself, jerking himself as you sunk to the floor in front of him. he grabbed your jaw with his free hand, long spurts of cum landing on your tongue as a low growl rumbles out the back of his throat, forehead creased with a furrow. he breathes hard, watching as you swiped his cum from the corners of your lips onto your tongue. “still think m’fine company, bub?” he asked with a grin and you nod. “perfect company.”

#logan howlett x you #logan howlett x reader #logan howlett fanfiction #logan howlett smut #xmen x reader #x men fanfic #logan howlett #wolverine x reader #wolverine smut #deadpool and wolverine

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itneverendshere · 8 hours ago

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Hii i love the bitchy!pogue!reader series and i would love to know how they first hooked up again, like what led them to keep going after their first night together. That's all, thx in a advance if you do it, i love your writing

the way i ran to write this lmao, thank you for the request ❤️ let's just say it wasn't planned at alll....it was fate👀

in spite of myself - drabble

pairing: bitchy!pogue!reader x rafe

you swore the first time was the last.

you were simply… curious. you wanted to figure out just how far you could push his buttons without him taking it out on you.

you got your answer. you went to that party with the sole intent of pissing him off, but you hadn’t planned on ending up in his bed—not that you’d ever complain. but that was it.

you’d gotten your taste, of course you weren't expecting to run into him so...soon.

you’d learned to play along for these little trips into kookland. your cheap dress, bought solely to get you through the gates, hugged you a little too close—but that was the point, wasn’t it? you made a show of adjusting the neckline, scanning the room with that perfected boredom.

the moment you spotted him across the room, you nearly snorted, because of course he was here.

rafe, in all his buttoned-up glory. hair slicked back like he’d asked his barber for the "douchebag deluxe," wearing a shirt that probably cost as much as your entire car. he looked so at ease among his kind, you wanted to pat him on the head and give him a treat.

bingo.

he was pretending not to see you, standing there with some stuffy old kook in khakis so aggressively white they probably had a staff meeting dedicated to their upkeep.

but you could spot it: the clench in his jaw, his fingers twitching around his glass.

honestly, it was too easy. you’d barely taken a few steps in his direction, and his grip tightened like he was trying not to crush the glass just at the sight of you.

aww. you hadn’t come here for him, but the opportunity was irresistible, how could you say no to that face?

you took your time, internally giddy at how his stiff he looked the closer you got. you let out a soft, exaggerated sigh as you finally slid up next to him at the bar, taking your time, letting your eyes glide over his shoulders and back down to those broad, broad arms.

god, look at those arms, you thought.

this idiot must curl yachts for fun. absolutely absurd.

his gaze snapped to you, “what the hell are you doing here?” he gritted out, sending a delightful shiver down your spine.

poor thing, always so snappy.

you brought a hand to your chest, going for maximum innocence.

“who, me?” you blinked, leaning in with a soft, honey-dripping sigh. “just networking with the local elite. isn’t that what i’m supposed to do if i want to ‘rise above my station’?” you savored the horror flashing across his face.

rafe looked personally offended, like you’d just announced you were taking up golf, while you let your eyes drop to the line of his shoulders, lingering just a little too long on his chest before dropping.

slowly, slowly.

his face twisted like he was in pain, and he leaned back, crossing his arms over his chest, protecting himself from the way you were very clearly undressing him with your eyes.

“cut that shit out,” he ground out, “i know what you’re doing.”

you raised an eyebrow, “doing what?” you shot him a wide-eyed, who, me? look, letting your gaze dip again. “i’m not doing anything.”

his face flushed as he hissed, “you’re doing it right now! act normal for once.”

he pulled away from you as if your pogue germs might rub off on him, but you’d seen that look on his face before.

“honestly, if you didn’t want attention cameron, maybe don’t wear that. kind of a slutty choice, don’t you think?”

his neck flushed deep red as he scowled. “excuse me?”

you shrugged, “just saying. last time, you had a lot to say about my outfit, didn’t you?”

“you’re fucking insane. leave me alone.”

you smirked, leaning closer, “oh, baby, i’ve already got what i wanted from you,” you purred. “unless, of course, you’re offering again?”

his jaw tensed, and he looked away as if even looking at you would ruin his day. but he was still here, wasn’t he?

“don’t flatter yourself. i’m done with you,” he muttered.

you shot him a wicked grin, “flatter myself?” you let out an exaggerated laugh, turning heads nearby. “i’m here on a date.”

rafe’s smirk dropped, and he cast a quick, possessive look around the room before moving his attention back to you.

“a date?” he repeated as if he couldn’t believe the words coming out of your mouth.

you nodded as you pointed toward the back, where your “date”—some poor kook with a summer tan and daddy’s credit card—stood waiting near the hors d’oeuvres table, oblivious.

“did you think i came here just for you?” you tilted your head, letting the words sting. “i don’t do repeats, country club. got what i wanted, remember?”

he looked like he was about to set the place on fire, blue eyes narrowing as he glared at your so-called date. you could sense the gears turning in his head. god, this was just too easy.

“maybe you should run along, hmm?” you said, your voice light and mocking. “can’t imagine what your country club buddies would think, seeing you all worked up over a pogue.” you flashed him a dazzling smile before tossing a wink, then spun on your heel, leaving him there seething.

you could feel his stare burning into your back as you sashayed over to your “date.” this was way too fun.

lunch was mind-numbing, but free, so you were perfectly okay tolerating the “date”—or, as you preferred to call it, the idiot with a wallet—while he droned on about his family’s fleet of yachts or some bullshit about generational wealth. you nodded along, not listening as he bragged. as if you even gave a fuck.

when he finally paused to shove more overpriced pasta into his mouth, you decided you needed a break from the snooze-fest.

“excuse me, i’ll just pop to the ladies’ room,” you murmured, batting your lashes like the good, sweet little pogue he thought he’d bagged for the afternoon. as soon as you were clear of him, you rolled your eyes so hard it was a miracle they didn’t get stuck.

the second you got into the quiet of the bathroom, you let out a dramatic sigh of relief, shaking your head.

what a fucking bore.

you’d honestly rather be anywhere else—well, except maybe with rafe, since he’d probably drag you back to the ninth circle of pogue-hating hell.

as you were checking your lipstick in the mirror, the door swung open, and you didn’t even need to look up to know who it was.

“um, excuse you?” you snapped, eyebrows shooting up. “i know you have a thing for following me around, but the ladies’ room? have you lost your fuckin’ mind?”

rafe didn’t answer.

he stalked forward, looking pissed as he backed you up against the sink, boxing you in without so much as a second thought. there was something about the way his forearms flexed when he did that.

ridiculous, he most likely got pumped up just pouring a glass of water.

“what the hell do you think you’re doing here?” he growled, his voice dripping with disdain.

a laugh bubbled up before you could stop it. oh my god.

you clamped a hand over your mouth, but the sound came anyway, echoing off the fancy-ass tiles. “oh my god, what the actual fuck is wrong with you?”

he leaned in even closer. “you think this is funny?”

“funny?” you snorted, crossing your arms. “it’s hilarious. i’m here for lunch. you know, food? the stuff people eat? he offered, and i like free shit. it’s that simple.”

“you’re doing this just to piss me off,” he accused.

“oh, get over yourself,” you scoffed. “you think i’m obsessed with you or something? i wasn’t even thinking about you until you came barging in here like a lunatic.” you leaned back, giving him a brazen, challenging look. “can you move, by the way? i was enjoying the break.”

his nostrils flared, but you didn’t even care. if he wanted to lose his shit, fine—he was the one who walked in here. you stared him down, totally unfazed, holding his gaze until he broke it.

“careful,” you added, your voice mocking and low. “if i didn’t know better, i’d say you were jealous. because, i gotta be honest, you look like you’re about two seconds away from—”

“shut up,” he growled, his face inches from yours, his lips brushing your ear as he spoke. “you show up here, flaunting yourself like you don’t remember exactly how last week ended, like you weren’t begging me to—”

“oh please,” you interrupted, ignoring the pleasure that traveled up your spine. “let’s not rewrite history.”

his hand gripped your cheeks, blunt nails pressing in from either side as he pulled you close, capturing your jaw to hold you still. the pressure of the squeeze pulled your pouty lips together, forcing you to look up with wide eyes.

“stop talking."

you tried to smirk around his grip, feeling the bite of his fingers, but your words came out muffled.

“what’s wrong, country club? can’t handle a little conversation?”

“just can’t help yourself, can you?”

you could hardly nod, your eyes gleaming with defiance as you let out a small, mocking hum of agreement.

his hands slid down from your cheeks to cradle your jaw, fingers firm as his mouth pushed against yours. you giggled into the kiss, entirely too pleased with yourself as you tangled your fingers into his hair, pulling until he groaned.

“this is the last time,” his voice was ragged against your lips, but the words sounded half-hearted, he was trying to convince himself.

you smirked, pulling back just enough to catch your breath, tilting your head to test him, see if he’d let you go. instead, his hand was already sliding up your neck, his thumb tracing the line of your lips, holding you right there.

“you think you’re so clever, don’t you?” he whispered, breathless. “think you can just look at me like that, say whatever you want…”

“who says i can’t?” you purred, lips brushing against his as you taunted, “if you don't want this, maybe you should go.”

his grip tightened, a curse slipping past his pretty lips, streaked with the deep red of your lipstick, glossy with both your spit.

and fuck, did he look good like that—disheveled, unguarded, his face painted with your lipstick like a silent confession of just how far he’d let himself go with you despite his fucked morals.

rafe let out a shaky breath, his forehead resting against yours as he muttered, “last time, swear to god.”

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kitashousewife · 1 year ago

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lifeguard!atsumu who picked up this gig as a side thing, something to help out his mom's friend who needed help at the public pool.

and boy is he loving it.

he sits in the sun all day and has developed quite the golden brown tan, and his hair has lightened more if possible. he's got free access to the pool at all times, free trips to the snack bar, and endless fun. he's everyone's favorite lifeguard. from the ladies in the water aerobics class that he teaches twice a week, to the little kids in the toddler pool, to kids at the diving boards, he earns excited smiles everywhere he goes.

atsumu thinks that if volleyball didn't work out, he would have been perfectly fine doing this. today he sits at his post near the shallow end of the pool, relaxed and content with his ray-bans sliding down his nose as chlorine fills the air.

and the best part? you're on shift today too.

you began lifeguarding shortly after atsumu agreed to help, meaning the two of you spent a lot of time together during training exercises and certifications. he's loved every second.

his favorite part? driving you absolutely nuts.

the concrete under your feet is almost too much to handle as you pad toward your station for the next fifteen minutes. your fingers pull at the straps of your red lifeguard suit, rubbing the last bit of sunscreen in. the sharp blow of a whistle grabs your attention and you stop in your tracks.

"woah!" you stop dead in your tracks when the voice of none other than miya atsumu carries across the blue water. "no runnin', sweetheart." he smirks at you over his sunglasses, lazily spinning the whistle around his finger. you roll your eyes and continue on, trying to ignore your very pesky, but incredibly handsome coworker.

as you climb up to your spot, you can't help but look at him. sweet smile on his lips while he speaks to a little girl in the pool, hair curling slightly from the water he must have dipped in earlier. his strong arms and abs even more defined from the hours of the sun he's gotten.

while he is annoying, he's quite nice to look at.

the time goes quickly, being entertained at the various jumps at the diving boards. if it wasn't for atsumu's voice, you wouldn't have known it was time to switch.

as he saunters over to you, he's greeting the moms, kids, and babies that are in his path. everyone smiles at him while he passes by, but when he gets to your chair he's met with a rather unamused face.

"yer savior is here," he sighs, sliding his water bottle into the now vacant cup next to the seat. "oh c'mon, nothin'?"

the quip you had ready to go dies on your heavy tongue as you finally face him.

he looks up at you as you shade him from the sun and you take in the little details on his face. his eyes, almost glowing gold from the sun. his cheeks are dusted with freckles, and a couple flecks of white from the sunscreen he failed to rub in a few seconds earlier.

"be careful with this group," you nod your head towards the boys clambering over to the diving boards. "they've been pushing it."

"i'll be fine," he waves you off, watching you as you climb down. "yer just too hard on 'em."

"because it's my job, atsumu. not all of us spend our shift messing around."

just as he rolls his eyes, a boy jumps off the diving board, breaking several pool rules. the two of you blow your whistles when he emerges from the water.

"no jumping backward!"

"awesome jump! 8/10!"

the two of you look at each other, you with annoyance tugging at your furrowed brows, and atsumu with a wide smile, tongue in cheek as he shakes his head at you.

"just as i was sayin'," he pokes your cheek before climbing up to his spot. "yer no fun. now run along, i'm sure the toddler pool is more yer pace, angel."

you bite your tongue, huffing as you shove the red lifeguard floatie into his abdomen before you walk away. atsumu can't help but laugh as you leave, satisfied with his efforts of riling you up.

the rest of the day flies by for both of you, and even with atsumu's incessant teasing and lackadaisical approach to lifeguarding, you're able to make it through your shift with only a couple pet names and attempted pranks.

once the pool gates are shut for the day, you and your fellow lifeguards work on getting everything closed up and ready to go for tomorrow. unfortunately, you got stuck with the harder jobs, keeping you longer than you hoped. just as you push the supply closet shut, a certain blonde appears from behind it.

"easy day today?"

"the sun has set miya, you don't need those stupid sunglasses anymore,"

he slides them up to the top of his head, feathering his hair slightly at the same time. "what? ya don't think i look cool in 'em?"

you sigh and pull a t-shirt over your suit and gather your things.

"no, i'm not one of your water aerobic ladies. are you done so i can turn the lights off?"

he snorts, reaching to snatch your key out of your fingers. "i'll be done when ya apologize,"

"apologize for what?" you're trying to hold back a smile as you finish packing up your things. "for you looking like a dork?"

atsumu gasps in fake hurt, clutching a crumpled MSBY tee to his chest. "yer so mean to me,"

you laugh for real now at the pout on his lips, staring a little longer as he puts his shirt on.

"i think you'll be okay," you flick off the lights and begin walking to the parking lot. "have a good night, miya."

"drive safe," he grins and walks towards the parking lot, but realizes that he grabbed your keys instead of his on the way out. he jogs ahead, the sandals on his feet slapping the warm pavement as he catches up to you.

"first ya insult my glasses, then ya steal my keys? didn't think ya would be so hurtful," he teases with stupid smirk on his lips.

"here you are," you walk towards him, dangling his keyring above your head. he reaches to grab it, but you pull it away at the last second. an innocent prank has now pulled the two of you close, torsos touching. atsumu's lips part, heart racing at just how close the two of you are under the flickering parking lot light.

he tries so hard to think of something smart to say, but his brain turns to mush as he stares at your lips. you pull away first, catching your own breath as atsumu laughs nervously.

"s-sorry 'bout that," he manages to stutter out, unlocking his car as quick as he can. you're shocked at his flustered state. who knew the atsumu miya would get worked up over a little prank?

"no worries," you turn to walk away, but can't help but smile at the chance to finally get in the last word for once.

"atsumu, be sure to wear more sunscreen tomorrow. your cheeks are a little pink!"

you wave at him as you get into your car, and he groans from the driver's seat, embarrassed at both his reaction and the fact that he couldn't get himself to kiss you when he had the chance.

#atsumu x reader #atsumu miya x reader #atsumu fluff #hq fluff #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu x reader #atsumu miya #miya atsumu #atsumu drabble

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roosterforme · 1 year ago

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Feelings Involved | Rooster x Reader

Summary: After months of dancing around your feelings, you're about to leave San Diego and Bradley behind. But on your last night in California, you realize you're not the only one with your heart on the line.

Warnings: Angst, smut and swearing

Length: 2500 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader

Check out my masterlist for more!

"You're so lucky, Chaser. Naval Air Station in Key West? Damn, that sounds even better than San Diego."

It took you a beat to realize that Phoenix was talking to you, and you had to force your gaze away from the man sitting at the bar to focus on her and Hangman. "Oh. Yeah. It's fine," you told her, barely able to return her smile as she handed you a shot.

But It wasn't fine. You didn't want to move to Key West. You didn't want to leave San Diego. Or him. But you had been here for nearly two years, and you'd never gone for it. You'd never made a move.

And neither had he.

"Not a chance," Hangman drawled. "One hurricane and you'll be California dreamin'."

You rolled your eyes at him. "Give me a little credit. I can probably stomach two hurricanes." You tapped your shot glass to his and downed your drink.

"You need a chaser, Chaser?" Rooster said from behind you.

The involuntary little shiver that you felt at the sound of his raspy voice made you realize that leaving for Florida in the morning was probably exactly what you needed.

When you glanced at him over your shoulder, his brown eyes looked intense. Focused. "No, Rooster. I'm a big girl. Do you need one?"

His lips quirked into a soft smile. "Do I need a Chaser? Maybe."

His warmth at your back did nothing to coax the chill out of your body. You and he had been doing this for months, inching closer to each other, but instead of so much as a kiss, he always inevitably pulled back. Shut it down before it started. You'd see him with a fling. Or suddenly he'd have a new girlfriend. He'd leave you alone in your feelings every single time.

"Do you want me to get you a Coke from Penny? Maybe a Sprite?" you asked him sweetly. But instead of laughing it off or pulling away, you felt his hand on your lower back.

He dipped his head a little closer to yours, voice pitched for your ears only. "That's not the kind of Chaser I want tonight."

Your lips parted slowly, drawing his eyes down to your mouth as you turned to face him. His hand stayed on your back, pulling you gently against him. Right in front of the others.

"What are you doing, Rooster?"

"Fuck," he whispered, swallowing hard. "I don't know." He looked like he was on the verge of panicking, so you tried to pull yourself out of his grasp. "No, stay here. Just...I..."

But you shook your head and tried your best to want to move away from him. "You can't do this tonight," you told him, your voice small and vulnerable. Your personality was neither of those things, and he knew that as well as you did.

"I should have done it different with you," he said with a self-deprecating little laugh that had you all mixed up inside.

"Bradley, why now? You're like a year too late to be doing this." Your heart swelled with hope at the same time tears started to prick your eyes. "It's not fair."

"You're not gone yet." And then you pulled yourself away from him, glaring over your shoulder as you walked past Phoenix and Hangman and toward the bar. But Bradley caught up to you right away. "I shouldn't have said that," he rasped, reaching for you again. "I'm sorry."

You pushed him away and stood up to your full height. "Fuck you, Rooster. I'm not fucking disposable."

"I know!" he said, getting in your face. "That's why I never told you how I feel."

A scathing retort was ready and waiting on your lips, but then his lips found their way there instead. His kiss was soft and tentative as you pushed him away with your palm on his chest, but almost instantly you gave in. Your fingers scrunched up the fabric of his tropical print shirt as you pulled him closer.

When you could feel the rough denim of his jeans against your bare thighs, he released your lips, leaving you dizzy. Bradley gently took your chin between his thumb and index finger until you snapped out of your daze. And then he said, "I'd tell you how I feel, but I don't want to make this harder."

You nodded gently, and his thumb skimmed along your skin until it was pressed to your bottom lip. And you heard Bradley whimper as you kissed the tip of his thumb. "Oh, god," you gasped.

And then his lips were back on yours, unrelenting as he used his long fingers to tip your face up to his. You dropped your empty shot glass onto the bartop and dug your fingers into his wavy hair. He eased his other hand down along your body as you pressed yourself against him. You felt his fingers graze your leg just below your shorts before his hand settled back up at your waist.

You wanted his hands everywhere. Was he even single? Did you even care?

When you pulled his bottom lip between yours, you could feel that he was getting hard, and you whined his name against his mouth.

"Bradley," you moaned. "Aren't you still dating that girl?"

"No," he grunted. "And even if I was, I'd call her right now and end it if that's what it took."

"You would?" you asked, tipping your head to the side as his lips found your neck. "For one night?"

"Yes," he promised, running his nose along your earlobe and making you shiver. "It's my fault. I should have told you that you meant something. But I've never been with someone I really care about before."

He was breathing heavier now, and you were in the middle of the Hard Deck with your fingers at the back of his neck and your leg wrapped around his thigh. He cared about you. You had one night left.

"Meet me in the bathroom," you whispered, and then he was easing himself away from you with a sad look on his face.

"I'm not meeting you in the bathroom, Chaser. That's not what this is."

"Yeah..." you told him. "You're right. Take me home with you."

His eyes went a little wide. "Yeah? You sure? Because this is about to mean something to me."

You paused for a moment to consider his words. You might never see him again. But after all this time wanting, you knew you needed to let yourself have just this one opportunity with him. You'd regret leaving the bar by yourself too much. "It already means something to me. Take me home with you."

Bradley tossed some cash on the bar and laced his fingers with yours. "Let's go," he whispered, kissing your forehead. And once you were outside in the cool air under the flickering streetlight, he pulled you close again. "God, baby, I'm so fucking stupid," he whispered, kissing you a little harder.

