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thanksbutno98 · 2 months ago

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Foxes

John Price x wife!reader OC

Summary: John Price has to break out his military training to keep his property safe from foxes hunting his chickens; and maybe something else hunting his wife.

Warnings: Guns, allusions to stalking, stalking, PTSD, mentions of kidnapping, mentions of gun violence, hunting, animal deaths, sexual themes, swearing, not edited.

——————

Your music was blasting and feeling as good as you did you were belting out the words this warm summer day. It didn’t matter if you sounded good, you loved this song. And everyone in the neighborhood was going to know it. With the open windows and backdoor your sweet tunes were bound to be carried on the brisk summer breeze.

Dancing around your kitchen in your bare feet, athletic shorts and a baby blue t-shirt you continued to sing while you cooked lunch. A nice and easy air fried fish fingers, chips, and a summer salad was on the menu as requested by John. Taking the metal tongs for the air fryer you used them as a microphone and tried to moonwalk horribly. You were quite the sight to see. Making an absolute fool of yourself in the privacy of your home.

If John were inside instead of tending to the chickens he would be showing you how to actually moonwalk. He surprisingly was a great dancer and had a decent singing voice. Jj got John’s ability to sing, the young boy was quite talented musically.

“You’re so weird!” Jj, your son walked into the kitchen and then stared at you in horror. All he wanted to know was when lunch would be ready, not witness his mother dancing like a fool.

His judgmental stare didn’t stop you. It simply made you dance in his direction and wave him over to join you. At twelve years old you would think he would have a sense of humor; but alas you were no longer funny. With a look of disgust he backed away from you.

“C’mon sing, dance with me.” You tried to grab him to dance with you and he practically jumped away from you.

“Ew! Stop! You’re so embarrassing!” The way he purposefully deepened his voice only egged you on.

“C’mon Jj, don’t be a spoil sport.” Evelyn your ten year old daughter slid into the kitchen on her lime green socked feet.

She then immediately broke out into the running man. She too looked just as awkward as you but was having a good time. Waving your son off, a duet between you and your daughter broke out in the kitchen. You both sounded horrible singing at the tops of your lungs and having a dance battle.

That was until the sound of gunshots rang out.

All three of you screamed. You had both your children by the collars of their shirts and yanked them to the floor with you. Jj banged his knee against the tile while Evelyn dropped like a sack of potato’s. The fancy speaker your husband John Price had gotten you for your birthday continued on. That song you loved so much coming to an end and rolling into an equally good one.

Your mind played tricks on you for a split second. It felt like sweltering heat of the desert sun, dry air, and smelling of your vanilla perfume and burnt coffee. The memory of the day you were kidnapped at a dig sight almost paralyzed you but the need to protect your children out weighed the flashback.

“Get in the basement, don’t make a sound. Go into my office and lock the door. I’m going to get Lily, do not open that door for anyone but me or your father.” You ordered your children. Your words left no room for discussion.

Putting your children behind your back you walked them to the basement door trying to shield them from the large open glass double doors that lead to your back yard. Your eyes scanned the area trying to see if anyone was there. The shots were so close it was clear to you they came from the woods in the distance of your property.

“Molly mum.” Jj softly whispered to you.

Your motherly instincts were in full swing as you rushed your children down the basement stairs. You could see Evelyn was so terrified she was shaking and you expected that from any child. Only your son was calm and collected, taking his sister’s hand and doing exactly what you said.

Sprinting upstairs you found your daughter still asleep in her bed for her nap. Thankfully your dog Molly was asleep with her. You grabbed Lily and her blanket, then clasped Molly by the collar and ran back downstairs. Halfway down the stairs you heard another gunshot ring out. This one was significantly closer to your home, sounding as if it came from the tree line of the nearby forest in your back yard. It made the air around you still, becoming suffocating and silence sounding deafening.

Lily was disoriented and struggled for you to put her down but you didn’t. You cooed and soothed her to the best of your ability. After a long moment of silence you then ran for the basement door at the back of the house.

The basement consisted of two rooms that were separated by a foundational wall that bisected your home. The first room was John’s office and home gym. The office with his mahogany desk, book shelves, and Cheshire couch were to the left of the stairs. Past that toward the back of the house was where his weights and other workout machinery was.

At the bottom of the stairs and straight ahead was the door to your office. It was a beautiful juniper green that had become weathered over time. Your office was rectangular like John’s but had much more space since it encompassed the front portion of your home. You had rugs from your travels laid out, the old dining room set, old living room couch, your desk, book cases, and other supplies so you could work from home.

On your decent into the basement, Molly brushed by you causing your foot to slip off that one stair that had a knack for taking you down. Your ass collided hard with the old wooden stair and you slid down the latter half of the stairs on your back. You kept Lily secure to your chest and ignored the pain of having fallen down the stairs.

Back on your feet and breathing heavily you were at the juniper green door that lead into your office. Knocking quietly you heard a squeak and something shuffle.

“It’s me. Open up.” You whispered. The lock clicked and the door opened soon after.

Jj looked at you with an expression you were accustom to seeing on his father’s face. Stoic, calm, under complete control of his emotions. Which was stranger for a twelve year old but he was his father’s son. You handed Jj Lily and he had to wrap both arms around her so her legs were dangling while you corralled Molly into your office. Jj took his youngest sister and brought her to the corner of your office where Evelyn was sitting with a large blanket.

Your children huddled together as your violently shaking hands took a chair and angled it under the door knob. You were then quietly searching the utility closet for something to wield in case you needed a weapon. After searching frantically you found your old baseball bat and stared at it for a moment.

Your breathing began to pick up as you looked at the light wood of the bat with scratches and chips in the laminate coating. Chest heaving, head pounding, and sweaty hands, you began to nod at the blunt object. You were preparing yourself to have to use this if someone broke in. Because no matter how terrified you felt in this moment you had to protect your children.

“Darling!” Your husband’s gruff voice called from upstairs. It was such a relief to hear him that you didn’t pick up on his jovial tone.

“Thank god.” The words tumbled out.

Leaning against the cool stone wall, that suffocating feeling began to dissipate gradually because John was here to protect you; more importantly protect your children. You knew nothing would hurt you or your children as long as John was here. You were so confident of that, you would bet your life on it. John being in the house had to mean he dealt with the gun shots from whoever was crazy enough to go on a shooting spree.

You took a centering breath so John wouldn’t judge you for how frantic you were. It was important to you that he was confident in your ability to keep your children safe. He had set so many precautions and you followed this one flawlessly; besides grabbing a gun from his safe. But the biggest caveat was, you were to stay calm at all times so you could be clear headed; and that wasn’t part of your nature. Opening the door once you felt a little more steady, you called up to John.

“Is it safe to come out?” You asked, voice still shaky.

There was a beat of silence as the basement door opened allowing a stream of warm afternoon light to flow down the old rickety stairs.

“Safe?” John’s boots loudly thudded against the stairs as he came halfway down. Ducking his head so he could see the room clearly he had a quizzical look on his face as you emerged from your office.

“Yeah. Did you not hear all that? Some lunatic was shooting in the forest behind the house.” You were completely exasperated with John for not knowing what you were talking about.

He was out there for Christ sake. For someone who was in the military you thought gun shots would be pretty distinctive. Or maybe he was so use to them he hardly noticed.

John stared at you blankly.

“Uh, that was me. Finally killed those damn foxes going after the chickens.” The words were raspy and unsure.

John hadn’t taken into consideration your reaction to hearing gunshots. He was much more concerned on keeping the chickens safe.

Another beat of silence.

“What is WRONG with you!?” You yelled so loud you made Lily shriek behind you.

“What? They killed another chicken this morning, making it three total.” John looked utterly perplexed by your outburst. You told him to keep the chickens safe, and now that he was you were mad at him.

“Go on you three. Everything’s fine. Your dad was the one shooting a GUN that close to the house.” Jj was snickering at his dad getting scolded by you. Meanwhile your girls were shaken up.

“Wicked dad. Can I come next time?” Jj was the first to emerge, all sparkly eyed and looking to his father.

“Of course you can. Not sure if your mum will string me up by the ankles for it.” The snarky comment had you doubling down.

“I told you to keep the chickens safe, not start killing wild animals trying to survive!” You half shrieked being unbelievably upset with John’s lack of gun safety with children around. John didn’t seem to take much notice to your outburst and went back upstairs with Jj.

“I think dad and Jj have gone mad.” Evelyn whispered to you and you agreed.

Lily was tugging on your shirt so you would picked her back up so you did. You crouched down and hugged your girls. It seemed like you three were the only ones reacting like human beings to this. After a good hug and some calming breaths you made sure they were both okay and headed upstairs. Once upstairs John tried to give you a kiss which you dodged. You went back to the kitchen and checked on lunch.

“Darling, I know you grew up in the city but huntings normal around here.” John chuckled at you.

He loved when you got like this; pouty and ready to give him a hard time. Seeing you all riled up over something he deemed as innocuous tickled him. You found John condescending in moments like this because he found you so utterly endearing that it dismissed your frustration with him.

“You’re a lunatic.” You said matter of factly.

“Not my fault you Americans have such shite gun laws you panic at the sound.” You did not appreciate John’s dig.

He was completely right though. If you weren’t from the States you wondered if you would have freaked out so intensely. To you, guns going off meant hide for cover because someone was trying to make the news.

“Put the gun away.” You ordered your husband who was still chuckling at you. He walked over to take his plate for lunch but you snatched it and took it away from him.

“Away. Now.” You demanded. Holding his food hostage seemed to do the trick because after an incredulous eye roll John went downstairs to put his gun in the safe.

“Where are the foxes?” Jj asked you as he took his plate off the counter.

“How would I know.” You gave Jj a flat look which made him grin.

Now he was teasing you and you did not appreciate his father’s influence on him. John was grinning as he came up the stairs, having heard Jj giving you a hard time. After ruffling the boys hair John spoke.

“On the patio.” John motioned to four dead foxes getting blood all over the stone.

“Ew.” Lily wiggled to be put down and ran to the open back door.

She stared at the foxes quietly. One of her hands was playing with her left pigtail while the other reached out aimlessly for anyone’s hand to hold. You were expecting a much larger reaction from her. Lily was soft and sweet, dead animals normally upset her. She cried for an hour once when there was a dead pigeon at the park. Yet seeing dead foxes didn’t seem to bother her.

“Which chicken did they get?” Evelyn asked now standing next to Lily and taking her hand, the two of them staring at the dead foxes.

“Why are none of you reacting to dead animals!? Am I in the twilight zone!?” Throwing your hands in the air you felt crazy.

Even Evelyn had no reaction. You were expecting her to go start poking them with a stick or asking a million questions. But none of your children were upset, they treated this like an ordinary thing. As if you told them about the weather and you couldn’t figure out why for the life of you.

“Pepper.” John’s response made Lily shriek at the top of her lungs. It had everyone but John jumping.

“NOT PEPPER!” Falling to her knees Lily started to hysterically cry while also screaming dramatically.

It looked as if she were melting into a puddle with her fingers laced in her hair and sapphire eyes streaming with tears. It was quite the performance, she was putting Leonardo DiCaprio to shame with this meltdown.

Pepper was Lily’s favorite chicken, so this was going to be tough. The reaction you expected for the dead foxes came in full swing at the news you all lost Pepper. Lily was shrill and inconsolable as Evelyn kneeled on the floor with her little sister and hugged her.

“You can handle all that.” You took your hand and motioned to Lily’s utter histrionics as your doorbell rang.

You had a sinking feeling one of your neighbors were here to ask what the hell was wrong with your husband. But when you opened the door it was so much worse.

“Hello ma’am. I’m Officer Parker.” The police officer at your front door seemed unamused to be here.

He was tall like John, but not as handsome. It was definitely a ‘type’ kind of thing because the man was still good looking. Officer Parker had dark silver hair and five o’clock shadow. Despite his hair color he couldn’t be older than John, he even looked a few years younger. The sharp jawline, thick eyebrows, and peachy skin paired well together. His hazel eyes were stern and serious like a man of the militaries would be; not what you assumed a police officer was like. He was slender with an athletic physique with muscles not as large as Johns but they were still prevalent in his uniform.

“Hi, Y/N Price.” You felt like you looked guilty and you did.

Lily’s screams echoed down the hallway making the officer look over your head trying to asses if everything was okay. Gun shots and a screaming child wasn’t a good look for your family.

“Gotten some reports of gun shots. Been told the man who lives here is military and wanted to make sure everything’s all right.” The officer sounded like he was already accusing you of something.

But then his hazel eyes softened for a second seeing you go from nervous to defeated. That’s when he noticed you were quite beautiful. There was a sweetness that naturally exuded off of you and those eyes of yours were almost as bright as the summer sun.

“John! Police are here for you.” You half yelled for your husband to come deal with this.

Hearing you call for a man had the officer feeling somewhat deflated. He knew a man in the military lived here but was hoping he was of no relation to you. There was a small hope you were a guest of this home, not the mother of that screaming child and wife to the oaf shooting a gun for god knows why.

As you turned and waited for the man you called, Officer Parker took in your appearance. You were dressed in cute little black athletic shorts that ended just after the plump roundness of your bum. Your baby blue t-shirt was loose everywhere but your chest, fitting nicely over the curve of your breasts. With your hair tied back he could see the slender curve of your neck and that even from behind you were utterly gorgeous.

John appeared walking down the hallway towards the front door. Officer Parker wanted to roll his eyes at the sight of Captain Price. Of course this man had to be big, bold, and British. He looked like the type of rugged man that would have a woman like you swooning over him.

“She’s gonna need to cry it out.” John nodded his head towards Lily who could now be seen at the end of the hallway next to the kitchen, lying on her back. She was crying up at the ceiling with her small hands over her face.

“Pepper.” The guttural cries continued to echo down the hall as Lily called for her deceased chicken.

“She okay?” Officer Parker asked you.

“Yeah. Her favorite chicken got eaten by some foxes and she taking the news pretty hard.” Scratching the back of your head you gave the officer an apologetic smile.

God, he found you beautiful. Few words were exchanged but you were endearing and kind; that was obvious. There was something about you that was magnetic and had him enamored although no one could tell.

“How can we help you?” John was picking up on a strange vibe but wasn’t sure what it was. The officer at his door was as stoic as himself and John wasn’t sure how he felt about that.

“Hello sir. Reports of gunshots, know anything about it?” Without missing a beat officer Parker was back to the task at hand.

“Shot a couple foxes that were killing my chickens.” John spoke matter of factly, not knowing why that warranted police to show up.

“DADDY!!! PEPPER!!” Lily screamed in John’s direction but John ignored her. You couldn’t get yourself to respond either. Lily needed to work this one out since you and John were busy.

“Do you have a license.” The officer lightly chuckled at the little girl having an absolute meltdown over a chicken.

“Here.” Reaching into his back pocket John grabbed his wallet and handed over his hunting license.

Looking it over carefully, Officer Parker then leaned to the side to look between you and John. Down the hall he now saw two older children trying to console their hysterical little sister. The older little girl grabbed her smaller sister’s ankles while the boy grabbed her arms. They picked her up like a rag doll and carried her out of sight.

“No more shooting. Got it?” Keeping his eyes cast down the hall Officer Parker then saw the pile of dead foxes on your patio. Now with the story corroborated he handed John his hunting license back.

“Why!?” John’s strong reaction made your jaw drop.

What did he mean ‘why’?

“It’s a residential area. There are families and children around. Don’t do it again.” Officer Parker spoke evenly but you could tell he didn’t see why he even had to explain this.

“So the next time foxes are killing my chickens I just let them?” John was indignant and heating up to argue with the officer.

“Build a taller fence.” The response was short and to the point.

It was a fair response that had you nodding in agreeance. John didn’t respond but shut the door in the officers face. The abrupt reaction made you gasp.

“That was rude.” You were shocked at John’s curt behavior. John ignored you and locked the door. The look on his face was mean with his eyebrows knit together and lips fixed in a tight line.

“You know, for someone who’s a Captain in the military you’ve got a real problem with authority.” Challenging your husband didn’t seem to affect him as he moved to go check on the crying that was now off in the distance for some reason.

“I should be able to shoot on my own damn property.” John threw the comment over his shoulder.

“You have to know how ridiculous you sound.” You laughed in disbelief.

Opening the front door back up you saw the officer heading back to his car.

“Sorry about him! It won’t happen again!” You called to the man and waved goodbye.

That seemed to tickle Officer Parker because he smiled and laughed. The seriousness from before seemed to fade in your presence. He looked handsome with a smile and not so stern. There was a charming nature about him, one that was disarming and alluring.

“Keep him in line. I’d hate to come out here again.” The joke felt a bit flirtatious but you ignored that and waved goodbye.

You weren’t sure he’d hate having to stop by again from the way he spoke. A little flirting was a good ego boost especially in a harmless moment like this. It’s not like you’d ever see the man again.

Turning back, John had his eyes cut at you. You thought he would’ve been in the kitchen at this point but he clearly was suspicious of you.

“And you have an inclination for men of authority.” There was an accusation in those words that you decided to ignore.

“I do. But apparently I like gun wielding lunatics.” The cheeky comment got you a firm smack to the ass that made you yelp in surprise.

“As you should.” John’s flirtation was a lot more successful than the officers. It left you giving him a kiss and then ordering him to build a taller fence.

“Build a taller fence and please don’t do that again. Our neighbors probably hate us.” As you spoke John nudged you with his shoulder which had you instantly wrapping yourself around his muscular arm.

“Darling, I have a gun. They’re too scared to hate us.” The joke had you rolling your eyes. John chucked and kissed the top of your head sweetly.

Walking into your kitchen you saw your two oldest children sitting at the kitchen table eating their lunch. They were chatting about who would take the dead foxes, Ghost or Soap. You could faintly hear Lily crying but she was no where in sight.

“Where’s your sister?” John asked, he didn’t seem too worried as he started eating his own lunch while he brought it to the table.

“Laundry room.” Evelyn pointed at the shut laundry room door at the corner of the kitchen next to the pantry.

“What!?” You dashed for the laundry room to find your four year old lying in a basket of clean towels, hugging one to her chest and lightly sobbing while she whispered Pepper’s name.

“We couldn’t enjoy our lunch with her screaming like that.”

——————

“Hello, Mrs. Price.” The same officer as last time was at your door again.

He had a charming smile, seemingly amused to see you. The summer day was a lot hotter than the last. This left you trying anything to beat the heat. You had just slipped your two piece bathing suit on under your crop top and bicycle shorts. A dip in the pond would be nice and you promised Lily she could swim with you.

“I’m so sorry.” You sighed heavily already knowing why he was here.

“Where is he?” The officer also seemed annoyed by John but not by you.

It was a surprise to Officer Parker to be back at your house not even two days later. Normally he’d hate having to have a repeat visit, but not with you. The fact you seemed so displeased with your husband would hopefully bode well for him; because he wanted to make a pass before he left here today. He wanted to see if the stereotype of military wives being lonely and unsatisfied was true.

“I don’t think he’ll be coming to the door.” You spoke meekly.

John made it crystal clear last night that those foxes killing the chickens had it coming. You bent his ear about gun safety but it clearly didn’t get through to him. He ended up shutting you up with some groveling on his knees and mouth between your thighs.

“Well I need to speak to him.” By the way the officer spoke you could tell he would rather not, but unfortunately he had to do his job.

“He’s around back.” You stepped out onto the porch and motioned with your hand.

You did not want to deal with this. John got himself into this mess and he could deal with it on his own.

“A woman like you’s okay with him shooting while you have young children around?” The officer seemed to be trying to get you on his side.

You agreed with him but there was a twinkle in his eye you caught on to. He fancied you, and you could tell. Although you had no interest and were clearly married that didn’t stop the subtle flirting.

You were flattered but weren’t going to give him anymore attention than necessary. It was funny to you because he reminded you of Soap, in that charming lovable kind of way. And like Soap, Officer Parker seemed capable of getting laid by any other woman who wasn’t you.

“No, but they think it’s cool. We’ve got one chicken left standing and they want their dad to protect Nancy at all cost.” You shrugged not sure what else to say. You’d lost this battle with John as soon as the children took his side.

“Nancy?” He asked with a snort.

“My middle named her.” You smiled softly.

“And the others?” The officer was intrigued what other names your chickens had.

“Well they’re all dead now. But it was Pepper, Match Box, Dinner, and Pancake.” Leaning against the front door frame you gave into having a chat instead of doing some proofreading for work.

“Dinner?” The officer let out a loud laugh. He was hoping you were the one to come up with that name. It would mean you were funny and gorgeous.

“Yeah, that was my husband.” You snickered.

Officer Parker’s laughter died down, no longer finding the name funny.

“Speaking of, going to give him a last warning.” Taking a step back Officer Parker was about to head around your house to scold your husband.

“Good luck with that.” You meant it, John had his heels dug in on this one.

“Think he’ll listen.” With a smirk the officer asked you. The look slowly slid off his face at your lack of response.

You stared at him, mulling over his question. The officer watched your eyes glaze over for a moment as if you were lost in a memory. You stayed like that, spaced out, until he cleared his throat and you seemingly snapped back into reality.

“What was the question?” You asked.

You had been searching your brain for a time John listened to someone willingly, who wasn’t you. John didn’t like being told what to do unless he agreed with what it was. Still he could be obstinate if rubbed the wrong way but usually came around when it was you asking. And even then he tended to do what he thought best and ignored you when he wanted to. John didn’t take well to rules or orders which was surprising that he wound up in the military.

