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from The Designs of Carrie Robbins by Annie O. Cleveland and M. Barrett Cleveland:
"Front cover: The Tempest. 'Study for Ariel as Harpy,' played by Brent Carver, Mark Taper Forum, 1979. Costume design by Carrie Robins." (4)
A passage from the book (p. 36-37):
The sketch, featured on this book's cover, shows a nearly naked Ariel as his basic look, but also shows his transformation during the masque into a harpy, the half bird and half Amazonian armored warrior. The body suit was sprinkled randomly with translucent aurora borealis flat sequins making it, says Robbins, "way more mysterious than a hunk of sequin cloth." Ariel's wings, crafted by Fred Nihda, creator of the horse heads for Equus and the Tin Man costume for The Wiz, were tiered in multi-colored textures and layers of lightweight silk and chiffon feathering. They expanded when the actor pulled a hidden knob. The drawing also includes thumbnails of both a spiked headpiece with a beaked-shaped half mask and a helmet and full face mask that Robbins cut immediately after drawing them. "One of the advantages of taking the time to draw," says Robbins, "is that you can really see when you are going wrong."
Ariel's wings, constructed by Nihda (from Robbins's website)
Stephanie Zimbalist, Brent Carver, Anthony Hopkins, and Michael Bond in the same production (photo by Jay Thompson)
#theatre#shakespeare#brent carver#stephanie zimbalist#anthony hopkins#michael bond#carrie robbins#costume design
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#books#poetry#we carry the sky#mckayla robbin#audre lorde#lucille clifton#chimamanda ngozi adichie#rupi kaur#nayyirah waheed#yrsa daley ward#ijeoma umebinyuo#warsan shire#sonia sanchez#bookshelf
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The Holdovers (2023) Review
History teacher Paul Hunham must remain on campus over the Christmas holidays at a remote prep school with the holdover students, with just Angus Tully remaining after a few days and Mary Lamb the grieving cook for company, they are about to all find out that sometimes you just get thrown together with the people you really need in those moments. ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️ Continue reading The Holdovers…
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#2023#Alexander Cook#Alexander Payne#Andrew Garman#Best Picture Project#Bill Mootos#Brady Hepner#Carrie Preston#Carter Shimp#Cinema#Cole Tristan Murphy#Comedy#Da&039;Vine Joy Randolph#Darby Lee-Stack#David Hemingson#David J. Curtis#Dominic Sessa#Drama#Dustin Tucker#Fred Robbins#Gillian Vigman#Ian Dolley#Jim Kaplan#Juanita Pearl#Kelly AuCoin#Liz Bishop#Michael Malvesti#Michael Provost#Naheem Garcia#Paul Giamatti
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Femme Fatale Guide: Game-Changing TED Talks Everyone Should Watch
"How Five Simple Words Can Get You What You Want" by Janine Driver
"Master your Mindset, Overcome Self-Deception, Change your Life" by Shadé Zahrai
"How to talk to the worst parts of yourself" by Karen Faith
"Think before you speak, hacking the secret of communication" by Catherine Molloy
"The Hidden Code For Transforming Dreams Into Reality" by Mary Morrissey
"Don't Believe Everything You Think" by Lauren Weinstein
"The public speaking lesson you never had" by DK
"Programming your mind for success" by Carrie Green
"How to stop screwing yourself over" by Mel Robbins
"Own Your Behaviours, Master Your Communication, Determine Your Success" by Louise Evans
"The psychology of seduction" by Raj Persaud
"Why we're unhappy -- the expectation gap" by Nat Ware
"Think Fast. Talk Smart" by Matt Abrahams
"Increase your self-awareness with one simple fix' by Tasha Eurich
"5 steps to designing the life you want" by Bill Burnett
"Staying stuck or moving forward" by Dr. Lani Nelson Zlupko
"To reach beyond your limits by training your mind" by Marisa Peer
"Emotional laws are the answer for better relationships" by Diana Wais
"Feelings: Handle them before they handle you" by Mandy Saligari
"Cultivating Unconditional Self-Worth" by Adia Gooden
#ted talks#youtube recommendations#self love#cult of personality#self awareness#self reflection#self improvement#communication skills#social skills#life advice#life skills#girl advice#dream girl#girl talk#femme fatale#dark femininity#dark feminine energy#it girl#high value woman#the feminine urge#female power#queen energy#female excellence#high value mindset#self esteem#level up journey#glow up#femmefatalevibe#success mindset#self talk
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Credit: McKayla Robbin, We Carry The Sky (2016)
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The saddlebag prompt is so silly! I love it! I have a fluffy child reader idea too!
The child convinces Arthur, John, and some of the others to play pretend a passenger train robbery. While they play, John surprises the child by picking them up and taking them over to the "loot bag" Arthur is holding for the game.
The child is all giggly when John puts them in it, and Arthur hops on his horse to escape with the "loot".
the loot's alive
WARNING: None
PAIRING: Arthur Morgan & Child! Reader, John Marston & Child! Reader, Sean MacGuire & Child! Reader, Javier Escuella & Child! Reader, Hosea Matthews & Child! Reader, Charles Smith & Child! Reader
NOTE: I'm so glad you liked the saddlebag idea! Thanks for requesting this fluffy, fun story. I hope this one brought a smile to your face!
SUMMARY: The camp is quiet until you convince Arthur and John to play a pretend train robbery.
It was a lazy afternoon at camp, the kind where even the wind seemed to have decided to take a break. You, however, had far too much energy to sit still. After spending half the morning running around, you had an idea that just couldn’t wait. You found Arthur sitting by the campfire, sharpening his knife while John cleaned his guns nearby.
“Uncle Arthur! John!” you called, running up with wide eyes and a mischievous grin.
Arthur raised his head, his brow furrowing in curiosity. “What’s goin’ on, kid?” he asked, putting the knife down.
“I wanna play! Let’s rob a train!” you announced with dramatic flair, throwing your arms up.
John grinned and glanced over at Arthur. “Well, sounds like we’ve got ourselves a criminal mastermind.”
Arthur chuckled softly, shaking his head. “A train robbery, huh? Alright, kid. Guess we’ll need a loot bag then.” He got up, grabbing an old saddlebag from his horse. “What’s the plan?”
Your eyes gleamed with excitement. “We stop the train and take all the treasure! You, Uncle Arthur, carry the loot bag, and John, you handle the passengers!”
John played along, giving a mock serious nod. “Passengers, huh? Alright, kid, you’re the boss.”
As the two of them got into position, you ran around as the "passengers," pretending to be someone very rich. “Please, sir! Don’t take my treasure!” you cried, clutching an invisible pile of jewels.
John crept toward you, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “I’m afraid we gotta take everything you got.”
Just as you were about to run, John grabbed you gently, scooping you up into the air. “Look what we’ve got here! The real prize!”
You squealed with laughter as John swung you around, making you feel like you were flying. He carried you over to Arthur, who stood there holding the loot bag.
Arthur looked down at you with a smirk. “Well, well. Looks like we found ourselves some valuable loot.” He held the bag open, and John carefully placed you inside, your giggles echoing as your legs dangled out of the bag.
Arthur grinned, lifting the bag with you still inside. “Better hold on tight. I’m takin’ off with the goods.”