"Mmm," you moaned, sliding your arms around his neck and tasting the whiskey he had been sipping on. Your tongue teased his as he eased his hands up your shirt and spread his fingers along your back.

The two of you slowly made your way across the parking lot, stumbling and laughing softly, unwilling to let go of each other. "Can you forgive me?" he asked once he had you pushed up against his Bronco.

"Yeah," you told him, feeling tears in your eyes. He kissed your cheeks and your nose. "I can forgive you."

With one more soft kiss, he opened the door and helped you climb in. You scrambled across the seat and unlocked his door for him. And then he was inside with you, and you were kissing him as he started the engine. You weren't rushing this, and neither was he. He backed out of the parking spot and then took your hand in his as the radio filled the space with a song that was familiar to you.

Neither of you said anything as you played with his fingers and pressed kisses to his palm. He didn't live too far from the Hard Deck; you'd been to his house many times before with the others. But when he hurried around the Bronco once he was parked in the driveway, you let him pull you down into his arms. He carried you inside the front door while you kissed the scars on his cheek and dug your fingers back into his gorgeous hair.

As he carried you to his bedroom, you couldn't stop yourself. It was just the softest whisper, but you knew he heard you. "I'm going to miss you."

"Me too, baby," he promised, setting you on his bed, never letting you go. You managed to kick your shoes off with his big body on top of yours. And then those kisses. He had been holding back before, you were sure of that now. "You feel so good," he whispered, running his fingers along your cheek and around the back of your neck.

You chased his lips as you unbuttoned his shirt, needing to feel his skin all over your body. When he removed your top, you arched your back to help him, and then his lips were on your chest. He tossed your bra aside as well, tasting you everywhere. The feel of his lips and mustache on your breasts had your fingers stalling on his buttons, so you just tugged it over his head instead. Then he yanked off his undershirt, and you pulled him down to you.

"You're so warm," you told him, melting into his touch as his lips found yours again. As your hands glided up his arms to his shoulders, you rubbed yourself up along his hard length. All the friction of denim on denim had your head tipping back.

"Are you really going to let me love you like this, Chaser? I've been thinking about it for so long." He unzipped your shorts slowly, the sound of it making you wild for him.

"Yes," you groaned, squeezing your eyes shut and memorizing the feel of his hands on your waist and then hips as he pulled your shorts and underwear off. When you reached for the front of his jeans, he was already between your thighs, kissing his way down from your belly button to your pussy.

"Oh, Rooster," you gasped, propping yourself up on your elbows, but he was already there. Lips on your clit and tongue everywhere. "Oh."

"You're making me crazy," he promised, looking up at you. You let him lick and tease you until you were both panting with need. The gentle roll of your hips and the rub of his facial hair were enough to get you softly clenching.

"Bradley," you gasped at that first squeeze.

"Okay," he agreed, finally stripping off his jeans while you ran your fingers through his hair again. "Do I need a condom?"

"No." You pulled him on top of you as he pushed himself inside, and you moved along with his languid movements. He tipped your chin up, kissing your lips and swiping his tongue against yours. You body cradled him just right, and he was hitting every sweet spot inside as he rubbed along your clit. You held on as long as you could, looking up at his perfect face, but it felt like he knew exactly what to do.

"Oh," you whined, face scrunched in pleasure as he sucked in a breath and worked himself a little faster. Your fingers were tight in his hair as you shook. You pulsed around him. "So good."

And then you were cumming hard, right leg wrapped tight around his hip as you jerked up against his body.

"Look at you," he groaned, watching you come undone beneath him. "Fucking perfection."

And then he fucked you so good as you whined for him, filling you over and over again before he spilled himself inside you. You kissed him as he whispered your name, getting softer like a prayer against your skin. And then you let that bittersweet feeling hit you square in the chest.

You tried to hide your little sobs by turning away from him, but he knew. Bradley buried his face in the crook of your neck and kissed you there while your fingers drifted through his hair and down to his neck. You could feel the tears now as he said, "You're not disposable. You're special. I should have got over my fears so I could be with you." He kissed the tears away from your cheeks. "Please, please tell me you don't regret this."

"No," you told him, pulling his head down to your shoulder. "I don't regret it. I'm never going to regret it."

You were both quiet for a few minutes. He was still buried deep inside you, and you held your tears back as much as you could. "I've never done that with someone like you before," he whispered. "I've been too afraid to get close to someone and then leave them alone. I know I could lose myself in you, but you'd regret it if I didn't come back home from a deployment. Anyone would."

"Bradley-"

But he cut you off with his lips on yours, and then he said, "Will you stay with me? For the night? Longer?"

You nodded and sniffed. "I'll stay with you."

Your body fit perfectly with his, and he held you all night. When his hand came up to cup your cheek, he kissed your forehead. Every little movement of his body against yours had you scrambling to memorize the feel of him. And the way he smelled. And the way his sheets felt against your legs. Occasionally he would whisper your name, and you would kiss him before you both pretended you were going to sleep. And then he'd whisper for you again.

As the first early sunlight crept into his bedroom, Bradley pulled you closer to him as you shook your head. The urge to leave him before your tears fell kicked in, and you climbed out of his bed and started to gather your clothes and pull them on.

"Chaser," he whispered miserably. But you could barely look at him. "Will you call me or text me? Something?"

You wanted to. You really wanted to. "Bradley." Your voice was hoarse, and you knew you needed to leave, but when he reached for you, it was hopeless. You were in his arms one last time.

"Will you?" he asked, and you kissed him softly, savoring the feeling of your fingers threaded through his hair.

You met his eyes through your tears. "Maybe I'll see you again."

"Baby," he gasped as you pulled away from him.

And as he leaned back against his pillow with his palms pressed to his eyes, you whispered, "Goodbye, Rooster." And you ran from his room before you could turn back.

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

An angsty goodbye to what could have been. Thanks @mak-32 and @beyondthesefourwalls.

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yourfavoritewitchbitch · 11 months ago

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Badge Bunny - Part II

Gator Tillman x Fem!Reader

This can be read as a stand alone but find part I here!

Masterlist

Summary: A routine check at your bar goes sour. It may not be his fault, but you can certainly take out all of your frustrations on your boyfriend.

Word Count: 6.1k

18+ Minors DNI!

Warnings: Porn, with plot. Minimal use of Y/N. Reader is referred to as "Bunny" or "Bun". Toxic relationship (let's be honest here). Reader is physically assaulted at the beginning (not by Gator). Slight mommy kink. Switch Gator. Switch Reader. Light choking. Bondage. Oral (m & f receiving - face riding). Unprotected P in V (wrap it before you tap it!). Orgasm denial (m). Breeding kink. Creampie.

It was a quiet Thursday night at the Lucky Lizard Bar and Grille, more bar than it's ever been a grill. You have your regulars that have been coming here to escape for years after a hard day's work needing to blow off a little steam before heading to their respective homes.

Much like any other weeknight, about ten patrons sit at the bar and various tables in the dimly lit building.

Neons in mostly red and blue decorated the walls, reflecting those colors back onto the faces you served. The jukebox in the corner pulling up another old country song these geezers loved to hear.

Henry was behind the bar, as usual, while you waited on the tables.

It was more lively on the weekends when people your age tend to come out for karaoke when there was nothing else to do in this town on a Saturday night. That’s when the real tips came in and why you suffered these boring weekdays.

You were over in the corner to yourself counting tonight's tips totaling a whopping forty-two bucks.

Looking up only when you heard the familiar, grating voice of Sheriff Roy Tillman booming over the speakers, as two other deputies followed in behind him.

Henry was quick to turn the music off.

“Alright everyone, IDs out. Just a friendly, routine check.” He smirked, as he caught your eye.

Smug fucking bastard.

Henry spoke up, “What’s this about Sheriff?”

Everyone knows damn good and well that he never came to this part of town, let alone caught dead in this bar for a so-called 'friendly’ check or otherwise.

“Like I said Henry, just a routine check.” He motioned to the other two and they moved to start checking everyone.

You were glued to your spot, unsure of what to do. You were busy keeping your eye on Roy you hadn’t noticed Deputy Shelton walk up slowly beside you.

“ID,” he huffed out, as you turned to look up at him. He licked his lips as his beady eyes followed your curves down and slowly back up.

“I work here dipshit; I don’t have my ID on me.” You didn’t think before the words left your mouth.

“Sounds like we’ve got a problem here then.” He clicked his tongue. “See, Sheriff there got a tip this place is serving minors and we’ve got to make sure everyone’s of age. That includes you.” He stepped closer, crowding your space; the stench of his mentholated dip stuck between his lip hitting you as he spoke.

“Seein’ that I’ve never stepped foot in this shit hole before, you just look like some common bar whore t’me.”

He edged more into your space, making you take a step back further into the dimly lit corner. Further away from where others could see you.

“Ask Henry. He’ll vouch for me. Hell ask...,” you were cut off, squeaking with surprise as he grabbed your upper arm, getting right in your face.

“You back talkin’ me? No ID, and now you’re disrespecting an officer of the law? How stupid are you? I could arrest you right now and haul your ass to the station.”

“No, sir.” You timidly spoke, gritting your teeth trying to maintain some level of composure instead of ripping his head off.

He once again moved closer into your space, his hips pushing into yours. You had nowhere else to go, back hitting the rough wall.

“We can always remedy this situation, after hours, if you know what I mean.” His lips curled back into a nasty smile. You wanted nothing more than to wipe it off his face. “What do you say, baby? Out back, in the alley would do just fine. I’m sure you’re used to’ that.”

His lewd insinuation made your stomach lurch.

Before you could respond Roy spoke up behind him.

“Shelton, problem back here?” For once grateful to see him.

“Naw Sheriff, just this bitch tryin’ to say she doesn’t have an ID.” He turned to face the other man, a smug look plastered to his own face, no doubt happy with his work, grip still tight on your arm, surely to leave bruises, as he pulled you around with him.

You knew most of the deputies in town were aware that you and Gator were together. Shelton was one of the hardcore jerks stuck so far up Roy’s ass that he didn’t care to pay much attention to anything else. Maybe he didn’t recognize you, or maybe he was just trying to gain favor with Roy.

“Ah, Y/N. Pleasant surprise.” He nodded, tipping his hat toward you.

The grip on your arm loosened just a bit as Shelton looked back down at you, eyes widening at the realization.

“Y/N? Gator’s Y/N?”

“The one and only.” You spoke up, looking straight back at him, while wrenching yourself from his now weak hold.

You straighten your posture, gaze shifting between both men.

“We’re almost done here Y/N. You can get back to work serving these fine men of Stark County.”

“Sure, Sheriff.” You put your head down as you walk behind the bar to the storage area where you kept your things while on shift.

It felt like the eyes of the entire bar were trailing you. You were sure if you looked up, they would be.

Henry gave you a pitying frown as you passed him, before he gently touched your arm, halting your path.

“Hey, you can go for the night. I think most everyone will clear out after this. No one wants to be hanging around knowing the Sheriff could be watching for drunk drivers.”

You just nod and continue to the back.

You grabbed your phone from your purse, typing out a quick but effective text.

WHERE ARE YOU???

It only took a few seconds to see those three dots appear. Then disappear. Then reappear once more.

Outside. Back lot.

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding, hoping to God that he had somehow just gotten here and hadn’t been out there the whole damn time but in the back of your mind you already knew that answer.

Putting the phone away, grabbing your purse, and throwing your jacket over your shoulders you head straight for the back door avoiding going through the front walking past Roy and his goons. You could still hear them talking with Henry as you made your exit.

The chill of the night air bit at your bare legs sending a shiver up your spine. His truck was situated in his usual parking spot whenever he would pick you up from a late-night shift. You slammed the door behind you.

Feeling like your blood was boiling, you stalked over to where he sat behind the wheel. Seeing the end of his vape light up before you could actually see him, with the putrid fruity scented cloud drifting from the window.

“Bunny,” he began as you got closer to the window, but you cut him off.

“Are you fucking kidding me Gator? Please tell me you weren’t out here this entire fucking time?”

He looked down, his silence giving you the answer as you slowly nodded, lips pursed. You could feel the fresh sting of tears welling up behind your eyes as you looked away from him.

“I’m sorry. My hands were tied.”

Taking a step back, you really appraised him. This man who was fiercely in love with you but also took a back seat when it came to his old man.

You nod, “Yeah, I get it.”

You had made up your mind.

“Fuck you, Gator Tillman.” Flipping him off as you turned away, stomping toward the main road.

“Bunny! Baby, don't be like that!” He watches you walk away, knowing you were in no mood to listen to reason.

He slammed his fist into the steering wheel, “Fuck.”

He let out a deep breath while putting the truck into drive to chase you down.

You had accepted the letdown. Per usual, just another man not living up to your expectations. Words mean absolutely nothing without some action behind them.

Using your phone's flashlight to navigate the desolate road back to your house, it was going to be a long walk.

The headlights cut through behind you, casting your shadow well beyond your line of vision into the night.

The engine roared up beside you, as he slowed the truck to your pace but you kept a steady path forward, not giving him the satisfaction of looking over.

“Bun, come on. We both know you're not gonna walk all the way home. It's cold. Get in the truck.”

You ignore him, head held high, arms tucked around yourself shielding you from the cool weather as you continue a few more paces.

“Seriously? Just gonna ignore me? That's how it's gonna be? Fine. Walk home, stubborn ass. See if I give a shit.”

You scoff, knowing he'll stay here all night if it meant you'd make it home safe and sound. Bad boy but secret softie for you.

He was growing more impatient by the second.

“Baby, C’mon. I'll make it up t'you.” He pleaded.

You stopped. He perked up, hopeful but deflated when he saw your face once you turned toward him. Tear stained, reddened and flustered.

“Make it up to me? That shouldn't have happened in the first place! If I wasn't involved with you, Roy wouldn't even bother coming by that damn place!” You yelled out, now beyond frustrated.

He let out an over exaggerated huff as his foot slammed on the brake.

“Goddamnit Bunny! Get in the fuckin' truck. You're not walkin’ home in the dark. Take this as my last warning before I drag your ass in here.” He leveled his gaze. You knew he'd do it, as you had learned the hard way on more than one occasion.

“Fine.” You sighed, not feeling up to struggling any more than you had to, stepping over and opening the door. You hopped in and slammed it. The noise made him grit his teeth and shut his eyes, but he held his tongue.

You curled into yourself and crossed your arms. Ignoring his pointed look, opting to stare out the window instead.

The rest of the drive was filled with the hum of the engine and radio softly playing. He hadn’t bothered trying to converse with you. You’d talk when you were ready. He knew when he could push and this wasn’t one of those times, though he didn’t understand why you were so mad.

Roy had told him it was just an ID check, nothing out of the ordinary and he should just “sit this one, it's a conflict of interest.” Gator did as he was told knowing you’d be a little ticked but hadn’t expected this much bratty behavior.

He pulled up to your small house. Rarely ever staying at Roy’s anymore, instead calling home wherever you may be.

You didn’t wait for him to fully put the truck in park before jumping out, slamming the door once again.

He simply closed his eyes and took a deep breath to control his temper. It was going to be a long night.

You walked through the door and shrugged off your jacket, slinging it onto the couch. The leather suddenly felt suffocating when you made it into the house.

Walking into the kitchen, you opened the fridge grabbing a fresh beer; cracking it open and chugging back about half as you heard his heavy footfalls behind you.

Gator wasn’t stupid. Something was wrong. You rarely drank, given your job most days it was revolting to you.

He unzipped his vest, removing it before setting it on the back of the kitchen chair. Then removed his hat, running a hand through his hair that was now falling at the sides.

“Bunny, you goin’ to keep bein’ a bitch and ignore me all night or are you gonna tell me what the hell happened back there?”

You were mid-swig when the words left his mouth. You slowly lowered the bottle from your lips and set it on the counter beside you, composure starting to fail.

Turning on your heel, you lunged at him. Pushing him as hard as you could, but it only moved him enough to send him back a few inches.

“Fuck you, Gator!” You yelled; eyes full of rage but it only spurred him more.

He smirked, a crooked smile across his lips that only infuriated you more as he straightened back up to his full height.

“Fuck, I love when you get like this.” His voice now turning sultry, hand reaching for your left wrist still situated on his chest.

You blinked as your mind caught up with the insinuation. You reared your free hand back to slap him, but he easily caught it mid-air.

“That’s it, need to take it out on me? Need to use me?” He whispered lower. Eyes trailing down, catching your already heaving chest. Your body now betraying you.

“Huh Bun? That…” Stopping mid-sentence, his gaze softened as he dropped his grasp from your wrist, instead lifting his hand back up to your arm as his fingers traced newly forming bruises.

“Who the fuck touched you?” He didn’t look at you directly, still examining the finger shaped splotches of light purple.

Your gaze followed his, examining them yourself, swallowing the lump in your throat before looking back up at him.

“I… It was Shelton. He…”

“I’ll fuckin’ kill him.” His jaw tightened. You could see the tendons in his neck strain as he released a harsh breath. The gears in his head were already turning.

“Gator,” you spoke softly. “Baby, please. Don't do anything rash. I need you here with me right now.”

Reaching up to cup his face, making him look you in the eye.

You leaned up nuzzling your nose into his jaw, your mouth hot on his skin. The slightest stubble forming from the long day, scratching along your cheek.

Your lips working their way up, legs straining as you stood on the tips of your toes, reaching the shell of his ear, “Make me forget,” you whispered.

Your hand slowly slid down his chest, past his belt buckle. You took his already hardening length in your hand, giving him a teasing squeeze as he responds with a breathy moan, kicking up under your touch.

“Make me forget his hands were ever on me.” You kissed him lightly, letting your words sink in.

“Anything you want Bunny. I'm all yours.”

You pull back slightly, searching his face as he tilts his head looking down at you. His usual warm caramel swirls now turned into black pools blown full.

“Get your ass in the bedroom. Now, mama.”

Smacking your ass when you don't move fast enough, groping your cheek with his large hand pulling you further into him.

His turn to whisper in your ear. “Get those cuffs ready.”

He released his grip as you moved away from him, a smirk adorning your face knowing what was to come. Another sharp smack as he followed closely behind you.

As soon as you cross the threshold, to your shared room, he wastes no time.

Pressing his chest to your back, hands trailing your curves. One of his large palms comes to rest on your hip, the other wrapping around your throat as he pulls you back, halting your breath.

His prominent bulge pressing into the fat of your ass has you pressing your hips further into him as he groans.

His lips ghost the shell of your ear as he speaks.

“Tell me what you want Bunny. Tell me what you need.” Tightening his grip before releasing it. He wanted you to answer him.

Most of the time he took what he needed; you were pliant to him. On those rare occasions, you could make him speechless with the way you dominated him. It was always a push and pull. He didn't mind letting you take the reins.

“I need you to take off that stupid fuckin' uniform and lay on the bed.”

“Mmmmm… that's it baby. Good girl.” He placed a small kiss to your temple before releasing the hold on you and pulling away from you altogether. The cool air hitting your back where his warmth had just been.

You turned to watch him as he unlatched his thigh holster, laying it on top of the dresser.

You took a seat at the foot of the bed, crossing your legs waiting patiently for his little show.

He smirked, eyes trailing your legs, he was trying to contain himself. He knew this was about you. For you.

He unbuckled his belt and popped the button on his fly. Pulling his shirt free before pulling it up over his head. His broad chest now on display for you, had your thighs pushing further together. It didn't go unnoticed, but he didn't say anything.

He unlaced and kicked his boots to the side, finally letting his pants slide from his waist.

The bulge in his boxers had you salivating. He palmed himself, slowly tracing his thick outline.

“Like what you see?” He licked his lips, hooking the band of his boxers but you stopped him before he shed them.

“Stop. Leave ‘em. Come here.” You pat the empty spot beside you.

He raised his brow but obeyed. He strode over and sat with a bounce, as you got up. Your turn to give him a show. Knowing he was already rock hard; he'd be eating out of the palm of your hand.

You stood a foot from him, almost between his thighs but not quite.

Your fingertips traced your own curves, reaching the hem of your shirt and slowly lifting it to reveal the red lacy bra that always drove him crazy.

“Fuck,” he sucked in a harsh breath. “Do you know what you do to me?”

He tried to grip your hips, but you batted his hands away.

“Nuh uh. You can look. Don't touch.”

He nodded and leant back, attempting to rub himself once more but you grabbed his wrist.

“No, you can't touch yourself either. Be a good boy for me.” You whispered, hand resting on his cheek. “Go ahead and lay back.”

He propped himself back against a couple of pillows, lacing his fingers behind his head, eyes never leaving you as you shimmed your skirt down your hips.

He whistles low, “look at my pretty girl. C’mere baby.” He says as he nods toward his lap. His cock now straining and tented in his boxers.

You saunter over, crawling up the bed slowly toward him.