“Never mind. Fine if I go around back.” Pointing toward your yard Officer Parker began to jog down the front stairs.

“Yeah, go ahead.” With a heavy sigh you went to shut your front door.

“Oh, and ma’am I completely forgot to mention. I saw a young man in his mid twenties rummaging through your mail box. He said he was family.” Officer Parker walked back to the bottom of your staircase as he told you.

“What’d he look like? Got a Mohawk?” You were taken aback and stepped back out on your front porch.

“No, Mohawk. Black hair, nondescript, buggy looking eyes. He seemed a bit off, barely blinked- which was odd.” He told you casually. It was assumed you would know exactly who he was talking about.

“No. Doesn’t sound like any family of mine. My husband’s the better person to ask.” Finding this out had your forehead creasing from stress.

The last thing you needed was some creep sniffing around your children. John would go ballistic and definitely threaten someone with his gun if not blow their brains out.

“Said his last name was- ah bloody hell I can’t remember. It just wasn’t Price.” Running his finger through his hair Officer Parker tried to remember the last name he was given.

“Was it Y/L/N?” You asked.

“Yes, it was.” With a snap of his fingers Parker pointed to you.

“Fuck, that’s my maiden name. I don’t get any mail with that name anymore so I don’t know how anyone would know that.” This was officially creeping you out. No one here knew your maiden name besides the people at work.

“Strange. Keep an eye out. I will too.” The fact officer Parker didn’t seem too worried didn’t help you.

If anything you would want the police worried about a strange man going through people’s mailboxes in a neighborhood with a lot of children. Especially since your maiden name was used, it meant this person was looking for you or your children. Nothing like this had ever happened around here before. So you made a mental note to text a few of your neighbors to give them a heads up. You just hoped they didn’t call you out for the gun shots.

“Thank you.” You tried to sound calm although you felt a tightness in your chest.

“Of course, ma’am.” Giving you a cordial smile Parker went to go confront your husband.

The walk to the far right corner of your property was much farther than Officer Parker realized. Your property was huge now that he had a better look. Your red farm house sat atop a hill far from the street. To the right was your driveway and a sloping hill your kids would sled down in the winter. Once at the back of your house there were acres of land including a pond and forest.

The forest ran from the front of your property and surrounded it on all sides. The land behind your house was about the size of three soccer fields until it reached the pond that was to the far left and down a slight slope. There was even land around the pond but it was surrounded by tall grass in those areas showing how your family and children tended to not go over there.

In the far right corner near the edge of the woods was the chicken coop surrounded by a low estate styled fence. It was no wonder the chickens were being picked off by foxes with the coop being that close to the forest. Once over there Officer Parker got a better view of John Price and his three children around the coop. There was an old beat up truck a few yards away with the bed opened and a bunch of empty crates. A man with a Mohawk was taking the dead fox and tossing them into the bed and closing things up.

“Captain Price, there’s been another complaint about guns going off.” Officer Parker called from a distance away as he approached.

John looked up from the center of the fenced in area around the coop where he had just placed a white chicken down. John was dressed in dirty jeans that had a layer of dust and dirt on them. His white long sleeve matched the dirt of his jeans along with his brown work gloves. There was a faded beige boonie hat that sat atop his head that Officer Parker thought looked ridiculous.

“Why are you on my property?” John half demanded to know. He knew why but was not about to admit to it.

John’s two little girls stared intently at the police officer. Meanwhile Jj was spreading feed for the new chickens not paying him any mind. This was the first good look Officer Parker was getting at your children. The boy was a spitting image of his father while your middle was your mini me. The youngest who was pretending like he didn’t exist was a good mix of you and your husband. She looked like John in the eyes and nose but had your lips, hair type, and shorter stature. She also seemed more like you than either of her siblings, there was a natural sweetness to her. Whereas the two older seemed a lot like their father purely based off the way they sized Officer Parker up a he got closer. This only proved the Officer knew very little about you. Your kids could be spitfires, clever, and cheeky which they had inherited from you.

“OoOoooO, you’re in trouble.” Evelyn teased her father.

“I wanna name that one Salt!” Lily was pointing at the all white hen John had bought to replace her favorite one who died; Pepper. Her hand was stuck through a hole in the chicken wire and she quickly pulled it back when one of the chickens tried to peck her.

“No, Nancy! You have to behave.” Lily scolded the tawny brown chicken who then stared her down.

“Daddy. Nancy’s looking at me funny.” Lily whined which made her father chuckle.

“Don’t mess with her Lily. She’ll take your fingers off if given the chance.” The teasing tone put a frown on the little girl face. Soon enough she was hiding behind her big sister who was beaming like the sun.

“She’s my favorite.” Evelyn pointed to Nancy as she spoke to Officer Parker.

“The mean one’s your favorite?” Soap asked with a boisterous laugh. Evelyn shook her head proudly.

“Of course she is Suds!” Evelyn giggled while she bounced up and down.

“Well, I’m gonna head out. You three better get in to as much trouble as you can while I’m gone.” Soap pointed at the Price children who all gave him giant smiles.

“Tell Leena we say hello. Oh, and stop sleeping with Y/N friends, I think she’s getting ready to murder you.” John chuckled as he tried to convince Soap of something you had been on his case about.

With a laugh Soap waved Price off and got into his truck. The Price children yelled their goodbyes and Soap honked a few times as he drove off. Lily started to tear up at Soaps departure since he was one of her favorite people.

“Why are you here?” John asked the officer again but his focus was on the sniffling four year old. John walked over and whispered something to her that seemed to cheer her up.

“Your wife told me you were back here.” Officer Parker spoke to John but had his attention stolen as Lily ran to the back pack Soap left behind and fished through it.

“Traitor.” John mumbled under his breath. A second later Lily was running back with candy bars. She stopped and meekly offered a Milky bar to the police officer. That one was her least favorite but she wasn’t going to tell him that.

“Please don’t be cross with my daddy.” She whispered so quietly it was barely audible and then ran off back to her big sister. They tore into the different candy bars while Officer Parker slid the sweet into his back pocket for later.

“Have you seen anyone lurking around your property, Captain Price?” The question had John perking up.

“No.” John didn’t break eye contact.

There was no way someone would be lurking around John’s property without him knowing. Normally it would never happen but it was especially true now with how vigilant John had been due to the foxes.

“Any of you see anyone you don’t know? Or even a neighbor who doesn’t usually stop by hanging around?” Looking at the young children’s faces they were clearly searching their memories for anything like that.

“When I took Molly for a walk this morning I saw Mr. Patterson at the mailbox. Mum said he wrote us a nasty note yesterday so I thought he was leaving another and avoided him like you told me to.” Jj looked at John and recounted this to the officer.

John was shocked by that. He didn’t know about any nasty note or that Jj had seen their neighbor at the house. Mr. Patterson was not a fan of your family, in fact John would go as far as to say the man hated you all. He was an older man whose nephew lived with him and took care of him and his property.

You told John that the nephew gave you the creeps. It was to the point you and John advised your children to steer clear of him. That they were never to stop and chat or go near that house. Nothing had truly ever happened but even John saw what you were talking about. The young man was odd and John didn’t like the way he stared at Evelyn one time when John and her went for a walk around the neighborhood.

“I told your wife but a young man in his mid to early twenties who was going through your mailbox. Claimed to be related to your wife.” Officer Parker reiterated.

“Dark hair, looks like he could be anybody, and crazy fucking eyes?” John asked. He used his pointer and middle finger to aggressively gesture to his own eyes.

“I see you know exactly who I’m talking about.” The men shared a knowing look as if to say they agreed that this man had to be trouble.

“Patterson’s nephew. You probably want to keep an eye on him.” John told him. Officer Parker nodded in understating.

“I saw him too.” Lily spoke quietly.

That was a lot more alarming to John than Jj seeing anything. Lily was four and you two hardly let her out of your sight. How on earth did she see the nephew and John and you hadn’t?

“Where?” John asked trying not to sound forceful so Lily wouldn’t clam up.

“The shop! Mummy was talking to Siobhan’s mummy about uncle Soap never calling her back. I think they had a sleepover or something. Siobhan’s mummy was really sad about it. I think she-“ John cut Lily’s tangent off.

“What did Patterson’s nephew do?” It was hard not to laugh at all the unnecessary details Lily offered up.

“He waved at me.” Lily recounted the memory at the shop from a few days ago.

“What did you do?” John had to push down the anger building up knowing, that creep had waved to his daughter.

“Cried.” Lily spoke matter of factly as she took another bite of her sweet.

That checked out. John remembered you saying Lily had a meltdown at the shop because someone looked at her funny. It must’ve been the neighbor.

“Dad can we name that one Patrick.” Evelyn interrupted and pointed to a brown hen while snacking on a chocolate bar.

“Hens are girls.” The officer informed her.

“So?” She cocked her head to the side confused.

“Hey!” Lily whined when John took a sneaky bite of her candy.

“Salt and Patrick it is. That one will be Butter.” John spoke with his mouth full and pointed to a honey colored hen. He thought it best to move on so his children wouldn’t get spooked. You and him could talk about this later.

“Butter?” The officer looked at John wondering where that name came from.

“Butter chicken.” Jj started laughing until he was bent over and trying to catch his breath.

“Jj you get to name the last one.” Nodding his head toward the last white hen John waited for Jj’s name for it.

“Mum wanted to name hers Pudding.” With a smile Jj offered some feed in his hand to Pudding.

“Okay, we have Salt, Patrick, Butter, and Pudding.” John pointed in order of chickens and their names.

It was comical watching how your family behaved. As serious and unfriendly as John was he was very accommodating and sweet to his children. It was night and day how he treated Officer Parker versus you and your children. It was a horrible example on how to treat police but John wasn’t the biggest fan anyway.

“Gonna have to ask you to stop with shooting foxes.” Finally getting to the point Officer Parker was stern in the way he spoke.

“Okay.” Waving the man off John grabbed Jj and placed him on the other side of the fence by his sisters.

“What!? Do you want our chickens dead?” Evelyn turned to the officer in shock. She went from looking sweet to ready to murder.

“Noooo daddy has to protect Salt!” Lily shrieked.

“Gimmie the sweet back!” Lily demanded with her hand outstretched, as if this punishment would change the man’s mind.

“I don’t want to come out here again.” Officer Parker warned John while handing the candy bar back.

“We can agree on that.” John’s snarkiness was hard to not push back against.

“No shooting.” Pointing his finger at John, Officer Parker ordered him.

“I shot this one.” Jj smiled cheerily thinking that would get the officer off his father’s back.

“Say that again.” Turning slowly the officer looked mortified.

In no universe did he expect that as a response. What on earth would posses a parent to put a gun in their child’s hands. No wonder you were so fed up with your husband; he had to be crazy.

“Lads just taking the piss. I wouldn’t be irresponsible enough to put a gun in the hands of a child.” John reassured the man as he lied.

Jj took that fox out in two shots, the first one missing completely and the second being right on target. John made Jj swear to secrecy to never tell you or they’d end up like those foxes when you found out.

There was a long pause. The officer couldn’t quite tell if this was sarcasm or honesty. John was unreadable.

“Alright. This will go a lot differently if I have to come out here again.” Another warning fell on deaf ears.

“Do you want some eggs? We can give you as many as you want if you let our dad take care of those nasty foxes. If you don’t there will be no eggs to give you Mister Police man.” Evelyn spoke oh so sweetly.

“Are you bribing a police officer?” The question was forceful and Evelyn immediately felt like she was in trouble. So she hummed and pretend to not hear him and went back to eating her chocolate bar.

“My kids have a cheeky sense of humor.” John chortled, trying to deflect. He found them hilarious but knew their humor wouldn’t be appreciated right now.

“Your wife seems to be the only sensible one out of you lot. No shooting, no bribing, and for the love of god don’t make me come back here.” Officer Parker got louder as he spoke until he was almost shouting.

“Okay.” John gave the man a contemptuous nod.

“Bloody ridiculous.” The officer mumbled as he walked away.

On his way to leave the officer saw you on your back patio. You were hosing something off. The distance allowed him to admire you for a few moments longer. You were barefoot in black bicycle shorts today with a cropped white t-shirt with the AC/DC logo on the front. It showed off just above your bellybutton and part of your ribs. He was noticing that you had tattoos which he seemed to miss the last time he saw you. That fact had you going from gorgeous to sexy in a flash.

“Howd it go?” You asked as the officer passed by the patio

“Your children take after him? One claimed to have shot that fox and the other tried to bribe me.” The frustrating encounter was shared in a lighthearted way.

“Made it out lucky. Usually the little one takes a bite out of people.” It felt good to hear someone speak fondly of your children. They had the unfortunate effect of rubbing people the wrong way a lot of the time.

“You’ve got quiet the family.” The brightness coming off of him was more from having a conversation with you. His words did not match the sentiment of how he felt towards your family; which was detached.

“They keep it interesting.” Speaking sweetly, you took his words at face value. Thinking that he admired your children and you could tell in turn he admired you.

Officer Parker, who had been thinking of you often now had the chance he’d been craving. With a charming smirk and running his fingers through his thick hair he geared up to attempt to sweet talk you. He knew he was handsome and charming so he planned on using those to his advantage. You were far from the first married woman he had seduced.

“I dont mean to overstep. I can see how unpleasant your husband is, if you ever want a little less stress in your life I’d love to take y-“ You waved your hand assertively for the officer to stop.

“Don’t. I’m happily married.” You instantly knew where this was going and nipped it in the bud. You couldn’t help the sour expression that took over.

There was no way you were crossing that line and if John found out, he would kill him. You were instantly upset. You thought you had made a friend, but unfortunately, this police officer was making a pass at you. The unfortunate fact was, men tended to disappoint you in this way, instead of looking for friendship they looked for a shag.

“Of course. My apologies.” Officer Parker felt himself flush with embarrassment. Leaving quickly was the best plan of action. So he nodded and went on his way.

“Lucky bastard. John would’ve hunted his ass down if he heard that.” Shaking your head you made your way over to the chicken coop. You were contemplating on whether you told your husband or not. You decided against it, John already hated the man enough.

——————

“Mrs. Price I can’t believe I’m here again.”

“I swear he wasn’t shooting this time.” You gave the same officer a meek smile.

You were absolutely fed up with this situation. You hadn’t heard any gun shots so now you were starting to think one of your neighbors was out to get you. Or that this officer couldn’t take the hint that you weren’t interested.

With the look Officer Parker was giving you, you thought it was the latter. You were in a floral blue sundress since it was just you and John home today. The waist was cinched, accenting your curves while the skirt was loose and flowed down to mid thigh. It was your subtle attempt of getting John all over you with these thin straps and low cut neckline. You weren’t expecting any interruption but this didn’t count since John hadn’t caught sight of you yet.

The officer seemed to notice your outfit and how your hair was tied back neatly to show off your neck and shoulders. It was also to keep your hair out of your face in case John had you on your knees. You felt gross at the officers flickering eyes down to your exposed legs and then cleavage.

Crossing your arms over your chest and letting out an annoyed huff the officer seemed to snap out of it. He was embarrassed to have been caught staring especially after being rejected the last time he was here. His ogling was fast and if you hadn’t been standing face to face you doubt you would have noticed. He was still kicking himself for even asking you out and how unprofessional he acted. After the last time he was here and the pass he made at you, you no longer liked him and he could tell. So he decided to stop treating you special and went back to acting like he normally did toward any civilian.

“I don’t believe you. Your family is becoming a real pain in my ass.” The coarse remark had your hackles raising. It was a large shift from his wandering eyes admiring you to then insulting you and your family.

“Fine.” You spoke with evenness yet there was an undertone of frustration.

You weren’t some soft docile house wife this man clearly thought you were. So you shut the door in the officers face. You didn’t need him being so rude to you when you had been nothing but accommodating. It wasn’t your fault your husband wouldn’t listen. If you could have things your way you’d kick this guy off your property and then drag John upstairs because you’d much rather have his gorgeous blues on you.

The doorbell rang several times before you opened it again. Swinging the door open you greeted him with a cheery smile as if this was the first time he’d ever knocked on your door. Officer Parker held on to that indignant look then rolled his eyes as you played pretend nice.

“Hi. Wanna try that again?” You felt like a brat right now, speaking oh so sweetly, but you were honestly sick of this guy showing up and your husband wielding a gun.

“I’m going to have to bring him in.” The officer told you which made you snort.

“Good luck with that.” You joked then went to shut the door again. His large hand smacked against the thick wood stoping you from ending the conversation.

“Ma’am, are you eluding to the fact your husband is going to resist arrest?” Peering at you through his eyebrows he asked seriously.

This guy was a piece of work and you wanted to give him as hard of a time as you felt he was giving you.

“Ever heard of a joke?” With a monotone tone you volleyed back his retort.

Silence took over as you both held eye contact. Officer Parker didn’t know what to say without getting a smart ass remark from you and you were prepared to be a little shit. If he thought John was difficult he had no idea who he was dealing with now.

“This family seems to be full of them. Now where is he?” The officer demanded.

He wasn’t wrong there. Your family were a bunch of smart asses who didn’t shy away from giving people a hard time. It wasn’t just John who resisted authority, it was you too. Thinking anyone could boss you around or show up at your door demanding things was comical. Once upon a time you would’ve teamed up with this guy to get your husband to stop with the guns. But now? Absolutely not, you’d cover for John in every possible way purely because you didn’t like this guy.

“Go on. He’s around back.” You motioned with your hand.

Making a point to wave your hand to put the large rock on your ring finger in this man’s face. Officer Parker grunted in reply, catching on to your dismissal of his advances. He stomped down your stairs and went to make his way to the back of your home.

“Oh, and again. . .” You waited for the officer to turn around and look at you from the bottom of the stairs of your front porch.

“He wasn’t shooting this time. The man would be signing divorce papers if that were the case. And he’s not that stubborn.” Before you could hear a response you shut the front door and then ran like hell to the back patio.

John was standing at the picnic table dressed in dirty old jeans, an army green t-shirt with a half burnt cigar tucked between his teeth. He had thrown a burlap tarp over the table and laid out a bunch of tools used to fix his cherry red convertible. Jumping down the two steps to the patio you ran straight into John. It was like colliding with a brick wall the way he didn’t budge and was made of stone. He chuckled deeply at your urgency, his chest rumbling at how endearing he found you.

“John give me that- that cops here and said he was going to arrest you.” You immediately started groping your husband trying to find the gun on his waist.

Going as far as shoving your hand down the back of his jeans to check for a gun. John jumped at your wandering hand in his trousers and had to grab you by the wrists to get you to stop grabbing at him.

“Victoria backfired, love. I didn’t shoot anything.” John started belly laughing. His deep voice sounded lower as he spoke with the cigar still tightly between his teeth.

“oh.” You visibly relaxed.

“Plus, I’ve learned to use a silencer now and you haven’t caught on so theres no way that prick has either.” Letting you go John went back to searching through his tools that were neatly laid out.

He paused, it looked like a lightbulb buzzed to life above his head, something had just occurred to him. Looking back at you with a pensive expression, you expected John to tell you something important; but he didn’t. John’s large hand came over to you and tugged at the neckline of your dress and pulled it toward him so he could peak down at your breasts.

“John!” Your jaw dropped and again your husband’s burly chest rumbled with laughter.

“No bra? Trying to tell me something, darling?” That charming smirk had you sputtering like an idiot; he was right on the money.

This outfit was indeed a statement. You still had trouble handling how hot John was when he flirted with you like this. That cocky confidence could get whatever he wanted out of you.

“Captain Price, I told you I didn’t want to be back h- holy shit is that an Aston Martin?” The officer stopped in the middle of your driveway realizing the car that sat at the end with the hood popped was in fact a 1965 Aston Martin. John removed his hand from your dress and left you with a firm squeeze to your left breast. The officer was too distracted to notice.

“No.” John lied as he grabbed some tool you would never be able to identify. All you could tell was it was metal, shiny, and round on the end.

“Piss off, that is-“

“Why are you on my property? To gawk at my car and chat up my wife? Or maybe gawk at my wife and chat ‘bout my car.” Taking a long drag from his cigar John stared down the officer.

That seemed to instantly piss the officer off. You didn’t have to tell John that you had caught this man’s eye. John noticed it from the very start. So now it was John’s opportunity to flex and show off just how lucky of a man he was.

“I’ll have to take you in for shooting a gun in a residential area. I tried to warn you-“

John had walked over to his car and turned the key in the ignition. A loud bang echoed through the open air that sounded like a gun shot. It was now occurring to the officer that the call that came about a single gun shot was in fact this car back firing.

All Officer Parker could think was how this prick John Price was a lucky bastard.

“Fixing my car. That a crime?” John was enjoying himself way too much.

Smoking his cigar with his signature hat and looking smug suited him. Sexy didn’t begin to describe how attractive you found your husband in this moment. That smudge of grease on his neck only added to the rugged man he was. Bulging biceps, chiseled frame, tanned skin from working in the yard; you wanted to mount that smug smirk.

“Are you armed right now?” Officer Parker stepped on to your patio his eyes wandering to the cherry red convertible for a moment.

With a quirked eyebrow John looked at you and then to the officer.

“You can frisk me if ya’d like.” Throwing his arms out John motioned for the officer to come over.

“Yes, please-“ You slapped your hand over your own mouth for saying that.

Both men turned and gave you surprised looks.

“I’m sorry- I- wasn’t suppose to say that out loud.” Your entire body flushed with embarrassment for having no filter. You blamed John for this. You weren’t sure how it was his fault but you’d figure that out later.