Before he could start his "getaway," though, Sean came strutting into camp, his wild red hair bouncing as he caught sight of the scene. “Now what in the name of all things holy is goin' on here?”
You peeked out of the bag, giggling uncontrollably. “We’re playing train robbery!”
Sean’s face split into a wide grin. “Aw, shite! I love me a good robbery! Count me in!” He ran up beside John, rubbing his hands together. “So, who’s the unlucky bastard we’re robbin’?”
John shook his head, still smiling. “Already got the best loot right here.” He pointed at you, still giggling in Arthur’s loot bag.
Sean threw his head back and laughed. “Ah, but ya gotta watch out for them sneaky lawmen, Arthur!” He made finger guns and started shooting at imaginary enemies. “Bang! Bang! The law’s comin’ for ya!”
Arthur played along, hopping onto his horse. “Better outrun ‘em then!” He spurred his horse into a slow trot around the camp, with you laughing from inside the saddlebag.
By now, Javier had wandered over, his guitar slung over his shoulder. “What’s all the noise about?” he asked, amusement in his voice as he watched the scene unfold.
“Train robbery!” you yelled from the bag, waving your arms.
Javier chuckled and shook his head. “Ah, so that’s what I’m missing.” He strummed a few chords on his guitar, playing a lively tune. “Well, no robbery’s complete without a good getaway song, right?”
As Javier’s playful melody filled the air, Charles, who had been quietly sharpening his tomahawk nearby, couldn’t help but join in on the fun. He walked over, arms crossed, a rare smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “You need any help making your escape, Arthur?”
Arthur snorted. “Could use some muscle to back me up.”
Charles nodded and jogged beside Arthur’s horse as he continued his slow “escape” around camp, giving you a reassuring grin as you peeked out of the bag.
But then came Hosea, who had been watching from the sidelines with a bemused expression. He sauntered over, shaking his head. “I see you’ve all lost your minds.”
John grinned. “Come on, Hosea. You know you want in.”
Hosea chuckled softly, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. “Well, I suppose someone has to play the lawman. You folks are in big trouble now,” he said, raising his hands like he was ready to arrest you all.
Everyone burst out laughing, even Arthur cracking a grin as he slowed his horse and “surrendered” the loot bag. “Alright, Hosea, you caught me,” he said, carefully lifting you out of the saddlebag and setting you back on the ground.
You wobbled slightly, still giggling as you dusted yourself off. “You got us all, Hosea!”
Hosea winked at you, his eyes full of warmth. “You’re lucky I’m feeling merciful today.”
Sean came over, lifting you onto his shoulders with a playful grin. “Well, we may have lost the loot, but that was one hell of a robbery!”
They all laughed, Javier strumming his guitar as Charles, John, and Arthur looked on with soft smiles. Even Hosea shook his head with a chuckle.
“All thanks to our little mastermind,” Arthur added, tipping his hat toward you.
You grinned from your perch on Sean’s shoulders, beaming at all of them. “We should rob another train tomorrow!”
#red dead redemption#red dead redemption 2#child reader#platonic#rdr2#red dead redemption x reader#arthur morgan x reader#john marston x reader#javier escuella x reader#charles smith x reader#sean maguire x reader#hosea matthews x reader#x reader#ask#request#fanfic#oneshot
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checkmate cowboy like me chapter nine
hi sorry it’s late please don’t hate me 🥲 would just like to note- reader's pasta is gluten free, alright? i have had too many gluten-induced traumas to write about it anymore. she is a gluten free queen. thanks parts 1-8 on my masterlist here, n my ao3 here. love u all the most!!!
pairing: dbf!joel x fem!reader
summary: joel steals you away during a family meal to give you a telling off...in the form of a quickie
warnings: 18+ (minors dni!!!) pining reader, bratty reader, brat tamer joel, spanking, oral (m receiving), face fucking, dom!joel, orgasm denial, theft of underwear, loose mention of someone cheating, alcohol, age gap (reader is 23, joel is 48), cursing, marty robbins
word count: 8.1k
series masterlist | main masterlist | playlist
“Know you can take it, baby, you’ve done it before. That’s my girl.” You whimper in response, mouth full of his cock. “Keep makin’ those pretty noises, whole hotel’s gonna be wonderin’ what’s goin’ on up here.” He allows you a second to pull off of him, gasping for air when your mouth’s free again. “Want ‘em to hear,” you choke out, lips slipping back down his cock.
The water dances to-and-fro, kissing the lip of the pool and splashing onto the concrete at your feet. It’s windier than normal today, trees whispering overhead, breeze taking your hair and lightly tossing it around.
You’re sat out back on a lounger, waiting for Joel to come pick you up. Joel and Sarah, that is. Picking you and your dad up. Be nice if it were just Joel, wouldn’t it? You and him, alone together again. Out on a date, or even just following him around, side by side in his truck as he goes about his day. His hand on your thigh, pretending to roll his eyes at your music choice.
As if that would ever happen. As if that could ever happen.
He and your dad have organized some dinner to celebrate yours and Sarah’s return home; some hotel resort with a restaurant looking out over the river. Your dad couldn’t remember the name of it. Said it was all Joel doing the booking.
You can still fucking hear him. Your dad. His voice lulls through the open kitchen window, the wind carrying it to your ears almost comically. You wish you could bat it away. He’s had the same Marty Robbins song stuck in his head all morning. You’d finally reached breaking point when he’d graduated from just humming it to full-volume singing, even doing his own impression of the guitar.
And now it seems that sneaking out to the backyard hadn’t rid you of the damn song either, no matter how loud the trees may be rustling.
Joel said he’d be here by now – he’s late. You slink off to the back gate to slip out front and wait for him there. And maybe also to escape your dad’s voice. No offense to the guy.
A couple minutes to six, his truck pulls up by the curb you’re perched on. Sarah climbs over the front seat to the back, and you join her.
She scoffs when you slam the door shut. “You’re eager.”
You shake your head in response, warning her with a roll of your eyes not to ask. She gives you an understanding nod and your eyes turn to Joel.
“You’re late.”
He looks back at you in the rearview mirror. “Not my fault. Traffic. We left twenty minutes ago, didn’t we?”
Sarah’s lip curls. She shrugs a little. You know he’s telling the truth.
When you turn back, Joel’s eyes are still on you, expression a little softer. A greeting. Making up for the fact he can’t wrap his arms around you, pinch your nose affectionately, kiss you to say hello. You smile back at him.
“That watch a’ yours runnin’ slow, Miller?”
Your dad’s voice is like a fucking foghorn. Sarah covers her mouth to stop a laugh from escaping her lips. He sweeps down the driveway toward the truck and you lean back in your seat. Quiet moment ruined.
Joel lightly chuckles and then gives you one last hazardous glance in the mirror before pulling off, ignoring your dad’s teasing. Probably for your benefit.
The relief of a quiet journey doesn’t last long, though. Barely five minutes in, your dad picks up the humming again.
“Dude,” you groan, “will you quit that? For the love of God.”
“It’s stuck in my damn head,” he chuckles, arms crossing defensively.
You roll your eyes again. “So your plan is to plague us all with it, too?”
“Pretty much.”
“What’s he singin’?” Sarah asks, leaning forward.
“Marty Robbins. Old song.” The lack of tone in Joel’s voice and the quick shake of his head as he says it tells you he ain’t the biggest Marty Robbins fan either. A voice inside you thanks God, like it even matters what music he’s into.