You lifted yourself so you could straddle his waist, but not dropping your hips, so you were hovering over where he wanted your weight the most.

You move forward, pressing your still covered chest into his. Nose nudging slightly against his before your lips collide.

He brings his hands to your hips with a bruising grip, pushing you down on his cock while his hips shift to meet yours. Grinding, so desperately trying to find the friction you both wanted.

You moan into his mouth at the feeling, his length hitting your clit just right.

“That's it, sweet thing. Let me hear all those pretty noises.”

You lifted up slightly, tracing his jaw with your finger as you spoke.

“Here's what's going to happen tonight. I'm going to ride this handsome face, but” you tightened your hand as much around his throat as it would allow. “If you even think about touching yourself or cumming, I will cuff you and leave you aching and begging all night.”

“Fuck, Bunny. I'll do anything for my girl.” He said as his eyes linger on your lips.

“I'm going to put that mouth to good use.”

He quickly shifted you from his lap, nearly shoving you off the bed in the process. You couldn't help the small laugh that escaped from his show of eagerness.

He scooted down, into the bed allowing himself to be more flat against the pillow.

“C’mon baby, don't leave me waiting. Use me. Use my face. You know you want to.”

You slowly hooked the lace between your fingers and slid them down your thighs as he watched you intently, licking his lips. You flicked them toward him with a giggle. He easily caught them, laying them on the nightstand.

You crawl back over to him and straddle his chest as he pulls you closer, hands digging into the fat of your ass. You grip the headboard to keep from falling forward.

“Don't take it easy either baby, set that pretty ass down and ride my fuckin’ face.”

You nod and lift yourself; he groans once your bare, glistening pussy is on full display in front of him.

“Fuck Bunny, she's dripping already.” Your lips slightly parted, putting you more on display, as you pushed your hips further toward him. “Fuck, look at her.”

You get no warning before he wraps his hands around your thighs and pulls you down atop his waiting mouth.

He licks a fat stripe from your sopping heat up to your clit. Finding your engorged nub easily, swirling his tongue. Your back arched into the feeling, grinding your hips down as you gripped the headboard tighter.

“Fuck, Gator.” You moaned out. You caught his eyes in between your thighs as he continued.

He was eating you like a man starved. Loving the taste of you on his tongue he could easily cum just from the taste and sight of you coming undone.

Laving his tongue between your entrance to your clit and back down. Savoring everything you'd give him.

It wasn't long before you felt that coil start to tighten. He was watching your face as best he could nestled between your thighs, as you began to scrunch your brows giving in to pleasure.

He took your clit in between his lips and sucked harshly, moaning around you from the way your body reacted to him.

“Baby, fuck!” You cried out, “Just like that.”

He didn't let up, tongue swirling, teeth scraping before sucking you in once more between his lips. You let go while screaming his name, blinded momentarily by the fireworks you swore were behind your eyes.

He sucked gently a few more times, before letting you grind your hips onto him as you came down from your high.

His grip loosened as you slid further down, sitting on his chest, as he started to sit himself back up. He donned a shit eating grin, your fluids slick on his mouth and chin.

You leaned over and fell into the mattress beside him, still trying to catch your breath. Chest heaving from the excursion.

Not giving you much of a reprieve, he started assaulting your neck with his mouth.

Trailing sticky kisses down, his saliva mixed with your juices, tracing your collar, sucking, then quickly soothing it with his tongue. Sure to leave fresh marks in their wake.

Slowly he moved lower, between your cleavage.

He suddenly pulled the fabric of your bra down, taking your already pebbled nipple into his mouth switching between sucking and biting.

You whined at the feeling, as your pussy began to once more throb with an ever-growing need.

His hand traced your stomach, just when you thought he was going to delve between your thighs, he removed his hand entirely.

You chanced a glance down, as he pulled his boxers out of the way and wrapped his hand around his cock. His perfect tip now red and angry, leaking a pearly bead from his slit that he gathered before easing his hand back down.

“Gator,” you say with a breathy exhale.

“Hmmmm?” He hummed without looking up, continuing his current ministrations to himself, while leaving hickies across your chest.

“What did I tell you about keeping your hands to yourself?” Your voice raspy.

He stopped, caught like a deer in headlights, he looked up at you with eyes nearly black. He knew what that tone meant.

“I'm sorry, Bun.” He grins.

“No, but you will be. Lay back and put your hands up, pretty boy.”

You had been waiting for the slip up. The moment he'd fuck up. He always did.

You stood, so he could make himself more comfortable, scooting back up into the bed, his head hitting the pillows as he raised both hands above his head.

“Gator, baby,” you slid the cool steel around one wrist and tightened it into place. “I think you enjoy this a little too much.”

He laughed out, as you clicked the other into place.

If anyone ever happened upon the set of cuffs left around the bed frame, they'd just assume he used them on you. He did some nights but they were mostly used on him. He got handsy, and sometimes you needed to teach him a lesson.

Once you were done, you started to ease your way down to his boxers. Fingers tiptoeing down his chest, his stomach until you reached the hem.

“This what you want, baby?” You teased.

He nodded, face flushed red, as he bit his bottom lip before finally answering, “Yeah. P… please.”

You eased the offending garment from his hips as he aided you by lifting and letting you guide them the rest of the way down his thighs before throwing them to the side.

His cock was sitting pretty, leaned against his abdomen.

His size never ceased to amaze you; thick, and long. Prominent veins running the length. He was perfect.

You eased back up toward him. Hands splayed on his thighs. Watching his cock flex from being so close to where he needed you.

Still wearing your bra, you finally removed it, as he let out a groan.

“Prettiest tits. How'd I get so lucky?” He hummed, mostly to himself.

You spread his thighs apart, seating yourself between them. He bucked slightly, as you heard the metal restraints hit the headboard. You eyed him playfully, but his eyes were already closed, fists clenched.

You lowered your mouth, as your tongue made contact with his shaft, he moaned out a pathetic whine, running it from base to tip. He threw his head back further into the pillows.

“This it baby? This what you need?”

“Mmmmhmmm.” He nodded, still not meeting your gaze. He was trying to stave off his release. This was about you right now.

Your mouth trailed kisses back down his length. Breathing in his heady, musky scent when you reached his balls.

You took one into your mouth, sucking lightly as your other hand teasingly kneaded the other.

“Oh fuck… shit shit shit.” His hips raised, dick bobbing with the motion, only spurring you further as you hummed around him.

“Bunny, baby, please.” He whined out.

You released him with a slight pop.

“Hmmmmm baby? Look at me and tell me what you need.” Your voice was syrupy sweet as you spoke, unlike the devilish way you were currently torturing him.

He already looked fucked out. His usually meticulous hair disheveled about. His lips parted, releasing shaky pants as he finally met your eyes.

“I…” he swallowed. “I need you to touch me. Fuck me.”

“That's it. Good boy.” You hummed your approval as your hand finally wrapped around his base, squeezing lightly.

“Goddamn,” he let out breathlessly, he pulled on his restraints once more to no avail.

You licked the dribble of precum leaking down the side of his head as he shuddered. Finally enveloping him in your warm, wet mouth taking him as far back as your throat would allow.

You began to bob your head, hollowing your cheeks and pumping what you couldn't fit.

He was panting, letting out moans. His noises only make you more wet, suddenly your cunt is clenching around nothing, making you well aware of your own neglected desire.

His hips suddenly jerked up making you gag around him, taking him further down your throat.

“Fucking hell. I… I need to fuck you. I'm not going to last like this.” He choked out. “Please baby. I need my cock in that sweet little pussy.”

You pull off of him, still holding his base with a firm grip.

“Fine,” you sighed, climbing into his lap situating your bare cunt so you were straddling his cock, but you didn't move.

You leaned over pressing a kiss to his chest, reaching in between you as you lifted your hips and lined him up to your entrance.

You pressed another kiss to his cheek, “I'm going to put you out of your misery, but it's because my neglected cunt is throbbing right now, and don't you dare fucking cum until after I've had another.”

He nodded, “Yeah, yeah. Promise, just need you.”

You slowly lowered yourself onto him, only allowing the tip to breach, you moaned in unison at the small relief.

You then began the descent, taking each inch little by little feeling every ridge and vein as his cock filled you to the brim.

He soon bottomed out, as your hips settled flush to his. It had you moaning out again.

“Fuck baby, you're so big.” You were trying to give your pussy time to adjust but he snapped his hips up into you, ever impatient.

“Ow, fuck Gator!” you whined out, looking back down to him.

“Quit bein' a fuckin’ cock tease. Bounce Bunny!" He growled.

You raised your hips, obliging him. Alternating between bouncing and grinding.

Sounds of shared pants and moans mixed with your slick cunt filled the room.

“Yeah, mama. That's it. Use my cock. Take what you need. Is’ all yours.” He started blabbering, tuning out half of what he was saying.

“Shut up Gator!” You'd suddenly had enough of his mouth.

You reached over and found what you were looking for, shoving your wadded up panties past his lips. When your taste hit his tongue once more, he couldn't help from moaning around them as his eyes rolled back.

You continued to ride him just the way you both liked. Warmth blooming in your abdomen, but not quite what you needed.

Raising up so you could toy with your clit, you rubbed circles to your aching nub while still trying to maintain a rhythm as you close your eyes focusing on the feeling.

A few more rolls of your hips and well-orchestrated pressure to your bundle of nerves and you were teetering on the edge.

You were wound tight, as the sounds of Gator fighting the fabric still in his mouth started to be more apparent, but you pay it no mind.

You were tipping over the edge once more.

Harder than before, your pussy clenched around him. Almost strangling him, he let out a few more muffled moans, but you knew he hadn't cum.

You rode it out with a few more grinds, your clit now becoming too sensitive. Your body slumped forward, hands splayed out across his chest, as you tried to control your ragged breath.

He was finally able to spit the fabric out with a huff.

“Bunny, look at me.” He spoke.

When you didn't respond right away, he bucked his hips again making you falter, but it gained your attention as you met his eyes.

“Hey! Unlock the cuffs.” His eyes grew darker, he needed to fuck you. Make you fall apart beneath him.

“Now! Get the fuckin' key.” He hissed through gritted teeth.

He was done playing games. You let him slip from you, moving your shaky hand quickly to the side table pulling the drawer open and producing the key.

He watches your every move, eyes full of hunger. The key slid into the lock and unlatched easily. As soon as his wrists were free, he was on you.

He flipped you both easily, so you were now on your back. Knocking your thighs apart to accommodate him, grabbing your hips and pulling you further up he slid his cock back in with one swift push to the hilt.

“Oh… Fuck!” Your back arched, screaming his name as he pulled nearly all the way out only to push back in setting a near brutal pace in your now overstimulated cunt, his head kissing your cervix with each push.

He watched your tits bounce with every thrust, as his eyes slid lower watching his massive dick split you open over and over again. The sight of the creamy ring at the base of his cock from your juices was driving him mad.

Your eyes rolled back, as you fisted the sheets beneath your hands, trying to ground yourself.

He leaned forward, hand moving around your throat pinning you under him.

“Look at you, all dumb on my fuckin' cock. Mmmmm. You… you think it's funny teasin’ me all fuckin’ night?” He asked but knew you were too far gone to actually answer. He couldn't stop the words from spilling out.

“That's it, sweet thing, takin’ this cock so fuckin' well.” He thrusts harshly, making you cry out once more.

He pistons his hips up slightly, so he could abuse that spot inside you he knew would have you seeing stars in no time as you fluttered around him. He tightened his hold on your throat, cutting off your air slightly.

“That's it baby. She's practically sucking me back in now. You can give me one more, right?”

You whimpered.

Unsure if you could but when he started talking to you in that condescending tone and his cock shoved so far up your pussy you could practically feel him rearranging your insides, it really was only a matter of time.

“C’mon baby. Cum with me.” He was watching as your face started contorting, a mix of pain from overstimulation and pleasure. Your mouth fell slack, nothing but whimpers falling from your lips.

“I… I’m close, Bun,” his rhythm faltering slightly.

He raised up, removing his hand from your throat, as you gasped for the air you didn't know you were missing.

He brought his thumb down to your clit, drawing harsh circles.

“Gator, no…ugh... fuck, fuck, fuck.” It was too late. Your orgasm hit you like at full force. You hadn't even felt it building, it was just there.

Your pussy clamped down around him once more as you came with a scream.

“Shitshitshit. There… there she is.” He was able to mumble out as his own release came crashing down.

“Take it all mama. Every single drop. That's what you want, hmmmmm… Fuck… Make sure everyone knows your mine. No one will EVER fuckin' touch you again.”

He filled you, rope after rope painted you from within. He hadn't cum this hard in a long time. He felt like a man possessed, wanting nothing more than to claim you, breed you. Show everyone you were his.

He collapsed on top of you. Head laid on your chest.

You were both sweaty and spent but neither one cared as you both tried to slow your erratic breathing.

Soft pants, shared breaths. He stayed like that for a moment before his softening cock slid from you. He looked up at you then, a small smile and doe eyed.

He began to pepper kisses between your breasts. Lips skimming the various marks that he had left. Kissing the fading red splotches where his hand had been around your throat.

“These are the only kind of marks that are allowed be left on you." He whispered, easing up the rest of the way as he found your lips. You moved languid against each other, savoring the taste of his tongue on yours.

When he’d had his fill he rolled over beside you, pulling you with him.

You laid your head on his chest as he reached down to pull the covers over you both. His arm wrapped around your middle, holding you tightly as he kissed the top of your head.

“You got nothin’ to worry about Bunny. I'll take care of it. Take care of you. Promise.” He whispered, barely hearing him as you let sleep take hold.

You hadn't felt it when he slipped away while you were peacefully off in Dreamland.

Finally returning in the wee hours of the morning with dawn quickly approaching the mattress dipped with his weight as he crawled back in beside you.

He wrapped his arm around your waist and pulled you back into his chest, as he hid his face in the crook of your neck breathing deeply and releasing a heavy sigh.

And when you both woke with the sun filtering through the curtains you didn't mention his bloodied and bruised knuckles that weren't there the night before.

And when Deputy Shelton hadn't shown up for work the next day or the entire following week, you didn't mention that either. It was none of your business.

372 notes · View notes

thewulf · 7 months ago

Text

Skies of Concern || Mickey "Fanboy" Garcia

Summary: Request -may i request for top gun maverick with husband!mickey 'fanboy' garcia x civillian maverick's daughter!reader please? when you heard that mav called mickey to join a mission, you kind of mad to your dad cause it is dangerous for mickey (worried)... Read Rest Here

A/N: Eeeeek! This one was fun to write. Super cute and fluffy. Memories are in italics. Hope you enjoy anon!

Pairing: Mickey Fanboy" Garcia x Female Reader

Word Count: 2.6k +

T/W : General TGM warnings

The sun dipped below the horizon casting a warm, golden glow across the tarmac of the Naval Air Station as you waited for the aircraft carrier to arrive back on base. You stood near the water as the anticipation built with each passing minute. You were anxiously awaiting the return of your father, Maverick, and his trusted wingman and your beloved husband, Mickey Garcia.

But even in the middle of the tension and worry that gripped your heart your mind wandered back to a warmer memory. A moment of serendipity that had brought you into the orbit of the charismatic WSO who would later become your husband much to your fathers dismay. Although he eventually came around and loved Mickey as his own son.

It was a balmy evening at the Hard Deck as you waited for your father to return from a training mission. He’d asked you to meet him there against your better judgement. Although you didn’t frequent the bar that often anymore you had sought solace in the familiar surroundings of the bar, the chatter of fellow Navy personnel providing a comforting backdrop to your thoughts. As you nursed a drink at the counter trying to push aside the nagging worry that always accompanied your father's missions, you noticed him.

Mickey Garcia, with his effortless charm and magnetic presence strode into the bar. His flight suit a testament to the adrenaline-fueled world he inhabited. His gaze briefly met yours and in that fleeting moment, something sparked between you—a connection born in the anonymity of the crowded room. You should’ve run far, far away after the smirk grew on the pilot’s face. But you couldn’t. It’s like that one look had you rooted right into the bar stool.

Unbeknownst to Mickey he had just caught the eye of Maverick's daughter. You had planned to keep your identity hidden. More than content to observe from the shadows as he approached with a casual confidence that belied the danger of his profession.

"Hey there," he greeted you. His smile as warm as the fading sunlight outside. "Haven't seen you around here before. I’d remember a pretty face like yours. You can’t be a regular, no?"

His words were laced with genuine curiosity with a playful demeanor drawing you in despite the weight of your worries. Little did you know that chance encounter would set the stage for a journey fraught with danger and adventure but so much love. Oh, so much love.

As Mickey leaned casually against the bar with that signature mischievous twinkle in his eyes you couldn't help but return his flirtatious banter. "Well,” you replied with a playful smile tugging at the corners of your lips. "Maybe I like to keep things interesting. You never know when a new face might turn up." He was right. You often avoided the Hard Dec as it was your father and Penny’s spot.

Mickey chuckled. The sweet sound sent a pleasant shiver down your spine. "I like the way you think," he said. His gaze lingering on you with unmistakable interest. "Name's Mickey, by the way. Mickey Garcia." You nodded. You knew that. Hell, you knew most of your dads pilots even if you hadn’t formally met them. But you had to play dumb to keep up your charade.

You extended your hand. A coy smile playing on your lips. "Nice to meet you, Mickey. I'm... just a girl trying to enjoy her night."

His handshake was firm, his touch sending a jolt of electricity through you. "Well, just a girl, if you ever need someone to show you around this place… you know who to call," he spoke with a confidence only pilots seemed to have.

Before you could respond to him the familiar sound of your fathers voice cut through the air, drawing your attention to the entrance of the bar. Your heart skipped a beat as you watched your father stride in. He looked to be in one piece. Your concern washed away in an instant. His presence commanded the attention of everyone in the room. When he spotted you chatting with one of his pilots at the bar he made a beeline right to you with a less than thrilled look on his face.

"Hey there, sweetheart," Your dad greeted you. His voice was warm with affection as he pulled you into a quick hug. "You holding up okay?"

You nodded. A small smile tugging at your lips as you leaned into his embrace. "Yeah, Dad," you replied oh so grateful for the familiar strength of his arms around you. "Just glad to see you back in one piece."

But as Pete pulled away his gaze fell on Mickey, and you felt a knot of tension coil in the pit of your stomach. There was a shift in the air. A subtle change in your dads demeanor that set your heart racing with apprehension.

"Fanboy," Maverick spoke with an icy tone as he turned his attention to the charming pilot beside you. "Fancy seeing you here."

Mickey's easy grin faltered and was replaced by a look of uncertainty as he met Maverick's gaze. "Hey, Maverick," he replied. His voice tinged with a hint of nervousness. "Didn't expect to run into you here. You’re not usually here after missions."

There was a moment of uncomfortable silence between them. The air thick with unspoken tension as Maverick's gaze bore into Mickey with an intensity that made you squirm in your barstool. Finally, Pete spoke, his voice low and dangerous. "No funny business with my daughter, Garcia," he said. His words a thinly veiled warning. "Or you'll answer to me."

Mickey swallowed hard. The weight of Maverick's stare bearing down on him like a leaden weight. "Yes, sir," he replied. His voice was barely above a whisper as he nodded in silent acquiescence.

And as Maverick turned away with his arm slipping around your shoulders in a protective gesture. You couldn't help but wonder what lay ahead for you with Mickey. The chemistry between the two of you was something you’d never experienced before. There had to be something more. You felt caught between the love of a father and the allure of the skies.

It had been years since that fateful meeting at the Hard Deck, years filled with adventure, love, and the occasional heart-stopping moment as you watched your husband and father take to the skies together. But through it all you had remained steadfast in your support for both of them.

As you stood there the memories of that first encounter with Mickey came flooding back. A bittersweet reminder of how far you had come since that chance meeting. Now, as you awaited their return, your heart swelled with a mixture of pride and worry. You knew all too well the dangers that lurked beyond the clouds. But despite the nagging fear that gnawed at your insides you refused to let it consume you. You had learned to trust in Mickey's skill and your dads experience.

Your thoughts then took to earlier on in the week when you father broke the news he was taking your now husband with him to go fly a mission in Russia. He couldn’t tell you the details, but you knew it was going to be risky. Anything overseas always was. A pit formed in your stomach at the thought of the two most important guys in your life putting their lives in danger once again.

Unable to contain your fears any longer you turned to your father with a pleading look in your eyes. "Dad, you can't do this," you said, your voice trembling with emotion. "You can't take Mickey on this mission. It's too dangerous dad!"

Maverick's expression hardened. His jaw tightening as he met your gaze with a steely resolve. "I have to, sweetheart," he replied with a sorrowful look as his voice firm but tinged with regret. "We're the best chance they've got and Mickey's one of the best damn WSO’s I know."