“Later, darling.” John shot you and wink. He had you feeling like a teenager gushing over her crush. If he blew a kiss at you it would’ve knocked you over.

The cheeky comment had you stifling a laugh while the officer kept a cool demeanor. Watching you and your husband flirt was not on his agenda today. In fact he was suppose to be looking into the man who was going through mailboxes since he was in the neighborhood.

“Well, the call was a mistake. I’ll be on my way. let me know if you seen anything suspicious about the man lurking around.” With a nod officer Parker made a move to leave but once again was distracted by John’s car.

“Who’s been making the complaints.” John asked while pulling his cigar from his teeth and asking.

“I can’t disclose that.” The officer gave John a sharp look for the question. He continued on his way not wanting to deal with either of you anymore.

“Not even for a ride.” John nodded at his car.

“Do anything for a ride.” You mumbled under your breath to yourself. John didn’t catch it but the officer glanced at you from the corner of his eye.

“Is this where your daughter learned to bribe an officer!?” He turned back around and barked.

“He’s joking. Right, John?” Your pushing had John raising his hands by his shoulder, chuckling deeply then taking a drag of his cigar.

“‘Course I am. We know it’s the Patterson’s. You keeping an eye on the nephew like you said? ” The lack of response to John spoke volumes.

“Good day.” The officer forcefully spoke before leaving.

John chuckled as the officer left and then slammed the hood of the car back in place. Glancing over his shoulder John caught sight of you giving him big innocent eyes and a shy smile. Your arms were behind your back leaving John’s eyes to wander to your cleavage in that little sundress that drove him mad.

The prospect of having some privacy had you pouncing at the opportunity. Now it was your time to shine and get the attention you craved from your husband. So you flirted like a slag and decided some role play would be fun. John the mechanic and you some damsel who forgot her wallet.

“Thank you for fixing my car, sir. I don’t have any money but I’m willing to repay you in other ways.” You flirted shamelessly with John.

A thick eyebrow quirked and his lips turned skyward at your forward advances. The thick hair of his mutton chops looked tantalizing in the afternoon sunlight. You were drinking him in like a cool glass of tea on this hot summer day.

“I’ll take payment in full.” That deep British accent made you weak in the knees.

You let out a yelp as John grabbed you and man handled you. He had you perched on the hood of his car with his hands under your skirt and dragging your panties down. His hands were rough against your soft skin and that confidence from before only grew and surrounded you. It felt like he was going to eat you alive and savor every bite.

“John the officer hasn’t left.” The sound of your quiet squeal was muffled by the officers car door thudding shut.

“Just want him to know how good I’ve got it. A house, family, classic car, and a wife who’ll let me fuck her on the hood of said car.” John all but purred against your neck as he laid open mouth kisses over the shallow teeth marks he left behind.

“John, you’re gonna get us in trouble. And I’m not going to let you fuck me on the hood of the car. Not with some creep wandering around the neighborhood?” You giggled when he snapped the band of your panties against your thighs where he had dragged them halfway down.

A tingling sensation ran up your spine but it wasn’t from your excitement. In a flash you felt watched, like two eye were boring into you. It was a visceral reaction that you instantly felt like prey. Looking to your left you stared into the forest. It no longer looked like it always did but had this darkness seeping out from it. And for a second you swore you saw something shift behind a tree. Blinking a few times you decided your eyes were playing tricks on you. No way would someone be watching you with John here and a cop sitting in your driveway.

Both men were too distracted by you to notice your eyes locked on something in the forest. All the officer could see was John’s broad shoulders and back. That and the exposed skin of your knees and shins on either side of the massive frame of your husband. It wasn’t lewd from this angle but it was clear what John was saying without words.

She’s Mine

“C’mon darling, we won’t get caught. You know he thinks you’re pretty. Especially in this little dress. Let me rub it in.” There was a dark chuckle that followed John’s sultry words.

He pulled down the strap of your dress so it hung limply off your shoulder and exposed how you weren’t wearing a bra. The action had that sinking feeling in your gut intensifying. John wasn’t the only man looking at you right now. There was no way to prove it, you could just feel it. You gulped down the rock in your throat not wanting to make a big deal on what you were chalking up to anxiety.

Turning to look at the officer, John and him shared an intense look. It was one of pride for John and jealousy on the officers end. John smiled like the smug bastard he was and waved goodbye. The officer didn’t look away as he started his engine and you hid behind John, feeling utterly embarrassed by your husband’s audacity. He was waving you around like some prize he won.

You made eye contact for only a brief moment over John’s shoulder when he dipped down to pick you up and bring you inside. There was no doubt Officer Parker officially hated the Price family but in the second your eyes met he saw your fear. He wondered why all of a sudden you looked like that and if your husband was someone who scared you. This made him hate your husband for being so arrogant. It was clear John was about to bed you and have his way, which was only insult to injury for the officer. But now he wondered if something else was going on.

You just hoped the next time John started shooting foxes it would scare off whoever had been lurking around the neighborhood.