“Never heard of ‘im.”
“Lucky you,” you breathe, and your dad holds up a finger over his shoulder.
“Heard that,” he says.
“’s why I said it.”
Joel’s shoulders jerk with a laugh. “You’re in a real mood today, aren’t you?”
Your head falls against the window, bumping along with the road as Joel drives.
“Hold up a second,” your dad rounds on him, “you ain’t showin’ your kid real music, are you? She doesn’t even know Marty Robbins.”
“I ain’t puttin’ her through the pain of knowin’ him.”
A smile forms across your lips. Just another thing you two agree on. Another little string connecting you both, separating you from the rest.
You almost snort at yourself. Counting strings.
Sarah interrupts your train of thought when she requests the radio be put on. Joel turns the dial up and she sits back, victorious. You stifle a laugh. But even Taylor Swift doesn’t fully drown out your dad’s voice – she sure doesn’t stop the way he bobs his head as he sings to himself. It’s helpful, all the same.
You and Joel have been quite literally counting down the hours until you’re alone together. Alone for a whole weekend. Each morning, you’ll text him to announce it’s one less day. And he’ll reply some witty comment, some crude joke, or else a thumbs up emoji which usually meant he was working, or had company and couldn’t text. Company meaning eagle-eyed Sarah.
It’s been almost a whole week since the last time you had uninterrupted, unsupervised time with him. When you could link your arms around him, feel his head lean down on top of yours, say things without threat of anyone else hearing.
Seeing him there in the front seat, inches away from you, and not being able to touch him or even talk much to him, feels like a form of torture. Makes you curse your dad ‘n his tone-deaf singing all the more.
You’re supposed to be meeting Sam and Anna and a couple others from work at Frank’s, Saturday night, 8PM sharp. Rodeo night. Your dad’s leaving for Fort Worth in the late afternoon, he said. You’d kinda sulked when he told you, realizing that left a tiny window of time you could see Joel that day.
And then he told you he’d text Joel to ask if he’d be around to pick you up from Frank’s if you needed him, and you chirped up.
“Yeah. Yeah, that’d be really good. Can you ask him to?”
“He said just to text you if you need ‘im, hon.”
“Cool, I will. I mean, I will if I need him. Thanks, Dad.”
If you need him. If. Just on the off-chance, right?
The thought draws a smile across your face. You reckon his presence will be very, very needed this weekend.
Soon enough, the truck pulls in to some ornamented, fountain-guarded resort, bursting with greenery and flowers, paved in pristine sandstone. A red canopy over the entrance, golden letters spelling out Hillcrest.
“Damn…” Sarah leans over into your space to get a glimpse of the building from your window. “This is so fancy.”
“You treatin’ us or somethin’, son?” your dad asks Joel.
He doesn’t reply. But his eyes flit up to meet yours, then back to the road ahead. In a one-second look, you understand.
Sarah’s still staring outside, mouth wide open, blinking eyes taking everything in. “Dad, what the f…”
“Language,” Joel clips.
You smirk. It’s funny, hearing the man who’s whispered far worse things – filthy things – to you in earshot of company, chastise his nineteen-year-old for cursing.
The four of you roll by the water feature – three robed women made of stone pouring water from vases into a pool at their feet – and park up. As you hop out, a woman in a silk dress struts by, floppy sunhat bouncing with each step she takes.
Joel meets you at the back of the truck, letting Sarah and your dad stroll off ahead. They’re busy pointing at different features of the lavish hotel – the purple-uniformed bellboys running in and out of the lobby, the glimmering revolving door, the guests eating on balconies overhead.
“You outta that mood yet?” he asks, and you snap out of your daze.
“Not in a mood,” you reply bluntly, eyes still ahead.
“Huh.” He nods, unconvinced. “Marty Robbins gettin’ to ya that much, is he?”
“Marty Robbins ain’t the problem.”
“No? What is it, then?”
His hand finds the small of your back. It straightens you up like a shot of fire through your spine.
“Not a what. A who.”
You lead him inside.
A man in a pressed white shirt greets you all at the entrance to the restaurant.
“Reservation for Miller,” Joel says, and the man nods curtly and darts off into the sea of tables.
Sarah skips off with your dad on her arm, the two of them fucking ecstatic to be somewhere so fancy and fun. You and Joel amble through, past wine coolers, dodging fleeing waiters, slipping between white-cloth tables and silver spoon diners. His hand never leaves the skin between your shoulder blades, red hot on your goosebumped skin.
You’re seated at a table by the window, overlooking the river. Joel sits opposite you, your dad by his side. Sarah nudges your elbow and holds her phone up, snapping a selfie of you both with the glimmering water in the background. She tags the location and adds text below: fine dining. Her thumbs search for emojis, picking two champagne glasses, some sparkles, and a pink heart. Then she swaps the heart for a smiley face, and tilts the phone to you, wordlessly asking for your approval.
“Cute,” you tell her, and she beams, hittingpost.
The server returns, hands out menus, leaves a jug of ice water and some fancy bottle of wine you’ve never heard of by the table, and then nods his head once again before he rushes off. Your dad salutes him as he goes. You cringe.
“Boy’s gonna take a damn heart attack,” Joel mutters, watching your dad lift the wine from its bucket.
Sarah’s watching, too. She looks from the bottle of wine over to Joel, eyebrows raised. He flatly tells her, “No.”
“Come on,” she protests, “it’s not like anybody here knows what age I am.”
“We know.”
“Dad, I–”
“Water, or nothin’.”
Her eyes dagger into his. “You ain’t exactly a stickler for the rules yourself,” she breathes, sliding the jug across the table, and you scoff.
You’ve seen her do worse on her Instagram stories, and the way she glares at you warns you not to open your mouth. If Joel’s this pressed about some wine with a meal, it’s a damn good thing he doesn’t have a social media account.
“Let’s toast,” your dad announces as he pours wine into three of the glasses, “to…to you girls bein’ back home…” He raises his wine and Sarah lifts her little water, lemon slice floating on top. “…and to a fun summer ahead. Hm?”
You and Joel both hesitate a little before lifting your drinks, clinking them softly against each other with a glint in your eyes.
A fun summer. Sure. You’re certainly having fun. Yeah.
You watch Joel as you take a sip, frowning at the bitter taste. His mouth twists just like yours, neck winces as he swallows. Then he promptly slides his glass along the table back to your dad, clearing his throat and wiping his lips with the back of his hand.
“No?” you ask, amused.
“Not my thing.”
You tilt your head. “Maybe they have Bud at the bar.”
“You’re hilarious, you know that?”
You flash a proud grin at him. The denim of his jeans brushes against your ankles. Your dad takes Sarah up in conversation. No one would see if you just…
Under the long white tablecloth, you nudge open his calves and slot your feet between them. Joel’s boots close at the back of your legs, holding you to him. Holding you against him.
It feels…nice. It’s almost normal. Like something a real couple would do. Not a pair of hopeful idiots wrapped up too tight in some clandestine affair. You almost feel like you could reach for his hand, and you’re willing to bet that if it weren’t for your company, he’d let you take it. Let you part his fingers with yours. Let you run a light touch over his knuckles.