You shook your head. The frustration and fear bubbling up inside you like a tempest ready to burst. "But it's not fair," you cried out as the words tumbled out in a rush. "Both of you don’t need to go. How about just you? Or him? Not both of you! I can't take it dad. Please" You knew the pleading would likely fall on deaf ears, but you had to try.

Your voice cracked with emotion. Tears welling up in your eyes as the weight of your fear threatened to crush you. You had spent countless nights lying awake dreading this exact moment when the call would come. One that summoned your father and husband into the heart of danger once again but farther away than you thought possible.

This time felt different, the stakes higher than ever before. And as you stood there with anger and despair boiling over inside you, you knew that you couldn't bear the thought of losing them both, not now, not ever.

Maverick's expression softened. A rare flicker of sympathy crossing his features as he reached out to pull you into a comforting embrace. "I know, sweetheart," he murmured. His voice gentle against your ear. "But we have a job to do, and we'll come back to you, I promise."

You clung to him like a scared five-year-old but you really couldn’t care. You were terrified. The weight of his words offering a sliver of solace amidst the storm of uncertainty you prayed with all your heart that his promise would hold true. That both your father and husband would return to you unscathed once more.

The anticipation was palpable as you stood on the base. Your eyes fixed on the horizon where the carrier would soon appear. It had been over a week since you last saw your husband, and your father depart on their mission. Each moment of their absence had felt like an eternity.

But now as the massive silhouette of the carrier emerged from the vast expanse of the ocean your heart leaped with relief. They were back. They were safe. You knew it because you hadn't received that dreaded call. The one that brought news of tragedy and loss. Still, despite the reassurance a knot of anxiety tightened in your stomach as you waited for them to disembark. You couldn't shake the lingering worry, the fear of the unknown that had plagued you since the moment they left.

And then, finally, the gangplank descended, and a surge of relief washed over you as you caught sight of familiar figures making their way down onto the dock. Your heart raced as you scanned the crowd searching for the faces you longed to see.

And there they were.

Your father emerged first with his iconic aviator shades shielding his eyes from the glare of the sun. Beside him, Mickey walked with a confident stride. His tattered flight suit a testament to the adventure they had just returned from.

Without a second thought you rushed forward ignoring the protests from the officers guarding the walkway. Your heart pounded with a mixture of joy and apprehension. They were here. They were safe. But still you needed to see them with your own eyes. To feel the reassuring warmth of their embrace. His embrace. Your husband and beloved.

Without hesitation you rushed forward to you husband. Your arms outstretched as you leaped into his embrace wrapping your legs around his waist. "Babe!" you exclaimed while happily peppering his cheeks with kisses. "Are you okay? You're not hurt, are you? I missed you so much! Don’t go for that long again, please." Your eyes scanned his frame for any sign of distress.

Mickey laughed while wrapping his arms tightly around you and returning your kisses with equal fervor. "I'm fine, honey," he reassured you, his voice filled with affection. "Not a scratch on me. I missed you more than you know pretty lady." He gave you a squeeze as he held you in his arms as the both of you ignored the bewildered captain beside you.

Your attention wholly focused on the man holding you in his strong arms. But when you finally pulled back you couldn't help but notice the grin spreading across your fathers face as he watched the reunion between his daughter and son-in-law.

"Looks like someone's glad to see her husband and not so much her old man," he remarked with amusement twinkling in his eyes.

You flushed with embarrassment realizing you had been so caught up in your reunion with Mickey that you had all but forgotten all about your father. But as you glanced back at him you found nothing but warmth and understanding in his expression.

"Sorry, Dad," you said sheepishly. "I was just... really glad to see Mickey. It’s good to see you too." As you attempted to slip down from Mickey's hold expecting to stand on your own feet again, you felt him tighten his grip around you. He wasn't willing to let you go just yet and a warm sense of contentment washed over you as you remained enveloped in his embrace.

Maverick chuckled. His eyes had a knowing amusement in them as he watched the scene unfold. "I can see that," he replied. His voice tinged with pride. "I see I’ve officially been replaced."

You grinned with your cheeks flushing with affectionate embarrassment at your father's teasing remark. "Well, Dad," you spoke playfully jabbing his shoulder from Mickey’s hold. "I think there's enough love to go around for both of you."

Pete laughed. "I suppose so," His voice filled with warmth as he spoke. "Just don't forget who taught him everything he knows."

You smiled, feeling a rush of gratitude for the two most important men in your life. "I could never forget.”

As Maverick chuckled, shaking his head, and walked away he left just the two of you there to continue on. Mickey still held you close in his arms. His embrace filled with a longing that mirrored your own. With Pete out of sight he seemed to pull you even closer. His touch igniting that usual fire within you.

Feeling his warmth enveloping you, you melted into his embrace. Your body fitting perfectly against his. His lips found yours in a hungry kiss. A silent declaration of his desire and his longing for you. The kiss deepened becoming more passionate as if he couldn't get enough of you after being apart for too long.

When he finally pulled back his breath came out in ragged gasps. He pressed his forehead against yours with eyes dark full of desire. "God, I missed you," he murmured. His voice husky with emotion. A mischievous glint sparkled in his eyes as he winked suggestively. His lips curling into a playful grin. And as you stood there wrapped in his embrace surrounded by the sights, and sounds of the base, you knew that the reunion you had been longing for was just beginning.

With a shared smirk Mickey held you a as tight as he could without squeezing you completely. His gaze was filled with promises of the passion to come. "Let's get out of here my love," he whispered. His voice low and intimate. "I want to show you just how much I missed you." The earned a giggle out of you as you knew he meant business when it came to that look.

And with that he carried you effortlessly towards your car. Each step filled with anticipation and desire. With a thrill of excitement coursing through you, you knew that the night ahead held endless possibilities. And you couldn't wait to explore them all with the man you loved.

Jake Seresin/Top Gun: Permanent Taglist (If you'd like to be added to any or all works please fill out the form here: Taglist Sign Up) @loving-and-dreaming @kmc1989 @memeorydotcom @matisse556 @buckylov3r @taygrls @ah-blossom @mamachasesmayhem @hardballoonlove @rosiahills22 @djs8891 @illisea @jessicab1991 @guacam011y @dempy @hiireadstuff @kenn-spencerswifey @abbersreads @avada-kedavra-bitch-187

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adore-laur · 1 year ago

Text

DAD HARRY: PART THREE

— part one | part two

October—Flashback

The leaves on southern California’s oak and cottonwood trees are changing colors at last. Various shades of green bleed into marigold and maroon to commence the beginning of autumn. The weather is pleasant when it nears the end of the year, with temperatures never dipping below seventy degrees. Brisk winds blow by the Pacific Ocean, and migrating clusters of monarch butterflies flutter around orange milkweed with their stained-glass wings, looking similar to the plants they feed from.

Driving alongside the premature sunset, you press your foot on the brake pad and pull into the crowded restaurant parking lot. Harry has been bartending for a wedding's cocktail hour, which he seldom does under his title of head chef. Before he left, he mentioned that he wanted to talk to you about something important after his shift, so he reserved a table in the dining area where both of you could discuss it over dinner. Luckily, he doesn't have to work his way into the early morning since someone will replace him once the reception officially starts.

Today is Harry's last shift before he'll be home for an extended period of time. He managed to save all of his annual vacation days and is free from work for the last month of your pregnancy, as well as being allowed twelve weeks of paternity leave once the baby is born.

It's difficult to imagine how much convincing it took and the scheduling difficulties Harry had to face to get everything sorted. You're worried that the restaurant will crumble without his supervision, but you shouldn't judge his expertise on the matter. He knows what he's doing.

You stroll through the front doors while smoothing the chiffon fabric of your dress over your baby bump. Frequently, you’ve been wearing Harry's shirts ever since your bump has gotten too large to wear your own, but you wanted to look nice tonight. It’s been grueling trying to accept your changing body, which is why you strive to do little things to take care of your mental health. Even though you've been more concerned about your physical health as of lately, if something as simple as putting on a pretty dress can boost your confidence, you'll take advantage of the opportunity.

Carefully weaving through round, decorated tables, you peer at the bar area operating against the farthest wall. Harry's back is turned to you, broad and familiar, as he washes cocktail glasses. His defined muscles shift under the tight, black button-up he wears, and the sleeves are rolled up to his elbows, revealing the array of tattoos on his forearms. He's also sporting fitted slacks with matching suspenders attached to them. He's been growing out his hair during the last couple of months, with curls now flourishing past his ears. He always keeps them pushed back with a bandana or headband so that they don't fall in his eyes while he works.

You don't want to be a nuisance and steal a seat from any guests, so you stand off to the side and wait for Harry to finish his cleaning duties. His bulky rings clink against champagne and wine glasses as he dries them with a rag and sets them under the counter. You can hear him faintly whistling along to the jazz music coming from the connected banquet hall.

Once Harry finishes wiping his station clean, he sneakily takes out his phone and starts typing—you assume he's texting you to let you know he's done. He then washes his hands as another bartender walks behind the counter to clock in. They must be the one replacing him. You're not too knowledgeable about the rotation of bartenders since Harry is almost always in the back running the kitchen. It’s intriguing to see him adjust his skill set in a different environment.

He gives the employee a friendly squeeze on their shoulder before clocking out and heading in your direction. He nearly brushes past you while taking his phone out again, completely oblivious to your presence, and you laugh before stopping him with a hand on his chest. It makes him stumble back with a confused frown, but he quickly smiles in surprise when he recognizes you.

"How'd you get in?" he asks breathlessly, kissing your cheek.

"I told the security guards at the gate that I’m picking up my husband. If they said no, I was going to tell them my water broke."

He smirks proudly. "Clever. How are you feeling? Baby's good?" He holds your upper arms, and his eyes scan your body as if you've changed drastically since you saw him only four hours ago.

"All good. Just a sore back like usual." You toy with one of his suspender straps. "What about you? It's your last shift for a while."

Exhaling happily, Harry clasps your hand in his and says, "I feel fantastic. Let's go eat, yeah? I'm starving."

He guides you through an open doorway leading to the restaurant's dining area, where your reserved table is. In the back of the room, you spot a candlelit booth with plates, silverware, and two glasses filled with ice water. The water doesn't go unnoticed, considering Harry set a goal for himself to stop drinking alcohol along with you.

On the windowsill, a stout vase with beautiful red roses catches your eye as you sit down. Harry slides into the seat across from you. Only a few other booths are occupied—otherwise, the room is serenely quiet, with the occasional clink of metal and a sprinkle of chatter.

"You look angelic, by the way," Harry says before taking a sip of his water.

"Thank you," you whisper, nudging his foot with yours under the table. "I like your suspenders. They remind me of when you used to be a rookie assistant chef that I'd visit. You wore them under your chef coat with a fancy little neckerchief. I thought you looked so adorable."

"Now I'm old and weathered," he replies wryly.

"Well, you're turning thirty soon. And you'll be a dad in a month. Isn't that when someone officially becomes a DILF?" You're not sure why you casually mentioned the racy acronym over a romantic dinner, but it's too late to retreat now.

Harry's eyes gleam, and he fails miserably at hiding a smile under his scrunched nose. "Pardon? What are you trying to insinuate, darling?"

"Nothing! Never mind,” you say, embarrassed that you ever spoke. "I was only trying to bring up a nice memory. Reminiscing, if you will. Forget I said anything."

"I'm definitely not forgetting that. That ugly neckerchief, however..." He laughs at himself. "God, it feels like forever ago. Time flies."

"I thought it was kind of attractive," you mumble around the rim of your glass.

He raises his eyebrows as a warning to not start something you don't want to finish, then clears his throat and rests his forearms on the table. "Speaking of work, that's what I wanted to talk to you about tonight. I want you to keep an open mind, okay?"

Your lips downturn in curiosity. Just as you're about to reply, a waiter arrives at the table with a tray of steaming dishes and places them in the center. You texted Harry what you wanted from the menu after he left this morning, and since he's the boss, everything is free, cooked to perfection, and served promptly.

"Thank you," Harry says before focusing on you again. The waiter leaves, and you begin picking at your food to distract yourself from your increasing heart rate.

"Um, did you say work? Did you get a promotion? Is that even a possibility for a head chef?"

You can physically see the color drain from his face. "So," he says nervously, ignoring your questions, "the baby's coming soon, yes? Obviously."

"Right," you reply with suspicion.

Shifting in his seat, he sets his fork down and runs a hand through his tousled hair. "Listen, the restaurant during autumn and winter isn't as busy as the summertime. You know that. And because of that, I want to be home with you and the baby as much as possible. And I will with paternity leave, but once I go back to work, my hours will pick up again, and it'll be—"

"Harry, just tell me," you interrupt gently. He has a bad habit of running circles around topics.

He blows out a long breath. "I'm demoting myself. It's in the works that I'll be the sous chef when I return, so that means fewer hours and more time at home."

You're glad you don't take a sip of water yet because you nearly choke. Demotion? He’s never mentioned that before.

"Can I ask why in the world you would do that?" you ask. You don't mean to sound snippy, but pregnancy hormones, mixed with Harry's revelation, cause a pit of unwarranted annoyance to simmer in your gut.

"Love, let me explain." He reaches his hand across the table and squeezes yours. "This is my choice. It's final, all right? I'm not going to work ten hours a day, six days a week, while you're at home with our baby. That's ridiculous."

"But what about—"

"Stop while you're ahead, because you're going to overthink it," he says calmly. "If you're worried about money, don't be. It's only a slight decrease in my wage. Everything will be fine."

Your annoyance wins as you slide your free hand down your face. "You realize that we'll need more money when the baby comes. It's common sense. Why would you think cutting your hours is a smart idea?"

Harry scoffs like what you're saying is illogical. He leans in closer so that the impending argument doesn't disrupt anyone's dinner, his voice hushed yet stern when he replies, "Would you rather have me come home every day absolutely knackered and then spend a maximum of four hours with our child before I have to get up to do it all over again? Hmm?"

You shake your head in irritation and remove your hand from his. "It's called adapting. It may be tough at first, but it becomes second nature. We just have to wait until the baby gets here to figure out a schedule that works."

Harry falls back against the booth. He throws his hands up in frustration, and they slap against his thighs before he says, "Do you realize how stupid you sound right now? You're talking about money and scheduling like we're—"

"I'm leaving." When you stand, Harry's mouth instantly clamps shut. You don't care that you barely ate your food—you can't listen to him anymore. You're awfully close to lashing out.

Heading the way you came from, you hear Harry's footsteps scuffing the floor behind you. Once you're in the parking lot, you groan when you remember that he has to ride home with you since you dropped him off earlier. While you struggle to unlock the car, you see Harry in your peripheral, striding to stop you from going any further.

"I didn't mean it. I'm sorry." His shoulders sulk, and he looks genuinely distraught. "Can we please talk this through when we get home?"

Your eyes dance over his defeated expression. You can’t say no since you live together, plus you promised years ago never to go to bed angry at each other. So, you nod your head, and he shoots you a timorous smile before withdrawing to the passenger side.

As you drive, you give Harry the harrowing silent treatment. He deserves it, considering he's looking out the window with his arms crossed and pouting like a child. The only sound in the confined space is the air conditioner running and cars whooshing past on the freeway. Your stomach grumbles, and you feel terrible about leaving two five-star plates of food untouched at the restaurant.

After several minutes of dreadful silence, Harry finally breaks the tension when you park in the garage. He grabs a white envelope tucked in the center console and asks, "What's this?"

Oh. You forgot about that.

"Nothing," you mutter, unbuckling your seatbelt.

Harry rolls his eyes and flings the envelope onto the dashboard, then reaches over to take the key out of the ignition. Seconds pass before you hear him open the front door and then shut it harder than necessary.

You swallow down vexation. There have been tiny arguments more often since you got pregnant, and you blame your hormones every time for getting irritated so easily. Usually, Harry isn't the sole reason for those heightened emotions, but there are situations when he can be so stubborn that you just want to shake him out of it.

Eventually, you get out of the car with the envelope in hand and head down to the beach for some time alone. It'll be nice to sit by the water and cool down, figuratively and literally. You have an inclination that if you try to hash it out with Harry right now, it will only result in more regretful words said.

You reach the private stretch of sand that’s part of your beachfront property, holding your bump protectively as you descend the wooden steps. It's chilly by the oceanside this time of year, so you grab a towel that was left on the railing from previous evenings and drape it over your shoulders.

As the October sunset tinges the sky with orange and pink streaks, you sit down and reflect on the unfortunate escalation of your conversation with Harry. You love him dearly and could never feel an ounce of hatred toward him. He has never given you a reason to doubt anything, but to put his career on the back burner without mentioning it to you is hurtful. You almost feel guilty knowing he made the choice because of you and the baby. Sometimes, you shy away from being the main priority because you don't want to feel like a burden. In retrospect, it's incredibly thoughtful that he wants to work less to spend quality time with the baby when they arrive. On the other hand, you can't help but worry that you won't be financially secure because of it.

"Hungry?"

Your head shifts to find Harry walking toward you with a spoon and a strange-looking fruit in his hand. It's impossible not to smile when you note the outfit he changed into—pale yellow trousers and an argyle knit sweater. All of his rings are off except for his gold wedding band. His feet are bare.

He's the love of your life and has nothing but pure intentions, so how could you not trust his decision?

"What is that?" you ask, pointing to the half-cut fruit as Harry gets comfortable beside you.

"A papaya," he replies with a shrug. "A pregnancy blog said that at thirty-two weeks, a baby is as big as one of these bad boys. So, naturally, I bought one."

You have to turn your face so he doesn't see your irrepressible smile. You're not giving him the benefit of seeing you crack from his endearing ways just yet. "You're an unusual man, Harry Styles. Do you plan on buying more fruit for the last four weeks?"

"I already put pineapple on the grocery list," he says unconcernedly as he scoops out a chunk from the fleshy fruit. "Anyway, I didn't come out here to discuss fruit." His tongue sticks out when he takes a bite, the spoon leaving his mouth with a pop before he points it at you. "Still mad at me?"

You sigh, knowing it's useless to continue acting like he's in the wrong. "I can't stay mad at you. And I don't know why I got so worked up. I was just being overdramatic."

Harry hums thoughtfully as he swallows another bite. "Expressing how you feel isn't overdramatic. Don't apologize for having those feelings, especially toward me. Yell at me if I'm being a dick; kiss me if I'm being a dreamboat. It’s simple, baby." He finishes his little speech by shoving another spoonful of papaya into his mouth, chewing introspectively while staring at the waves.

"Was it Socrates who said that?"

He plucks your bottom lip with the spoon and murmurs, "You're feisty today."

"Back to the topic," you say before he can rile you up. "Money shouldn't have been what my mind first went to. It's still a concern, but ultimately, making time for our family is the most important thing. I apologize for freaking out."

"You're forgiven." Harry scoots closer and holds a spoonful to your mouth. You accept the sweet flavor as he continues, "And I'm so sorry for saying you sounded stupid. Please know that that’s the furthest thing from the truth."

"We all say things we don't mean sometimes," you reply. “There's no use in acting like I haven't done the same thing in the past.”

Harry slings his arm around your shoulders, bringing you in for a warm side hug. "What you said is true, by the way. We have time to figure things out and adapt. Let's enjoy this last month we have to ourselves.”

You nod in agreement. "I also want to thank you for being so thoughtful and putting our family first. I trust you with this new life chapter. I don't doubt you at all."

"Don't worry about it," he says, kissing your temple. "I'm proud of you for dealing with every mental and physical change these past eight months. And I will always be here for you through the good and bad moments, all right? In sickness, in health, and everything in between.”

You smile fondly and take out the white envelope that’s been hiding under your leg. "Are you in the mood for a good moment with me?" Harry looks confused but nods anyway. "When you saw this in the car, it's not nothing like I said it was. It's from my prenatal appointment I went to a few days ago. I know we decided to find out the gender a month before my due date, so I had the doctor write the answer down.” You inhale an anxious breath. “I haven't looked at it yet."

Harry's eyes widen, and his mouth parts as he sets the papaya down. "I am not prepared for this. Wait, hold on. Let me breathe for a second." His head tilts up toward the sky as he takes dramatic, calming breaths.

You laugh and place the envelope on his thigh. "Do the honors, Styles. Let's see if your prediction is right."

He picks it up and carefully opens the seal. Unfolding the paper filled with your clinical notes, he quickly skims the tiny lettering to look for the answer he's been desperately waiting for.

"Holy shit," he says, his voice cracking as his hand covers his mouth.

"I'm guessing you're right," you say shakily, your eyes watering.

"Girl… we’re having a girl.”He wipes away his tears, smiling widely. "Why am I crying? I was confident it was a girl."

"Because it makes things more real," you say, leaning over to kiss his damp, rosy cheeks. "Now we know for sure."

"Come here, honey. Let me take a look at her."

You sit on your knees between Harry’s spread legs. He sets the envelope down and lifts your dress, revealing your bump that puts quite some distance between you and him. His hands splay across the taut skin as he leans down to kiss right above your belly button. He gazes up at you under his wet lashes and smiles against your stomach, his dimples carving pure happiness into his cheeks.