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

Next Chapter: Secret Admirer

~~~~~tag list~~~~~

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niyafics · 2 months ago

Text

: •̩̩͙ ݁𖥔 ݁˖ 𝙨𝙥𝙤𝙞𝙡𝙚𝙙 ⋆｡° •̩̩͙ ໋:🦁

chap1 : sweet talk frat!rich!paige bueckers x reader AU

˳ ⋅ ⊹ wc: 5k (*cries*)

˚ ⋅ ⊹ cw: alcohol (barley), swearing, LOWKEY EMO/LONER READER(i love opposites srry), estranged relationship with parents, golden retriever x black cat dynamic, an au things r diff obviously, the frat is made up lolol and not an established relationship either , lotsa building. angst(?), daddy issues(?). only proofread by me lolllll

˳ ⋅ ⊹ abt: after a long night of serving snobs you try to get a drink and a cute, hyper, frat girl home from college bails you out. now she won’t leave you alone.

˚ ⋅ ⊹(a/n): ty if u waited to read this, n srry if it sucks as always lolol. feel free to still use this idea btw!

ANOTHER exhausting night catering to posh assholes, and their colleagues. Some were easier to service. They screwed their face when you walked up, like you’d been interrupting a conversation, before bluntly repeating their orders, barley slow enough for you to hurriedly jot down.

They don’t thank you when you bring the food, they seldom look at you, like eye contact or a smile costs, and leave a fat tip that was probably change in their pocket.

Other times, it’s almost exactly the same. But, in place of the silence that showed they’re ‘better’, men the age of your parents, slipped a disgusting comment about your figure or an aggressively sexual invitation.

This long in the food industry, you were used to it. A forced laugh usually wards them off, and yet, it makes the evening drag. The 10 hours feels like 20. Your social battery is completely fried by the time you make it to your studio. Usually.

Certain nights, the tips stack so good, you have to reward yourself. This night in particular, you made the rest of your rent, and had fifty dollars extra to spend. Why not get a drink? It had been so long since you had alcohol warming your insides and cheeks. Since you had someone decent looking flirt with you face to face.

Your feet are throbbing after your shift, the money in your pocket keeps you motivated to get at least buzzed.

The bar you choose seems new, at least that’s what it’s listed as, nearby your place. Still cheap, but with a pathetic effort at millennial decorating. You wouldn’t see any of the richies you had to deal with at your job here, sucking their teeth at your chipped nail polish and beaten Vans. Throwing your apron in the backseat, you spray perfume to fight the smell of kitchen on you, and shake your hair free of its tie.

A chimes goes off, as you step inside, the place is almost empty. A middle aged couple play pool in a dim corner, and a few other groups or people spread out, leaving plenty room. Outdated music plays that clashes with the theme, so you get a feeling the decoration is just an effort to keep up with the times. You plop down in a stool at the bar with a grunt, sighing in relief, looking at the menu above, even though you were going to order the last drink you remember.

The bartender is a cute ginger, with freckles dotted on her face and down her arms. She glances over a few times with an apologetic smile, while an inebriated old man talks her ear off. You lift your hand to let her know to take her time, fiddling with a jar of toothpicks in front of you.

The bell echos at the front from behind you, and a rush of obnoxious conversation follows.

It was a warm summer night, and the suburban kids of the wealthy were home from school, but they usually drove through, to the overpriced clubs that suited them. You huffed an annoyed breath, taking a glance behind you. Everyone else’s head swiveled with yours. The children of the wound up business men you’d spent hours tolerating.

“This place stinks, like, actually..” One girl whispered. Two guys beside her laugh like hyenas.

“Yeah, good pick, Bueckers..” Another seethed sarcastically in disgust, with a string of chuckles following.

“Not too bad..” A tall blonde with her hair in a neat low bun pushed through and interjected. That must’ve been Bueckers. She turns to the group and gestures towards the pool table the couple had been playing at. You stared her down in her khaki shorts and pressed, short sleeve polo. Her friends dressed in similar preppy fashion. “Pool table’s cool.”

The couple of boys in outfits similar to hers groaned, moving towards it. The older couple was long gone, seemingly taking the group as a cue to leave. You were taking it as the same, still, you lingered. Your fingers dug into the leather of the back of the chair, looking at the lanky, yet toned, woman established as leader. A shorter girl, with brown hair, in an almost blinding white tennis skirt and jacket set, trailed behind, hooking her arm with Bueckers, as they walked over.

You identified her as the one that commented on the smell, she was right, but you still didn’t like her. A feeling bit at you that you pushed off as irritation, swiveling back around with a closed mouth scowl. The fiery haired bartenders’ kind green eyes met you, raising a brow.

“See someone you know?” She asked while drying a shot glass and setting it back on the rack behind the bar.

“No, thank god,” You joked, another whip of air pushing from your lips, relieving tension. “I’ll take a vodka and sprite, please.” She tilts her head knowingly, and begins to concoct it, while you reach into your pocket to pull out a twenty. Her hair whips back around with the drink and you’ve forgotten about the group. As she sets it down, a frown comes on her face at the sight of the bill. You’re raising your brow now.

“I forgot to tell you, card only, sorry…” The bartender bites her lip nervously, pointing to a sign behind her to back her up. Your shoulders slump, already knowing what your bank account looks like. A pang of disappointment stings your chest but you swallow it, and reach for your card anyways. You don’t know why. You already know it’ll decline. The sprite and vodka bubbles infront of you tauntingly.

“Put it on my tab.” A warm voice speaks up, and you feel a figure take the seat beside you, her long legs not fitting under the bar. They bump your thigh ever so slightly, as she swivels in boredom, facing you. Bueckers from earlier had came up to buy the first round. She shoots you a rosy lipped smirk, her blue eyes searching to meet yours for approval. You look down, putting the money back in your pocket instead, not feeding in. Her bottom lip purses out, brows stitching together so slightly, she probably thought you didn’t see it out the corner of your eye.

She slips a luxury brand wallet out her shorts, still looking at you when her slim fingers drag the thick black AmEx card across the granite bar, thick and shiny. If it wasn’t obvious before, it was now. Bueckers, (Paige Bueckers, as the AmEx said) was trying to show off. Her icy orbs don’t leave you. You sip from the stirring straw as the bartender takes the card away. “Thank you.” You finally say after she leaves.

“No problem, doll face,” Her confident smirk is back as she scans over your work clothes. You’re not insecure, you fear that she’s sizing you up. That she can see the coffee stain at the bottom of your department store t-shirt, and feels oh-so sorry for you. You take a secretly angry sip. “What are you doing here all alone?”

You roll your eyes so hard they might fall out, finally lifting to meet her stare with a reserved expression. It doesn’t deter Paige, it makes her chuckle instead, and for a second you can hear a hint of nervousness.

“Okay, stupid question, sorry..” Her head turns back to the bar with a blush spreading into her round cheeks. For a second, you smile too, feeling something you can’t place, for a stranger making a corny move at you. Probably from the cocktail. You shake your head trying to pull yourself out of it.

“It’s fine, I’m just getting a drink after work..” You answer, although you usually wouldn’t. Something about the way she drank you in, her eyes pleading for approval with her metal rectangle of riches. It wasn’t hungry or cold, it was more like ‘please like me’. You exchange names, even though you already knew hers.

The server is back over, looking at Paige expectantly for her order. She gets a round of beers, turning back to you.

“Well, if you’re not too tired, you should come play me in pool,” Paige plucks up her card, and each Corona set infront of her. Two in each hand, between her fingers, then carefully swiveling around and standing. “I’ll buy you another.” She winks.

You hold her gaze and your breath until she walks away. Tipsy from the sips due to low tolerance, you slump back into the seat.

You had gone back to the pool table, even though her friends made your stomach twist. Their judgmental looks phased into the background as you and Paige played, the 3 watching, talking amongst one another. She had a talent of making it seem like you were alone.

Paige ordered another drink for you as promised, but you both barely drank again after your first, focused on the generic pool table. On the interesting stranger in-front of you.

Paige had politely demonstrated. Guiding your arms with her own, both lurched over the table, her hunched over you. She has to explain something an extra time, when her hips bump into you, and you space out. Once you get the hang of it, you’re ahead by two, determined to get the 8ball first.

Paige threw her head back once she misses a hole again for the same ball. You can’t help but explode in giggles, covering half your face with your palm. Catching you anyway, she grins at you, a twinkle in her eye as she squints.

“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up, gorgeous.”

Her group watches you both banter, the short brunette coiling her face at you in the same way she did when the sticky stench of the bar hit her nose. You shoot an apologetic smile, awkwardly, even though you hadn’t done anything to her.

Paige ends up winning, with your head start, that you start to suspect was on purpose. Halfway expecting her to try to take you home, something heavy sets over you near the end of the night, asking if you wanted to leave with her. She was beautiful, seemed kind, and generous. Why not?

To your disappointment, and mostly curiosity, she gives the back of your hand a firm kiss instead, swapping numbers, wishing you a good night. You find yourselves turning to steal one more glance, walking to your cars, hers sleek and black with an engine the yelled as she veered away with her companions.

It started off with a simple ‘good morning’ and ‘good night’. You had full intentions of brushing her off after the bar. The two of you had shared a moment, that’s all, nothing would come from someone like that and someone like you.

Paige was persistent. She woke up around 2 when you’re enjoying your last hour of freedom before work, with offers to interrupt her precious rest and take you, pick you up, bring you lunch.

“I have to come in early.”

“I have to stay late.”

“I don’t have a lunch.”

You shot her down, only because you knew she wouldn’t be moved. Secretly, you didn’t want her to know where you worked. The mystery, and push of you was better than the reality, you figured. That you were taking an involuntary gap year from your dream school, you were paying out of pocket for. Refusing to take on too much debt, you saved to return. Friends suggested asking your parents, they weren’t offering, so why ask?

Paige was restless to meet again, you could tell from her invitations sprinkled in every conversation, the past few days. Never could you figure she’d show up to your job though.

You’d been thrilled to leave your shift. It wasn’t bad, it was slow, which is somewhat worse. The dark sports car from a few days ago would have been the farthest thing from your mind, if you didn’t see one so similar to it. Parked right next to your old Honda, in the nearly empty lot.

Your steps slowed and you stared, dumbfounded. The windows were tinted an illegal amount. It’s low rumbling is flicked off and exactly who you figure pops out from inside.

“My dad loves this restaurant.” Paige smiles, like you’re casually meeting here. You nod knowingly.

“Why do you know where I work?” A groan escapes you, trying to speak sternly, your small grin betraying you. The blondes smile stays put, tucking a few of loose curls behind her ear. She waits for you to step closer, to the open car door she’s leaning on with her elbows.

“Yeah, well, my friend said he’d seen you, when he was out to eat not too long ago,” She throws a shrug like the next part is the normal thing that anyone does. “You go to work at 3…they close at 11…I just kind of….” As she spoke it out loud, the pink from a few nights ago returned to her face, heavier now.

“That’s super creepy, you know?” You tease her. If she was anyone else. Heat spreads in your cheeks, shifting the weight on your feet, to distract from it. Still, her ego isn’t bruised.

“You don’t think that,” Said with a chuckle, like she knows it for certain. You’re about to shoot a rebuttal about how she’s basically a stalker. She doesn’t stop speaking. “On your next day off. Let me take you out.” Not said in the form of a question.

“Hm…” You hum, putting your finger to your chin. “I am off tomorrow, but I’m sure you knew that too.” Teasing her again.

“Maybe I do.” She throws her shoulder up with a sly expression. You raise a brow at her that she ignores. “We could go play tennis at the club, or I know a few restaurants. Way stricter dress codes than here, though…Do you have tennis skirts? How about heels? You don’t seem like you’d wear either of those. That’s fine, we can go shopping before we go..” Paige is rambling. Your arms slump in disbelief at how fast she’s talking, having a conversation with herself, almost.

“Or even better, we could make a whole day of the shopping. Then we go to dinner. Forget it, let’s just wait and I’ll get us floor seats to th-“

“Okay, wait!” You stop her before she makes up her mind to fly you out of the state. “This is super overwhelming. I will only go on one condition.”

Paige clings to your every word, finally quiet, her face flushed slightly with embarrassment for over talking.

“It has to be something normal. Something even I can afford.” Paige makes a face at you, like what she named off were tame settings for getting to know someone. You rub your tired face, and walk over to your car, the door creaks when you open it.

“Okay, okay!” She rushes over to you, closing it back, “Something normal. I’ll pick you up, and we can do that.” You tilt your head up at her, both of you soaking each other in for a moment.

“Unless, you’re only capable of lovebombing..” You narrow your eyes at her with a smirk. Paige bursts out laughing.

“It’s not lovebombing, if it doesn’t stop, though.” grinning so hard all her teeth are showing, you don’t realize you are too.

“Right.”

You find yourself dreading Paige seeing your unkept apartment building. At around the time she usually is just waking up, she’s parked outside. Paige doesn’t see you walking up, being too busy with texting you she’s outside for the third time in five minutes.

She has no witty line prepared when you slide into the passenger seat, finally not in your work clothes, or makeup hours old. Her mouth is just gaped open like an idiot, she shuts it, when you give her a weird look.

You smelled like a bakery, in shorts and a crop top to accommodate the weather, with no clue where you were going, only that it’s across town, presumably near where she grew up.

“You look really pretty,” the corner of her lip curls up. It feels awkward, you’re still flustered hearing it. Picking at your nails nervously, while your eyes wandered up her to meet her own pair. She was in denim shorts this time, with a plain T-shirt, white and blue Jordan’s. It looked different from how she dressed at the bar with her friends, you felt less underdressed than you thought you would. “Finally get to see you outside of work.” Paige head turns to you every so often, one hand on the wheel, her elbow leaning against the armrest.

“Thank you, you look good too..” You bite your lip, gazing out the window, as she breaks at a red light. Good was just putting it lightly. Two pieces of her hair braided in the front, the rest straightened past her shoulders. Mascara coated her long lashes, and silver jewelry accented her whole body.

It was real silver and diamonds, you guessed, from the way it glimmered against the light. You stare down her arm taking up most of the rest between you. It reaches down, grabbing your hand, locking fingers automatically. Her thumb rubs the back of your palm.

It’s a park that she pulls into the lot of. A ice cream truck is a few spaces down, with families and small children waiting in line. Paige holds her finger up to you, signaling you to wait there. You don’t question it, unbuckling your seatbelt, agreeing to stay put.

You watch her jog up to the back of the line through the rear view, in front of you the vast greenery, sprinkled with jungle gyms, walking trails, and benches. The park near your apartment had grass high up to your knees, this grass looked like it was trimmed daily.

You’re suddenly anxious to get out the car. Paige comes back, this time holding a coned ice cream and some in a Styrofoam cup with a spoon. She opens your door for you, then hands you the cone.

“Thanks.” You lick a side that was melting, and Paige sticks a spoonful in her mouth beaming, with a nod.

Both of you decide to sit down, and enjoy your frozen dairy in silence for a few minutes. Then you smile and speak.

“Not a fan of cones?” You ask her, taking a long lick. She watches your mouth for a second then gently comes back to reality.

“Too messy.” Paige replies, shaking her head like she’s trying to push a thought away.

“Of course, too messy.” A smile is etched into your face the whole time, barley faltering. Paige gets a feeling you’re teasing her.

“Yeah,” She turns towards you, leaning her elbow on the back of the bench. Another scoop is shoved into her mouth before she dramatically adds. “I only get cones when my butler is here to wipe my mouth, duh.” You shove her shoulder gently, both of you erupting into tiny chuckles.

Small talk drives you crazy, but as you do it with Paige, it warms you up. You even find yourself asking questions. She talks about playing basketball as a kid, all the way to high school. Paige mentions how her dad is essentially a business mogul for a marketing company, and expects her to follow suit. She had been doing well so far, amazing grades, joining the same fraternity, like he wanted her to. Omicron Tau Sigma.

Her apprenticeship at the company her father ran with his fraternity brothers started a week ago, and she didn’t seem worried. As she put it, their less than welcoming children that she was forced to acquaint with and host, was work enough. You figured those were the friends at the bar.

“Don’t get me wrong, they’re cool, and I have my moments where I’m worse.”

“Oh I’m sure..” You mumble between laps.

“Watch it.”

Before you know it, it’s your turn. You skip out on a lot of details, telling her a bit of your childhood, that you’re taking a gap year, and aren’t close to your parents. You didn’t have a pre planned multimillion dollar future, that didn’t have to be said.

“I don’t get you.” It’s so sudden, you don’t know how to respond., and you were used to being caught off guard.

“What’s there to get?” Paige nods, like she figured something out. You stare blankly until she further explains.

“You hate people. Or maybe you just seem that way. Either way, you’re closed off,” more vanilla into her mouth, as you’re starting to bite into the waffle cone. “You live alone, no mention of friends—“

“You’re very observant.” You nod thoughtfully.

“You’re very impossible.” Paige mumbles, finishing off her cup, and tossing it in the trash beside the seat.

“I just like being alone, what’s so special about it?” You look off at someone playing with their dog. “It’s the safest place to be. Depending on yourself, the only person who is reliable.” You cringe. It sounded edgy, yet, it was the truth, and you learned it the hard way.

Paige gives her full attention. Her hand crosses on-top of yours. For the first time, she looks sad for you.

“Safe doesn’t mean lonely. And all people aren’t the same.” A quick curl of her lip, lifts and falls from her face. You think about giving her a tough time. Shutting her down. Pushing those thoughts away, you quietly think about what she said, instead. She starts to talk again.

“You can, like…come over. Only if you want…. My place is right on the water.” Paige avoids your eyes, bracing your answer, a coolness to her voice that she seemingly flipped at will.

“Perfect place to throw my remains.” You roll your eyes at her, she wraps a arm around you suddenly, pulling you in.

“Good point.” She huffs, sarcastically, with a stupid grin, resting her chin on the top of your head. You jab her playfully.

You knew exactly the neighborhood she was talking about. With all the mini mansions, and huge pillars near the front doors, turned away from a private lakeshore. You passed it a few times. Your heart thumped thinking about being inside one. One where surely someone from her family would be.

Her rounded puppy eyes, and the look of willingness to follow you everywhere, had you agreeing before you truly scaled out the situation.

The driveway is so long you figured it burns gas just to drive up it. Big to match the massive house sitting beside it. Even her house stood out amongst others, there wasn’t anything traditional or welcoming about it. It was modern and cold, like a display home you didn’t want to mess up.

Paige snaps you out of your daze with the opening of your side. She takes your hand and guides you to the solid white doors. There’s a pin-pad above the silver knob that her fingers type so fast, you’re not sure exactly which number she’s pressing.

You’re staring wide eyed all around, anxiety making your heart drum in your ears. She hasn’t noticed the clamminess in your palm yet, thoughts of pulling it away before you faced whoever was inside stormed your mind. Walking in as friends already raises questions, you could only imagine the drilling questions reserved for Paiges’ partners.

Before you can make up your mind, she’s practically dragging you inside. Paige tosses her socks and shoes, you follow after her. The dark wood is warm under your feet. Heated floors. The interior design is just as minimalist as the outside. A few family portraits, and pictures of Paige at all ages, are blown up larger than you thought they could be, nestled on walls.

One wall, of the living room you get pulled through, to get outside, holds shelves of memorabilia. Framed jackets, paddles, shirts, brooches, several pictures of people in the same colors, trophies all consistent with a theme of gold and navy blue. A golden lion, with luscious mane, in the middle of every piece. You want to slow down and look, maybe even ask questions. You decide to ask when the time is right, considering how annoyed she’d been with explaining it earlier on the bench.

The glass slides open with a whoosh of air. Of course the backyard has been tended to, with lush grass, and intricate stone arrangements around the base of trees. Vibrant flowers are planted in rows around the balcony, between two trees, near the wooden stairs leading to the pier, there’s a hammock, chairs sprawled out nearby.

Walking briskly down the steps, Paige clasps your fingers with her own, guiding you down. She sits with a soft exhale making small waves with her feet in the water. You’re still mesmerized at seeing a lake so clear. You’d never leave this pier if you were her, you tell Paige. She responds with a dry, closed mouth laugh.

“You can have it. And everything that comes with it..” She looks down into the water, or her reflection, you can’t tell. Your eyes don’t leave her, when you sit down on the worn wood. Half your foot is in, and it’s warm, so you drop the other. Her thigh is flush with yours.

“Not having fun in the castle, princess?” You kick the water lightly, sucking in the fresh air deeply. She rests her head on your shoulder, suddenly, making you perk.

“Not really.”

A snarky remark is at the tip of your tongue, so you bite it. How could having everything handed to you, make you sulk in private? You thought, looking at a few fish swimming just below your toes.

“I know what you’re thinking.”

“No you don’t.” You reply quickly, thinking about something else instead just in case.

“Yeah, I do,” Her head lifts up to look at you. There’s a slight hurt behind it.

“Shut up,” You sigh, gently pulling the weight of her head back onto you. “It must be…hard to keep up with.” That’s the only way you can put it, to try and soothe her.

“No, it’s not,” She admits, the sun beating down on the both of you through the leaves of trees overhead. “It’s not like working 40 hours a week, and still barely making it, I know.” Your arm wraps around her.

“Your dad graduated from my dream school,” It blurts out of you like vomit. It was drumming in your mind when you saw a diploma with the signature seal to it, framed alongside the other accomplishments. The words don’t stop. “I’m struggling because, yes the pay sucks, and because I’m saving to go back.” You’re almost gritting your teeth at the confessions. Paige pulls away and you let her.

“Damn. Dream school?….Really?” A silence sets over, you not replying. Paige gets up, standing beside you, wet feet dragging water next to you. She holds her hand out, you look up at her for a moment, her hair reflecting to look gold and white. You finally take it, her pulling you to your feet, and slowly up the steps this time around.

Once you reach the grassy yard, Paige stops dead in her tracks, like a deer, barley breathing out. Your feet start to dry in the blades of grass, by the time Paige speaks. Well, whispers.

“Shit, they’re here..” She’s mumbles under her breath. You’re about to ask who but the hearty laugh of a group of older men comes from the living room. “I forgot that was tonight..” Paige pulls the both of you to the side of the house, by the drive way, your legs barely keep up without a jog. Her fingers tap the pin to a room that’s used for coats, shoes, bags, all amounting to the cost of a small house. Theres three steps up to a black door that Paige opens so slowly, it looks like it pains her. You squeeze her wrist, stopping her.

“What?” She whispers.

“Who are we running from?” You whisper back.

Paige doesn’t respond, letting you hear the chatter of now voices young and old. Then she raises a brow at you, her only answer, twisting back towards the entrance.

“Because of me?” Your voice cracks as you ask. Paige turns around sharply, taking your face in her hands, brows furrowed in seriousness, foreheads nearly pressed together.

“Never. Because. Of you.” Her hushed, stern, tone makes a feeling you don’t recognize in your stomach, flip the desert inside it. “Okay?” This part is soft, and so is her expression. You nod slowly, as if in a trance, not wanting her mouth to move away from yours.

Having to fight back the urge to clash lips, Paige quietly steers you into the kitchen, the door closing behind you with a click.

Her slim shoulders drop, like you’re finally safe, bare sets of damp feet padding to the refrigerator. It’s roomy, and untouched, with the same dark flooring from the living room, where deep voices still laugh and discuss amongst each other loudly. The marble island sits in the middle, between the stove and fridge. A TV is installed outside of the door she digs two seltzers out of.

She gestures for you to follow her. You’re frozen still. Eyes bulging out your skull, social anxiety causing a tremble through you, at the sight of the small group crowding in. It was the other three, one guy shorter, with a mullet, the other taller, skinner than Paige, and of course, the brunette. An evil smirk stretches across her lip fillers, letting you know nothing good will come from this interaction.

It wasn’t them you’d been worried about though, it was the man towering behind Paige, his arms crossed, features scrunched in a frown, similar to Paige’s own. Mr. Bueckers, it has to be.

The way she jumps, when she swivels away from you, makes you think she’s going to drop the cans, instead, she squeezes them until they dent on the sides.

“So nice of you to join us, Paige. With company too?” He lets out a low, unimpressed, whistle.

🦁chapter 2

#paige bueckers fanfiction #DID I BLOW IT PEOPLE #let me know #cause i’ll quit rn #paige bueckers x reader #wlw fanfic #lesbian fanfic #paige bueckers au #paige x reader #paige bueckers x y/n #spoiled 🦁

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lostinlovingrevery · 3 months ago

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Logan When You're Pregnant

I got baby fever rn, some here's some headcanons for when you get pergananant (am I pergot?) with Lo's baby

(breeding kink go brrrrr)(nsfw section below the fluff stuff)

First off, I think we can all agree that no matter what variant Logan it is, whether it's planned or an accident, he's gonna freak out initially when you both find out your pregnant