When you finally look up at Joel, he’s looking right back. Watching you. Reading your mind.
You avert your gaze, reaching to pour a glass of water.
A few quiet minutes pass while the table studies the menu. You’re still looking around, taking in your surroundings. The more you look, the more you notice. Velvet drapes framing tall Palladian windows. A man nervously checking his blazer pocket while his girlfriend’s at the bathroom. Joel’s legs give yours a wiggle and you’re drawn away from the pocket square and slicked-back hair.
He smiles affectionately. Asks in his eyes if you’re okay. Your shoulders meet your jaw with the inhale you take, and then you nod. Imperceptible. Some dumb smile across your lips that mirrors his. Like you really are on your own or something. It’s stupid.
“Reckon I’ll have the steak,” your dad says.
Joel hums in agreement, nodding.
Sarah orders a Caesar salad and you decide on the fettuccine Alfredo. The nodding waiter snaps his little black book shut and collects your menus, before disappearing again. Conversation flows across the table naturally: your dad’s big client, Joel’s working week, Sarah’s sophomore year. Of course, the Rangers are mentioned once or twice.
Your wrist is shaking your glass, watching as the water swirls around inside. The thought turns over much the same in your head. A question for Joel. When your food arrives and the chatter lulls, you brave up enough to ask it.
“You think I’m…brighter…here?”
He smiles, a little confused. “Brighter?”
“Aw, kiddo.” Your dad shakes his head, knife tearing into his steak. “I knew you’d take that to heart.”
Joel’s still looking at you. Concerned.
Sarah elbows you. “What’s that mean?”
Your dad sighs. “Bill told ‘er on Sunday she used to be miserable whenever she came home. Said that this time ‘round she looks…”
“…brighter.” You lift your hands to form air quotes around the word, pasta wrapped around the fork between your fingers.
Joel’s expression relaxes, his smile grows. “’cause of anything in particular, or…?”
You instantly regret bringing it up. He’s a dick. Has to ruin every sweet moment with a smug smirk and testosterone-induced impulses, doesn’t he?
You mock smile back and shake your head.
“Y’know what I think it is?” your dad says, and Joel finally turns to him. He nods at you and Sarah. “The pair of ‘em. Back home like old times. How long has it been since the four of us were out doin’ stuff together?”
You and Sarah exchange a sideways glance.
“I’m serious!” he says, waving his hands. Cutlery almost flying out of his grip. “It’s nice. Joel, back me up.”
Joel’s sat back in his chair, midway through cutting his steak, watching this show unfold. He clears his throat and offers, “Yeah. Real nice.”
Your dad looks defeated. He retires from the conversation, focusing on the meal in front of him.
“What are you guys gonna do all weekend without us?” Sarah asks, shoving a forkful of salad in her mouth.
“I, uh…keep forgetting y’all are goin’ away,” you lie, staring down at your pasta.
Joel clears his throat again. “This guy at work was showin’ me these videos of folks playin’ chess – did you know there are these…leagues, for chess? Professional leagues ‘n competitions. They win money, good money, for playin’ chess.”
Sarah, like everybody at the table, is quiet for a few seconds. “Is…is this your way of sayin’ y’all are gonna…play chess?”
You’re staring at Joel, amused and yet a tad embarrassed. The dude you’re sleeping with just went on a ramble about chess.
You twirl your fork in your hand before taking another bite. “I’ve never played chess. Maybe you’ll have to play it alone.”
Joel narrows his eyes. “Don’t think you can,” he says, gritting his teeth, “it’s a two-player game.”
“Nah,” Sarah chimes in. “A guy in my Physiology class plays against himself to practice. He’s pretty good, I think.”
Your head nods toward her, eyebrows raised at Joel. He’s grimacing back.
“He always goes on about speed, says it’s all about playin’ fast so your opponent ain’t got time to think. Quick hands, he says.”
Your brows arch, lips petted. Poor Joel. “Aw. Looks like you’ll be playin’ with yourself.”
His brows angle and you notice a twisted smile on his lips. Pissed – sort of aroused, but pissed. You lift your legs from between his. He holds onto your ankles with his own for a second, forcing you to stare at him, before he frees you. You tuck your legs under your chair.
Just then, Sarah’s phone vibrates on the wooden table.
“Oh, shoot, two seconds. Hello?” She screws her face up. “Are you kidding me? No way. No, I don’t– You– Kels, can I call you back in, like, an hour or something? I’ll call you back, I’m just at dinner with my dad and my…No, I’ll literally be, like– Alright. Lemme call you back. Okay.”
She hangs up and swivels in her seat to you.
“You know Kels? Kelly Ramirez?”
You draw a blank. Push your bottom lip out. “Should I know a Kelly Ramirez?”
“She played soccer with me in high school? Remember, that game you came to,” Sarah leans in, knocking your arm with the back of her hand as if giving your memory a swift kick, “she played in goal to fill in for Stephanie, and broke her ankle tryna save Amber Murphy’s shot? Passed out from the pain?”
Nothing. You shake your head.
She huffs. “Coach Lee had to drive her to the emergency room and it’s all she went on about for weeks.”
“Oh!” The penny drops. “That was her? Didn’t she carve his initials into the girls’ room stalls?”
Your dad and Joel exchange a bewildered and, quite frankly, weary glance. Sarah shuts her eyes and nods, ashamed.
“That’s her.”
“Wow. I wonder if he knew how bad her crush was…” you muse, choking back a laugh when Sarah gives you a dead-eyed stare.
“He would have,” Joel says flatly, and you both shoot him a look. “Girls ain’t good at hidin’ that sorta stuff.”
“Oh, like you’ve ever had anyone have a crush on you.” Sarah bats her hand at him and then her fingers lock around your wrist. “Anyway…”
You can see Joel’s grin from your peripheral. He gives your sneaker a tap with his boot under the table, and you feel your cheeks start to heat. You move your leg.
“…she’s just caught her boyfriend cheatin’.”
“Who has?”
Sarah huffs. “Kelly Ramirez! For cryin’ out loud, are– are you even listenin’ to me?”
“I was caught up in the Coach Lee stuff. Right. No, I’m with you now. Is she okay?”
“She suspected it for weeks. He kept cancelling plans last minute, kept coming up with dumb excuses. We were all tryna tell her, just ask ‘im. Ask him or find out for yourself. So, she did. Checked his phone and found all these messages between him ‘n some girl from college.”
“How’d she hack into his phone?” your dad asks.
Joel, head now resting against his fingers, draws him a look: Really?
“She didn’t,” Sarah tells him. “She knows his passcode. Used it to get in, I guess.”
Your dad nods, taking note, eyes narrowing. He looks over to Joel, then you. These kids and their technology, you imagine him thinking. But he’s staring a fraction too long. You shift in your seat. Give him a comical shrug – Don’t ask me – and he eventually looks away.
The rest of dinner passes smoothly – Sarah picking up her phone, rattling a message into it with her thumbs, and then dropping it back down onto the table. Your dad, battling his steak, asking Joel what he thinks of the Rangers’ chances against the Astros tonight, and Joel…well, Joel not taking his attention off of you for one second.
He’s answering your dad, saying all the right things at the right times, but anytime his eyes lift off of his plate, they land on you. Your arm, draped on the tablecloth. Your hand, moving pasta around your dish with your fork. Your eyes, flitting between the view outside to that inside.