"I love you," he whispers with a sniffle. "I love both of you so much. With my entire soul."

In that moment, everything falls into place.

——

July—Present Day

Everything is falling apart.

Well, not really, but it sure feels that way when you bend over the toilet at seven in the morning and empty your queasy stomach once again.

It's the first Sunday in July, marking the tenth week of your second pregnancy. When you woke up with a wave of morning sickness a couple of hours ago, you noticed something peculiar. As you were rubbing circles on your abdomen to ease the nausea, it appeared that your stomach had seemingly popped overnight. The curve was more prominent and firm—a small bump you must have mistaken for bloating. It’s pretty much nonexistent in any loose garment, but anything tight will hug it nicely and be a constant reminder of baby number two growing in there.

Dizzily standing, you move toward the sink to brush your teeth for the umpteenth time, then gurgle some spearmint mouthwash to diminish the rancid taste in your mouth. Pots and pans clang downstairs as you wipe your lips, and the occasional giggle from your daughter mixes with Harry's theatrical voice, which he puts on whenever she watches him cook.

The smell of sizzling bacon doesn't help the swirling feeling in your stomach as you head downstairs to the kitchen. Their lighthearted commotion grows louder, and you stop in the doorway to soak in your favorite part of Sunday mornings. Harry is in front of the island, and your daughter stands on her tiptoes on a step stool next to him, the two of them watching pancakes turn golden brown on the griddle. He's in full Dad Mode with tired eyes and an outfit that screams: I have a toddler and pregnant wife at home. In other words, a black button-up with pink flamingos on it and grey pleated trousers. They don't match whatsoever, but you know he doesn't care. Clothing isn’t his prime concern—family is.

He voyages around the kitchen, pouring orange juice, dropping chocolate chips into the batter, and ensuring your daughter's little hands don't touch anything hazardous. Your hand subconsciously drifts to your bump as you think about how you'll get to see him interact with a newborn again—cuddling them, rocking them to sleep, and pretending to eat their chubby hands and feet. He still does all those things with your daughter, and it breaks your heart knowing she'll grow out of it one day.

"Good morning," Harry says with his back turned, halting your daydreaming. How does he always sense your presence?

When you don't say anything, he turns to glance at you while sliding a heart-shaped pancake onto a plate. Your smile stretches wider as you curl your pointer finger to beckon him closer. He gives you a confused look before unplugging the griddle and instructing your daughter not to touch anything on the counter. She'll be too distracted by the cartoon playing on the television to even notice that the both of you will be gone for a moment.

"What's up, baby?" Sauntering toward you, Harry sticks his thumb in his mouth to lick some excess pancake batter off.

"I have a surprise for you," you whisper, accepting his slow, relaxed kiss.

"Yeah? S'it my half-birthday or something?" he asks, his voice still gravelly and slurred from sleep.

"No, this isn't about you," you tease with a pinch to his hip. "Come with me."

You grab his hand and lead him to the bathroom just down the hall. Flicking the light switch on, you stand in front of the mirror and say, "I'm ten weeks along. I woke up with a little morning sickness, and look!" You lift your shirt and turn to the side to show him a better angle of your stomach. "It was just pudge before, but it's an actual bump now."

Behind you, Harry rubs his warm hands over the swell and marvels at it. "Well, I’ll be damned. You... fuck, this happened overnight. I was spooning you this morning! How did I not notice?"

"I don't know. I didn't notice either, and it's my own body." You shake your head disbelievingly and place your hands over his. "I read that a woman's second pregnancy will have them showing earlier. I guess that's why I popped so soon. Last time, I didn't show until fourteen weeks or something like that."

He hums lowly, pulling you further back against his chest. "I've missed seeing you like this. It makes you glow more than usual." His mouth is by your ear when he murmurs, "Makes me hard."

"You're so naughty in the mornings," you say, removing yourself from his grasp and pulling down your shirt. "C'mon, let's eat breakfast."

Harry whines in protest, gently grabbing your face and turning it toward him so he can nip your nose and then lock your lips together. After your stolen moment alone, the both of you head back to the kitchen to enjoy another blissful Sunday morning.

——

Takeout pizza is on the menu tonight. The Volvo’s trunk is open, with blankets and pillows strewn about to create a fort-like space for the three of you to sit in. Harry drove the vehicle down to the beach so you all could watch the sunset and feel the ocean breeze.

You get comfortable in the trunk and set paper plates and napkins down. Harry and your daughter are in the nearby beach grass, picking wildflowers that blossom there. They wander, her tiny hand gripping stems while her other holds Harry’s. Her precious strawberry-patterned dress flows in the wind.

Moments later, they come strolling toward the car with content smiles. Your daughter crawls into the trunk with your help and hands you a makeshift bouquet of yellow and purple wildflowers.

"Thank you, sweetheart," you say, kissing her windswept hair.

Harry places his hands on either side of your thighs and leans in for some of your affection. You peck his lips—they're pink from the fruit punch he made earlier. Before he retreats, he glances at your baby bump and then looks at you with a crooked smile, his thumb delicately stroking the curve.

"Kumquat," he says, clicking his tongue.

You laugh, albeit not understanding. "Come again?"

"A baby at ten weeks is the size of a kumquat," he explains, like it's a well-known fact.

"Interesting," you say. "Well, the kumquat is hungry, so get up here and cut the pizza."

Your daughter is oblivious to the conversation as Harry scoots next to you and begins rolling the pizza cutter. His forearm muscles flex, the veins popping out. "Small bites, little lady," he tells her as he puts a slice on her plate.

Reaching behind you, you grab the bottle of sparkly pink nail polish you brought out. "She wants you to paint her nails."

Harry nods and pats his lap. She sits between his legs and waits patiently. While taking the bottle of polish from you and shaking it, his phone’s ringtone suddenly goes off. He juts his lips out as he reaches into his pocket to check the number.

"Hello?" he answers, balancing his phone between his ear and shoulder. He opens the polish’s cap and begins painting her nails.

You observe his facial expressions. He has a serious look and frequently nods as he listens to whoever's on the other end of the line. You pluck a green pepper off the pizza and eat it, feeling a swirl of anticipation in your gut.

"Tomorrow? Are you sure?" he asks. You hear an unfamiliar muffled voice before he says, "Awesome, thank you. Call me if anything changes. Okay, bye." He sets down the nail polish and hangs up before resuming painting her pointer finger.

"Who was that?" you ask while tucking a wildflower stem behind his ear. He looks handsome in the evening light.

"My boss," he says, licking his thumb and wiping a smudge he made. “I don't have to go in tomorrow since there are barely any reservations."

"No sparkles," your daughter blurts before you can reply. Harry freezes and eyes you perplexedly.

"What?" you ask. She points to one of her painted nails and frowns. You gently take her hand and observe it closely—no sparkles are showing up. "I'm sorry, sweetie. It must be icky polish. We can take it off and get another one."

It's almost scary how quickly the waterworks start. You exhale as you take the plate from her so she doesn't throw a fit and make a mess. She's crying and staring at Harry like he's the cause of no sparkles. Well, maybe he didn't shake the bottle enough, but you keep your mouth shut so you don't make matters worse.

Harry grabs her waist and props her in front of him. "Mommy said we can get some more, all right? We’re not throwing a tantrum right now. Behave, or I'm not painting your nails."

You could have predicted what happens next from experience. Her harmless fists hit his chest in frustration, and undried polish smears all over his shirt. Harry has always been good at controlling these minor mishaps, so he inhales deeply before lifting her writhing body.

"Early bedtime it is, then," he mutters while walking toward the house.

You begin cleaning up the short-lived dinner. It isn't anything new you've had to deal with, but it exhausts you, especially when she has a tantrum during family time. You take the pizza box out of the trunk, then close it and decide to clean everything else tomorrow. You drive the car up to the garage and lock the doors before stepping inside.

After putting the pizza in the fridge, you stand outside your daughter's bedroom door and listen for any crying or screaming. A sigh of relief leaves you when only subsiding whimpers indicate her tantrum has deescalated for the night.

Opening the door, your heart softens at the sight you walk in on. Harry sits against her headboard, his feet hanging past the edge of her bed, as he cradles his baby girl. He soothingly rocks her side to side with his eyes closed as he rubs circles on her back. Her heavy eyes are barely open, and her tear-stained cheeks are smushed against Harry's chest. She's in her pajamas now.

You kneel next to her bed, and she extends her arm, reaching for you. Harry jolts awake and opens his eyes. His grip loosens when he notices that she wants you. You stand and take her in your arms, her legs hugging your waist. You then sit by Harry's thighs and quietly laugh when you see the residue of pink nail polish staining his shirt.

Harry grins and clasps his hands behind his head, stretching his limbs. "It's not funny. I bought this shirt because of her, and this is what I got in return. She's a menace."

You squeeze his ankle in good nature and say, "I wonder where she gets it from."

He gasps in faux offense and grabs your daughter's hand, shaking it playfully. "Mommy’s being mean, don't you think?"

She sleepily shakes her head. You raise your eyebrows smugly before smattering her cheeks with kisses until she smiles and tiredly whines into your neck.

Harry yawns before catching your gaze and jerking his head toward your stomach. "Should we tell her?" he mouths.

Your heart rate quickens. You're not worried that she'll be upset, considering she’s asked—as best she could with her limited vocabulary—if she could have a sibling on a few occasions. You think it's time to tell her the news now that you're showing.

When you nod, Harry swings his legs over the mattress and crouches between your knees. You shift your daughter so she's settled sideways on your lap, then nod again to let him initiate the conversation.

"We have something to tell you, sweetheart," he says with a fond gentleness reserved only for her. Her head turns away from the safety of your neck. "You know how you've been asking about a baby brother or sister?" She nods languidly, prompting him to ask, "Can you look at Mommy’s belly?"

You situate her beside you and lift the stretchy material of your tank top. Harry says, "There's a baby in her belly." He guides her hand to your bump. "Your brother or sister is growing in there."

Her expression is unreadable at first, but then she gazes at you with curious eyes. "Baby," she utters drowsily. She's about one second away from slipping into a deep sleep.

"I don't think she'll remember in the morning," Harry says with a laugh.

You smile dotingly and stand before tucking her into bed. You kiss her forehead and watch her doze off as Harry tells her goodnight, whispering his boundless love for her and sealing his truthful words with a feather-light kiss to both of her cheeks.

Shutting off her bedside lamp, you leave the room with Harry hot on your heels. You're in the process of pulling your tank top down on the way to your bedroom, but before you can reach the door, Harry grabs your hips, stopping you in the dim hallway.

"You can't look this good and go straight to bed," he says, his breath warm and intimate.

"Mom needs her sleep before work tomorrow," you reply with a smirk. Although you wouldn't mind staying up a bit longer if he continues complimenting you.

"Please, baby," he murmurs, his hands drifting dangerously lower. "Just a quick one, yeah? I'll let you do whatever you want to me."

Don't give in, you tell yourself. Make him work for it.

"Anything?" you ask sensually as his fingers begin to brush along your inner thighs, causing your knees to weaken temporarily.

Harry licks his lips, his tongue poking your neck with the faintest touch. "Don't act like I wouldn't let you ruin me, darling."

You clench your thighs around his hand, and he groans against your neck. "But I'm so tired, Harry. It won't last very long if I do what I want with you."

"Like I give a shit." He cups your core with his palm, his impatient fingers stroking over the fabric of your silk pajama shorts. "You could give me the sloppiest blowjob ever, and I'd still worship the ground you walk on."

You bite your bottom lip, suppressing the urge to moan. "Will you run me a bath afterward?"

"We can fuck in the bath instead."

You ponder for a second. "It would be an easy cleanup. We'd have to do it in the downstairs bathroom, though, and you'd have to be quiet. Think you can handle that?"

"I don’t know. Do you plan on making me scream?"

"I could always put those suspenders you wore today in your mouth to shut you up."

He exhales a sexy breath, one that reveals you caught him off guard. "You'd like that, wouldn't you?"

You hum and grab his hand, raising it to your mouth to nip at the calloused pad of his thumb before walking down the stairs to the bathroom just around the corner. The porcelain tub awaits, and you turn the knob and plug the drain. The bay window it sits in front of exhibits an endless ocean and a sky that’s fading into starlit shades of dark blue.

Once the water is high enough and sufficiently warm, you shut the faucet off and begin removing your clothes. Harry enters the bathroom a few moments later and locks the door behind him. He unbuttons his shirt slowly while facing the mirror, his eyebrows furrowed in concentration.

You step into the tub and watch him. He's taking his trousers off now, his exposed back muscles flexing along with his biceps as he shimmies the garment down his legs. His body is truly something from a beautiful dream. Every inch blesses your eyes.

He's entirely naked when you break away from your reverie. His long legs gracefully step over the tub's ledge to settle behind you. A muted moan escapes him when his cock rubs against your lower back.

"Already making noise, and I haven't even started yet," you tease, leaning into his touch.

"Can you blame me? I have my wife"—his fingers glide against your pulsing entrance—"dripping for me. Absolutely soaked."

"Then do something about it."

Harry palms your clit, and you instinctively bend your knees. "I thought you wanted to be in control tonight."

"Will you be good? You have a reputation for getting antsy and taking over."

His hands travel to your sensitive breasts, squeezing them. "Yeah? Does that bother you?"

"You know I like it when you're submissive. Especially when you whine for me and try to touch me when you know you can't."

"Go on, then. Take care of your husband."

"I'm going to take care of myself first." You turn around and straddle his thighs—above his kneecap, your name is inked permanently.

"Ride it. You're the only one who's allowed to." His hands try to latch onto your waist, but you slap them away.

"Touch yourself while I ride you."

Harry's tongue pokes the inside of his cheek as he grips his cock, squeezing and twisting to satiate himself. You grind on his thigh to relieve the building pressure and stifle your moans into his neck. You’re slick with arousal as his thigh muscle flexes with each motion. He starts pumping, his arm resting on the edge of the tub. Your palm presses against his abdomen, causing him to release a choked moan.

You shush him. "You have to be quiet. What do you need? Tell me what you want, and I'll give it to you since you're being so good."

"You," he whispers with a pained look etched on his face. "I need you around my cock. Please, please, please."

His voice dies with each plea, and you cradle his limp head as he fully submits to you. Whenever he begs, you unravel too. Your dominant wall crumbles with his whines, and his deep voice always goes a pitch higher to show his desperation for you. His pink lips form solicitous praises and carnal noises of desire. You want to kiss them until they’re swollen and numb.

"I know," you say, kissing the indent between his eyebrows. "I'm ready."

Shakily lifting yourself off his thigh, you get Harry to sit up more in the tub so he can line his cock up with your entrance. When you slowly lower into him, he stretches your walls and sinks deep. Your fingers scratch his chest, your body leaning into him as you ride him. He moans, and you cover his mouth. His muffled whimpers encourage you to go faster.

Through ragged breaths, Harry says, "Let me come on your stomach. You're so beautiful like this."

Who are you to say no to such a filthy request?

"Are you close?" Your question lingers in the air, and Harry seems to be spaced out from pleasure because he doesn't answer. You feel him throb inside you as he jerks his hips up at a different angle. His glistening chest is heaving, and his eyes are pinched shut.

"Harry." You cradle his cheeks to bring him back to earth. "Are you close?"

He hears you this time, nodding fervently until, little by little, he slips himself out of you and stands up in the tub. You follow his lead and sit on the edge so that he towers over you. He holds his cock and looks up at the ceiling as he comes. You hold his free hand to balance him, his legs trembling and his lips pulled inward to stop any moans from escaping.

Harry’s warm release drips down on you, and once he finishes, he falls to his knees in the water, some of it splashing over the tub and onto the floor. His hands grip your ankles to put them over his shoulders, leaving sloppy kisses on your legs. You spread them more so he can finish you off. You could orgasm in two seconds flat if he puts his mouth on you.

"Fingers or mouth?" he asks.

"Mouth. Can I come on you too?"

He whines against your inner thigh. "Yeah?"

You nod, and Harry immediately latches his mouth on your clit. There's already pressure building in your lower stomach. He moves down to lick inside of you, his nose nudging your clit as his hands splay on your bump. It’s a protective move on his part.

"Feels so good," you say, placing your hands on the tub's edge to steady yourself. "I feel it. Please don't stop."

He licks a long stripe upward, not holding back by going inside so deep that it makes you ache. Your legs tighten around him until you sense your burning climax approaching.

"Harry. Please, I need—" You can't finish your sentence because Harry stands up abruptly and hooks his hand under your knees to lift you, carefully stepping out of the tub and setting you on the rug. It's messy and uncoordinated—however, he's never the one to give you a stagnant sex life.

He cradles you as your body quivers, then lays down on his back so you can fulfill your request. You straddle his torso, your slickness settling on his abdomen in the dim lighting of the bathroom. His thumb presses onto your clit, a move that always makes your orgasm boil over. Your neck tilts back, and you come. Harry's hands are everywhere—kneading your ass, rubbing up and down your thighs, and groping your breasts. You ride out the last of your release. His skin is sticky with your arousal, and you eventually collapse on your back next to him in exhaustion.

"C'mere, love," Harry says, his arm extended. “You're too far away."

You exhale, your hands resting on your bump. "I can't. My legs feel like jelly."

Harry snorts a laugh and sits up. He quickly unplugs the drain and crawls over to hover above you, placing a kiss on your stomach. He blindly finds a towel nearby and begins wiping you clean.

"This is the lamest aftercare ever," you say, laughing tiredly. The dry towel doesn't feel nice on your sweaty skin, and Harry's movements are lazy.

"That's enough out of you," he replies through his exhaustion, gently cleaning your stomach.

"Should I take off work tomorrow?" you wonder aloud. "I want to sleep in."

"Yes," he whispers, grabbing your hands to position you upright. His eyes take in every bit of you. "Look at you. You're going to be the death of me."

Every nerve of yours seems to tingle at his words. "Remember when I was pregnant last time, and you nearly broke my back during sex?"

Harry cackles way too loud, and you hush him as his hands slap over his mouth. "I was so scared when that happened. But I could only take you from behind because you were ready to pop, so it's not entirely my fault."

"Excuse me? How is that not your fault?" You yank the towel from his loose grasp and begin cleaning him. "I'm surprised my water didn’t break with how hard you were going."

"Jesus, you've got a dirty mind. Save it for later, would you?"

A comfortable silence ensues while you both wrap towels around your bodies and then head to the bedroom. You pick out one of Harry's shirts and a pair of underwear. He slides into some black boxers. While you ruffle your slightly damp hair, he sneakily picks you up and lightly tosses you on the bed, making you squeal in surprise.

"Are you really going to take off work tomorrow?" he asks, kissing along the column of your throat.

"Yeah. I'll lie and say my morning sickness is bad."

His kisses move to your cheeks. "And what if it actually is?"

"Then my husband will wait on me hand and foot," you say with a grin. "He’ll feed me soup in bed. Massage me. Kiss me better."

Harry tucks a strand of your hair behind your ear. "You know I'd do that anyway, right? Just say the word, and I'll do anything."

You stare at his kind eyes and inviting lips. The shadow of his dimple even when he's not smiling. His perfect nose that resembles your daughter's. His cheeks that were meant to be pinched fondly. His simple smile that made you fall in love from day one. The love of your lifetime, with a soul that shelters his heart that overflows with love.

"I love you,” you say.

A whispered reciprocation is spoken, and it's all you need in the world.

——

#harry styles fanfic #harry styles imagine #harry styles x reader #harry styles fluff #dad!harry #dadrry #harry styles au #dilfrry #harry styles #adore-laur

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siriusleee · 1 year ago

Note

Okay so the request issss: basically for some unmentioned reason (unless you can think of one 👀) the 141 boys + reader are on a vacation of sorts and they all have to ride in the same vehicle. just something soft and sweet and maybe some funny 🫡 you can run wild with this and add whatever, but road-trip times with the 141 LETS GOOOO *foaming at the mouth* oh! and thank you so much :D, have a nice day and i love ur fics btw

here you go bestie. road trip with the 141. platonically. or not. depends on how you read them.

send a request!

simon 'ghost' riley

He breaks into your snack aisle reverie, boots squeaking against the freshly waxed gas station floor. You're hunched over, fingers trailing against every snack on the bottom row. Your other hand is full, the snacks are precariously held against your chest.

"You haven't picked anything yet?"

"There's an art to road trip snacks, L.T.."

"That so?"

You ignore the blatant sarcasm in his voice; your back cracks as you push yourself upright. Ghost reaches out to grab a chocolate bar from the counter and tucks it into the mountain of snacks you're already holding.

"Is that all for you?"

"Screw you L.T.; for your information, this is for all of us. I have to make sure that all of you have something to eat when you get hangry. The last time Gaz didn't eat a damn snack he was so annoying I almost smothered him with my travel pillow."