He'll keep the initial freakout under wraps though.

70s!Dofp Logan, Old man Logan, and Trilogy Logan would probably be the most freaked out

The others, like Origins, Future DOFP, who are a bit more settled in would probably be more ready

Worst Logan? You're gonna need to give him a hug

Moving on

They all step up though, don't worry

Even 70s DOFP, he may be a menace but he sure as hell ain't gonna leave you or his baby alone

ANYWAY

Logan is so supportive of you. He'll constantly be checking on you. He'll be nesting almost immediately so get ready

He will definitely become more protective too. Like a lot. He'll try his best to not be overbearing but he's went lot of his life losing those he loves. He absolutely cannot afford to lose you and ya'lls baby

Lets say for this that you two are in an established relationship, planned or not, I'll leave that to ya'lls lovely imaginations

hes there for every doctors trip, exam, sonogram, etc etc. he doesn't miss a thing and holds your hand the entire time

The first trimester is rough. Mood swings, morning sickness, aches and pain. Logan handles your mood swings like a pro. He always knows just what to say, and he never really can take it personal when you get an attitude with him- mainly bc he likely deserved it with his own sarcasm

He's patient with you when you get snippy at him. He'll give you space when you need it, or will be extra attentive. Whatever you want. He's learned to read your emotions

He'll hold your hair back and rub your back whenever the morning sickness hits. Get you some tea, maybe a little toast if you feel like you can hold it down

One day you just couldn't hold anything down, by evening you're in tears, frustrated with everything. You attempted to eat some saltines and couldn't even hold those down. You're crying on the bathroom floor and Logan sits with you, cradling you in his arms as he says soothing things,

"You're so strong bub. You're gonna be okay. I'm right here."

You'll get backrubs and footrubs anytime you want

The food cravings and constantly being hungry becomes a lot too. It's fortunate that Logan had learned to be a decent cook over time.

He'll insist that you eat only healthy good foods for the baby, but when you look at him with pouty lips and pleading eyes because you REALLY want that extra cheese pizza topped with extra pepperonis and peppers, along with those garlic knots, and chocolate chip peanut butter ice cream, AND caramel sea salt chocolates. He has to give in. he's grabbing his keys and wallet to get what you want

Listen, you totally want to eat healthy for the baby too, and you do! You take your vitamins, you incorporate so much fruit and veggies and whatever else in your meals

But dammit sometimes that baby just wants fries dipped in ice cream and you learned how to sneak those unhealthy snacks under Logans radar

(or so you think, hes' got heightened sense of smell. he DEFINITELY smells the weird junk food you're sneaking)

You're tossing and turning one night, feeling restless and just wanting to eat. You wake him up, chatty as hell and eventually you tell him you want something to eat

"Bub you just had a whole meal 2 hours ago"

"I know just something small. Like a poptart. or a rice krispie"

He sighs. "No more poptarts or rice kripies. I'll make you something."

He closes his eyes, expecting to get another few minutes of sleep before he goes to the kitchen, but he can't feel you staring at him. Hard. He took a breath, pushing the blankets off as he got himself out of bed, heading to the kitchen to make you a good healthy snack

don't worry, he's not mad. he actually finds he loves the pregnancy quirks of yours

when you start getting those random hormone rushes, bursts of energy, running around doing anything and everything he gets so amused. but he loves it too when you also start getting sleepy

he really loves it when you get sleepy because then all you want to do is snuggle with him.

you get borderline violent about cuddling with him. you wrap your entire self around his body and you do not let go. even with his strength it's nearly impossible to peel you off him and if he does (he made the mistake once) you get extremely pissy and teary eyed

He will not let you do anything

and by that i mean you're not carrying groceries, you're not cleaning, you are not allowed to stand on ladders or counters, no picking up heavy things

You and him have a time of night and morning where you snuggle, and he'll designate time to talk to you, give you kisses and say sweet things, and then he'll move to talk to your belly

"Gotta make sure the lil one knows my voice"

He loves resting his ear on your belly, hearing both of your heartbeats.

he'll give you a kiss, then the belly, then you again

You better be ready to be touched a lot. He's always gotta put his hand on you somehow. It's not just about feeling your preggo belly but just you too.

NESTING

yeah, hes gonna drive you insane. He gets the urge to redo everything. the babys room. your room. the entire house/apartment if you're living in one.

He makes your bed the comfiest spot every so that's a perk. tons of pillows, only the fluffiest and warmest blankets

while you make decisions on the babys room together, he really wants to put the stuff together, so you sit in your rocking chair in the room and watch him as he gets angry over the crib instructions

it's really cute when he insists on a more foresty/woodland themed room for your baby.

As you get bigger, he gets more and more protective

he actually growled at someone once for attempting to touch your belly without permission. not a bad thing to have at least

it's a little more embarrassing though when it's your friends that you did say could touch your belly and logans hackles raise over it

he tries to recognize when he's doing too much but he can't help it, instinct.

Logan is over the moon when the baby kicks the face time

he just happened to have his hands resting on your belly

when he felt it, you both jumped, staring at your belly and then each other

when you realized it was the baby kicking, you both were like giddy teenagers

logan puts his head against your belly, waiting for it when the baby kicks again- right on his face

he gets slightly offended

but he kisses your belly anyway, promising your baby that he's always going to love them and take care of them

it pulls on your heart strings a bit

you and logan don't care if it's a boy or girl- and decide to leave it a surprise,

arguing over baby names though wasn't fun. you eventually though land on a name if its a girl, and a name if its a boy, names that you both adored

when you start shopping for baby clothes, logans looking at the little girl dresses and you could see the softness on his face, the way he adored the little dresses.

he can't even get embarrassed

it's so cute watching logan sit in the middle of the girly baby aisle, surrounded by pink bows.

he gets equally excited over the boys stuff too.

forever believe logan will just be a great dad in general

when you get big enough where doing things are hard on your own, logan starts definitely not leaving you alone very often

he helps you out of bed

with your shoes

if hes around and you're trying to get up from a couch or chair- even if you aren't struggling he'll still be there to help you up

you ever see those trends where dads hold mommas belly up to provide some relief? logan will insist on doing that.

he just thinks your so damn cute with your round belly

logan will eventually express his nerves about being a father. he'll need reassurance here and there that you think he'll do good.

you think logan would be an absolutely wonderful father of course. look how good he takes care of you

not to mention his non-bio daughters like jubilee, rogue, and kitty

and if lauras around too, it won't be like he never had any experience

logan will definitely stay calm and collected when you go into labor

he supports you every step of the way

if you're going to a local hospital, you bet your ass he'll be speaking for you and protecting you from anything unneccessary

all the while supporting you every way possible. don't worry about squeezing his hand too hard. he literally survived a nuke

despite the amount of things he's seen, it is still hard for him to see you in so much pain. he may even hold back a tear or two. he has to focus on you though

when the baby is here, he's all over you first, making sure you're okay. then his instincts kick in and he's all over the baby

that first cry breaks his heart and he doesn't like how the nurses and doctors seemed pleased by the whole thing. okay sure, it's a good thing. his baby is still crying though and he doesn't appreciate the smiling

you guys ever see that picture of Hugh bottlefeeding his newborn, i think it was during the x-movies filming. that is such a cute picture honestly it makes my utereus clench

he's so proud and supportive of you by the way. He takes wonderful care of you both when you get home

all that worrying for nothing. he was a pro with yours and his baby.

NSFW (mention piv, breastmilk, body worship)

yes i had to include an nsfw part here dont judge me

Logan should have known it would happen eventually. the way he always needs to finish inside you. even if you were using protection, he should have known that it would fail one day

he'll pick up on the hormones quickly, the smell of you triggers something in him and once you both figure out you'll pregnant itll all make sense

at first things are pretty usual with your sex life but the hormones start kicking in

you start gaining a little fat, your breasts get bigger, maybe your ass

you were already irresistable to logan before. now though, pregnant with his baby?

like i said, the mans always touching on you. when youre in private though hes REALLY touching you

don't worry, you feel the same. your hormones start to really kick in and you're aroused 24/7 and he can smell it

"you look so fucking good like this bub." he'll moan when he's thrusting into you, seeing your swollen belly and breasts.

it's not just about you being pregnant but you two just can't keep your hands off each other because you're happy.

your sex life was already very active, now it's even MORE active, like, you cannot keep your hands off him. he's the same way. you look and smell so damn good he can't take it, he HAS to fuck you

logan being a dad to your baby is making him 10 times hotter

logan probably cuts back on being rougher if you both are into that, much to your disdain. your hormones are on fire and you need him to fuck you hard

it takes a little begging and he breaks, giving you what you want

"look at you bub, fucking begging for it. as if i hadn't given you enough already"

logan practically drools anytime he sees you naked

as you get really big, sex becomes less common because you're not really comfortable, and maybe doctors tell yalls to slow it down for a bit.

logan will of course not do anything to risk you or the baby but fuck when you walk around in that tight black dress, tits and belly all swollen. he can barely stand it.

fortunately even if you aren't having penetrative sex, you're still fairly aroused so logan gets to get off to your hand or mouth. he'll return the favor with some light oral

he'll want to help you shower all the time

you're just so beautiful to him.

when you start getting self conscious over your weight gain, logan won't have it. he'll be doing some serious body worship doing your pregnancy, don't worry.

kissing your stretch marks, his hand rubbing soothingly all over your body as he whispers how beautiful you are

when it's closer to your due date, the doctor gives you a list of recommendations to help get things rolling

when logan finds out sex is one of those things, he's over the moon.

you personally, just want to get the mini canadian out of there at this point

it's not the first thing you try, because youre self conscious despite logans affirmations that he thinks you're so sexy

eventually you give in

lets just say you both were on the way to labor and delivery soon after

he adores your body after birth too. like i said. body worship to the maximum. even when you're not banging cause you need to heal first, he's kissing every inch of you to make sure you know he adores you. he sees how you've looked at yourself in the mirror and he isn't gonna have it

oh btw he'll definitely accidentally taste your breast milk straight from the source at some point. he really doesn't do it on purpose, he just got lost in kissing and sucking on you.

lost in the sauce if you may

he wants you to heal and feel good though, so even after the 3 months are up, he'll want to wait a little longer, because he doesn't want to hurt you. he's a big man.

EXTRAS: (random stuff )

the people who are around you are ecstatic over the announcement of your pregnancy

charles is just glad he gets to be a grandpappy (as if he isn't already)

maybe jean and scott are expecting too, or already have their little one, so you guys bond with the couple over parenting as well

wade immediately refers to himself as uncle wade

will also say "our baby" when referring to you and logans baby. logan does not like that.

wade makes a deadpool onesie. you have to stop logan from tearing it apart

okay but a onesie based on logans suit would be so goddamn cute

i said before that logan doesn't like ANYONE touching your belly. even if it's a trusted friend

if someone asks, very politely, you have to make sure logan isn't around before you say yes.

one time hank asked and you said yes, not realizing logan was coming around the corner. it was really embarrassing the way logan ran up so fast, immediately pushing hanks hand off.

hank laughed it off

im sure yall have your own ideas for what yours and logans baby names would be. I think Charlie would be really cute, naming the baby after charles (and it's a gn name!)

rogue, jubilee, and kitty, would be over the moon. they would be so supportive of you and logan

laura would be so excited, a bit curious. you and logan will make sure she doesn't in anyway feel neglected or replaced during the entire pregnancy and when the baby comes

laura is obviously a great big sister.

they would definitely tease logan too btw

you guys don't even need to register. due to the people you love around you- you basically get everything you need before you 3rd trimester even starts

you and logan can be assured that your baby will always be safe and loved no matter what because of the family you both have found. (yes even with origins and old man logan)

#logan howlett #wolverine #logan howlett x reader #logan howlett x you #wolverine x reader #logan howlett smut #vans daydreams #logan howlett imagine #pregnancy #logan howlett fluff

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obaewankenope · 5 months ago

Text

American to English translation for fic

So I read and write fanfic, as do lots of others, and I've noticed that when it comes to British shows or movies, Americanisms or American terms crop up often. It's mostly because most don't know we have specific terms for things in the UK, and I've seen references here and there before, but I've decided to write one of my own. Feel free to add to it tho! I'm gonna put it up on Ao3 too and any additions, I'll reference the tumblr and link them on Ao3 too.

AO3 link is here!!

Anyway, here we go I guess.

Some Americanisms to English-isms

Gas = fuel/petrol/diesel (we tend to specify the type of fuel the vehicle uses, diesel vehicle or petrol vehicle for example)

Gas station = petrol/fuel station

Gas court = petrol/fuel court, or sometimes forecourt (not often with this one tho)

License plate = registration plate/reg

Diner = cafe

Fast-food = takeaway (this is sort of interchangeable. McDonald's is called fast food, a meal from a pizza place that delivers is takeaway)

Motel = hotel

Side-note: We tend to use specific named hotel chains like Premier Inn (or Prem-Inn for short) or Holiday Inn or Travelodge. We also have Britannia Hotels and several others. If the fic is based in a specific place, local hotels or famous ones may be better options. For example, in Liverpool, we have The Shankly or Adelphi.

Cab = taxi or black hac for a specific type of taxi.

Side-note: These are what you see in BBC Sherlock, for example, and are a UK staple. They're less popular or common-place nowadays but there are dedicated taxi companies that use them. There's on in my town that operates until 4pm each day. They are also usually more expensive than a car taxi but they have oodles of space and you can have a pram/buggy kept upright rather than folded-down in them which is brilliant.

Cop = police officer

Side note: more informal, colloquial terms include "copper", "the fuzz", "tit-head" (because of the nipple hat okay, just look up the hat, it's hilarious), "bobby", "rozzer" (pronounced r-o-z-er not Row-zer), and "the bill" (there's an actual show called this btw. It can be a good reference for anyone writing crime fic in UK). There's more but those are the most common. Older terms do include "peelers" and "old bill".

Second side-note: the police have a whole host of terms, colloquial and slang that can be a great thing to include in fic, which I'll link a glossary of here. It's not all UK centric but cross-country policing is a thing so that may just be a boon imho. Also the short-hand acroynmns used are useful so here's a link to the Metropolitan Police glossary of those too!

Patrolman = constable or police constable

Antenna = aerial or TV aerial

Fall (season) = autumn

Bill = banknote or specifically "tenner", "fiver", "twenny" (not "twenty"). We don't have single banknotes like a dollar bill. We have pound coins

Dimes, nickels, etc = pound coin, two-pound coin, fifty-pence, penny, two-pence, five-pence, ten-pence, twenty-pence (link here about the coin currency)

Drug store = chemist or pharmacy

Optometrist = optician

Primary care physician = GP (general practitioner) here's a link about UK medical terms for doctors etc

Side-note: here's a link about medical terminologies etc between American and UK

Social security number = national insurance number

Liquor store = off-license or, specifically, Bargain Booze™

Liquor = spirits (usually)

Store = shop

Target, Walmart, etc = honestly, it's probably gonna be Tesco, ASDA, Morrisons, ALDI or Lidl

Superstore = supermarket

Shopping cart = shopping trolley or just "trolley"

Yard-sale = car-boot/car-bootie/car-boot sale

Attorney = barrister or solicitor (solicitors you go to for legal help, barristers tend to be involved in actual court matters, like a the Crown Prosecution Service), here's a link that explains it better

Janitor = caretaker

French-fries = chips (although McDonald's French-fries are just that, French-fries)

Intersection = crossroad

Highway/freeway = motorway

Interstate = usually an A-road or a motorway, we don't really have interstates here)

Overpass = flyover

Turnpike = toll motorway

Windshield = windscreen

Trunk of a car = boot or car boot

Hood of a car = bonnet or car bonnet

Truck = lorry

Sedan = saloon car

Blowout = puncture or flat tyre

Pavement = road

Sidewalk = path

Subway = underground (like the London Underground)

Drapes = curtains (though we do use "drapes" we tend to say "curtains" more)

Pacifier = dummy or "dodo" or "dodi"

Diaper = nappie or a pull-up (if its like underwear for toddlers)

Baby crib = baby cot (though we do use "crib", we tend to say "cot" more)

Baby carriage/pushchair/stroller = pram or buggy (more specific type tho, here's a link about the differences)

Trash/garbage can = bin, dustbin, rubbish bin

Garbage/trash collector = binman/binmen

Mail = post

Mailman = postman

Mailbox = postbox

The movies = cinema or pictures

Movie = film (less common nowadays with influence of Americanisms but I still use "film" and a lot of people my age and older do too (25+)

First floor = ground floor okay, it's the ground floor because it's on ground level

Sneakers = unless they're Converse, it's probably just "trainers"

Baggage = luggage

Purse (as in the bag) = handbag, or "purse" but that tends to be the thing you put your money and cards in then put in your handbag

Vacuum cleaner = hoover or a specific brand like Henry Hoover™, which you'll find we tend to just call Henry (though I have a John Lewis hoover I got from George, ASDA that I've named 'George' and yes, I do say "I need to use George in a bit to hoover" regularly)

Sweater = jumper or, if it buttons up it's a cardigan or cardi

Closet = wardrobe

Elevator = lift

Call collect = reverse charges

Schools = we have primary/infants (11yrs)and secondary/high school (11-16yo) with some high schools have sixth-form college (16-18yo) or actual independent colleges for the same ages

College = university

Semester = term

Vacation = holiday

Kindergarten = nursey/reception

Flashlight = torch

Wrench = spanner

Backyard = garden

Cookie = biscuits

Chips = crisps (like Walkers™ or Lays™ in the States)

Pants = trousers

Cottoncandy = candyfloss

Dude = bloke/fella/mate

John Doe = John Smith

Exhausted (tired) = knackered

Cell phone = mobile

Cell data = mobile data/4G/5G

Bathroom/restroom = loo/toilet (informal term "bog")

Thanks = cheers

Soccer = football

Y'all = "you lot"

Fuck off/hit the road/go away = bugger off

Some slang phrases too

Bits and bobs = stuff, usually random

Take the mick/mickey = making fun of someone or over-exaggerating

Bob's your uncle = there you go, basically

Bog standard = typical, run of the mill kind of deal

Gutted = feel upset, disappointed

Dull as dishwater = basically really, really fuckin boring

Chinwag = basically "shooting the breeze" or just having a talk/chat

If you have any others that you think of or want added, reblog and add em! Tags too if you'd prefer but reblogs would be easier ☺️

#Americanisms #Fic writing #Fanfic #Reference #Resource #Fic writing resource #USA vs UK terminology #Idek what else to tag this as tbqh

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the-cosmic-cauldron · 9 months ago

Text

Astrology Observations 08/14/2024

Your Moon Sign and Favorite Food

Aries Moon: fast food, snacks, children’s food, steak.

Taurus Moon: Old-fashioned home-cooked meal, hole-in-the-wall restaurant, baked goods

Gemini Moon: snacks, frozen food, pizza, ethnic cuisine

Cancer Moon: baked goods, soul food, curries, pasta, breakfast food.

Leo Moon: Chain restaurants, pizza, fruit, quality meat meals

Virgo Moon: Tea, coffee, seafood, mothers infamous dish, savory foods, chicken

Libra Moon: steak, high-rated restaurant food, fruits, soups, sandwiches, ethnic dishes

Scorpio Moon: Fried food, meaty dishes, fast food, spaghetti, orange juice, seafood

Sagittarius Moon: ethnic cuisine, hole-in-the-wall restaurant, savory, chips and salsa/guacamole, burgers, soda

Capricorn Moon: coffee drinks, pasta, spicy foods, BBQ, pizza,

Aquarius Moon: Candy, fast food, ethnic cuisine, fried food, cereal

Pisces Moon: Chocolate, baked goods, meats and cheese, your family cooking, spaghetti

Your Venus Sign and Toxic Trait

Aries Venus: Liking someone because you haven’t interacted with them yet.

Taurus Venus: Catfishing in the beginning and then looking homeless throughout the relationship

Gemini Venus: Talking to people because of boredom

Cancer Venus: Acting unbothered by your interests even when you feel so deeply

Leo Venus: Punishing your person when they don’t give you enough attention

Virgo Venus: Being petty when your person can’t read your mind (all the time)

Libra Venus: Falling in love with two people at one time

Scorpio Venus: Convincing people they’re crazy when you actually are

Sagittarius Venus: Wanting to cheat or fuck around when boredom sets in

Capricorn Venus: Making up for your mistakes with gifts

Aquarius Venus: Trying to convince other people to not have any boundaries

Pisces Venus: Saying love is unconditional and then putting conditions on your love

Why Your Friendships Ended By Your Mars Sign

Aries Mars: They tried to outdo you.

Taurus Mars: They tried to get you out of your comfort zone.

Gemini Mars: They were too clingy.

Cancer Mars: They tried to use you as their punching bag.

Leo Mars: They tried to outshine you.

Virgo Mars: They tried to make you do everything.

Libra Mars: They were causing you too much internal conflict.

Scorpio Mars: They couldn’t connect with you after awhile.

Sagittarius Mars: They were too boring.

Capricorn Mars: They were a user.

Aquarius Mars: They wanted you all to themselves.

Pisces Mars: They made no effort to be your friend.

#astro community #astro notes #astro observations #astro placements #astroblr #astrology

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golden-cherry · 9 months ago

Text

deal - cl16 (35/?)

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x Reader

Series Summary: Your whole life has gone to shit. Your boyfriend broke up with you, you just lost your job and the Monegasque, who suddenly stands in your doorway, claims that it’s his apartment.

Chapter Summary: Lets get drunk - with Nightmare Coladas.

Warnings: fluff, alcohol consumption

Word Count: 3.2k

series masterlist

previous part

A/N: love you. feedback is appreciated!

You are sitting on the sun bed when Charles rejoins you. He is holding a tray in his hands and as he places it on the floor next to you, you see that it is filled with sliced fruit. In addition to a plate of watermelon, there is a bowl of grapes, strawberries and raspberries.

“A good foundation is essential if you want to get drunk,” he grins and lies down next to you on the sun bed, a healthy distance between you.

You raise an eyebrow. "Wouldn't it be better to eat something greasy then? Like fries or pizza?” you ask, helping yourself to a strawberry.

“That's just the beginning,” he defends himself and nibbles on a piece of watermelon. “There are fries, mozzarella sticks and chicken nuggets in the oven.”

You have to grin. “Sounds like lunch for a five-year-old.”

Charles shrugs and pops a raspberry in his mouth. “You'll be able to drink like a grown-up in no time.”

“Touché.”

The two of you lie next to each other in silence, enjoying the last rays of sunshine while you eat the fruit and wait for the timer on Charles' cell phone to beep. The water splashes against the sides of the boat, the smell of the sea hits your nose and if you didn't know that tomorrow is Christmas, you'd think it was a beautiful summer evening.

“What would you like to drink?” Charles asks.

You turn your head in his direction. “Do you have any sweet white wine?”

He nods. “I had Thomas bring your cheap wine,” he grins. "He didn't find it at first. Apparently you can only get it in the supermarket and not in a wine store."

You purse your lips. “Hey. The wine tastes good,” you say with mock offence, trying to suppress the thought that Charles sent Thomas out to get your favorite wine. Very thoughtful. “What are you about to drink?”

"There are quite a few drinks. Maybe I'll make myself a cocktail,” he considers, popping a strawberry into his mouth. "Maybe a piña colada? Or a sex on the beach?"

The way the word 'sex' rolls off his tongue makes the blood in your veins run hot. You bite into a piece of watermelon. “When are the fries ready?”

Just as you've said it, Charles' phone rings. He gets up and leaves the sun bed. “I'll be right back.”

You turn to him. “Do you want me to help you?” You're almost on your feet when Charles waves you off.

“ It's all right.”

While he disappears into the interior of his yacht, you also leave the sun bed to grab your camera and laptop, but instead of lying back on the sun bed at the back of the boat, you move the party around the bow, where there is another sun bed. From here, you have a wonderful view of Monaco - even if it is still some distance away from you.

You start to edit a photo of Charles when he rejoins you - fries, mozzarella sticks and chicken nuggets on a tray.

“Here you are,” he smiles, setting the food down. “I thought you'd jumped in the water and swum home.”

"Are you crazy? I'm sure the sea is freezing cold,” you reply and put your laptop to one side so you can grab a nugget. “I've already started editing a picture of you, by the way.”

Your friend plops down on the sun bed next to you. "And?” he asks. “Do I look good?”

You roll your eyes. “You always do,” you reply jokingly, hoping that he can't hear the truth in your words.

“I know,” he grins and pops a chip in his mouth. "But seriously. Do you think the pictures are any good? For my Instagram profile, I mean."

Charles is a natural model. With his big eyes, deep dimples and beaming smile, he could even advertise haemorrhoid cream and look great doing it.

“Absolutely,” you smile and push your camera over to him. “See for yourself.”

While Charles looks at the many pictures on the small display, you continue to edit some pictures on your laptop. They are all good - thanks to his looks - but somehow none of them reflect Charles as you see him. They look posed, which isn't a bad thing in itself, but you had hoped to capture him with your lens in such a way that you could almost feel the closeness to him and his warmth.

But you don't tell him that, after all he has to decide for himself which pictures he would like to put on the internet.