You can see him the entire time. Watching you. You’re not fucking blind. If Sarah didn’t have Kelly Ramirez spamming her phone with cheating boyfriend updates, she’d probably be commenting on it. Did she grow a second head, or somethin’? she’d quip.
But you never look back. Not once. Just let him observe you, let him wait for a glance or a kick of the foot that never comes.
You’re leant back in your chair, arms crossed over your chest, when the waiter clears your table. Watching some couple wander off down the riverside path. She’s wearing a white sundress that dances around her calves with each slow step she takes. He’s in a plain black tee, tan arm around her back. Looking around at the view, taking it all in.
Then she turns on her heel to him. He lifts a hand to move her long, dark braids from her face, drops it to cup her jaw. Pulls her in to him, presses his lips to hers. Her hands are linked at his spine. Like they’re the only two people in the world.
There’s a feeling in the depths of your chest. A throb. Uncomfortable. Maybe even painful. You shift in your seat to move it, but it doesn’t budge. Your gaze falls, travelling along the window frame, onto the white cloth and to Joel’s elbow. Up his arm, across his shoulder.
You reach his jaw and look away. He’s watching everything.
“Alright,” your dad’s hands slap down on his thighs, “we good to go?”
“You go on,” Joel tells him. “I’ll get the bill.”
“Absolutely not, bud,” your dad protests. You and Sarah both lean back in your chairs at the same time. May as well get comfortable, we could be here a while.
“I got it,” Joel says, almost annoyed, getting up to stand. Your dad follows suit. Joel holds a hand out. “I’m sure you’ll repay me somehow. Hey, I got that job in a couple weeks I said I might need you for. Help me out and we’re even.”
Your dad’s hands are on his hips. “I ain’t happy about this, Joel.”
“Stick,” Joel mutters. “I’m sure I’ve done worse that you’ve forgiven me for.”
His eyes finally find yours and your cheeks flush. He covers it by gesturing to you to stand up with a snap of his head.
Why was that hot? Is it…weird…? That that was hot? All he did was nod his head.
You stand – Sarah copies you, sliding her chair under the table. Joel pushes yours in for you. His hand’s on your back again, fingers drawing circles. The four of you are walking toward the exit. Your dad’s still murmuring about owing money.
“Hey,” Sarah calls, pointing, “this place has an outdoor bar. Let’s go check it out.”
Your head’s beginning to dizzy. Why is your head dizzying?
Stick.
The way he pointed, flicked his head toward the door. Knowing you’d just fucking obey him. And you did.
Yep. That was hot. Hot enough that it restarts something in you; something deep down begins to wind. An idea sweeps across your mind.
Sunlight bursts through the French doors up ahead, golden rays flooding in through the glass panes. Joel stoops his head as he wanders through, dodging ivy draped around the doorway. On the other side, drowned in daylight, a paved courtyard.
There are tables and chairs dotted around. Benches in front of flowerbeds. More random statues – a cherub, a rearing horse. Wooden planters with vines growing toward the sky. Another slightly smaller fountain in the middle.
This…is fucking insane. Last night for dinner you ate leftover Chinese food ‘cause your dad was working late. Tonight, you’re strolling through a five-star hotel garden after the best fettucine of your life.
Ahead of you and Joel, your dad nudges Sarah and comically offers her his arm, elbow outstretched. She nods graciously and links her arm in his, and they saunter off, chins up, dumb grins across their faces.
Joel scoffs. Your lips tug a little, chest still tight. Body still tense. And he senses it.
“What?”
You shake your head. “Nothin’. Just…taking in the view.”
“’s nice, ain’t it?”
“Mhm,” you admit. “Word on the street is it was all your idea.”
“Wanted somewhere nice for you. For both of you. Didn’t know it would be this nice, but…it’s what you deserve.”
Your eyelashes flutter, blinking rapidly to conceal the look in your eye. The look that says…something dangerous. You betray the thoughts circling around your head and press your lips together in a tight smile. “Thanks,” is all you can muster the strength to say.
Joel looks forward; your dad and Sarah are strides ahead, still gawking at the garden, chatting, snapping photos.
“It improve your mood any?”
“I already told you, I ain’t in a mood.”
“That why you couldn’t look at me at dinner?”
It stops you in your tracks. You glare at him. Almost about to punch him out of frustration, right before you catch yourself and your expression softens.
“Did you want me to look at you?” you coo, leaning in a little. Your hands rest on his forearms.
Joel tenses. Opens his mouth to say something, then thinks better of it. But you want him to fucking say it. So, you push further.
“What we were doin’ under the table wasn’t enough? Poor baby. Guess you just wanted more of my attention, huh?”
His expression doesn’t change. Lips barely move when he utters, “Thin ice, kid.”
You shrug. “I’m not the one begging you to look at me.”
He swallows. His eyes are staring you down, huge, glowing warm in the evening sunlight. There’s so much energy thrumming around your body that you feel almost faint, like your knees could give. Just swoon, fall into his arms.
“I’m bored,” you back up, turning back to the hotel, “going to the bathroom.”
You’re gone before he can react. Taking off for the doors, stumbling out of the sun and into the cool restaurant, catching your breath when you’re safely in the shade.
You approach the bar – a deep, shiny mahogany, wine glasses hanging from above, glistening footrail at the bottom. Intricately carved, varnished and smooth. Bottles of spirits and ales and wines decorate the back wall, lined up on shelves against a glimmering mirror.
Two girls in black polo shirts stand, elbows leaning against the back shelf.
“I served a duck the other night,” one of them says to the other. She has short brown hair, freckles painted across her nose. A tattoo down her right arm. She twirls a pen between her fingers as she speaks.
“A duck?” The second girl screws her face up.
“Yep. When I gave him the check, he told me to put it on his bill.”
The second girl snorts. “Shut the fuck up.”
“Hey, excuse me?” you call over, and the girl with the tattoo steps forward, still laughing. “Where are the restrooms?”
“Upstairs,” she nods to the doors by your side, “they’re on the right.”
You nod in thanks and she twirls the pen again, resuming position.
The bathroom is freezing cold when you burst into it, almost panting, and stumble across to the sink. Your palms plant firmly on the marble countertop, head falling limp between your shoulders. When you look up to catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror, a laugh passes your lips.
You look…flustered. Bothered. You’re not sure if Joel noticed it. You were too busy trying to conceal it to gauge whether he’d caught on.
What the fuck is he doing to you? More importantly, how is he doing it to you? Can you seriously not go a couple days without him? Need, want, desire. Everything he causes, only he can fix.
But then, he never can fucking fix it. There’s always something or someone in the way. And you swear Joel gets off on it – watching you need him, miss him, pine for him, and knowing he won’t be able to relieve it.
Staring at yourself, you start to feel that energy charging up again. Heat pooling between your legs, blood drumming through your veins. What the fuck is he doing to me? Nothing, he’s not doin’ nothing.
Nothing I can’t do right back to him.
You push yourself off of the sink and shoot one last glance in the mirror, giving your reflection an affirming nod before striding over to the door. It swings shut behind you as you pace down the hall, feeling a lot more steel and a lot less sweet.
As you round the corner to head downstairs, a familiar shadow stalks up the last two steps and bursts into the hallway. Without a word, his arm hooks around yours and he drags you back the way you came.