Ghost follows you to the counter where you dump the pile of snacks on the counter. You dig in your pocket for your card, pushing past all the snack wrappers you'd taken from Soap already. You have it half out of your pocket before Ghost manages to step in your way, his own card already in the card reader.

The cashier pushes your bags across the counter towards you; Ghost takes them with one hand.

"Come on L.T. I could have paid for it."

"Just say thank you."

You huff, ducking under his arm as he holds the door open for you.

"Thank you. I guess."

john price

The concrete is warm beneath your back - the air so still it feels like everything around you has frozen. The far-off headlights of cars on the highway illuminate the pool for a brief second every time one drives by the motel; the lights disappear as they pass by the motel.

"Shouldn't you be getting some sleep?"

Price's voice doesn't startle you; you'd been waiting on someone else to find you lying beside the pool, feet dipped into the warm, still water. Sleep doesn't come easy around the 141 - and it's not unusual for you all to stay up all night together.

"Shouldn't you," you quip back, lifting one foot out of the water before dropping it back down to make a splash, "you have to drive tomorrow. I can sleep in the back and drool on Soap the entire time."

Price groans as he lowers himself down beside you, his feet dropping heavily into the warm water.

"I got enough sleep."

Without thinking, you reach up to trace patterns against Price's back. Under your fingers, his muscles tense and roll before he finally relaxes underneath your touch.

"You need to get a fucking tan Cap.. You're positively ghostly. You're glowing."

Price shoots you a look of poison before leaning over to look at your legs, dangling in the water beside his.

"Your tan's not looking all that well either."

"Well if someone would ever give me time off to go spend time outside, I could fix that."

Price lowers himself down beside you, hands crossed on his chest. The silence between the two of you stretches, filled with the distant sound of tires on asphalt and the gentle ripple of the pool as you move your feet.

You turn to say something else to Price, but his eyes are closed. He twitches once in his sleep, mustache fluttering as he breathes out. You roll your eyes at him before turning back on your back. You'll let him sleep for a bit before waking him up.

kyle 'gaz' garrick

Ghost nearly tips the car as he turns it, slamming you into Gaz in the backseat. Up front, Soap is yelling at Ghost to learn how to fuckin' drive.

Your stomach is rolling at the motion of Ghost's shit driving as you push yourself off of Gaz.

"Can someone else fucking drive?" You ask irritably, ignoring the way Ghost shoots you a look in the rearview mirror.

Gaz laughs, extending his bag of chips toward you. You shake your head at him, propping your feet up on the center console.

"I can't eat. With this driving, I might throw up everywhere."

"I think the more we complain, the worse he drives," Gaz says under his breath, shoving the bag of chips into his duffle crammed at his feet.

"Well if he keeps driving like this, I'm going to fucking throw up all over him."

"Take a nap. Then you won't feel sick."

You gesture to the two men up front, arguing about which turn to take up the road.

"I'm supposed to sleep in this?"

Gaz shrugs once, a quick 'that's fair'. You lean your head against the cool window, trying to think around the sounds of everyone talking.

A sharp turn pulls you to your senses, but when you sit up it's not from the cool class window, but the soft warmth of someone's lap. Above you, Gaz scrolls through his phone, oblivious to the fact that you're awake.

Up front, Soap and Ghost are quiet - the only sound is the hum of the air conditioning and the low tones of the radio on the lowest setting. You readjust yourself; Gaz's hand comes down on your shoulder to keep you in place. You're pulled back under to sleep by the warmth of him.

johnny 'soap' mctavish

You're tortured by the sound of Price's snoring. You realized twenty minutes after he fell asleep why the rest of the team forced you to share the tiny, musty hotel room with him. His snoring had the exact tone and timbre of a half rusted chainsaw cutting through metal.

You flop over with a huff, folding the pillow around your head to try to drown out the tortuous sound. You're almost certain this is how prisoners have been tortured in the past.

After an hour, you give in.

Price doesn't wake as you sneak the car keys off of his night stand and slip out of the room. Your blanket drags the ground as you step into the still night air; at least you can get some decent sleep in the car.

You jerk open the passenger side door, ready to crawl in and get some sleep. You're not expecting to come face to face with Johnny, curled up on his side, one eye cracked open to peer at you beneath his lashes.

"Price was snoring." He says, with a half grin as you shut the door in his face to climb into the back seat.

"Why are you here?" You ask shoving everyone's stuff onto the floor so that you can stretch out on the seat, toes hitting the door.

"Same reason you are."

You lay in the back seat, trying to force yourself to fall asleep; but the sound of Johnny's soft breath and the travelers on the highway behind you are enough to keep you awake.

"How did you get in here? Price had the keys?"

Johnny huffs at you trying to make midnight conversation, but he answers, voice muffled beneath his blanket.

"L.T. has the spare set. I took it out of his bag earlier today just in case."

"I'll remember to do that to Price tomorrow."

It's silent again until -

"Johnny?"

He huffs again, and you know that you're getting on his nerves.

"What?"

"Good-night."

He doesn't say it back. You turn, pulling your blanket above your head, Johnny's soft breathing lulling you to sleep.

#i have tried formatting this times #i'm going to scream #my fics #ghost cod #simon ghost riley #ghost #ghost cod x reader #simon riley x reader #ghost cod x you #kyle gaz garrick #johnny soap mactavish #john price #captain john price #cod fanfic

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writer-by-the-sea · 2 years ago

Text

The Gas Attendant

Stardew Valley Fanfic

Shane X GN! Reader

NSFW / NSFT

One shot

Reader is entranced by the sexy gas station attendant on an unscheduled stop.

The smell of gas still lingers, no matter how many times I wash myself… I can still smell it. I can still smell him. I let my hands linger on my waist, the hot water from my shower pouring down my back and trying to help me forget what could have never been.

A quick stop in a small town, against my schedule as I left the city and set the destination for my sister's wedding. Something I would have thought nothing of if it weren’t for the gas attendant. Deep plum hair, so dark it was almost black— each shift of head dropping the shaggy hair into his eyes only to be brushed away with a dirty hand. He filled my gas while I browsed the shop and grabbed a few snacks for the hours to come.

Standing at the checkout, waiting behind a short woman with blonde hair as she went through her lottery tickets, I let myself watch him as he cleaned my car windows. He was handsome, far too handsome to be working at a place like this. His blue overalls were covered in spots of oil and dirt, giving him this appearance of ruggedness that I found myself craving as I continued to watch him.

I wanted to stall, to spend as much time as I could at this gas station. To throw caution to the wind and chase after the man pumping my gas—

“Excuse me?” A voice called in front of me, a young girl working the register calling me forward to finally check out. “Whenever you’re ready!”

I placed my items onto the counter, taking my time and glancing out the window after I set each one down. Chips, cookies, sour gummy worms, a few bottles of water and soda…

Then I grabbed some candy bars displayed under the counter, following through with finding an excuse to keep eye fucking the gas attendant outside.

“That’s my uncle Shane!” I jumped as the girl spoke, grinning ear to ear as she rung up each item. “He won’t steal your car, don’t worry!”

“Oh!” I shook my head and brought my hands up defensively. “No, no, that’s not why I was staring at him. I promise!”

“No worries!” She replied and reached for one of my bottles of water. Then she paused, her fingertips only grazing the bottle before she dropped her hand. “So… why are you staring at him?”

I gulped and pretended to search for my wallet instead of answering right away. “Uh. No— no reason.”

She smiled and only hummed in reply as she finally grabbed the water and rung it up.

After I paid I went back outside, taking a moment to take in my surroundings. Being born and raised in the city, it was odd to actually see trees and the ground. Even the sky was so large it was almost obnoxious… But when I walked up to the gas attendant, I thought maybe I could see myself living somewhere like this…

“You’re all set,” he said and handed my keys back to me, his fingernails lightly scathing across my palm as he set them in my hand. “You need anything else?”

“Yeah…yeah I do.”

There was a motel across the street… and Shane didn’t even ask any questions.

His lips were crushed against my own, ripping my jacket off my shoulders and pushing me into the bed with urgency. I gasped as I fell back into the bedding, but could only watch as he quickly removed his uniform and let it drop to the floor.

“I don’t normally do this,” I said as he crawled on top of me and worked the button of my pants. “Actually, I’ve never done this—“

“Me either,” he mumbled. A man of few words I came to learn... but that didn’t mean he was lacking in skill. He undressed me with impatient hands, removing each piece of clothing and throwing it behind himself carelessly.

Soon I was completely nude before him, my legs spread as he buried his head between my thighs. His hands gripped my bottom, spreading me open as he lapped his tongue against my entrance. Each lap slow but eager, dipping into me and working me open as he savored each and every lick.

“Shane!” I called, my hands digging into the sheets, my legs kicking out as I neared release. But, to my frustration, he wouldn’t allow it. Not yet.,

Shane lifted his head and smiled, lazy and relaxed as he moved himself to settle between my spread legs. He ripped open a condom and rolled it onto himself before placing his cock at my entrance.

In one smooth motion, he was inside me, taking my breath away as he carefully bottomed out. I was silent, my mouth hanging open, hands on his back and pressing him down deeper, deeper, deeper.

“Fuck,” he groaned and began moving his hips, fucking into me with lazy thrusts. The head of his cock catching on my hole as he eased himself all the way out and then back in. “You feel so good, baby.”

He bought his lips back to mine, licking inside my mouth as he brought me closer and closer to release. Shane picked up the speed, fucking into me now recklessly, his hips slamming into me as he gave himself over to me.

“Please,” I whispered, moaning as he moved his lips down to my neck and bit down. “Shane, please!”

“Anything you want,” he gasped into my flesh. “Anything you want.” My legs wrapped around him as he went as hard as he could, our moans growing as we came closer to finishing. My nails digging into his back, my head thrown back as I took everything he gave me.

“Fuck—“ He slammed his hips into me one final time, both of us shouting out as we came together. He gave me a few more light thrusts, his hips barely moving as he filled his condom.

He left shortly after, giving me another kiss before running out the door. And now I stood in the shower, washing away our love making and trying desperately to forget it. Which I knew was impossible.

In such a short amount of time I grew so attached, so enamored with this stranger that just made love to me like no one ever had before—

I sighed and stepped out of the shower, taking a moment to glance at myself in the mirror— still looking throughly fucked. I wrapped myself in a towel, prepared to dry off, get redressed, and then leave this small town forever.

“Hey,” Shane stood in the room, holding up two button up shirts. “Which one of these would work for your sister’s wedding?”

“I—“ On the bed was a duffle bag, a few pieces of clothing hanging out of it. Along with a newly purchased box of condoms. “You’re coming with me?”

Shane chuckled and rolled his eyes. “Babe, If you think for a second that after a fuck like that I’m letting you out of my life you’re out of your damn mind.”

Maybe… this was meant to be after all.

#shane x reader #shane stardew valley #shane sdv #sdv shane #stardew valley shane #shane sdv x reader #sdv x reader #x gn reader #stardew valley x reader #Stardew valley au #stardew shane #Shane fanfic #stardew valley #sdv #seaside writing

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xdreamers-asylumx · 1 year ago

Text

Unspoken Rule

Pairings: PM! Dazai Osamu X F! Reader

Callous remarks and sharp glares did nothing to deter you—cruelty was a love language you had become far too intimate with, and who better to indulge your little game than him? You despised his arrogance and he detested your mutiny. In the end, you were nothing more than two rabid dogs snarling at each other for dominance. A coy smile curved the side of your lips where they left a deep garnet stain on the collar of tonight's lover before linking arms as you made your way down a long stretch of hallway.

Your heels clacked noisily against the tiles leading to the grand doors sealing away the hum of music just beyond them. A party of sorts, you supposed. Dubbed an annual display of your organization's successes and luxury, in reality more of an excuse for Mori to show off Elise in her new dress. Tedious, but not entirely boring under the right circumstances.

"(Y/N)." One of the guards stationed outside the entrance acknowledged courteously. The other offered a forced nod—there was a prominent bead of sweat trickling down the dip of his temple as he remained resolute in keeping his eyes trained forward.

You rolled your eyes, reaching forward to seize the large man’s tie in a manicured hand. What was his name again…? Toru? Toshi? Tetsu?Perhaps it didn’t matter.

A sharp tug to his tie and he was brought down to near eye level. Your gaze flickered up to meet his through long wispy lashes, finally managing to break his seemingly unseeing stare. He swallowed thickly.

"Gentleman, really...” Suggestive fingertips trailed down his chest with a knowing smirk. He flinched. “No need to be so stiff."

A terribly misleading sentiment. One that the man draped across your arm didn't yet grasp the weight of nor even truly recognize; an unspoken rule. No one was permitted to touch you. No one save for one man—and anybody who disobeyed was swiftly dealt with.

The guard who wasn’t currently ensnared by your deceptively soft grasp shot your guest a quick, pitying glance. He wouldn’t dare do more than that. Instead, he asked, “Who might this be accompanying you tonight, Miss?”

You paused in your ministrations, cutting a sideways look to the other guard. There was a palpable moment of silence that followed where nobody hazarded a breath before you quickly alleviated the tension with an airy giggle and a wave of the hand; effectively releasing the man from your hold. “Oh, this is Sato. Such a lovely man, isn’t he?”

The guard sighed, indulging your antics with a curt “yes, Miss” and proceeded to push open the doors, allowing you entrance. You blew him a kiss over your shoulder as you walked in.

Jeweled tapestries clung to the ornate walls in intervals between floor to ceiling windows overlooking Yokohama's starlit skyline. A glittering chandelier high overhead caught and reflected the moon's silver beams in fragments onto the polished marble floor below, already crowded with its buzzing patrons for the night—none other than the most integral members of the city's most notorious crime group. The port mafia.

You were the last to arrive.

Weaving your way through the many wine filled glasses wobbling precariously in evidently intoxicated guest and executive hands alike, you lead your faux-lover by the hand to the bar in the back corner of the ballroom. You weren't oblivious to the lustful stare he had locked on you from behind, though you feigned that you were. Despite his conventional good looks, he was boring and the idea of entertaining him more than you already had outside of your own twisted charade disillusioned you. All golden hair and shimmering blue eyes, he was gullible and easy to seduce.

The complete opposite of him.

Pulling yourself into a barstool, you requested a whiskey on the rocks for yourself and your companion. The bartender nodded and poured you your drink from one of the many glass bottles lined up along the shelves behind the bar. With glass now in hand, you swiveled in your seat, gaze dragging lazily over the other people chatting and milling about.

You brought your glass to your lips and stopped short. There, across the room sat languidly atop one of the plush couches scattered about the room, was none other than the man you had been searching for—and splayed across his lap was a woman in a satin dress attached to his neck. His eyes locked with yours. Dazai.

A smirk pulled your lips back over your teeth, a thinly veiled snarl. So the game of cat and mouse begins.

“(Y/N)? What are you looking at?” Sato inquired, head swivelling to try to find what had you so fixated.

You grabbed him by the front of his button-down without a word, drawing his attention back to yourself rather than give him the opportunity to locate the man across the room. Dismounting your seat at the bar, you sashayed your way to the middle of the floor, lover in tow, completely ignoring Dazai.

This, however, only provoked the man. His eyes followed you the entire way across the room, a bandaged hand pushing the woman on top of him aside. You could hear the indignant sounds of her protest as his gaze burned into the side of your face. Smile like the Devil himself, you finally looked his way again.

Dazai stood and began making his way to you in the crowd.

Eyes ablaze with a growing wrath, you spun on the blonde man behind you and pulled his body flush against your own, staring up at him through your half-lidded eyes as you did so. Seemingly pleased with the sudden attention, he wound his arms around your waist, hands wandering up the curve of your spine to tangle in the hairs that fell at the nape of your neck. You wondered, briefly, if he knew he was being used and simply didn't care.

Sato’s lips descended upon your own, melding your mouths together with an unpleasant force that you tolerated only to get a rise out of Dazai. Your eyes met with his over your lover's shoulder. His demeanor was calm, calculated. A fire ignited inside you.

Wasting no more time, Dazai strode over to the two of you just as you broke away from the kiss. He was there in an instant, mere inches away from Sato with a humourless grin stretching his lips.

"I believe you have something of mine."

The man you were just kissing turned around at the sound of Dazai's voice, confusion furrowing his brow—but Dazai wasn’t looking at him. He was looking at you. His eyes were nearly black now as he stared down at you, gaze raking over your body clad in that dress he liked so much.

"You truly are an arrogant man," you mused.

“Hey—“ Dazai side stepped Sato, much to the blonde man’s chagrin. He had no care for what Sato had to say.

Slender fingers caught a stray strand of hair dancing across your vision. Dazai’s dark eyes bore into yours as the pads of his thumb and forefinger toyed with the loose curl before winding it back into place behind your ear. "And you are an insufferable woman."

"What is going on—?” Before Sato could even finish his sentence, Dazai had produced a gun from beneath his jacket. Without adverting his eyes from your own, he pressed the barrel to the head of the man who accompanied you to the party. There was a threat in the thin press of his lips. A promise.

“Stop interrupting.”

You stared back defiantly with the same amount of hostility tensing every muscle in your frame. “Come now, Dazai,” you purred, stepping closer than any other person would dare to a man like him. “It’s quite unbecoming of you to be so rude to my guest—“

“What the hell?” Just then, Dazai’s own companion decided to chime in, apparently having sauntered over a few mere moments before.

You had almost forgotten she was in the room at all until she grabbed your shoulder and jerked you to face her. She glanced between the two of you with hurt in her eyes—she must have truly believed that she had won his affections.

You almost felt sorry for her.

"Dazai, what the hell?” She repeated. “Are you serious? You left me just to come flirt with this—“ she gestured towards you flippantly “—this random girl?”

Almost.

Your eyes narrowed. In one swift motion, you had untangled the dagger from where it held back your hair and pressed it to the woman's throat. "I don't remember inviting you into this conversation,” you stated, plainly. “And I don’t like sharing.”

She gasped, eyes flickering to Dazai for help, but he was too preoccupied gazing at you. “You’re both insane!”

The butterfly hilt glinted under the soft lights, the ruby embedded in the centre winking as if anticipating another kill. You pressed it closer to her throat.

Suddenly, a loud theatric sigh rang through the room, alerting you to the silence that had overtaken it. “Come, children, must you always ruin my parties with your little charade?”

The voice was deep, amused, but there was an underlying edge to its tone. The sea of onlookers who had gathered around you began to part. Some, who were new to this fairly run of the mill debacle, were gawking—likely guests of other port mafia executives. Others, well acquainted with yours and Dazai’s tumultuous relationship, regarded the scene with tense fear. When the final person stepped back, none other than Mori himself emerged from the crowd.

“I think it’d be best if you and your…” he glanced between Sato at gunpoint and the woman currently pinned beneath your blade, “guests settled down. My dear Elise must be so frightened!” He wailed.

Elise, miraculously appearing by Mori’s side as if summoned by the man’s call, delivered a swift kick to his shin. “There you are!” She pouted. “I thought I asked you for cake!”

Mori glanced down at the young girl with adoration, apparently forgetting all about the situation he was attempting to diffuse. “Elise! I was just on my way to get you some, I swear! I just got a little sidetracked—“

Another kick to the shin. “Now!”

And with that, Elise was stomping away in the opposite direction. Mori stared after her, dejected.

“Yes, yes.” He sighed. His focus turned back to the both of you, renewed disapproval souring his face now that Elise was gone. “As you can see, I have my hands quite full with Elise. I really must insist you lower your weapons.” His eyes glowed dangerously. “You’re disturbing my guests.”

You straightened, allowing your dagger to fall to your side at the warning tone in Mori’s voice. The woman, who was all but a statue mere moments before, took this as her opportunity to advance on you, seemingly alight with a newfound fury. She had her hand raised as if to slap you, tears brimming in her eyes. You raised a brow in amusement.

Dazai was not so quick to oblige to Mori’s command. He never lowered his gun. And with a quick cock of the trigger, his index finger squeezed down.

Once.

Twice.

A final resounding bang followed by a cacophony of shrieks punctuated the thud of two bodies hitting the ground. Blood spattered your face.

Before Mori could react, your wrist was seized in a vice grip, fingers cold as ice digging into your pulse, and Dazai was heading towards the exit with you in tow. The room was frozen as you departed.

No words were exchanged as you were lead out of the building into the parking garage and began weaving through row upon row of flashy cars. You twisted in Dazai’s grip, trying to free yourself from his quick pace that had you stumbling behind in your heels. That was until you found yourself at a particularly expensive looking corvette. Sleek and black, windows tinted so dark that it was certainly not legal, and a jagged slash where you had keyed the driver’s side door in a fit of rage.

Dazai’s car.

He stopped suddenly, yanking you in front of him until he could trap your body between his car and his embrace.

“Belladonna…” he purred into your ear. “That was quite the stunt you pulled in there.”