“What do you think of this?” he asks and shows you the display. In the photo, he is standing at the wheel, his sunglasses are perched on his nose and he is smiling broadly over his shoulder, as if someone has said something funny. It's a good picture - objectively speaking.

“It's good,” you reply and bite into a mozzarella stick. The cheese almost burns the roof of your mouth, but you try not to let it show.

Charles raises his eyebrow. “Just ‘good’?” he asks, looking at the picture again. “Okay, I'll find another one then.”

You shake your head vehemently. "No, Charles. It's a good photo, really,” you assure him.

He's not buying it. “But?”

You purse your lips and shrug your shoulders. “It - it looks so posed,” you answer honestly. "But maybe it only looks like that to me because I know it's fake, you know? Maybe I just can't see it."

He looks back from you to the display. “I know what you mean.” He presses his tongue into his cheek. "I'll take another one then. They're your photos. And I want you to feel comfortable with them too."

You smile at him. You didn't know he cared so much about your opinion. "That's nice. Thank you."

Charles pops a French fry into his mouth. "Keep eating. Your wine is cold and just waiting for you to drink it."

You continue to eat in silence - Charles continues to rummage through your camera while you edit some pictures. The silence between you is comfortable and every now and then you smile at each other to reassure each other that everything is fine.

When the last of the fries has been eaten, Charles stands up. "Very nice. Now it's time to start drinking,” he winks at you as he leaves the sun bed. “You want your wine, I guess?”

You nod. “Thomas shouldn't have made the trip to the supermarket for nothing,” you grin and cross your arms behind your head. You look at him. "But I think one glass is enough for now. Maybe I'd like to try one of your cocktails afterwards."

“Of course, Madame,” Charles replies and bows to you playfully like a servant to his queen. "Can I bring anything else? A pillow, perhaps?"

You nod, beaming. “That would be great. Then the bed here will be even more comfortable."

Without another word, he disappears, the bowls and plates in his hands, while you close the laptop and put it to the side. You consider whether you should put the camera away too, but decide against it. Perhaps there would be another opportunity to take photos of Charles later.

A few minutes later, Charles reappears. He puts your wine glass down next to you and throws you two cushions. "Make yourself comfortable. I'm sure you'll want to stay here longer."

You look at him in confusion. “Why?”

With a nod of his head, he points to the shore. "When it gets dark - and I mean dark - Monaco lights up beautifully. And I don't want to deny you the sight,” he smiles. "I'm going to make myself a cocktail. Do you want me to bring you your sweater right away?"

“Yes, thank you,” you answer him. “And you really don't need any help?” you ask uncertainly. It's nice of him to go to all this trouble to make you feel comfortable, but you feel a bit like you're taking advantage of him.

But Charles disagrees. "Stay put. You're my guest on this boat. I'll take care of everything while you lie there and look pretty."

Before you can react to his words, he has disappeared again.

Look pretty? Charles thinks you're pretty?

You try to ignore his words, but they keep bubbling up. When he said he was afraid of losing you, he hit you hard. You would never let anything separate you again. You need him too much for that - and it seems he needs you too. Even if it's not the same way. But that's okay, you tell yourself. You'd rather have a piece of him than nothing at all.

When he rejoins you, you seem to have almost forgotten his compliment. Or at least pushed it aside.

“Here,” he says, handing you your sweater before setting some things down behind your head. There are several bottles, an ice bucket and a couple of shakers in the large basket. Then he carefully sits down next to you with his cocktail in hand. As he tastes it, he makes a brief grimace.

You have to grin. “Too strong?” you ask him.

“No,” he replies, but from the way he raises his eyebrows and turns his head away briefly, it's clear he's lying.

“What did you mix?”

“Piña Colada.” He furrows his eyebrows. “But it tastes more like nightmare colada than pineapple.” He stretches out his arm and holds the glass out to you. “Have a taste.”

Without hesitation, you reach for the cocktail - still careful not to let your fingers touch - and sip the drink once. You look at him in amazement. “I don't know what your problem is,” you reply and take a big sip. “It tastes fantastic!”

Charles looks at you doubtfully. “Are you serious?”

“Definitely,” you confirm. “I'd offer you my wine, but you don't like sweet wine.”

“Give it to me,” he says unceremoniously and grabs the wine glass as you hold it out to him. Without hesitation, he puts the glass to his lips and drinks every last drop of the wine. "Sorry. I had to get rid of the horrible taste of that cocktail."

You look from the empty glass in his hand to his face in amazement. "Wow. So you think the piña colada is that bad. If you keep going like this, you'll be drunk in no time."

Charles reaches behind your head into the basket and pulls out a bottle of wine. “That was the plan, wasn't it?” Slowly and intently, he pours some of his dry wine into your glass, careful not to waste a single drop. “Don't tell me I did all of this for nothing.” He points to the many shakers with a nod of his head.

You curl your lips into a thin line. “Are you even allowed to drive the boat tomorrow if you still have alcohol in your blood?” you ask and take a sip of his - now your - cocktail, which, contrary to Charles' opinion, actually tastes phenomenal.

“I don't know,” he replies and sips his wine. “But if need be, you and I can stay here another night.”

“Tomorrow is Christmas,” you remind him. "Your mom would be furious with us if we didn't show up for dinner. And then she'd kill us."

Your roommate shakes his head. "My mom loves you. She'd kill me without hesitation, but definitely not you." He leans back a little and rests his head in the pillow so that he's comfortable but still sitting upright enough to drink easily.

“I think I'd stand up for you,” you say before taking another sip.

The Monegasque looks at you, dumbfounded. “You think?”

The way he opens his eyes and looks at you, you can't help but burst out laughing. "Yeah. After all, I don't want to incur your mother's wrath. I like her far too much for that,” you say into your glass and look at him over the rim.

Charles rolls his eyes. "You're being mean. I'll take you on my boat -"

“Yacht,” you correct him.

"All right then. I take you on my yacht, where you can even spend the night, make you delicious food and offer you all the alcohol you can imagine - and you think you'd stand up for me?" Playfully hurt, he puts his hand on his chest. “Wow. I thought you'd care more about me.”

You do, you say in your mind. More than you'll ever know.

“Oh, come on.” You snuggle into your pillow too. "How many women have you taken here already, huh? Surely I'm not the only one you've spent a night with here." Realizing your choice of words, you clear your throat. “In a friendly or romantic way, I mean.” Even though you don't want to know the answer to how many women he's had here on the boat, curiosity wins out.

Your roommate shrugs. “You're the only one,” he replies quietly before taking a sip of his wine. He avoids your gaze.

Your head jerks in his direction. “Not even Annika?”

“Not even Annika,” he confirms to you. “I - I don't know - I took Annika out for a nice day at sea once, but we went home at night. This is the first time I've been on a boat with someone other than my family and stayed the night."

His answer relieves you a little. Apparently you're not the next in a line of women Charles is spending the night with on his boat. And the fact that you're the only one, according to him, makes you feel a little happy.

“If it makes you feel any better,” you start your sentence, “you're also the first person I spend the night with on a boat.” You smile at him.

“It's not that difficult if you've never been on a boat before,” he replies with a grin. “And I thought it was a yacht?”

You roll your eyes. “Don't make me regret being on a boat on the open sea.”

As the wind sweeps around you and the sun disappears behind the horizon, you pull on your sweater. You feel Charles's gaze on you. “What?”

He shakes his head. "I thought the alcohol would warm you up a bit. But apparently you need to drink more."

You look into your cocktail glass. “I've almost finished your Nightmare Colada,” you defend yourself.

"But only almost. Drink up, then I can pour you another one."

You raise your glass to your lips. “Are you trying to get me drunk, Mr. Leclerc?”

“Maybe,” he grins and pulls a shaker out of the basket. "There's a little Nightmare Colada left, if you like. Otherwise there's still your wine, or Sex on the Beach, or schnapps."

You take the last sip of your cocktail and put the glass down for him to refill. Heat shoots into your face, which is almost certainly due to the alcohol - and definitely not the way he says the word 'sex'. "Your offer sounds tempting. I think I'll stick to the nightmare colada for now. We can always have the schnapps later."

Charles shakes the shaker briefly before carefully pouring the rest of the cocktail into your glass. “I haven't had a schnapps in ages.”

"Why? Is your nutritionist against it?” you ask him with a grin.

“Yes, actually,” he replies and hands you your glass. "But I'm on vacation at the moment, so I don't really care. That's why I had the chicken nuggets."

You raise your eyebrow. “I thought the chicken nuggets were there so we wouldn't get drunk straight away?”

Your friend shakes his head. "Actually, you had chicken nuggets because, culinarily speaking, you stayed somewhere between canned soup and Big Mac. That's what Lando said anyway."

The fact that he remembered that warms your heart. A little something you didn't think he would remember.

"There's also dessert, by the way, if you're still a little hungry. Chocolate muffins,” he smiles. "But maybe we'll save them for later, when we're drunk. They'll taste even better then."

“Muffins?” you ask in surprise. When Charles nods, blood rushes to your cheeks. “Thank you.”

“No problem.” His voice is soft and warm. He briefly puts his glass to one side and pulls on his white sweater.

“Are you cold?” you joke, sipping your cocktail.

“Haha.” He rolls his eyes and adjusts the bandana that is still tied around his head. “Even if the alcohol warms me on the inside, I can be cold on the outside.”

“But make me look stupid for it,” you retort playfully.

"Sure. It's just pretty easy to drive you up the wall."

“What do you mean -” you start your question, but he jumps up from the sun bed as if stung by a tarantula.

“There!” He goes to the railing in front of you and holds on tight. “I told you.”

You carefully put your glass to one side and stand up too. When you see what he means, your breath catches in your throat.

Monaco shines in front of you in the dark and the water reflects the light beautifully. Charles hasn't promised too much.

You stand next to him with your mouth open, your eyes fixed on the beautiful Monaco. “It is - breathtaking.”

“It is,” Charles replies quietly. You don't notice him looking at you. “Breathtaking.” He‘s almost ashamed at how beautiful you look to him. He has to look away.

The Monaco in front of you glistens and sparkles, captivating you so much that an idea occurs to you. With quick - and slightly swaying - steps, you walk back and grab your camera before standing on the sun bed. The cocktail has done a good job, because the cushion under your feet feels like jelly, so you need a moment to find your footing.

Charles is apparently just as fascinated by the view as you are, because he doesn't seem to notice that you've moved away from him. He continues to look ahead, towards his home, while you take a photo of him. A single photo - and when you look at it on your camera, you could cry.

“That's it,” you smile.

“Huh?” Charles turns to you questioningly. “What's what?”

You proudly hand him your camera. “This is the picture.”

He looks at it briefly before glancing at you. A smile spreads across his face. “I knew it was a good idea to bring you here.” He looks like he wants to say something else, but he closes his mouth again before handing the camera back to you.

“Maybe you should hire me,” you joke, sending the picture to your phone and then sending it to him.

“Maybe I should.” His smile is warm and electrifying and luminous. He's beaming - like the Monaco behind him.

God, he's the most beautiful man in the world.

“But first -” he walks around you, staggers across the sun bed and leans forward to fish a bottle out of the basket. “But first - comes the schnapps.”

#charles leclerc #charles leclerc smut #charles leclerc prompt #charles leclerc blurb #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc cute #charles leclerc x yn #charles leclerc f1 #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc x you #charles leclerc fanfic #charles leclerc fluff #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #f1 fanfic #f1 fic

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ghostsslutss · 7 months ago

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welcome to my bar. whatcha ya feeling tonight? vodka? wine? or just apple juice. look at the menu and place ur order in the inbox.

credits to @bunnys-kisses x

𝐖𝐇𝐎𝐒 𝐃𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐘𝐎𝐔?

lando norris

max verstappen

fernando alonso

charles leclerc

carlos sainz

alex albon

franco colapinto

lewis hamilton

george rusell

ollie bearmen

arthur leclerc

joost klein

ski aggu

reece welsh

jordan riki

simon ghost riley

john mctavish

phillip graves

alejandro ganarcho

jude belligham

neymar jr

matt murdock

jason todd pop

nightwing

moon knight

vladimir makarov

toto wolf

homelander

billy butcher

the deep

a train

konig

𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓𝐒 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐃𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐊 𝐎𝐅 𝐂𝐇𝐎𝐈𝐂𝐄

vodka soda - “your boyfriend wont fuck you like this”

rum and coke - “hm what was that again? speak up little one

gin and tonic - “such a good girl. aren’t you. my pretty little puppy.”

whiskey sour - “{dirty talk in their language}”

margarita - “remember, I am in complete control. your pleasure and pain are mine to give.”

mojito - “please ive been a good boy..”

long island iced tea - “fuck your going to get us caught one day aren’t you.”

tequila sunrise - “let me take care of you, let me lead, and you'll enjoy the ride.”

martini - “whos daddy’s little slut?”

cosmopolitan - “beautiful , beautiful thing aren’t you.”

daiquiri - “shut it- shut up.”

piña colada - “be quiet they will hear us.”

old fashioned - “wonder what your father think about this.”

negroni - “I'll do anything to please you, master. Just tell me what you want.”

aperol spritz - “you will address me as 'Sir' or 'Master'. is that clear?”

moscow mule - “you'll wear this collar as a symbol of your submission to me.”

paloma - “tell me your safe word, pet. I need to know your limits.”

mai tai - “thank you for the punishment. I needed it.”

amaretto sour - “please.. just let me cum.”

caipirinha - “oh fuck , your driving me crazy.”

𝐖𝐇𝐈𝐂𝐇 𝐂𝐋𝐔𝐁?

fabric (loss of virginity)

berghain (pregancy)

space (sugar daddy au)

hï ibiza (semi to public sex)

ministry of sound (enemies to lovers)

pacha (cheating)

privilege (dom x sub)

dc10 (intoxicated sex)

amnesia (university au)

printworks (alternative au)

output (age gap)

watergate (unprotected sex)

zouk (omegaverse)

exchange la (recording)

the warehouse project (phone sex)

studio 338 (pet play)

kitkatclub (cnc)

marquee (vanilla)

cavo paradiso (car sex)

liv (dirty talk)

avant gardner (gentle sex)

warung beach club (rough sex)

drai’s (mean!drink)

tunnel (aftercare)

rex club (size kink)

cielo (doggy style)

sub club (breeding kink)

egg london (cock warming)

sound nightclub (mafia au)

tresor (dumbfication)

𝐀𝐍𝐘 𝐒𝐈𝐃𝐄𝐒?

fries (character x character x you)

onion rings (creator picks kinks: may be dead dove)

mozzarella sticks (creator chooses drink and club)

chips and salsa (extra spicy smut)

guacamole (more comforting smut)

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woso-dreamzzz · 11 months ago

Text

Head in the Clouds III

Barcelona Femení x Teen!Reader

Summary: Your Champions League final

"And, as the players come out, it's only right to talk about the controversy surrounding Barcelona's starting elven. Coach Giráldez has made the choice to field the team's sixteen-year-old star y/n l/n from the start. Bit of an odd choice as she has no previous Champion's League Final experience but Giráldez has said he's confident in her abilities to rise to the task."

Lyon is a tough opponent, you'd been warned about that. You'd been warned that they were physical and technical and had some of the best players in the world.

You knew that.

It still didn't stop you from being absolutely clattered to the ground on several occasions by Renard the moment you got the ball.

It was a bit frustrating actually.

Lyon were tough and, as Irene helps you to your feet, you know she's feeling it too.

The moments of the first half tick down until you leak into injury time. It's frustrating and clearly Renard is working overtime covering you and Aitana which is probably how it all kicked off.

Renard is covering Aitana, blocking her amazingly well while you lurk in the space she's left behind, between Gilles and Carpenter.

You haven't had much space this game so it's nice to be able to breathe with Renard so focused on not letting Aitana take the shot she's clearly winding up to.

The most she manages to get is a chip over the Lyon player, the ball about to land at your feet.

You act on instinct though, not letting it get there.

Your foot stretches out to keep it in the air.

Carpenter and Gilles start moving towards you but it's already too late.

You've twisted to face goal, foot connecting with the ball mid-air and sending it rocketing past Endler.

She didn't even move, your shot taken and executed too quickly for her to realise.

It buries itself in the top right corner and your eyes bug out of your head.

To be honest, you hadn't really realised what you'd done either. It was pure instinct, in the dying seconds of the first half and you'd scored.

Aitana gets to you first, jumping on your back and sending you both tumbling to the floor. Salma and Keira come next, also joining the pile and you tilt your head up to see Caro beaming down on you.

People say Caro doesn't smile a lot and you don't understand why they lie. Caro always smiles at you.

Irene's the one that gets everyone off, pulling you to your feet before kneeling to retie your laces.

"Good girl," She says to you, cupping your cheeks as the Basque flows into your ears," Keep it up, okay?"

Your cheeks bright red, you nod.

The backline just passes the ball between them in the last few seconds of the first half, unwilling to take the risk of Lyon somehow getting the equaliser.

You come off to raucous applause from the fans and immediately try to divert further into the stadium to queue up to get food.

"No," Lucy laughs," The staff already got your fries. No mingling today for you."

You pout a little because sometimes fans in the queue tell funny stories but Lucy's grip on you is firm as she guides you back into the locker room.

Jona is giving a speech but you're aimlessly poking at your bruises and munching on your fries so you don't pay too much attention. If it's important then someone will remind you.

Alexia's the one that walks you back out. She's saying something but you're a bit distracted by how grimy your shorts are from all the times you've been forced to the ground so you only really tune in when she hugs you.

"Okay?"

"Huh? What?"

Alexia laughs, shaking her head fondly. "Nothing. Just go out there and keep showing Lyon who's boss."

You frown. "But Jona's our boss. They know that."

"One goal separates the two sides. A beautiful volley from l/n, assisted by Aitana. There were serious doubts about her ability to play well in a final like this but her technique and drive have been unmatched this entire game. Lyon's defence really need to kick it up a gear because I have a feeling that once she starts, it's hard for her to stop."

Lyon throws more bodies at you in this second half. It's gotten more intense, harder to take your own shots but you create a few big chances for others that Endler manages to brush away.

Renard hovers over you, clearly thinking you're more of a threat than Aitana. That's a little weird because Aitana is the best player in the world and it's strange of Renard to not treat her as the threat she is.

Silly of her because you receive the ball from Patri, skirt around and over Renard's outstretched leg, nutmegging her in the process before sending it off to Aitana to drive into the box and score.

She laughs breathlessly as she celebrates, pointing at you with a smile as the team mobs her. She gets head pats and hugs and you do too.

You don't get that. All you did was pass the ball to her so she could score. You do it all the time in training.

"Two nil up against Lyon with a goal from the best player in the world and an assist by the best youngster in the world. Lyon really needs to step it up. Renard can't mark two of the world's best on her own."

A few minutes before Ona is set to be subbed on, you go down hard.

Bacha slides in on you just before you can send a pass to where Caro is waiting. You topple over, landing on the ground with a thump. She lands on you and you groan, your ribs flaring up like they did against Chelsea.

Lucy pushes Bacha off you and says a few words in French that you don't really understand before she helps you to your feet, checking you over.

"Go take the free kick," She orders," And if someone does that again you have my permission to push them back."

You frown. "Alexia said not to do anything you've given me permission to do."

Lucy rolls her eyes. "Go and take your free kick."

That's when you're back to what you're usually doing.

Scoring goals that weren't meant to be goals.

You're at the halfway line but you've got a strong free kick so your team lines up on the edge of the box to wait for it.

At training, Jona always told you to aim for the taller players.

Irene is currently busy in a little skirmish against Diani so you try to aim for Ingrid.

Only Ingrid gets pushed over in her own skirmish and there's no head to guide the ball in.

Not that you needed it because it rockets into the goal, no matter how far away you are. It's high and bounces off the underside of the top crossbar and over the goal line.

Endler just watches it go, clearly expecting there to be a person you've picked out ready to head it home. It's clear she's planning to block the shot that was never going to come.

The stadium erupts again and this time, Salma gets to you first. She thumps you on the back and you manage your own little laugh.

"I didn't mean to do that," You say and she shakes her head.

"Doesn't matter!" She laughs," Ballon D'or here you come!"

You frown at that. During this entire season, everyone has been talking about you getting a Ballon D'or but nobody's really explained what it is.

You gather it must be a good thing though because Aitana has one and Alexia has two.

At this point, you're a little worried to confess that you don't know what it is so you just smile and nod.

"Her face makes it clear that it wasn't meant to be a shot but no one can fault her during this match! L/n is really unravelling Lyon today. With about half an hour left of this match, it's going to take a miracle to get Lyon back in this game!"

Ada Hegerberg is one of your idols. She's amazing. She's one of the greatest football players you've ever seen. In your eyes, she's up there with Pernille Harder and Vivianne Miedema and Caro.

Last year, when you got offered contracts, you almost went straight to Lyon just because they had her. If there had been two Adas at Lyon then you probably would have chosen them over Barcelona and their offering of Caro.

But there is only one Ada Hegerberg and Barcelona had Alexia and Aitana on top of Caro so that's where you went.

But, still, Ada Hegerberg is one of the greats and you're a little bit star struck as she runs past you onto the pitch.

"No," Irene says to you," We're still playing a match. You can get her autograph later."

You bite you lip. "But-"

"And no going easy on her, okay?" Irene looks sternly at you, one brow raised. It's the same look she gives her son when he's being a little silly. "We've still got a game to play."

You sigh, scuffing the dirt with your boot. "Fine."

When you first saw Ada run on, you didn't expect your first interaction to go like this.

You execute a perfect slide tackle that would make Mapi proud, steal the ball and immediately start sprinting up the other side of the pitch.

You hope she doesn't hold that against you later on because you really want to talk to her and maybe get her shirt or at least a picture with her.

But still, like Irene said, you have a match to play so you dribble around Horan and pass the ball to Patri as you make a run into the box.

That's another thing about you, you think, that Lyon wasn't prepared for. You're fast.

Very fast and Alexia says you have this uncanny ability to find space where you really shouldn't be able to.

You can find space and you can outpace your markers but you're never quite ready for a Patri cross.

She has this habit of crossing much higher than you actually are.

You only have space for so much longer so you try to guide the ball down with your head only it bounces straight onto your skull and you kind of do an odd little jump to beat Renard to it.

It's enough of a bounce to go over Endler, who has come out of her goal to stop you and roll into the goal behind her.

You hear Renard sigh behind you but you're swept away by Patri shaking you firmly by the shoulders as the rest of the team come in to congratulate you.

"It's Patri's goal really," You try to explain," She just used my head to get it in. She deserves all the credit."

As per usual, no one listens to you.

"And a fantastic header from Barcelona's youngster! You have to wonder, if this is how she fares against Lyon, is there any way to truly stop her?"

Alexia gets subbed on in the last few minutes, getting the armband and immediately starts organising everyone the way that she wants.

You've got the ball at your feet but Carpenter is closing in fast and you're running out of room on the pitch.

You cut it back to where you know Alexia is waiting, tracking back as soon as its left your foot.

You don't see the ball go in but you hear the stadium erupt.

Alexia's shirt is off and she's bowing to the crowd as you jog over.

Her arm is over your shoulder and she's jostling you with a laugh.

A kiss lands on the top of your head and you smile up at her.

"You cannot write this! Putellas coming on and within minutes scoring a goal! It's been a long road back from injury for Alexia Putellas and she was set up perfectly by Barcelona's young talent!"

The final whistle comes all too soon and you're left staring at the score in shock, eyes wide as the team celebrates around you.

A smile appears on your face after several minutes of confusion.

You've won.

You've won the Champion's League and completed a hattrick and a brace of assists.

Caro hoists you up onto her back, bouncing you up and down while you shriek and squeal with laughter.

You're passed off to the rest of the team too as the celebrations begin.

Alexia keeps you close though, holding your hand all the way up to the medal ceremony where she pushes you in front of her second last in the line.

Irene grabs you after that, wedging you onto the step below her so she could make sure you didn't fall.

You're not quite sure how to explain how you feel watching Alexia lift the trophy. In fact, you're not quite sure how to explain how you're feeling about any of this.

It's difficult to explain.

Usually, after a game, you're just hungry but all hunger has left you.

Adrenaline still pumps in your system as celebrations rage around you. You're not quite sure what's going on but one of the staff drags you away to get a weird extra trophy that they say is yours and yours alone.

You don't know what to do with it but the staff member says they'll take it back to the locker room for you so you just let them.

That's when Caro appears again. She's still smiling as she takes your shoulders and guides you over to where the Lyon girls are shuffling back inside.

"Ada!" She calls and her national teammate turns around.

"Caro?"

Caro pushes you forward with a little laugh. "You have quite the fan."

Suddenly, shyness floods your body and you look down. "Hi, Mrs Hegerberg."

"You can call me Ada, you know."

"My Mama says you should always greet women professionally when you first meet them," You say, still not looking at her. You're still at a loss for what to say, just like you were when you first met Caro.