“Joel– What the fuck are you doin’–?”
He passes by the restrooms and onto a plush red carpet. In a blur, he flings open the first door in sight and throws you inside, ignoring your gasps.
He slams the door shut, whipping you around to shove you against it. From over his shoulder, you notice your surroundings. A bed over by the window, pristine white sheets tucked perfectly under the mattress. Nightstands spotless, desk against the wall topped with a tray holding a bottle of wine and a tiny card that reads Welcome to the Hillcrest.
You’re in one of the hotel’s rooms. One of the hotel’s empty rooms.
Of course it’s empty. It’s like he fucking planned it.
“Alright. A hotel room. Did you book it, at least?”
“Naw,” his eyes scan you up and down, “I didn’t fuckin’ book it.”
“So…what are we doing in here?”
Joel’s pressing against you, forcing you up against the wooden door. Caging you against it with the weight of his body. Clearly, in the time you spent giving yourself a pep talk in the bathroom mirror, Joel was doing the exact same downstairs. The fucker.
“Said you were bored. ‘n that’s a real shame, given I just took you to dinner. Ain’t no pleasin’ you, is there?”
Your head rolls back against the door with a laugh. “That really got to you? So, what, now you’re gonna fuck me? Wine, dine, ‘n…yeah?”
Joel’s lips are tight, eyes staring you down. He’s seething. He’s turned on, and he’s seething. Exactly where you want him.
“You get sluttier every fuckin’ day, you know that?”
You nod, teeth taking your bottom lip. “You like it, though, huh?”
Joel doesn’t reply. You lean in closer to him.
“You like me bein’ a little slut,” you whisper, running a hand softly over his hard jeans, “just for you, don’t you?”
His voice lowers in response. “Not when I can’t do nothin’ about it.”
You pull back, cocking an eyebrow. Angle your head. “You’re the one who pulled me in here. It’s an empty hotel room, man. Do whatever the fuck you want.”
He glowers at you. His face rigid, one hand still locked around yours, almost assisting you in palming himself; the other above your head, flat against the door.
His head dips. Jaw lines with yours, breath against your ear.
“Whatever the fuck I want?”
“Mhm.” You nod, maybe a little too eagerly. Not that either of you care. Then you pause. “Oh! Wait.”
Joel lifts his head, narrowing his eyes. Looks like you just cut in front of some spiel he had planned.
Your cheeks swell. “Do you have a bottle?”
“A bottle?”
“Beer bottle. You need me to go grab one? What if they don’t have beer? It’s kind of a fancy place. Would wine work? Or is it only beer that gets you goin’–”
“Alright. Enough. Fuckin’ – brat.”
You cock your head, tongue in your cheek, pushing around the shape of your mouth. Keep going.
You spurt out a laugh. “I’m a brat?”
“Yep. Never do as you’re fuckin’ told.”
You lean in close, lips brushing off of his, so close you can taste him. Feel how tense his jaw is. Your voice is low, barely above a whisper.
“Then…make me.”
Joel’s still staring you down, watching you like a predator watches its prey. His eyes are so dark you can’t read the thoughts behind them, but the way his grip tightens on your wrist, so rough it feels like he’s fucking bruising you, the way he yanks you off of the door, tells you exactly what he’s thinking.
“I ain’t got time for this,” he hisses, pulling you over to the bed.
You stagger behind him, still snickering. Joel sinks down into the mattress, thighs apart, pulling you to stand between them. You look him up and down once, smirking, his hands still roughly gripping yours. Then –
In one fluid movement, you’re over his knee. Thighs digging into your stomach, face hovering over the soft carpet. Your hands grip his calf to hold onto something – anything – as he pulls the hem of your dress up so roughly, you’re sure he’s ripped it.
“You want to act like a brat?” he asks, and you smile, feeling his hand run from the back of your knee up your thigh, coming to rest on your ass. “Get treated like one.”
The first time his huge palm slaps against your skin, your mind blanks. The sharp sting, Joel’s grunt as his hand comes down on you. The way your body jerks, and the whine you let slip as it does. The throb when he lifts his hand, the cold air hissing against your heated skin.
He’s fucking – he’s…He has you in an empty hotel room, door unlocked, entire lobby of people downstairs. Over his knee, skirt hiked to your waist, spanking you. Hard.
And then you realize. You fucking like this.
“Joel…” you moan, catching your breath when it comes back.
Another sharp sting.
“Yeah, baby? You want me to stop? You gonna stop bein’ a little brat?”
Your eyes roll to the back of your head, filthy grin on your lips.
“F-fuck no.”
He slaps you again. You whimper, wrapping your arms around his leg.
“Didn’t fuckin’ think so. Can feel how wet you are for me.”
He curls a finger around the hem of your panties and drags them down your thighs, letting them drop off of your legs and to the floor while his fingers return between your legs, running up and down your slit. You whine.
“Such a pretty little mouth, huh? You were runnin’ it just a second ago. Where’d all your big talk go?”
You open your mouth to reply, barely even make a sound, and his palm smacks against your ass again. He’s not done.
“Always got somethin’ to say, don’t you?” he grunts, hand coming down on you again. “You remember that day I ran you home?”
You whimper in response – yeah, I remember.
“You ‘n me alone, you being a little fucking tease. Wanted to fuck you so badly, baby. Those tight little shorts you were in…fuck…”
“Why…didn’t…you…?” you whine, muffled into the denim of his jeans. “Would’ve…fuck…let you.”
“Yeah? You wanted me to, darlin’?”
“Wanted…you,” slap, “in the kitchen.”
You gasp when Joel’s grip becomes tighter around your waist, holding you still as his hand sears against your ass. Rougher. Harder. It turns you on more.
“Wanted you in my mouth.”
You swear his breath catches. Swear you can feel his hand hovering over you, almost ready to spank you again, but he pauses.
“That right, baby? In your mouth?”
You nod, unsure if he can even see you. And then you feel him bend, feel his fist in your hair, lifting your head until his lips are curled around the shell of your ear.
“You wanna show me what you woulda done?” he whispers, breath hot.
Your body’s still shaking, throbbing; you’re a sobbing mess, but still, you utter: “Yeah.”
Joel pulls you all the way off his lap then, widening his legs for you to sit between them.
“Gotta be quick, babygirl,” he tells you, pushing you by the shoulders down onto the carpet.
Your knees part to lower yourself closer to his crotch, fingers shakily fumbling with his zipper. Joel helps you, shifting his jeans until his cock springs free. He’s as hard as if you’d been playing with him this entire time, so hard you almost begin to drool at the sight of him.
He sighs shakily, hand leaning behind on the mattress to steady himself. “You’re gonna sit there like a good girl and make me cum, alright?”
You nod, eyes blown black with lust.
He grips the back of your head with one hand and guides his cock to your mouth with the other. You take his thick length in both hands, allowing a trail of spit to fall from your lips and cover his swollen tip, running down his shaft only to be collected and dragged back up by your fingers.
“Good girl,” Joel whispers, watching you. “Doin’ what I tell you, huh?”
A few strokes and his cock’s soaked. When his head lines up with your bottom lip and you open up wide, he pushes into your mouth, filling you up without stopping to let you catch your breath. You gag when he hits the back of your throat, and Joel groans.