His hands wandered over the curve of your waist, finding purchase in the loose silk around your hip and pulling you back tight to his chest. “Says the man with a purple bruise beneath his earlobe.” You growled.

A deep, sultry chuckle radiated from the man’s chest pressed firm behind you. “Now, now… there’s no need to be jealous, my love.”

Craning your neck to glare into those cruel, shadowed eyes you knew so well, you forcefully peeled yourself from his grasp and huffed. Despite the familiar flames growing hot in your belly, you removed yourself entirely from Dazai’s all encompassing heat to spin on him, jabbing a sharp nail into his chest. Dazai merely growled, eyelids lowering with lust as he gazed down upon your figure.

“I am not the jealous one here, Osamu—“ a deep groan escaped his lips at the sound of his name on your tongue, taking a calculated step closer to cage you further between him and the hood of his car, “—you are the one that shot my date.”

“The date you brought to get a rise out of me, (Y/N),” he whispered, bending to ghost his lips along the shell of your ear. “Lest we forget that you were the one who started this little game.”

His warm breath fanned over your neck making your knees wobble despite yourself. Bracing your hands on the hood of the car behind you, you turned your head away to avoid his now piercing gaze. “You participate just as freely, Dazai.” You growled. “Or was the lady you brought a mere coincidence?”

He chuckled, but did not dignify you with an answer which only riled you up further. Hands back on your waist, Dazai retreated from your neck to capture your gaze with his. Fingers like cold silk ghosted up your sides, along the swell of your breasts, the dip in your collarbones, all the way to the curve of your jaw where they stayed, finally forcing you to look up at him with a touch none too gentle.

The sharp sting of pain that ached through your neck at the abrupt pulling of your chin closer to his elicited a soft whimper, one that Dazai revelled in. It was only him who could see you like this. Submissive and meek. Eyes clouded with desire and a willingness to please. His nerves felt alight with fire as he slowly pressed the length of his lithe frame to your softer one.

“Tell me who you belong to,” he purred.

Your lips were a breath away, each letter enunciated by his tongue felt by the brush of his mouth ghosting over yours. You released a shuddering breath, resolve crumbling. He pressed his lips to the corner of your mouth and pulled away. You tried to reclaim the distance between the two of you with a quick move onto your toes, but Dazai was quicker. You whined, displeased.

“I’ll give you everything you desire in due time, Belladonna,” he promised, darkly. “But only if you say the words.”

Your teeth caught purchase in your lower lip, in turn dragging Dazai’s attention downwards. His own resolve was being shaken.

“Osamu,” you whispered.

A sharp breath slid between his clenched teeth. You grabbed him by the front of his suit jacket and yanked him down. The honeyed brown that began pooling in his irises had you entranced—but you wouldn’t cave to him so easily.

“I don’t belong to anybody.”

His lips crashed onto yours with bruising force, tipping your head back with thumbs pressed firmly into the underside of your jaw. Soft brown locks tickled your cheekbones as he dipped his head lower to deepen the kiss, parting your lips with an authority that had your body trembling. Tongues met, beginning a war for dominance, one that you knew you would lose but never seemed to mind.

Your fingers found purchase in the hair at the back of Dazai’s head, tangling and tightening until your knuckles were brushing against his scalp. It must have been painful, but Dazai only gasped quietly into your mouth and kissed you hungrily.

His teeth nipped at your already bruising lips, hands sliding down to squeeze at your throat until you were gasping for air and your eyes were glowing with lust. Dazai’s knee slid between you legs, pushing them apart and forcing your back down onto the hood of the car.

You stared up at him in the dim silver light of the moon straining to breach the darkness of the parking garage. His hair was mussed, bandages falling loose over his face, and blood blooming like a rose petal at the corner of his mouth where you bit just a little too hard. But as he knelt over you, unbuttoning his dress shirt torturously slow with eyes so dark and hungry you felt like you’d be swallowed whole… you could swear the angels above would weep at the sight of this devil’s beauty.

“You don’t think you’re mine, (Y/N)?” He said lowly. His hand trailed higher up your thigh until goosebumps were left in his wake and your dress was pooling around your waist. “I’ll make sure everybody else does.”

#dark era dazai #dazai #dazai x reader #bungo stray dogs #dazai osamu #dazai oneshot #bsd dazai #bungou stray dogs dazai

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asaarii · 8 months ago

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cheeeeeeeseeeeeeeee~~~~ talon mini series bc i love him and he doesn't get like any love... ALSO HIGH NOON BC I SAID SO and yone legendary :33 okay time to disappear again ta ta

ft: high noon!talon (league of legends)

reader: fem

wc: 2017

summary: after the fall of heaven, you're left to wander the mortal plain with nothing but a dead-end job and a mark on your hand binding you to a brother who you once thought dead. they say the west is cruel, but you weren't expecting to be reunited with the man you loathed most.

part i (here!) part ii

There’s a distinct creak that echoes through the air as the swinging doors open. The bar silences, all eyes turning to glance at the newcomer from beneath the hem of their worn leather hats before deeming him not worth their time and returning to their previous activities.

His boots click as he slowly stalks toward the front of the bar, the odd blades at the ends of his cape rattle noisily, clinking together with every step. His face remains hidden by the downward tilt of his head, obscured by the pristine hat accented by rims of gold. It isn’t long till he takes a seat at your station, waving you down with a flick of his wrist.

As you approach, your breath hitches. He’s smirking, scrutinizing your every move with an amused quirk of his brow. But what grabs your attention is his eyes, well, eye as one of them is covered by a black eyepatch with similar golden accents as the rest of his outfit. There’s something not quite human about his gaze and devilish smirk, yet you don’t allow his strange aura to deter you. You had a job to do, after all.

“Well, ain’t you a pretty sight?” The man lets out a low whistle, his smirk ever-present as his gaze lands on your gloved hand, which you quickly tuck away behind your work skirt upon feeling his gaze. He quirks a brow but doesn’t push, which you’re grateful for. Heaven knows that the folks in this town are far too nosy than they ought to be. Sweat begins to gather at the base of your neck, though whether it's from the high noon’s unforgiving heat, or from his stare, you aren’t quite sure.

You force yourself to remain calm. “What can I get you today, sir?” The buzz of the bar does little to distract you from the alluring stranger as he lets out a deep chuckle. You fiddle with your skirt when he dips his head to the side with a shrug, brushing aside the feeling in your gut telling you to run. In all honesty, you really should’ve.

“Whatever you recommend, miss.”

If he took note of your apprehension, he gave you the grace of not commenting on it, merely watching you pour a small cup of water from a lukewarm pitcher. The glass is then placed before him with a resounding thud, with a few of the droplets splashing onto his clothes and the counter.

“There you go, a mighty fine glass of water all for you, sir.” You ignore his stare in favor of wiping down the now-wet counter. He snorts, and you know he has a wide grin plastered on his face even if you can’t see it.

“Just water? And here I thought we hit it off, miss.”

Now it's your turn to snort, narrowing your eyes at the strange newcomer with a sneer. “We don’t do freeloaders ‘round here, sir. Sorry to disappoint.” You turn away from him to make your way over to a different customer when the sound of a pouch of coins hitting wood draws your attention swiftly back to the newcomer.

The whole bar seems to come to a standstill as the shimmering gold rolls across the countertop.

Tobias Felix looks up from his shuffled deck of cards, blue eyes falling to the coins with piqued interest. It’s rare to see the man away from Buzzard Gulch, and you can’t say you find yourself at ease with his presence, especially when he keeps his cards so close to his chest.

(Never trust a man with too many secrets; a saying befitting of your current predicament.)

The famed Gunpowder Witch lets out a low whistle as she props her feet on the table despite your numerous complaints. Her left hand dutifully twirls one of her guns—Blaze, you recall her naming it—while the other tightly grips a bounty from the Mechanical Devil himself. The amount in the pouch is significantly less than the amount on the bounty, but out here in the west, all coin is good coin.

Your nostrils flare and your eyes glint with an unmatched hellfire that would send the Mechanical Devil himself running with his tail between his legs. “Fine,” you spit venomously, “what can I getcha, sir?”

“A moment of your time would suffice.” The man leans against the counter, taking the hand that lay resting on the counter before placing a chaste kiss on the silk glove.

As if burned, you quickly draw your hand back, reeling away as disgust paints your features. “A moment of my—! Do I look like a common whore?!” Had it not been for the manager coming to step in, there is no doubt in your mind that you would’ve struck the man. With a hand firmly clasped over your mouth, you’re unable to voice your complaints as your manager smiles.

A dangerous look crosses the outsider’s face, but it’s quickly replaced with a mirroring plastered smile.

“Pleasure doin’ business with you, kind sir.” Your manager tightens his grip on you, sticking his hand out for the strange man to shake.

“Much obliged.”

With the tip of a hat and the snatching of coin, you find yourself in the devil’s hold, deliberately avoiding his piercing gaze as he leads you away from the bar. Dust kicks up beneath your feet, dirtying the whiteness of your dress into the same barren shade of brown as the dirt. Once you deem yourself far away from wandering eyes, you tear yourself away from him.

“You!” You press your gloved finger to his chest, unable to withhold your thinly veiled anger.

“Well, hello to you too, darlin’.” He peels your hand off of his chest, once more placing a kiss on the back, though this time he removes the glove, revealing the half mark of grief inked into your skin.

(One half on you, and the other on your brother; two sides of the same coin.)

“Miss me, angelface?” His tone is light yet mocking as he peels off the eye patch. One of his arms sneaks around your waist, pulling you flush against him, much to your chagrin.

“I ain’t ever miss a devil.” You resist the urge to spit in his pretty face. His eyes, forever soulless, burn bright beneath the scorching sky of the high noon, amusement dancing in the two-toned irises as he forces you into a crude waltz.

“Naw, can’t hide it from me, angelface. You’re still as shitty a liar as y’always been.”

Twisting and turning to an unheard rhythm, his hand entwines with your ungloved hand; calloused and rough through years of merciless killing. You try to pull away from him but his grip remains firm.

“And you’re still a connivin’ sonuva—!”

His movements are sudden and hidden, yet still as precise as they’ve always been.

You gasp as a blade pierces through your midsection, the cold steel bringing the familiar feeling of a harrowing death as it pushes deeper.

It burns.

The mark on your hand pulses, no doubt your brother on the other end restarting the process of grief.

Golden blood trickles from the open wound, tainted by mortal air and a devil’s blade. You can only gape at him as he smiles down ruefully at you, bearing the same expression he bore all those years ago. You grasp weakly at his throat in an attempt to choke him, unable to voice your anger and grief with the blood rising in your throat. Your body falls as he drops you, but your soul is quick to stand again, gazing down at your corpse as it dissipates into a golden light.

The barren land cracks beneath your feet as you give up resisting, giving way to the hidden tracks beneath. The tracks of utter damnation.

A train horn sounds in the distance, followed shortly by the distinct sound of wheels on rails, chugging along the beaten tracks as the Sulfur Rail draws ever closer. You smell it before you see it; the intangible scent of burnt matches and rotting eggs pervading your senses even as you scrunch your nose at its distasteful smell.

It isn’t long until the train comes to a standstill, pausing before the two of you with the deafening screech of metal on metal. The devil—ever the utmost gentleman—steps on first, gripping onto the rusted rail as he extends his other hand to you.

His smirk widens as you take his hand, conjuring a fan to hide your expression as well as an attempt to block out the Sulfur Rail’s foul stench. Its white feathers fall with every movement, fading to black before disintegrating as they hit the ground.

(Similar to a lot of folks you know, your brother in particular.)

You tune out his conversation with the ticket taker both out of spite and boredom, focusing your attention instead on the multitude of souls meandering about. Angels, devils, humans—all on a one-way ride to hell, paid in full by the mechanical devil-king himself. You see a few familiar faces amongst the sea of souls, though one in particular eludes you. Shrugging to yourself, you make your way down the rows of seats, both empty and occupied.

Anger still simmers beneath the surface of your skin despite your lack of outward resistance. The man takes a seat across from you, his face schooled into a more familiar look of annoyance and perpetual anger, unlike his suave facade from earlier.

You hate how he still looks attractive after all these years of nothing but silence between the two of you. You hate how he speaks so casually with you as if nothing happened after the downfall of Heaven—your home. Snapping your fan shut, you look at him, looking for any subtle shift in his features brought upon by time. His frown lines, the imminent scowl that’s taken over the plastic smile he clung to at the bar, the shaggy silver hair beneath his hat, and you could never forget the hidden blades just barely peeking from the cuffs of his shirt and knives in the holster at his hip.

Nope, he’s exactly the same. Just as you suspected.

“Why didja bring me here, Talon?”

“Lookin’ for somethin’ and you’re the only one who can help me find it, angelface.” That all-knowing look in his back on his slappable face and your jaw clenches tight beneath your teeth at the mere sight of it.

Your hand clasps over the mark visible on your ungloved hand as if protecting the bond from outside gazes—from Talon’s gaze. “Varus ain’t gonna help you. I wouldn’t help ya if it meant all the gold in the world.”

He cocks a brow, tilting his hat back slightly with his thumb as he looks at you, really looks at you, “You ain’t never cared for gold before.”

Melancholy settles over the anger, cooling its hellfire-like blaze into a manageable ember. “People change, Talon, but s’good to see you’re still as insufferable as ever.” You’re quick to recollect your fallen expression. “But that ain’t the point. Why d’you needa speak to Varus anyway? Pretty sure he’s still got that grudge of his.”

“Can’t a guy catch up with an old friend?”

You bring a hand up to quell your growing headache—can the dead get headaches? You digress. You stare hard at him, trying to piece together what in the world he was on about. “Right. The two of you were such good friends, weren’tcha?” Sarcasm drips from your tone as you roll your eyes, and he snorts in response.

“We were pretty close though, hm? All cozy n’ warm.”

“I reckon it’s high time you shut your damn mouth, demon.”

Talon hums, raising his hands in faux surrender before finally allowing you a moment of respite.

Resigning yourself to an unknown fate, you lean back into the train’s seat with a tired sigh. “I ain’t spoken to Varus in centuries, y’know?”

“Why’s that?” He’s smirking again. That damn twisted smirk that’s seared into the forefront of your mind.

You hate him.

“‘Cause you killed ‘em.”

#league of legends #league of legends—・❥#mini series—・❥#Hell's Comin' With Me—・❥#league of legends x reader #talon #talon league of legends #talon x reader #talon du couteau #talon du couteau x reader #high noon talon #high noon talon x reader

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topgunreacts · 1 year ago

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Principles of Aviation

An IceMav omegaverse tale

Chapter One Snippet

The call from destiny came on a Tuesday morning. Its arrival was not terribly early, but Maverick had been out bar hopping well into the witching hour, so seven AM might just as well have been half past midnight. Maverick rolled over carefully so as not to disturb the bed’s other occupant, and picked up the phone. He was midway through a groggy greeting when the voice on the other end of the line interrupted him.

“Mitchell,” a man barked. “We’ve found you a match. You’re to report to the Pheromonal Analysis and Pair Bonding Allocation Center in one hour. Bring your rut prescriptions.”

The voice was stern. Mildly annoyed. And quite familiar to Maverick’s ears. Captain Anderson didn’t make a habit of leaving his hoity-toity office to visit TOPGUN’s facilities across the station, but whenever he did, he always made time to hound his least favorite naval aviator regarding said aviator’s unacceptable marital status. Last year, in a moment of deceitful brilliance, Maverick had managed to get the brass off of his back—for good, he’d thought. It was a good story, with a leading lady worthy of the starring role. But the fact that Anderson had summoned Maverick to the fun police directly from home could only mean that the jig was up.

“Yes, sir,” Maverick said.

Click. The line went dead. Groaning, Maverick hung up the phone and rolled back over until he was on his back again, glaring up at the slowly rotating ceiling fan.

“It was nice while it lasted,” said a sleepy, feminine voice to Maverick’s left. The mattress dipped as Charlie turned to her side and propped up her upper body on one elbow. She’d been warning Maverick about this very phone call for months.

“I think we have to see other people,” Maverick said. “They know we’re not going to breed.”

Charlie gave him an affectionate smile. “Maverick, anyone with a functioning nose could tell we’ve never had sex with one another. Did you really think this would work?”

“I hoped it would.”

Charlie gestured towards the phone with her chin. “So, is PAPBAC having you meet another female today?”

“A male,” Maverick corrected.

“Really.” Charlie raised her eyebrows, thought for a moment, and then frowned. “Maverick, you didn’t—”

“Tell them I was gay to buy more time? Yes. Yes, I did.” Swinging his legs over the edge of the mattress, Maverick sat up. The five drinks lingering in his body in the form of nausea protested, but Maverick brushed them aside. “I really, actually thought to myself, ‘Hey, Mitchell, you know what would make the Navy stop pressuring you to do the mommy-daddy dance to produce more alpha male pilots? Telling them you’re gay.’ And I did not for one moment imagine that they would simply switch tracks from straight to otherwise and find me some prince charming in heat who needs my dick to calm him down so he can fly straight.”

“Well, of course they did. You’re famous now,” Charlie said. “Maybe if you’d done this before you finished TOPGUN, you’d have gotten away with it. They seemed eager to let your father’s line die out back then, anyway. But the Layton changed everything. It proved to the Navy that you’ve got pheromonal and genetic potential. They’re not going to let you fly under the radar anymore.”

Grumbling under his breath, Maverick wiggled out of his underwear, wadded them up, and threw the ratty ball towards the laundry basket in the corner. Miss. “Why not?”

“Because everyone’s eyes are on you,” Charlie said, slowly edging towards the warm spot Maverick’s body had left behind. “And they see an intelligent, talented young man whose recklessness needs to be tamed if he’s going to advance his career. They want to see you steady. Stable. If you aren’t going to breed, then maintaining a long-term relationship with a male omega is perfect for that. It forces you to settle down, and ensures he will, too.”

“But why push this so hard right now, all of a sudden?”

Charlie settled into Maverick’s side of the mattress and shrugged. “Maybe this was the straw that broke the camel’s back. Or maybe that male they matched you with needs immediate attention.”

“Of course he does,” Maverick muttered darkly. “Of course my life doesn’t matter as much as his.”

Swiping a hand over his face, Maverick stood and made his way naked to the bathroom. Charlie didn’t care. She’d seen it all before, and hadn’t been interested.

“Don’t take your medication,” Charlie called to him. Like Maverick, she wasn’t a morning person, and would remain in bed until the last minute. She even showered at night to sleep in as late as possible. “The first thing they’ll have you do is quit, cold turkey. You might as well get a head start.”

#top gun #icemav #writing #top gun fanfiction #iceman kazansky #maverick mitchell #principles of aviation #alternate intro post #less metadata more Substance

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prosperdemeter2 · 1 year ago

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WIP Wednesday - glass

AKA Daniel lives AU

Ladder 53 was just off Newbury Street, smack in the middle between the police and fire station, in a big, red brick building that used to belong to the post office. Eddie had been with the Boston Fire Department for close to six months by the time Hen, Chim and Rosa finally managed to convince him to leave Chris with a sitter and head out to the restaurant with them. "It's for the bar, really." Hen explained and waved him forward, zipping her BFD fleece all the way up to her chin and pushing her way through the line waiting at the host's stand. "And the food's not bad."

It was all rather unfortunate, then, that they were there when they were still on shift, called out because of a rowdy run in with a drunk customer. "Hey, Luke!" Chimney raised his hand to wave at the bouncer by the door.

The man uncrossed his arms to wave back, nodding in greeting with a smile that painted his face into a much less intimidating picture than it had been before. "Hey! They sent you two out? What, they wanted to give us more trouble?"

Hen laughed, "Cap heard the location on the radio and jumped towards it." She stopped with her hands on her medical bag. "Where’s our patient?"

"Athena’s trying to get him to sit down in the back." Luke explained with a jerk of his head towards the silver kitchen doors. "Honestly, the kid's fine. It looks worse than it is. It's the guy that threw the glass that you've been called in for."

The guy that threw the glass, Eddie presumed, was the one sitting with his back against the bar with his hands sitting in cuffs in front of him and what looked like a badly broken nose. His shirt was stained with either sweat or the drink he had thrown and Eddie knew he wasn't supposed to judge patients or imagine conclusions but… if the guy was in the cuffs then he was obviously the one at fault. "Alright," Hen snapped on her pair of gloves. "Eddie, you and Rosa mind checking out the guy in the back?"

"Not at all," Rosa answered for them, pushing her way through the kitchen door. Eddie followed after, only just then noticing all of the people out of uniform waiting by the counter, arms crossed and scowls on their face.

"Jesus," Eddie remarked with a hand caught on the door. "This place really is popular."

"It's owned by this old retired firefighter," Rosa explained in agreement, her accent coiling around her words to wrap them in a hug. "The food's decent and the drinks good and cheap. And they give a discount to any serving first responders." Rosa dropped her med bag by Athena’s feet with a smile. "Howdy, Sergeant."