"She's a big fan." Thankfully, that same teammate comes to your rescue. "She was very excited to be playing against you."

You nod in confirmation before finally gaining the courage to look up. "If I find a pen, can I have your autograph please?"

"An autograph?" Ada repeats, almost in disbelief.

"I brought my autograph book with me!" You explain," It's in the locker room!"

She laughs and you suddenly feel awful.

You've just beat her. Of course she doesn't want to sign your autograph book.

"Tell you what," Ada says and you brace yourself to be rejected," I'll sign your book if we can swap shirts."

You look at Caro for permission. There's a rule that you aren't allowed to give away your shirt without adult permission. Alexia doesn't like it because sometimes you forget to put the other person's shirt on and wander around the pitch shirtless.

With Caro's permission, you sprint off to get your book and a pen.

Ada signs it and then swaps shirts with you, where Caro reminds you that you have to put on Ada's shirt before joining in on the celebrations again.

That's when Irene takes custody of you. You're still clutching your autograph book, completely star struck by the fact that you have Ada Hegerberg's signature and her shirt.

"Give me that," Irene says, gently taking your book from you," I'll look after it for you."

You nod.

That's probably the best thing. You almost lost it once so it's better Irene has it.

You end up ping-ponging around the rest of the team for the rest of the celebrations until Alexia lets you know you can bring your family down.

Everyone came for you. Your Mama and Papa and your Nana and Grandpappy and Abuela and Abuelo.

Abuelo brings you food still steaming in a container and you scoff it down as soon as you can.

"Can I take some of this home with me?" You ask him," Did you bring more?"

"I did bring more," He replies," I will pack them up before you get on the plane tomorrow."

You grin. "Thank you, Abuelo."

You get a picture with your whole family and the trophy because Ingrid tells you that's something people do when they win and you trust Ingrid.

It's a great photo and you're smiling so wide wearing Ada Hergerbeg's Lyon shirt and a Barcelona flag doubling as a cape.

Your family leaves soon after that but Nana gives you a big hug and reminds you to take a nap before dinner so you agree because Nana is smart and she used to take care of you a lot when you were younger.

Mama and Papa coo over you, saying embarrassing things like 'look at you' and 'we'll put that photo up in the restaurant'.

Then you get put back in Alexia's custody.

She grins at you.

You take a step back.

You're not the most perceptive. People do and say things that seemingly come out of nowhere but you recognise this look as what it is.

Trouble.

You try to dart away but Alexia's got a tight grip and in one smooth movement, you're up on one of her shoulders.

"Ale!" You squeal," Let me down!"

She's laughing though and she's not letting you down at all.

"Take it all in!" She yells up at you," It's all thanks to you!"

#woso x reader #barcelona femeni x reader #barca femeni x reader #barcelona femeni #barca femeni #woso community #woso imagine #woso fanfics #woso

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am-i-the-asshole-official · 11 months ago

Note

Am I the asshole for calling my boyfriend out after a party after he very Frenchly insulted our cooking?

I (25M) am dating J (27M), and we live together. For the most part he's wonderful, super sweet, and perhaps the most French man living today. He's a walking stereotype, right down to the sexiness. He's Parisian (we live in the states) and has a huge obsession with wine and cheese, and I'll be honest, he can be pretty snobby. He was raised by some well to do old money family that disowned him when they found out he was gay and it shows. He has a few antiquated ideas of what America is like, especially when it comes to food. Anything that has roots he doesn't recognize gets criticized. It's a classism problem, we recognize that, and he is trying to work on it. He slips up sometimes.

We went to a housewarming party two nights ago. It was a potluck deal and I brought a beef chili I had been working on for like two days, it was my pride and joy, and J didn't even have anything bad to say to me about it.

Anyway, an hour or so into the party we went to get food. He had a few glasses of wine, so he wasn't quite thinking straight. It turns out somebody brought homemade Frito pie (and pretty fancy frito pie too, with jalapeños and sour cream and pico de gallo, it was amazing and delicious and I am still dreaming about it), I'm southwestern and it was a staple for me growing up so I tripped over myself trying to get at it. He noticed how eager I was and scoffed at me. I asked what was so funny, and he said it was baffling that I'd go for that first since it was "comically American, down to the fried chips riddled in it." I rolled my eyes and ignored him.

Turns out the friend who made it was standing a few feet away and overheard him. She told us that she worked super hard on making the chili and cooking the pie, and if he didn't like it, he didn't have to have any. I was so fucking mortified I felt like dying. I apologized on his behalf and we stayed for a bit longer, but I was so embarrassed and angry that we left about an hour after that. I couldn't make myself have a good time. As a bit of an apology I left our friend a container of the chili I made and said if she wanted to make a pie out of it I'd be honored, and she happily accepted.

This is where I may be TA. As soon as we got in the car I blew up at him. I told him that he disrespected my culture, my cooking, my taste, and worst of all, embarrassed me in front of a friend and insulted something that brought her joy. I said "if you see Americans as so lazy, stupid, fat, and disgusting, then why are you even living here? Why the fuck do you even wanna be with me? Am I just the only good one to you?" I was laying into him for about 5 minutes. It was the worst fight we'd ever been in, not that we get in many.

He got really quiet after that and just muttered out an "I'm sorry." We were silent the ride home and we went straight to bed when we got there. I even heard him sniffling when we were trying to fall asleep, which was heartbreaking and started to make me feel like I'd fucked up, too. He's been distant for the last few days and I feel like I need to apologize.

Do I? Was I TA? I just got so upset that I couldn't take it anymore. I really love him and I just keep worrying that any second he's gonna say he wants to break up, and I never want that to happen. Any advice is appreciated.

#aita #am i the asshole

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koshkamartell · 4 months ago

Text

This is my submission for the Dead Dove December 2024 event held by my dear friend @romana-after-dark. I hope you guys like it!

summary: oneshot set in AU, no outbreak. You are a down on your luck waitress who impulsively steals from a man at a casino one night. Unfortunately for you, he doesn't give up easily.

warnings: noncon anal penetration, degradation, coarse language, noncon digital penetration, gambling, theft, slut shaming, mention of sex work, unspecified hefty age gap, reader is feminine but not described in detail.

word count: 4,500

You knew he might try find you, but you didn't think he would go any further than the front doors of the casino. You thought he would stalk around the black jack tables a few times, search throughout the scores the slot machines, maybe even check the high rollers lounge and the rooftop balcony. You knew he would be angry when he realised what you did but you didn't expect him to bother chasing you too far.

You had high tailed it out of there pretty quickly once you stole the chips and cashed out, anyway. Out onto the strip you strutted, abuzz with smug triumph, holding tightly to your purse stuffed with cash. You checked into a hotel a few blocks away, deciding to treat yourself to a deluxe room with a queen sized bed and room service.

Sure, you had done the wrong thing. You knew you had. It wasn't that you were a bad person, though - you were just desparate. Living in a shitty trailer and working your ass off waitressing had driven you to the edge of hopelessness. You were sick of slaving away to earn enough money to survive through the week. You were sick of the disgusting men who oogled you and treated you like a piece of meat while you served them burgers and fries and endless cups of coffee. You had been beaten down by the hardships of life for years now and there never seemed to be any hope for a better future for you. You were never granted a reprieve from the drudgery of your dull existence, not even for a day.

Until the night you met Joel and got greedy.

Joel Miller rarely gambled. He enjoyed the occasional game of poker or darts with his work buddies but he was never a hustler. He had seen his little brother Tommy lose way too much money betting on football games and amateur poker tournaments to want to take a risk himself. He was definitely the more sensible of the two.

He wasn't a party animal, either. It wasn't in his nature to be wild and carefree; becoming a single dad at a young age and raising a daughter while earning a living as a contractor had moulded him into a pragmatic, no-nonsense kind of man. His workaholic dedication to his profession and his responsibilities as a parent had left little room for pleasure in his personal life, anyway.

And even though Joel's daughter is an adult now, living her own life in another state, he still leads a quiet existence outside work. Tommy teases him for being a boring old bastard, but the truth is Joel has always craved a simple life, so he's content with how things are. He downs a whiskey every night and more often than not falls asleep on the couch while watching a movie.

But tonight is different. One of the guys in his work crew is having a bachelor party, so Tommy finally had a good reason to drag Joel out of the house to enjoy a night out. Even though he grumbled and groused about being too old for this shit, Joel acquiesced and joined the group of men for a night of bar hopping (and even a visit to a strip club). At Tommy's insistence they ended up stopping at one of the casinos to try their luck at some poker and blackjack.

It took some convincing from the guys and a few shots of whiskey to get Joel to loosen up enough to get into the spirit of things. He won some money and lost some money but actually managed to have some fun along the way. He was going to call it a night but decided to lay a last minute bet at the roulette table, just for the hell of it. To his surprise he ended up winning.

"You lucky son of a bitch," Tommy laughed in shock, clapping Joel on the shoulder. "Who woulda thought?"

Joel grinned smugly and accepted the stack of chips offered to him by the table dealer. Emboldened by the win and the guys encouragement, Joel placed another bet on the roulette table but promised himself it was his last for the night. He braced himself for disappointment when the spinning wheel slowed down, reminding himself that everybody's luck ran out at some stage. The little round ball bobbled along the slots until it came to a halt on red 23, the slot that Joel had placed his chips on.

The men all whooped and cheered when they saw the result and Joel couldn't help the smile that broke out on his face. The dealer pushed a large stack of chips towards Joel with an uttered congratulations, sir.

"Keep goin', man," Tommy whispered in his ear. "You're fuckin' killin' it, got a lucky streak, Joel, you gotta ride it."

Joel shook his head and collected the stacks of chips in his hands. "Tom, I just won ten grand. Odds are I'm gonna lose it all if I keep goin'."

Satisfied with his takings and ready to go home, Joel bid his brother and friends goodnight and went on his way to the cashier cage to cash out his winnings. He was standing in line waiting to be served when something bumped his elbow. He turned to look at what had knocked him, and there his eyes fell upon you.

You. Young, pretty, well made up. Dress short enough to show off your legs but just long enough to cover your ass. His eyes flickered down the length of your body and back up again, trailing over your cleavage before meeting your eyes. You were gorgeous.

"Oh, sorry about that!" You smiled brightly. "Didn't mean to run into you, mister."

Joel gave you a polite smile in return. "No problem, ma'am."

You fluttered your eyelids and sashayed away from him, glancing over your shoulder with a flirty little smirk. Joel felt his cheeks blush as he watched you leave, his gaze glued to the way your ass swayed with each step of your heels. Goddamn. He felt the blood rush to his cock. Were you actually flirting with him? No, surely not. You were way too young, way too attractive to want an old man like him. Shit, maybe you were a working girl, looking for a john for the night.

Joel shook his head and turned back to face the cashier's cage. He would have to resign himself to the fantasies in his head tonight.

It wasn't until he finally arrived at the cashier's desk and had his chips counted that Joel realised you had stolen $5,000 from him.

It has been about half an hour since your escape.

Your dress, underwear and heels lay discarded in a heap on the floor of your hotel room. Your unzipped purse sits on the nightstand by the bed, a thick wad of cash poking out from its pocket. You slip into a fluffy white bathrobe and stretch out on the bed to flick through the TV channels. Soon you'll take a bubble bath in the luxurious looking tub, then when your room service order arrives you'll stuff yourself with nachoes and a deluxe chocolate milkshake.

Fuck. You can't remember the last time you had experienced the granduer of being so pampered. You close your eyes for and sigh, savouring the moment of serenity for a minute. Right now you're in heaven, your own personal bubble of indulgence, and it feels fucking amazing.

A knock at the door startles you from your dreamy reverie. That must be room service, you guess. It has arrived earlier than expected, before you had a chance to hop in the bath, but a change in plans doesn't bother you too much. You've got all night, after all. You smile to yourself as you scramble off the bed and pad over to the door.

You twist the handle and open the door, expecting to be greeted by a smiling hotel employee carrying a fancy silver tray. Instead, you are met with the scowling face of the man you conned at the casino, his tall figure crowding the doorway. The sight of him right before you is like a nightemarish hallucination, and you gasp in fright, your heart leaping into your throat.

Despite being so caught off guard by his appearance your survival instincts quickly kick in. You hurry to try and slam the door shut but he's too swift; he wedges his work boot over the threshold to prevent it from closing before shouldering his way inside the room. You squeal and stumble backwards toward the bed, terrified by the intrusion.

How did he find you?

Joel calmly closes the door behind him and turns the lock. The soft sound of the latchbolt clicking into place prompts an ominous twist of dread to coil within your stomach.

Is he going to kill you?

"I'm sor--" you begin to say.

"No one ever teach you right from wrong?" Joel barks angrily, cutting you off. He glares at you with his dark eyes full of ire, his mouth set in a snarl of disgust. His large hands fidget by his sides and you worry that he's trying to repress the urge to beat the shit out of you.

Your heart hammers in your chest as your brain buzzes with anxiety and trepidation. You don't know what to do or say now that he's in such close proximity to you, his intimidating presence crushing all sense of security and confidence from you, leaving not even a modicum of courage in its wake.

Even though your mouth is dry and your throat feels like sandpaper, you speak impulsively before even thinking. "I didn't--"

"Think ya can just do whatever the hell you want?" He snaps, taking a step in your direction. "Steal from hard workin' folk and mess up their lives?"

"No!" You shake your head vehemently and shuffle blindly around the bedframe, not daring to take your eyes off of him. "I'm sorry! I didn't mean--"

Joel snorts derisively and takes another step closer; his footfall is slow and heavy, like he's unhurried to close the gap between you. "Didn't mean to rob me? Didn't meant to steal my money and fuck off?"

"I'll pay you back!" You blurt out in panic.

"Damn right you will," he snipes back. "Every fuckin' cent of it."

You swallow thickly and nod. "O-okay, so, I already spent some to get this room - but only for one night, I swear!" The explanation tumbles from your mouth. "But I can give you the rest now, and I promise I will pay you back!"

Joel's eyes narrow and you see his jaw tick once. "When?" He asks flatly. You stare at him and chew your bottom lip for a moment in deliberation. You already spent your weeks wage on rent and bills, leaving you with about ten dollars to your name until next week.

Shit.

"I, uhm, I get paid next Friday," you mumble sheepishly. "I can get you the money then."

He sighs, a heavy exhalation of frustration from his nose. He shakes his head and puts his hands on his hips. "'S too late."

"Please, please give me this one chance," you beseech, clasping your hands in front of you, your eyes wide and pleading. "Just give me until then."

"How much? How much did you use for this room?" Joel demands. You pause, trying to remember the nightly rate the concierge charged as well as mentally calculate the added room service.

"Uhm, I-I think it's a-a-bout $350," you stutter nervously. He huffs an exasperated sigh and runs his hand over the bottom half of his face. Seeing the man you swindled look so frustrated makes you feel embarrassed and childlike. "I'm sorry..." you mumble, ashamed of your greed.

"Here's what's gonna happen," Joel tells you sternly. "I'm gonna take back what you stole from me now, and you're gonna pay me that $350 back come Friday. No more excuses, you hear?"

"Yes, ofcourse," you agree earnestly, "I'll pay back every cent, like you said."

You glance over to the purse on the nightstand Joel stares at you in comtemplative silence, his jaw ticking as he assesses the situation.

"You do this often?" Joel asks after a few beats, his voice considerably more softer than before. It seems like he's gradually calming down. "That little slick act, battin' your eyes while you're stealin' from a man."

"No," you reply meekly, dropping your eyes to the floor. "I don't. I'm sorry. I'm just...I'm struggling with money right now...I was desperate."

A tense silence falls upon the room after your shameful admission. You hope he's taking pity upon you, that he can see just how apologetic you really are. But when your gaze shifts from the ground back up to Joel, you can immediately ascertain that sympathy for your circumstances is the last thing on his mind.

Joel remains where he stands, as still as a statue, but there's an unsettling intensity swirling within his chocolate brown orbs as he stares you down. The wrath which had consumed him is no longer reflected in his gaze; it has been replaced by something more sinister - something hungry, predatory. It sends a shiver up your spine.

Suddenly you feel incredibly self conscious; although you are covered by the plush terrytowel robe you feel naked and on display infront of him. You clutch the collar of your robe closed and clear your throat.

"Maybe you can show me just how desperate you are for that money," Joel muses darkly.

Your blood runs cold at the insinuation.

You've got to get out of here as fast as you can.

When he takes another step in your direction, you don't hesitate to launch yourself toward the bathroom to escape. He's swift to follow you, though; he sprints after you and crashes his shoulder against the bathroom door, flinging it wide open, leaving you trapped and with no where to run from him.

Joel might be really fucking angry at your audacity to steal from him, but there is something else bubbling within the scorching heat of his wrath that is far more wicked. It hit him the second you opened the door and gawped at him with wide, scared eyes and a trembling bottom lip. It intensified the longer he watched you flounder and apologise, so helpless and desperate for his understanding, and he found he could not ignore it for long. You look even more pretty than he recalled, especially when you are just wearing that hotel bathrobe.

What had started as a simmering in Joel's loins has escalated into a depraved and maddening state of arousal that has his cock now rock hard in his jeans. Seeing you plead and admit to your recklessness particularly excited him, perhaps because he saw it as an acquiescence to punishment. And Joel was more than happy to dole out punishment - whether you consented to it or not.

He cannot describe the victorious surge of power that overcomes him when he successfully captures you in his grasp. He grips a hunk of hair at the top of your head to keep you still, and you grimace as your scalp stings with the tight pull. His mouth sets into a grim line of determination while his other hand clumsily rips the bathrobe from your body. You shriek and bat at him with curled fists, putting up as much of a fight as you possibly can, but it makes no impact upon him at all - you are so small and weak in comparison to his tall, burly frame.

"Fuck sake," Joel snaps irritably. "Quit fightin' me." He throws the robe to the ground, leaving your naked body trembling with fear before him. He doesn't stop to touch you or even look at you - he just manhandles you over to the sink and shoves your body around to face the mirror. "Hold still."

He pins your hips against the edge of the sink with his own, the action causing your bones to press painfully into the cool marble surface. His iron grip on your hair forces your neck upright so that your face is directly infront of the mirror. You can feel the rough denim of his jeans on the backs of your thighs and the metal of his belt buckle on your ass.

"How about you show me some more of your little tricks," grunts, his low voice gravelly and slightly breathless. "How's that sound?"

"P-p-please don't," you sob, your vision blurring with warm tears. He ignores you, using the side of his boot to kick at your foot and spread your legs apart. You feel his hand jostle behind you as he hurries to unbuckle his belt.

"You want cash so bad?" Joel taunts in your ear, hastily unbuttoning and unzipping his jeans. "You can earn it. "

He yanks his jeans and underwear down his meaty thighs, freeing his heavy balls and erect cock out of the confines of his underwear, the head already wet with precum. He uses his grip on your hair to roughly push the front of your upper body flat to the bathroom vanity. Your face smushes uncomfortably against the mirror.

"Arch your ass out, bitch." Joel jabs his elbow into the middle of your spine, forcing your hips to involuntarily tilt. "Let me see that fuckin' ass."

His other hand grabs your asscheek and he digs his blunt fingernails into the meat of your flesh, earning a pathetic whine from you. He pulls your cheek to the side to expose your asshole to his perverted gaze before letting out a hungry groan. "Pretty little hole you got there, honey."

He was planning on just fucking your pussy, but holy shit, seeing you spread like this is so tantalising, like your ass is just waiting to be split wide open.

He can't resist.

Joel spits a warm wad of saliva onto your asscrack and watches it slide down to your asshole. Your body jolts at the weird sensation, your limbs vibrating with fear, but Joel's steel grip of your hair keeps you restrained against the vanity.

He uses the fat pads of his two fingers to smear the glob of spit over your hole. He's decided to be generous tonight, giving you a little preparation so you won't pass out on his dick. Yeah, he wants to punish you, but he also doesn't want the goddamn concierge busting down the door because you're screaming in pain.

His fingertips prod at your ring with the clear intention of opening you up, and that's when you start to cry harder, warbling pleas for him to stop and to not to go any further. Joel smirks to himself and pays no heed to your words; he sinks his two fingers into your hole, all the way to his middle knuckles, and you wail at the sharp discomfort.

"Shut up," Joel orders, beginning to scissor his fingers in and out of you. He stares down at his minstrations while you weep pitifully. He's mesmerised by the way your hole clenches and unclenches around his digits, imaginging how perfect you would feel around his cock, squeezing him just right. He keeps fingering you for a little longer until his desire becomes too ravenous to put off any longer.

Joel withdraws his fingers from you, briefly admiring the way you clench around nothing. He takes hold of the head of his cock and jams it against the puckered ring of your asshole, ready to push inside. You start to screech and bash your legs against the vanity in distressed protest, but Joel is quick to subdue you. He crushes his knees into the backs of your thighs, his burly frame easily constraining your lower half.

"Better for both of us if you stop strugglin'," he growls. "Gonna hurt a hell of'a alot more if you don't."

He doesn't waste any longer. He drives his hips forward and forcefully jabs the tip of his fat dick through the first tight ring of your asshole. Your cries suddenly cease as the burning pain engulfs you, your eyes squeezing shut and your mouth falling open in a silent scream. The room fills with the sound of Joel's heavy breathing and the jangle of his belt buckle. He ruts into you, gradually feeding his thick length further inside your ass with shallow, stuttering bursts.

"That's it," Joel croons, voice slurring with lust. "Take it, baby, just take it."

Satisfied that you're now in a state of paralysed submission, he releases his hand from your hair and siezes the cheeks of your ass in both his meaty palms. He spreads them wide and tilts his chin down to watch your defilement, hypnotised by the sight of his cock slowly spearing your tight hole.

Joel eventually slides all the way inside you, his pubic bone flush with the globes of your ass and his heavy balls pressed against the lips of your neglected pussy. He moans brokenly as he revels in the snug warmth enveloping the entirety of his dick.

"Goddamn," he mumbles to himself. "So tight."

Joel retracts his hips until he's pulled almost all the way out of your asshole, then he plunges back inside in one smooth stroke. You expel a guttural howl and grip the edge of the sink so tight your fingertips turn white, your whole body quivering below him.

"Actin' like you ain't never been assfucked before," Joel groans out. He withdraws once more, but this time he slams back into your body with a mighty thrust that forces you to rise up to your tiptoes. He takes pleasure in the ragged scream that rips from your throat and the way your hole contracts around his dick.

"N-n-no," you manage to choke out, your throat thick with unshed tears and mucus. Joel slides his large calloused hands around the curve of your hips to hold you in place before repeating the action again. You bawl again and reach a shaky arm behind you to push against his belly, a futile attempt to get him to stop.

"Don't tell me a slut like you ain't had a dick up her ass," he spits down at you. "Bet that's exactly how you earn your money. When you ain't stealin' it.'

It is impossible for you to muster a response when Joel begins to cant his hips in long strokes, gradually busting you open. The momentum of his broad body keeps your face shoved close against the mirror, the glass fogging with every loud, agonised sob you emit. His balls smack lewdly against your skin with each thrust.

Your body goes slack against the vanity counter as Joel continues to violate you over and over. He's lost in the animalistic pursuit of his pleasure and your punishment, his hefty cock barrelling in and out of your tight asshole with a merciless rhythm. His fingers squeeze your hips in a bruising hold. You feel so good wrapped around him, too fragile to fight back.

"Thought about fuckin' ya," Joel admits inbetween heavy pants. "At the casino. Wanted to fuck you so bad when I first saw ya."

You weep pathetically, lungs aching with every battered breath you inhale, your body going more slack and weak the longer Joel indulges in your suffering. He is so big, bigger than any other man you've ever been with, and there is no way you could adjust to his girth so suddenly, especially in your ass.

"Maybe I shoulda just slipped you a twenty. Bet that woulda had you droppin' your panties right then and there."

Saliva pools in your mouth and drips out the corners of your lips as your mind starts to detach from your physical body.

"Wreckin' ya good, ain't that right, baby?" Joel moans. "Fillin' you up so good, ain't gonna be able to walk for days."