“Know you can take it, baby, you’ve done it before. That’s my girl.”
You whimper in response, mouth full of his cock.
“Keep makin’ those pretty noises, whole hotel’s gonna be wonderin’ what’s goin’ on up here.”
He allows you a second to pull off of him, gasping for air when your mouth’s free again.
“Want ‘em to hear,” you choke out, lips slipping back down his cock.
“Yeah?” he bucks his hips up into your mouth. “You want ‘em to know? Why don’t I just take you downstairs right now, fuck you in front of everybody, huh? You like that?”
You whine, gasp something that sounds like a yes around his warm skin.
“Thought you would, fuckin’ dirty girl. Want everyone to see just how good you take me, hm? How fuckin’ wet you get for me?”
Your fingers reach for his balls, kneading them softly in your hands. Joel’s head tips back and he lets out a guttural groan.
“Look at you,” he purrs, “soakin’ wet all over the floor, lettin’ me fuck that pretty little mouth. Needed it bad, didn’t you?”
You follow the words he’s saying with your eyes, never taking your doe-eyed gaze off of him. He’s all you can see; the surrounding world blurred by lust and sex and by Joel.
“Been thinkin’ about this all fuckin’ day,” he mutters.
You pull yourself off of him, disobeying his tight grip at the back of your head.
“Yeah?” you breathe, giving in to him. “Been thinkin’ about you, too.”
Joel almost looks surprised, like he wasn’t expecting that to come out of your mouth. He’s never expecting any of what you say to come out of your mouth, is he?
Hell, you don’t expect half of what comes out of your fucking mouth these days.
You sink back down on him, eyes screwing shut with the feeling of him filling you up to the very bottom of your throat.
“So slutty, baby. You like that? Yeah?”
He’s speaking so soft but being so fucking rough, pushing you down onto his dick and then hauling you back off with a fistful of hair. His hips snap against your mouth and your hands leave his body to balance yourself on his thighs, stabilizing yourself with fingers through his loose belt loops.
You’re gagging on him, choking every time his salty head brushes against your throat, but Joel doesn’t stop. Each whimper, each muffled cry from you only pushes him closer, sends his head back in a wave of euphoria at the sight of you taking his cock in your mouth so good, the sounds of you choking on the size of him.
Your chin is soaked, dripping with spit and precum. Your cheeks dappled with tears. He doesn’t let up. You don’t fucking want him to. Your knees are slipping further apart, your cunt wetter than ever, dripping all over the plush carpet of the classiest hotel you’ve ever been in.
It’s fucking filthy, and you love every second of it.
Your lids grow heavy and you stare up at him, doused in rays from the window behind, blissed out on his body, him blissed out on yours, and you know he’s about to cum. His brows arch, his jaw falls slack. He’s focusing only on the feeling of your swollen lips around him, your throat contracting with each thrust of his hips.
He jerks, grunts out a, “Throat?”
“Uhuh,” you choke back, hands clamping around his thighs when he leans back.
One more jolt and he releases rope after rope of warm cum down you, painting the back of your throat and filling up your mouth. That all-too-familiar taste of Joel trickles all over your tongue.
He’s whispering, “Fuck, fuck, darlin’, fuck…” over and over, chanting your name, breathing curses and praises between.
When he stills and you feel him relax, your hands fall limp on your lap. You don’t move, not until Joel’s eyes flutter open and he slides his soft cock out of your mouth.
Your head rolls onto his thigh, eyes wide and soft as you gaze up at him. Equal parts enamored and painfully aroused.
“Don’t look at me like that,” he tells you. “Brats don’t get to fucking cum.”
There are words coming to your mind that you wouldn’t dare call him when he’s in this mood. Words you wouldn’t call him any other time, either, if it weren’t for the agonizing ache between your legs. This – fucking – guy.
You want to sob. Want to wrap yourself around his legs as he stands and beg him to throw you down on the bed, part your legs, use whatever the fuck he wants just to let you cum. Just to give you some release.
It’s pathetic. You’re pathetic. Dumb for this man.
He sits forward and tucks his limp cock back into his boxers, redoes his jeans. Then he leans down, scoops up your soaked panties and scrunches them in his fist. He slips them into his jeans pocket and, with a heaving sigh, pushes himself up from the bed.
You’re still squatted, knees apart, on the carpet. Arousal probably streaming out of you. Joel only lowers his hand and you take it, letting him pull you up to height. You still don’t believe he’s gonna let you walk out of here undealt with.
Until he wanders off toward the door, and there’s nothing left for you to do but follow.
Each step hurts, your thighs grazing against each other. Your naked cunt throbbing with every tiny movement.
Joel pauses at the door, turns the handle slowly, quietly, opening it just enough to poke his head and shoulders out, before beckoning you forward with a wave of his hand.
He blindly takes your wrist and leads you out of the room in a daze, letting the door close over as you both head back the way you came toward the staircase.
Under spotless chandeliers, past romantic paintings. Along the same plush carpet he’d shoved you along less than twenty minutes ago. Down the stairs, emerging at the bar, pair of you scanning the restaurant for your dad and Sarah. No sign of them.
“C’mon,” he nudges you, “still gotta get that bill.”
You stand by Joel’s side at the bar, catching a glimpse of the pair of you in the mirror opposite. Elbows touching, palms inches apart on the polished surface. Your heart swells to the point of almost hurting at the sight. The cover is back up, you’re back on planet earth; you’re nothing but a pair of acquaintances, friends at best.
Just a guy and his best bud’s daughter.
Joel’s tapping his credit card against the wood.
“What’s up?” you ask him.
“Hm?” he replies, eyes finding you, head still facing forward. Almost bracing for your dad’s appearance at any given moment.
“You’re being weird.”
“Ain’t being weird.”
“Still not gonna let me cum?”
He’s almost startled. You asked it quiet enough that nobody would’ve heard, if there were even anybody around you, but still. It feels like dangerous territory talking about it this out in the open.
“Nope,” he replies, chewing on the inside of his cheek.
“You know I’m gonna do it myself the second I get home, right?”
He shrugs. “You gonna call me?”
“Facetime you, if you want.”
His body goes rock solid. You knock into it, smirking. Before he can muster up a reply, the girl with the tattoo shows back up, smiling at Joel. He tells her the table number and she slides him the bill.
“How much is it?” you ask him.
He turns to look at you. “You won’t be findin’ out.”
You mock offense. A small part of you isn’t kidding. “’n why’s that?”
Joel ignores you. You twist over his arm to get a look and he bats you away, holding you at bay with his elbow while he places his card over the total amount and slides it back across the bar.
You admit defeat, though it kills you a little inside.
Joel does his little head nod again and you follow him to the exit. You walk out of the restaurant together, your chin as high as your shame will allow it, Joel’s parallel to his chest. Your dad’s stood against the truck deep in conversation with Sarah. Or, rather, Sarah’s deep in conversation at your dad.
“…so, she thought he was just textin’ his boys, but here she goes onto his Instagram messages, and it’s all these hearts, all these messages sayin’…”
“Where did you two get to?”
Joel opens the door for you silently, and you breathe a slightly awkward Thanks before climbing in.
Once he’s back in the front seat alongside your dad, he replies. “Charged me twice. Problem with the card reader.”