"Alvarez." Athena dipped her chin in greeting, her hands resting on her gear belt. "Diaz, nice to see you two again."

"Cap’s out front if you want to go fill him in." Rosa said cheekily, reaching into her pocket to ease on her own pair of blue, plastic gloves. "Eddie, this is our patient, Evan. He's the bar manager."

Their patient, sitting forlorn on an old, cracked barstool with his hand wrapped tightly in a blood soaked kitchen rag, was startlingly… handsome. Pretty? Eddie had run into his fair share of attractive patients during his probationary year, and it wasn't going to be any more of a problem now then it ever was but… he could acknowledge it at least to himself. "Hi, Rosa." He sounded miserable when he spoke. More than a bit embarrassed by the whole thing but he mustered up a wincing smile when Eddie lowered himself to kneeling in front of him. "Is Ollie okay?"

"Evan, this is Eddie Diaz," Rosa gestured towards him. "He's our new probie."

"Hi." Evan greeted softly with a hard swallow.

"Hi," Eddie shot him a smile and sat back on his heels. "Mind if I take a look at that?"

"Oh!" Evan blinked and shook his head. "Uhm, no. Go right ahead." The bouncer - Luke - had been right, it did look worse than it actually was. Eddie peeled the towel away and placed it down by his knee with an inaudible wince.

There were several pieces of glass still stuck in his skin, catching the light off the ceiling. "Is Ollie okay?" Evan asked again, a worried tension to his voice.

"Hen and Chim have him." Rosa comforted and passed Eddie a pair of tweezers, a handful of gauze prepared in her empty hand. "What happened, anyway? He get rowdy again?"

"I told him he couldn't drive home." Evan snorted. "Tried to call him an Uber and the guy threw his glass at my head."

"That happen a lot?" Eddie asked wryly. "Rosie, can you get me some morphine? This is -."

"Oh, uhm," Evan shifted with a flush to his pale cheeks. "You don’t… do we need that? The morphine?"

"This is going to hurt without it." Eddie advised slowly.

"It's fine," Evan waved off with a hard swallow. "I don't… I can't… no painkillers, please."

Eddie narrowed his gaze at him but prepped the tweezers anyway. "Okay," far be it for him to judge. "You have to stay still for me, okay? Let me know if you need a break."

"Come on," Evan laughed breathlessly. "Can't be worse than a tattoo, right?"

It probably would be, actually, but only because there were about a dozen tiny pieces that Eddie could see and three big, chunky ones. It was the prolonged fact of it, really, more than it was anything else. Eddie had sat through several tattoos himself, but he would prefer that any day over having glass picked out of his skin. "Right." He said with a quick, reassuring smile at the other man and set to work.

Surprisingly, Evan was a good patient. He didn't squirm more than the few times his body involuntarily twitched, he didn't whine or wince or move to jerk away from Eddie’s hands. Eddie had collected a little pile of glass by his feet on a sterile rag and Rosa had disappeared to check on the patron that had knocked Ollie down when Evan next spoke, clearing his throat and chewing on his lip. Not that Eddie was paying a whole lot of attention to his lips, it was just that, this close, Eddie couldn't help but notice the white tips of his teeth digging into the flesh of his lip. "How, uhm… I haven't seen you before."

"I moved up here a few months ago." Eddie explained patiently.

"You don't come out with the others."

"No," Eddie laughed quietly. "I'm… not really one for going out." Well, he used to be before Shannon had left, and he had moved from Texas to Boston after Rosa's offer of assistance.

Evan hummed like he understood, reaching up with his free hand to scratch at the side of his nose. "That's fine…"

"Last one." Eddie advised and waited until Evan had sucked in a giant breath to pull it out and place it in the pile with the others. "Breathe out, Evan." He commanded absently and reached behind himself for the saline to spray over the wound. "I don't think you're going to need stitches, but I'd suggest following up with your primary or going to the ER to check if it's bothering you."

"Do you think Ollie's going to jail?"

"I don't think you should be worried about Ollie."

"He's got a problem." Evan explained in a small voice. "He… Ollie lost this kid a few months ago? It really messed with him. He didn't mean anything by it."

"He threw a glass at your head, man." Eddie shook his head and gently, yet firmly, placed the gauze in place over Evan’s palm. "He's not getting the help he needs by hanging out at a bar at ten in the morning."

"I mean… you're probably right, but it's better than him going home and drinking himself to death, right?"

Eddie laughed with a shake of his head. "Whatever you say, man."

"Ugh." Evan groaned but held steady while Eddie cleaned out the wound and wrapped it. "Thanks for this," he wiggled his fingers in Eddie’s direction.

"It's literally my job." Eddie brushed off his gratitude like he did every patient who tossed it his way. "I don't suggest going back to work." He cautioned when Evan made to stand up and then quickly sat back down. Eddie was ready, although he made no motion just yet, to grab him if he looked to be getting more dizzy than he was willing to let on. "Have something to eat. Drink some water. Go home."

"Right." Evan cleared his throat. "I'm… I'm fine."

"Follow up -."

"With my primary." Evan rolled his eyes. "You already said that." He pointed out with a long suffering sigh. "I live with my brother. If it bleeds through, I'll make him take a look."

"Unless your brother's a doctor I don't think he's going to be much help."

Evan’s smile was quick and sharp, like he was holding a secret between his bared teeth. "He is."

Well then.

Okay.

#wip wednesday #glass #buddie #911 fic #eddie diaz #evan buckley #boston au #because i have to bring everything back to the east coast #if anyone enjoys it... maybe ill write more zjjzkz

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deada55 · 3 months ago

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When the River Meets the Sea - Chapter 12

crossposting: ao3

work summary: A nine-year old in Tomahawk, WI gets glaucoma surgery over Christmas break.

chapter summary: Pickles doesn't want anything. Molly, Calvert, and Seth go to a family function in Fond du Lac.

The freeway was stuffed with holiday travelers. Molly shifted into park in the middle of a two-mile standstill and turned off the engine. The cars in front of her smoked like soldiers in a bar. Exhaust from the next lane dragged across the hood and lingered along the embankment and the road was buried in leaded fog. Delicate snow wove through the standing crowd.

Without running the heat (to save gas), the cab slowly cooled. Without the radio, Molly could hear the other cars’ holiday music cassettes and wheel-clutching profanity to her right and left. The gray sky shone on every empty seat in her car while the station wagon in front of her was bouncing from kids waving their arms and licking windows.

She started counting Seth’s presents in her head. A new bike, a chemistry set, a pair of green pajamas, a freckle-dipped boy with red hair, sleeping as still as an infant— no, but there was a miniature etch-a-sketch she found that would be fun for Seth’s stocking.

And there would be candy, and more room under the tree. What she bought for Pickles would wait in the bottom of her closet until he came back, sanitized and surly but largely unchanged. Pickles was stubborn, Pickles was insistent, and like any pest, he wouldn’t, can’t, break. He’d come back to more sameness than change, himself included.

_____________________

Now, Molly, being the oldest daughter, couldn’t step foot in her little sister Carol’s house without trying to jump in with the food or Carol’s little ones, who were only five and two. Her family was full of decent people and enough kids to make a football team. In the storm of whining and acrylic sweaters and scuffed patent leather shoes milling around the house, Pickles’ absence went largely unnoticed, so Molly committed herself to the ruse of being a mother of one for Christmas. After all, Seth was the only one she talked about; there’d never been much to say about Pickles.

Of course, Molly’s mother and her oldest little sister, Elaine, wouldn’t let her have it that easy. All four of the women (Molly, Elaine, Carol, and their mother) were at work in the kitchen, browning the tops of wet casseroles and arranging cookies on aluminum platters.

“Was Pickles not feeling well? You know, I’ve been trying to get Ben and Sue to catch chickenpox for the past year and—“ Poor Carol always sounded so frenzied, but she really didn’t have a care in the world between her ears. Her short hair bobbed around with her, and her glasses threatened to come off her nose as she constructed a cheese cube hedgehog with a lump of aluminum foil, toothpicks, and raisins.

“Yeah. He just couldn’t swing it.”

“What’s the matter?” Elaine stopped grating fresh cheese over the wet pineapple casserole Jack’s wife had brought. She pushed her feathered, mousy hair out of her face with her bicep and was careful not to smear any makeup onto her rough, red, wool sleeve.

“A fever he got from sleeping over with a little friend. They both came down with it at the same time, so his mother and I thought it’d be nice to let them weather it together since their family wouldn’t be going anywhere for Christmas.”

Elaine sighed. “He must be pretty sick… It’s a wonder Seth didn’t pick it up. Thank goodness, since Frances’ baby is here.” Three-month-old Holly was delicate but finally well. The front of her green velvet dress was black with drool. She looked just like her grandfather, Molly’s older brother, Thomas.

“Elaine.”

“She looks healthy, that’s all.”

Molly and Elaine looked up from their cutting boards. Elaine turned away and slung the glassy red onions into the salad bowl.

Carol’s son, Ben, made a game out of yanking his sister’s, Sue’s, braids on the living room floor. She left to investigate the screaming, and their mother followed just to stand behind her and get in the way, leaving Molly and Elaine to finish everything.

“Molly,” She began, “where’s Pickles?”

“Don’t test me.” Molly flung open the oven with a thermometer in hand and started poking casseroles.

“I know he’s not sick.”

“Glaucoma is sick.”

“And it’s not contagious.” Elaine halved cherry tomatoes one by one. “Gail and Sue love to see him. I don’t think it’s fair to ground a kid from a family function.”

“Then you’ll love to hear that he isn’t grounded.”

“Then what is it?”

The green beans were at a mean 160 F. Before Molly could dig around in the drawers, Elaine handed her two square potholders.

“He’s sick, I told you. He’s getting his eyes treated.”

“Over Christmas?”

“They had an opening.” Molly pulled an iron trivet off the wall and used it to hold the green beans off of the countertop. “What do you want me to say?”

“I can’t believe you!”

“Drop it, damn it!”

“Molly!” Bewildered, Elaine jabbed her hip into an open drawer when she tried to lean back onto the counter.

“Jesus Kelly Christ! I can do what I want with my kids. It worked out the best for our schedule, Pickles doesn’t have to miss school, and he’d hate getting the surgery anyhow. He’ll have more Christmases. It doesn’t mean anything to him.”

“How do you know?” Molly was a year or two older than Elaine, and though she’d always been a little reserved and a little cold, Molly had never been stupid. It wasn’t unlike her to be careless, but Elaine knew Molly could read someone, and Elaine knew Pickles had a hard time keeping secrets. All kids were sentimental, despite how badly they wanted to mimic the easy breath of knowing you had the time and transportation to replace a beloved artifact.

Elaine swallowed and poured herself a glass of water from the tap. “I’m not trying to be upset with you, but why can’t someone stay with him? He’s all by himself—“

“I did it, too, you know,” she snapped. “When I got my tonsils out? There wasn’t any fanfare.” Molly ducked down to check the other casseroles a second time like it’d help them bubble faster. “And I need to take care of Seth and Cal. We can’t afford a hotel. What would they do for Christmas?”

“Surely Calvert can—“ Molly’s forehead crumpled like paper. On cue, Calvert’s laugh burst through the living room, too boisterous and drawn-out for 2:00, louder than the din of the party.

Molly shut the oven and wiped the hot tip of the thermometer on a Santa-printed hand towel, leaving one jolly fellow with a beard full of Cream of Chicken soup. The coffeepot sputtered. The women worked on opposite sides of the kitchen, gathering trash and stacking lids between paper towels. Instead of coming to the center by the stove, Molly started to sort hot trays of breadcrumb-coated slop for a buffet processional, starting by the arch leading to the living room and ending at the fridge. A layered crown jewel jello salad, standing at a towering twelve inches tall, guarded a public of meringues, Kahlua kisses, and shortbread.

Elaine came around Molly’s left and pecked her on the cheek while she rolled silverware in red paper napkins.

“Want a cigarette?” Molly took it out from Elaine’s fingers and the sisters lit them from the same match from the book in Carol’s spice drawer. Molly pulled the ashtray down from on top of the fridge, and Elaine went bobbing for a couple of beers in the cooler by the back door.

When they were finally facing one another, flicking the ash off their Winstons the minute a millimeter showed up to protect their new sweaters, Elaine tossed her bangs out of her face and gave Molly a flat-lipped smile.

“Is there anything I can do to help?”

“If anyone mentions Seth’s eye…” When they were all at the door taking their coats off, Molly explained that smacked into the mirror of a car in the parking lot of the grocery store a couple days ago.

“Is he OK?”

“That’s what he’s telling me. It just looks bad.”

“The concealer does help, really. It does.”

“It’s a lot of concealer.”

“Avon?”

“Avon.”

“I bet.” They exchanged a chuckle. “Should we call Pickles’ room to say hello tonight? Would he like that?”

Molly pinched the bridge of her nose. “I don’t have the number with me… and I doubt he’d want anyone to know. He’s private like that. Half of me thinks he’d be angry if we came to visit.”

“You know he wouldn’t be.”

_____________________

The recovery room got dark; the night sky siphoned away at the fluorescent lights in the ceiling and left the ward in shadows. He still wasn’t thirsty and he still didn’t have to pee. He’d taken a frigid tour of the bleachy green bathroom three times already “just in case,” from a nurse guiding him by hand.

His toes had been cold since he woke up the second time around. When he broke out of his confusion, he was greeted by a lone, mousy nurse with downturned eyes with a cup of water, and she stayed for twenty minutes before he soaked his tongue with the tiniest tipple he could sip, but not swallow.

“I can’t let you go until you use the bathroom.”

The nurse for the evening shift, with upturned eyes, was a broken record. Her pen tapped and her shoes clacked as she walked up and down the hall. She was nice enough, and she wore Pepto pink lipstick, which Pickles could recognize through the shields.

“Can you try one more time? I’d like to get you moved out before it’s time to go to bed.” She came over and pushed down the rail, and he swung his legs out. The first time he stood up, they held his hands, but now they let him step down alone and remember his way to the bathroom. Before he’d stepped off the toilet, he heard her chirp from the other side of the door:

“Did you do it?”

“Yeah.”

“Very good. Come lay back down, and we’ll move you soon.” When he climbed back up, he scrambled under the sheet and the blanket to keep from losing what heat hadn’t evaporated from the mattress. The nurse with the pink lips left. Before too long, a couple more sets of steps came up the hall with a set of squeaky shopping cart wheels. They whispered, “Six hours? Was he holding it?”

“I’m not sure, but it’s done. Are you sure there’s no room in the children’s ward?”

“That’s what I was told, but he’s on a good wing—“

They yanked the curtains open and shoved it around the tracks, pausing only for a second to tell him they were moving him to his real bed for the night. His eyes hadn’t adjusted to the light before they lifted him up from behind his knees and around his back and wrapped him like a crescent on the gurney while he traveled through a long yellow hallway.

At the end of the hall was a fork to the left and the right. They ducked into the double doors to the left into a ward of curtained sections, some open, some closed. Men of all ages snored and slumbered, aluminum frames and green curtains brought a barnishness to the great display, the oxygen hissed and swore through tubing and masks, and the clicking pens of the medication cart made their rounds. He was put in the bed closest to that ward’s bathroom and the nurses’ station. The curtains were drawn while they tucked him into the bed. This mattress felt wider and softer but still stiff and rustly. The sheets felt looser.

The recovery room nurses left; the ward nurses said their names once and handed him pills to swallow. He could only manage a meager puff of his inhaler, after two other tries where he didn’t breathe in enough, according to a wiry woman whose white gown hung off of her like a starched men’s dress shirt. She laid him out flat, turned off the light over his bed, said goodnight, and left.

He curled onto his side when his arms started to get numb and drew his feet in when they got numb and folded his hands in front of his chest when his fingers got numb and buried his ears in his shoulders. Pickles waited all night for sleep.

It’s not that bad, it’s OK. I’m OK. It’s OK. You got it. It’ll be over before you know it.

His blankets wouldn’t cover him. He gathered them so they’d lay thicker over his folded body and his bare feet, but they slipped around like buttered noodles when he wanted them to stay put, and clung like burrs when he tried to move them.

Whenever he accidentally opened his eyes, all there was to see was the glowing privacy curtain. Deep coughs and thick, growling snoring echoed and built off of itself like a fugue. As soon as he started to nod off, someone would choke and bark and strip the back of their throat in their sleep. It felt too disrespectful to ignore. His nose was freezing, so he stuck out his bottom lip and blew upwards.

His thin pillow whispered about his parents into his ear. Their faces sat in his chest like a feeling that could be relieved, like a belch, from giving it voice. How satisfying it sounded to want your Mommy! Crying had never done the same thing for Pickles as it had for Seth, so he’d guarded it like a secret sickness. He mouthed it against the pillowcase.

They’re not coming. You can’t leave but it’s ok. You’re ok. We’re ok. Go to sleep.

As the night went on, he shivered on and off.

He saw the morning lift the colors of the curtain from dusky blue to peach. A first-shift nurse with obnoxiously tinkly bracelets and more pills jingled towards his bed. He quivered when he sat up, so she reached around his arm to support his back. “Ooh, you’re cold!” she said, and she pulled a second blanket off of the bottom of a metal cart.

The person who came to him with a tan plastic bowl of high-fiber breakfast brushed his fingers when he handed him the silverware, then flat-lipped a goodbye and told someone in the hallway that he looked like he had a fever. While he hovered over his food, a couple different people laid hands on his forehead and the back of his neck and put thermometers under his tongue. They asked him if he felt alright and he nodded for lack of a better answer. A nurse stood back and rapped her pen on her clipboard a couple times.

A pair of socks and a third blanket later, they took away his untouched oatmeal and let him be. He gathered the corner of one of the blankets up and away from the fire-retardant pile growing on his legs and laid his face against it. As he laid down on his side, he closed his eyes and waited to feel better.

If he listened hard, Billy Joel sang over rolling wheels and coughs and grunts.

And when you wake up in the morning,

With your head on fire,

And your eyes too bloody to see;

Go on and cry in your coffee

But don't come bitchin' to me.

He heard one of the rails on his curtain click and broke out of his trance just in time to be sitting up all the way when his lunch tray was brought in. He picked at the army tan broccoli.

“Are you hungry?” This nurse was tall with short hair and dangly earrings that swayed with every word she said.

The most he managed was a shrug.

“Does your stomach hurt?”

It started hurting in November. He shook his head.

“Have you tried any of it yet?”

He shook his head again and thought about cutting a piece off of the fried fish.

“You need to eat to get better. Everybody knows that! I’ll come back in a minute. Try and take a couple bites.” She wore a smile, even as she turned to check on someone else.

He put a cold piece of bloated broccoli on the end of his fork and into his mouth and the feeling and taste of it made his insides flip. The little bread roll was stale and tough between his teeth. The wet breading on the fried fish patty tasted like freezer, corn oil and salt. He laid himself back against the crushed pillow, pulled his covers higher up on his chest and rested his eyes.

“Did you take a couple bites?” The evidence he left behind was the bitten bread roll, a runaway broccoli bud outside of its pre-portioned section, and the exposed white fish flakes where he’d cut a fish stick in half with the side of a spork.

“You didn’t like it?”

He sat back up for her and shook his head, smoothing his covers back out on his lap before wrapping his arms around his stomach.

“You didn’t want any water?”

The water cup was still waiting, but he couldn’t touch it. She pulled a clipboard off the end of his bed and flipped to the back until she found one of the intake forms, where “chatty, obnoxious, and contrary” were written to describe his disposition. He stayed sitting up for the nurse with his eye(shields) cast down.

“I tell you what, if you drink that cup of water, I’ll try and bring you something sweet, OK? You need it, I promise. It’s not a trick. Sipping water with medicine doesn’t count.”

She left again and he drank a couple swallows. His lips had been thoroughly bathed in his cup, and bringing himself to drink instead of only holding something in his mouth required focus. An older man down the hallway started talking about cosmic visions and government spies and the USSR.

They took his temperature again and let all the heat out of the bed to check him for a rash. When they were done, a cup of orange Jell-O and the same cup of water were put down on his tray.

“Go on and taste it, will you?”

He sighed and reached for the spoon, but once he’d scooped up a bite, all he wanted to do was put it back.

“Eat it, kid. I don’t have time for games.”

Her earrings stopped moving. He straightened out his pinched lips and put a scoop in his mouth. She didn’t leave until he’d gulped down every millimeter of tepid gelatin.

“Great.” She took the cup, spoon, and tray and closed the curtain behind her. Pickles sank back and put his pillow over his face… The radio station kept repeating itself.

You had to open up your mouth.

You had to be a big shot, didn't you?

All your friends were so knocked out.

#metalocalypse #metalocalypse fanfiction #metalocalypse fanfic #pickles the drummer #molly metalocalypse

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