He continues fucking you with a possessed, primal rapacity. He can't remember the last time he fucked with such reckless abandon - maybe never - and he knows he won't last long. He's too drunk on the domination he holds over you to delay his orgasm any longer.

"Gonna ruin this slutty asshole. Have you leakin' everywhere."

Joel pistons into you harder and faster as he chases his orgasm. His heart beat pounds in his ears and he can no longer hear your cries when his escasty soon reaches a fever pitch. It hits him with a blinding intensity that he wasn't prepared for; his head back falls back and his eyes squeeze shut as he explodes inside your ass.

"Fuck," he grunts and huffs like a beast. "Fuck, take it, ya little whore, take it all."

You whimper as he slows down his movements to a rocking motion, sawing back and forth to let your asshole milk the cum from his cock. When he's finished, Joel slips his softening cock out of you, coaxing a vulgar squelching sound from your hole.

He staggers backward, his gait slightly off balance as he comes down from the high of his orgasm. His chest heaves as he stares at your naked ravaged body sprawled infront of him. Your legs tremble for a moment before you collapse onto the bathroom floor, unable to remain standing without Joel's strength pinning you. You hug your arms around your shaking body and curl up on the ground, tears and snot spilling down your face.

Joel watches you wordlessly. He wipes his hand down his sweaty face and sighs. He doesn't feel remorse - why should he? You ripped him off. You stole money he needs for his business, for his house, for his daughter. You deserved this.

You don't dare look at him while he hitches up his underwear and jeans. All you want is for this nightmare of a man to finally leave you alone to lick your wounds. He tucks himself back in and belts up while you dig your fingernails into your arms, deep enough to draw blood.

You hear the heavy footfalls of his boots as he swaggers out of the bathroom. He crosses to the nightstand and retrieves the wad of cash from your purse. He stops to study your ID card, noting your age and your name. Fuck, you're younger than he thought. He scans over your address. And you live in a shitty part of town. Maybe you really were desperate. He flicks through the bills of money and counts, making sure the $4,650 is still there, then stuffs it in his pocket.

Joel walks back to the bathroom but doesn't enter, instead lingering outside, not bothering to give you another look. "Forget the three fifty," he calls from the doorway, his voice gruff. "You earned it."

It goes quiet for a few moments, then you hear the front door unlock and open. It shuts with a resounding thud and your wish to be alone is granted.

tags - @romana-after-dark @romanarose

#dark! joel miller x reader #joel miller x reader #joel miller dark #dark! joel miller #joel miller dark fic #dddne #deaddovedecember2024 #romana-after-dark

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samuelsdean · 11 months ago

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Take A Bite

pairing: dean winchester x reader

summary: the hunt loomed, a constant shadow. but for now, in the warmth of the diner, you had this – a shared meal, a stolen bite, a silent promise spoken in the language only the two of you understood. maybe that was enough, for now.

genre: fluff

word count: 0.6k

author's notes: my first ever dean winchester fic! and of course, it's fluff. this one's extra fluffy and tooth-rotting because he deserves all the love and pie in the world. have fun reading this one!

GREASY SPOON DINERS WERE PRACTICALLY A SECOND HOME TO YOU AND DEAN. After weeks on the road, chasing whatever monster plagued this random unsuspecting town, a decent burger and stale black coffee felt like a five-star feast. You slid into the red vinyl booth across from Dean, the air thick with the aroma of frying onions and something vaguely resembling a pie. Dean's favorite

"Double cheeseburger, fries extra crispy, milkshake," Dean said to the waitress, a practiced routine etched into the lines on his face. "And your apple pie, make that two slices."

You chuckled at Dean's predictability. One thing about the hunter is that he'll never miss out on ordering pie if it is ever on the menu. You mirrored his order, minus the pie and milkshake, opting for a Coke instead, as a comfortable silence settled between you.

"You know, Dean, it'll never hurt you to cut back on the sugar and fat," you poked at the man's elbow. "You're what? 30 years old? You could die from all the cholesterol you ingest."

Dean shoved another greasy fry into his mouth, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Woman," he mumbled around the food, "first of all, I'm twenty-five, almost twenty-six now. Second, cholesterol never killed any Winchester. Besides, haven't you seen Buffy the Vampire Slayer? The girl practically lives on coffee and Pop-Tarts, and she still kicks major demon butt. The point is, you gotta live a little. Besides, pie's calling my name." He jerked his head and smirked towards the display case where a monstrous slice of apple pie sat, practically begging to be devoured.

It wasn't always like this, these quiet moments punctuated by the clinking of silverware. There were times, hunts gone sideways, when the air crackled with tension, unspoken words hanging heavy. But there was also a language you'd developed, a shorthand built on shared experiences and unspoken affection.

The waitress slid your plates across the chipped Formica counter. As you reached for your burger, Dean's hand shot out, snagging a fry. He popped it into his mouth with a wink.

"Always gotta have the first bite," he said around a mouthful of crispy oily goodness—as how Dean would describe the meal.

You rolled your eyes, a familiar warmth blooming in your chest. It was a small thing, this ritual of offering the first or last bite. It started years ago, on a particularly brutal hunt that left you both famished and frayed. Dean had insisted you take the last sliver of pie, a silent promise that he'd take care of you, even in the smallest ways.

You speared a fry and held it out to him. "Only because you saved me from the mystery meat surprise last week."

He chuckled, taking the fry and returning the favor by breaking off a piece of his pie before taking a bite. The practice continued throughout the meal, a silent banter intertwined with the rhythm of chewing and swallowing. It's like second nature between you two.

"So," Dean said, finally wiping his grease-stained fingers on a napkin, "what kind of son of a bitch are we whacking this time?"

You launched into the details the local college professor had shared, a tremor of interest lacing your voice. As you spoke, Dean listened intently, smiling now and then with how nerdy you sounded. He liked it when you go off on your tangents about whatever monster it was you were about to hunt. While doing so, Dean occasionally reached across the table to steal a fry or offer a piece of his pie. It wasn't a grand gesture, this sharing of food, but in the quiet hum of the diner, it felt like everything.

The hunt loomed, a constant shadow. But for now, in the warmth of the diner, you had this – a shared meal, a stolen bite, a silent promise spoken in the language only the two of you understood. Maybe that was enough, for now.

#supernatural #supernatural fandom #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural fanfic #supernatural fic #supernatural fluff #dean winchester #dean winchester fandom #dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester fanfic #dean winchester fic #dean winchester fluff #dean winchester angst #dean winchester smut #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x you #dean winchester x oc

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love-bugsy · 5 months ago

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good ol' gotham | jason todd

the worst thing about love

you’re just trying to get through your surgical residency, but this masked vigilante keeps showing up half-dead on your fire escape and reminding you of your dead best friend. oh well, at least he's cute.

two | three | four | series masterlist

content warnings: no editing, allusions to character death, (haphazard) depictions of grief, smoking + mentions of alcohol, swearing, completely ooc Jason bc he’s just my lil guy, medical terminology learned from greys anatomy lol

only jerks steal other people’s writing and mine isn’t even that good so no reposts

You and Jason sit across from each other in a diner booth, his restless leg bouncing under the table and your workaholic fingers tapping rhythms on the lacquer. The tired waitress who begged for your shift today brings over a plate of fries for you both, waving you off when you try to tip her. She gives your head an affectionate ruffle like she used to when you were 6, and you flush. As she goes to wait the next table, Jason laughs and says something about nepotism. You reach over and smack him.

He scoops up a heaping handful of fries, holding out his cigarette in his free hand so he can choke it down. He wipes his hands on his pants, taking another drag. You frown as your eyes dart between him and the ‘no smoking’ sign, glaring pointedly at the cigarette hanging half out of his mouth. He huffs, hiding a smile as he crushes the lit end on the underside of the table and flicks it into a nearby bin. You kiss your teeth, rolling your eyes but it’s entirely too fond to have any lasting effect. This damn boy’s got you wrapped around his battered fingers.

“Those’ll kill you, you know,” you huff, shoving a couple of fries in your mouth and basking in greasy diner heaven. Jason tilts his head, examining you, and snorts when you chuck a fry at his face.

“So you tell me every time, and yet, miraculously, I’m still here.” He plucks the fallen fry out of his lap, not even brushing it off before he scarfs it down and reaches for another handful. You eye his hand, meant to shovel chips into his mouth but instead is littered with callouses and cigarette burns. It’s a stretching silence as you find your words.

“S’killing you slowly.”

“Lucky me.” He shoots you a toothy grin, leaning back into the booth, one hand laid out face-down on the table. The bruises on his knuckles are a motley of yellow and purple; your hand aches just looking at the scabs that litter the top of his hand. You’re sure he doesn’t feel it, though - he’s always healing, gaining new wounds before the old ones are finished scarring over. A veritable human ship of Theseus.

His hand clenches into a fist under your gaze and you suddenly become very interested in the plate of fries between you. ‘M’not gonna stop,” he says, tone unyielding. You don’t know whether he’s talking about his smoking or the elephant-sized robin in the room. Probably both.

“But maybe you should.” You blurt out, and the way his face twists in anger makes you want to cover your mouth and hide. You hate how he clings to things - smoking, grudges, Robin - you think it’ll be the death of him one day. But you’re a hypocrite, because you love how he clings to you. Jason’s jaw feathers.

“Just fucking back off, okay?”, he snaps at you, and you go silent - you don’t want to have the same argument for the thousandth time. You study the way his eyes close and he sinks back into the chair - guilt washing away the enraged crease between his brows.

You forget - all the time - how angry he is, all of it built up under his rib cage. You think he gets scared to show it to you, like it’ll scare you away. For all his intelligence, Jason has yet to grasp the fact that you have Gotham in you too - spent your whole life atoning for the sin of your existence here. You’re angry too, of fucking course you are.

There’s no shortage of anger and fear and desperation in Gotham - they flood the gutters and hang dormant in the smog. Not many people choose to be kind here, it’s just too hard to. You think maybe your bleeding heart is at fault for how he tiptoes around you, but you wish he would just be honest. This diner, your friendship - it’s so far removed from the rest of his life… you wish he would stop treating you like a precious secret.

“I-” You shake your head when he starts to apologise, waving your hand as if to clear the air between you.

“It’s forgotten,” you say, even though it never is. The tilt of his head reads you like an old book. Getting up, he rounds the table, shoving you further into the booth and looping an arm around your shoulders. Neither of you say anything - Jason reaching awkwardly for another chip - but the warm press of his side against yours is words enough. You shuffle - somehow - closer to him and take the hand that's over your shoulder, moving it delicately into your lap. You run careful circles around the bruises on his knuckles, trying to commit the warmth of him to memory. Trying to remember him while he’s still here.

When you glance back at him, he’s looking at you with something wide and soft and world-ending in his eyes. The hand in your lap shifts around to thread your fingers together and he squeezes your hand almost uncomfortably. This boy, this fucking boy, who loves too much, too rough, too pure. “You can’t be real,” he whispers, and the diner melts away and all that’s left is his (blue blue blue) eyes and the way his hand holds yours like a lifeline. You hope you love him enough that it shows - that it spills out of the gaping seams of your stitched up heart. Clammy palms grip tighter to each other.

“I’m real, blue. This is real.”

“No. No,” he says, using your name in that careful, hard-edged tone he does when he’s serious, “It’s not.”

You wake gasping, shooting up in your bed as you try to catch your breath. Your hand crushes against your chest, trying to still your pounding heart. Fumbling in your sheets for your phone, you squint at the time. 4:02. You shuffle around, bare feet meeting hardwood floors and start to follow an unconscious morning routine - brain still foggy with sleep. It’s not until you’re wiping the steam off your bathroom mirror that you remember what day it is. The anniversary.

Reminders of Jason always hit you like a truck - blue mugs, cigarettes, hero complexes - but visiting his grave is another beast. You’re not one to let things get to you, moving too fast for anything to stick; but today is always cruel. In the entryway, you go back and forth between jackets, eventually yanking Jason’s old one from where it's hidden underneath all your others. Burying your face in the collar, you grab your keys and step into the biting Gotham wind.

You take the metro up to the park by the Wayne Estate, stopping on the way to buy overpriced flowers and a travel sized bottle of whiskey. You stop outside the imposing gates - always closed but never locked - to take a shuddering breath. It’s never easier.

Pushing open the rusted gate, you make the short trek up to the Wayne cemetery. Jason’s grave is a ways away from the others, hidden by an ancient sycamore tree. Autumn has come early this year, yellowing the sycamore’s leaves and burning your nose with the fresh scent of death.

You really fucking hate this day.

It’s not the real anniversary of his death. You shudder to think about seeing Bruce Wayne here, and you doubt he’d even recognise you. Probably for the best. You’d tear him to pieces for existing when Jason is gone. No, today is the last time he left the diner - that’s the day Jason Todd died to you.

You remember staying up to watch the press conference Bruce Wayne gave after Jason’s death was reported. Sitting in a cold, empty diner, listening to his cold, empty responses, and grinding your teeth to bits.

Wayne looks tired - beaten down, “No comment,” he says, when the questions steer to Jason. You’re furious that he could even bear to stay silent when you are tearing at the seams with things to say. Because Jason was kind, he was sharp as a whip and just as witty. And he was brash, and loud, and impulsive and full of a wild energy that hummed under the surface of his skin. And he was good. He was so good.

Somewhere between Wayne’s practised speech about the orphanage he’s opening in Jason’s name and his final statement, you mute the television and go back to washing dishes. It’s a herculean effort not to look up; waiting for Jason to start rambling about a book he’d read or someone he’d saved. You tuck your head down, avoiding the reminder that he was never going to keep you company again.

In the background, Bruce Wayne talks silently to a rapt audience.

And how they lauded him as Jason’s saviour - the homeless criminal turned social messiah by Wayne Enterprises. You want to scream; he was good already, he was good to the bone. But Gothamites - as much as they like to deny it - are obsessed with the idea of heroes. In a city of the uber wealthy and the poorest of the poor - everybody wants someone to save them. Big Brucie Wayne swooping in to reform a Gotham bottom-feeder? That’s a story everyone was taken by.

The crunch of a leaf underfoot pulls you out of your head and you realise you’re standing in front of Jason’s grave. Sitting yourself down, cross-legged, you face the grave; whiskey in one hand and flowers in the other.

You’ve never liked his headstone. No pretentious quotes, no sardonic digs from beyond the grave. Just a dry, impersonal epitaph, etched permanently in his name: ‘In memory of Jason Peter Todd, loving son’.

You think he would’ve hated being reduced to someone’s son. You don’t think he was anyone’s anything. He was Gotham’s. He was yours. He was Batman’s. And then he was dead.

He was never any of those things at the same time. And he was certainly no one’s son.

He was loving, though. You’ll give ‘em that.

“Well,” you say, unscrewing the bottle and downing half of it with a grimace, “Cheers, blue.” Nearly a decade and you still hate the taste of whiskey. You’d both made a pact that it would be your first legal drink - both with romantic ideas about what it would taste like. To you, it really just tastes like soap; but tradition is tradition. You reach out, brushing the thin layer of dirt that’s gathered over his headstone, eyes catching on the crude little bird carving in the top right corner.

You’d carved it into his headstone the first year after he died; spent the whole year silently aching - haunted by empty space, reaching for him only to find air. That night was just the breaking point. It hadn’t helped that you were drunk off your ass either.

You remember being miserably sick the next morning and - as you rested your head on the cool porcelain of your toilet - feeling selfishly satisfied that you were hurting at all. Visiting him early is selfish for you too. You want them to know you loved him first. You want them to know that somewhere, there is someone who mourns him into ruin.

Or at least, into vandalism.

Now you drop the flowers on his grave - chrysanthemums and white lilies - and sweep away a stray fallen leaf. Crouched in front of his grave, you press your fingers to your lips, then to the bird. You feel the throb of a lump in your throat, and stand up fully, zipping up your jacket. The train home is loud and sweaty, but you feel more alone than ever.

You need a smoke.

Your apartment door is barely locked before you’re sliding up your window and ducking out onto the fire escape. Digging around in the pockets of Jason’s jacket, you fumble for your lighter, and the pack of cigarettes you’d bought on the way home.

You lean over your fire escape railing, lighting up and taking a long drag. It’s a rare clear night in Gotham, and you close your eyes as you breathe out, listening to the faint, familiar whine of sirens. This. This is why you’ll never leave Gotham—these rare serene moments where you’re brought back down to earth by the familiar smell of rain and pavement; an early-Autumn breeze ruffling your hair.

Your moment of peace is interrupted when Red Hood swings down onto your fire escape, and you startle, dropping your - still-lit - cigarette over the railing.

“Fuck!” You lean over the railing as if you’ll be able to catch it, letting your head fall against the cool metal in defeat. “Please tell me you don’t need stitches tonight,” you grumble, head still hung over the railing. A hand grasps the back of your shirt, pulling you - a little roughly - away from the edge. Your eyes flash up to his mask, only to find him looking away.

“No stitches.” He shifts uncomfortably. “I… I’m not- injured.” Your brow creases.

“Then… why are you here?” He pauses. If you hadn’t been slowly learning him over the past few months, you’d mistake his silence for stoicism, but his shoulders are drawn up slightly and his gaze is focused on a spot just above your head. He seems… sheepish? No. Caught. He clears his throat—hand in the cookie jar.

“I just…,” long pause, “Drop by sometimes. To check you’re… you know.” You do not know. You raise a brow and he nods over at the pack of cigarettes balancing on the railing.

“I’ve never seen you smoke before.” Not exactly a seamless subject change, but you know better than to pry when the other person has guns strapped to their thighs. Your eyes drift to the cigarettes, and back to Red.

“Only when I’m stressed.” He does that head tilt-y thing—trying to read you.

“Something more stressful than surgery on a stranger in your apartment?” You just hum, turning away and reaching for another cigarette. Lighting it, you hold the pack out to Red as you take another drag and exhale. He shakes his head, “Quit a long time ago, doc.” Your surprise must paint itself all over your face because he laughs lowly, rasping out his response.

“Had a friend who hated it.”

Brows creasing, you tilt your head, appraising him in a quiet once-over. “You don’t seem like the type to change for anyone, Red.” Somehow he stiffens and relaxes at the same time; you get the sense that the answer to your observation is just as paradoxical, equal parts right and wrong.

“Yeah well, she was…” He trails off, gaze drifting from you and shoulders sinking. He looks… lost. Watching him feels like you’re intruding on a private moment, so you turn away, leaning heavily on the railing. You take another long drag of your cigarette and exhale the smoke into the wind.

“Was that you? The sirens?”

He huffs, railing creaking as he settles next to you. “Yeah. Some asshole trying to rob a mom-and-pop store.” You kiss your teeth in mirrored disappointment, nose wrinkling.

“Good ol’ Gotham.” You feel his gaze boring into you and make a point to glare defiantly out at the skyline - avoiding him. The hand that isn’t keeping a loose grip on your cigarette begins to scratch anxiously at the rust on the railing.

Red points vaguely at your cigarette, “What’s your stressor?” Without really noticing it, you clench your jaw and your hand moves halfway up to your mouth before you stop it. Old habits quelled by memories of bleeding nails bitten to the quick. You realise you’ve waited too long to spout a believable lie.

“Visited my friend’s grave.” You don’t even bother to school your voice, letting it claw its way across shards of glass to be heard.

“‘M sorry.” Red’s head inclines slightly, gloved hand inching towards yours. You just shrug.

“It’s been nearly ten years.”

“Doesn’t make it easier.” He tells you and you know it isn’t false platitudes. Death is an old friend of the both of you.

You pause, letting the city rush over you. “No,” you say finally, “It doesn’t.” Reaching again for your cigarette, you feel the weight of the day prickling at the backs of your eyes. The railing creaks as he leans heavier against it.

“Tell me about them.”

“What?”

“Your friend.”

You take a deep breath, brows knit, “He was…,” you roll your lips together, trying not to choke up, “Reckless.” Red snorts, hanging his head in surprised amusement. You smile for the first time all day. “I swear danger followed him around or something, I was always having to patch him up, even before—“ You cut yourself off, white-knuckling the railing.

“He’s the reason I’m a doctor.” There’s a thick silence, which Red breaks with a staticky whistle.

“You’re something else, doc.” Your brows knit, fingers drumming on the railing. The cold seeps into your bones, fire escape creaking with every gust of wind. Looking out over the city, you shake your head at nobody.

“I’m…” you swallow, dislodging the breath stuck in your throat, “I’m tired.” You fumble for the right words and Red waits, turning his back on the skyline, mask angled down.

Shaky hand brings your cigarette to your lips, breathing out a cloud of smoke. “So much of me is him… I don’t know—“ your voice cracks, “No one can help me carry the love he left me with. I don’t know where it goes.”

More silence—you’re starting to get comfortable with it. He lifts his head, and you think he might talk, instead, he carefully pulls off a glove, shoving it in his pocket so he can run a warm, calloused palm over your upper arm. You choke up at the gesture, gritting your teeth against the lump in your throat when your eyes catch on his bruised knuckles. Haven’t we been here before?

“Think ya just get bigger around it, doc.” Blinking at him, you dissolve into tears—a dam held in since this morning. Embarrassed, you close your eyes, tears running, unbidden, down your cheeks.

Red’s mask pulls back slightly in shock, “Fuck, sorry, m’not good at this, don’t—” He flounders a little, hand gripping your arm with a ferocity you know is unconscious. The physicality of the action steadies you.

“I’m not—” you huff out a wet laugh, “It’s not you, I just… you lose someone and everything you used to share becomes a sign. My life is marked by a ghost.”

“Fingerprints.”

“… yeah.” You crush your half-smoked cigarette against the railing, flicking it over the edge. You stand, awkwardly, next to each other; neither of you wanting to leave but both empty of words. Your hands tap nervously on the railing and you shove them in your pockets - if only to have something to do with them. Pulling out your lighter, you flick it on and off absently, watching the flame flicker under your control.

The lighter distracts you for a little, but soon you realise that Red has gone rigid beside you; the silence between you just slightly too thick. You shoot him an inquisitive glance, trying to gauge what he’s thinking.

“Nice lighter.” he says, gaze locked on the bird etched into it. Your brows furrow.

“It’s not really mine.” The truth, if obfuscated a little.

“Is it… a robin?” You shake your head, a little laugh escaping you at how bad your etching job must’ve been.

“A bluejay.” The second the words leave your mouth, he goes still - so still you’re unsure if he’s still breathing. “Red?”

“Blue?” You wave a hand in front of his face, shaking him out of a thousand yard stare into his coffee mug. “Earth to Jason Todd.” He shoots you a flat look and watches as your face breaks into a world-ending laugh. Leaning forward, he raps bruised knuckles against the counter. You shake your head to hide the split second of worry in your eyes at the sight of his hands. Jason notices.

“So why do you call me blue?” He says, trying to innocuously tuck his hands back under the table. You huff, clumsy hands dropping the dish you’re washing in the sink with a clatter. You lean on the edge of the sink, collecting yourself before you answer.

“Why do you call me birdie?”

“‘Cause you’re small. ‘Nd you got a pretty voice.” He must imagine the bashful way you tuck your head into your shoulder. Like you liked that.

Picking up the plate you dropped, you rinse and dry it, letting him stew in your lack of answer for a little. “It's a play on words.” Jason’s brows knit, trying to think of the connection you’d conjured. “Blue. Like blue jay.”

“Ha ha.”

“I’m serious.”

His brows crease. “Why a bird?” (Why not a robin?)

You give him a funny look, eyes squinted like you’re reading his mind. You always seem to know what he’s thinking. Jason shifts in the barstool; feathers ruffled.

“It’s just a nickname, Jay.” Jason knows you; he knows the word ‘just’ doesn’t have a place in your vocabulary. But he spots the tiny crease in your brow, your red raw hands, the single knot on your apron in place of a double knot—reads your language. He takes a swig of coffee from his baby blue mug, grinning toothily before he changes the subject.

Bruce’s office door is closed when Jason returns to Wayne Manor, so Jason finds himself roaming the halls aimlessly. His feet carry him to the library—he still has to stand in awe every time he wanders between the statuesque shelves, spilling over with books.

Slipping further into the maze of shelves, Jason doesn’t quite know what he’s looking for until he spots it. His fingers graze an untouched ornithology book, sliding it into his lap. Cross-legged on the floor, Jason flips it open to the chapter on blue jays.

... so i'm not dead, lol, and I am still writing - albeit very slowly and sporadically. the past few months have been very hectic, but I'm going to have a lot more writing time now that my first term of uni (!!) is nearly over. anyway, sorry to keep you guys waiting and I hope you enjoy reading my silly story :)

with love, bugsy

#jason todd x reader #jason todd fic #x reader #jason todd imagine #jason todd fanfiction #jason todd reader insert #love bugsy #series: the worst thing about love

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