“I hope they apologized,” your dad says with a concerned tone. “Hope they ain’t tryin’ anythin’.”
“Nah,” Joel bats it away – unconvincingly. Or is that just because you know he just…you know.
Sarah’s still yapping – Kelly’s heartbroken, doesn’t know how she’s gonna go on. She – Sarah – is furious with Kelly’s boyfriend – ex-boyfriend? – his name is…Mike? Mick? Something beginning with M…Your ears are screaming.
“Happened to me once at a gas station. Charged twice for one tank a’ gas. I went back the next day ‘n asked the girl, she said she didn’t remember me. I showed her the bank statement, said, Why the hell would I need two tanks of gas for one vehicle? She had to call her manager. It was…insanity, Joel. You be careful.”
Joel’s pretending to listen, murmuring Right and Uhuh when appropriate, but he aims every second glance at you from the rearview mirror. You tug your skirt as far down your thighs as it’ll go, feeling exposed and guilty and ashamed and yet so fucking good all in one.
You can still taste him on your tongue. Your throat feels raw, your jaw sore. He knows it, from the looks he’s giving you in the mirror. It’s satisfaction, mixed with longing, mixed with guilt. Your underwear is in his front pocket. Your thighs clamp shut, feeling yourself seeping all over his backseat. One big, chaotic mess.
The car falls into silence, Sarah’s thumbs typing rapidly, Joel’s elbow propped against the window, cheek leaning on his knuckles. You lean your own head against the window, the engine drumming into your skull, the cold of the glass relieving your scorching skin. Your dad starts quietly singing again, and you wish you had the energy to put on a convincing voice to tell him to shut up.
“Maybe tomorrow a bullet may find me, tonight, nothing’s worse than this pain in my heart.”
----------
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#joel miller#joel miller fic#joel miller x reader#the last of us#tlou#tlou fic#dbf!joel miller#dbf!joel#joel miller smut#joel miller fanfiction#joel miller x you#joel miller fluff#fic: cowboy like me
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“What’s wrong with him?” Robin asked, the second she was in the car because the glare from the backseat burned.
Steve, who had become accustomed to the way Dustin was trying to set him on fire with eyes burning into the back of his head said, “He walked in on me and Eddie - ”
“He what?!”
“ - making breakfast,” Steve finished, ignoring Robin’s shrieked interruption.
“He what?” Her question was in a much more level (and confused) tone this time, as she twisted in her seat, first to look at Steve and then into the backseat where Dustin had his arms crossed and was glaring at Steve as though he’d done something world-ending and not just been in his kitchen making eggs.
“It’s not about the breakfast!” Dustin snapped from the backseat. “It’s what the breakfast implied!”
Robin looked to Steve, eyebrows raised but Steve looked just as confused as she felt. Steve made breakfast all the time, he made breakfast for her all the time. Well, when she could get away with staying at his place without her parents making a thing of it. Hell, she knew he’d made Dustin breakfast before, made Max and Lucas and Erica breakfast before. There was nothing weird about Steve making breakfast, they’d all crashed at his house before.
“How does breakfast imply anything?” She mused.
“It’s not about the breakfast!” Dustin screeched.
“Henderson,” Steve snapped, annoyed that he was yelling at Robin now too.
“You told me you were busy last night because you had a date,” Dustin snapped.
“I did have a date,” Steve confirmed.
“With Eddie!” Dustin shrieked.
“What?!” Now it was Robin’s turn to shriek - the betrayal! How could Steve go on a date with Eddie and not tell her? “You had a date with Eddie?”
“No!” Steve yelled. Then, more calmly, because he wasn’t sure why they were all yelling - or why Robin would believe he’d go on a date with Eddie in the first place, “I did not go on a date with Eddie, he came over after.”
“Oh.” Dustin deflated. “Sorry.” Then under his breath he muttered, “Thank god.”
And now Robin was glaring at Dustin, “What’s that supposed to mean?” She shot him a sharp look. “Dustin Henderson, are you being homophobic?”
“What?” Dustin sounded confused. “No.”
“So you just have a problem with Steve dating men?”
“What? Steve doesn’t even like men!” Dustin complained.
“You don’t know that,” Robbin snapped, just - apparently - to be contrary because Dustin did know that and so did Robin but she’d been thrown by Dustin’s horror at the very idea that Steve had gone on a date with Eddie.
(Steve was getting a headache.)
“Steve does not like men,” Steve informed them both.
“Ew, he just talked about himself in third person.”
“Steve does like a man,” he carried on as though he hadn’t been interrupted - again.
“What?!”
Steve shrugged. “Have you met Eddie?”
“What?!”
“I mean, Dustin wasn’t exactly wrong?”
“WHAT?!”
#july writing challenge#stranger things#steve harrington#robin buckley#dustin henderson#implied steddie#steve x eddie#coming out
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May I get mark sloan x reader please? Like reader has been on call for like three days straight and is super exhausted. And while charting, reader falls asleep standing up and Mark props them up and takes them to an on call room and makes sure they get some rest ? Thank you so much !
Exhaustion, Mark Sloan x reader
Summary: An exhausted reader collapsed and her boyfriend comes to her rescue...then it all makes sense
Warnings: Fluff, Exhaustion, overworking, throwing up
Note: I tweaked it a bit @theichabbieclub but I hope you still like it! I'm just getting back into this.
"You look like crap," commented Alex as we walked down the hallway.
"Oh thanks. I feel like it too," you admitted, "I've been working a double because we're short staffed on the peds floor as you know. So I've been bouncing around non-stop. I'm exhausted."
"And crabby. Clearly you haven't been able to screw your secret boyfriend too."
"Shut it Karev!" you growled, slapping him in the arm, "I am never going to tell you who it is if you keep making comments like that."
"Fine," he grumbled, "I've gotta get to the Nic-U. What have they got you covering today?"
"I've got a marathon surgery with Robbins, Shepherd, and Sloan on a 6 year old girl with a facial tumor."
"Damn that's rad. Good luck."
"Thanks."
You went into the surgery with a clear head, ready to save this little girl's life. We began and about two hours into it, Mark showed up to help work on the facial reconstruction and repair. His portion of the surgery took about three to four hours.
"Alright...I'm done here. She's all yours to finish up with."
"Take my tool," you whispered to Avery, suddenly not feeling well.
"Why?"
"Just do it!"
He took it and then immediately everything went black.
3rd POV
"Dr. (Y/L/N)!" yelled Robbins as her resident's body hit the floor.
"That's why she handed me her tool," Jackson realized.
"Can someone please check on them please?" asked Arizona as she continued working.
"I got it!" Mark announced before rushing over to her side.
Their relationship was still a secret, so he tried his best to hide his romantic concern in the moment. He scooped her up as carried her out of the OR to an empty gurney. He took her to a private room and began examining her.
--------
You woke up to a flashlight shining in your eyes and a hand on your forehead. As the darkness disappeared, you saw that the flashlight belonged to Mark. You groaned as your head pulsed with pain.
"What happened?" you asked as he sat down on the edge of the bed.
"You might want to tell me... You passed out in the OR. I hooked you up to an IV because from the looks of it you're severely dehydrated."
"Mark I-" you were interrupted by a horrible feeling in your gut.
You jerked up, reaching for the bucket before puking. When you were done emptying you stomach, you collapsed back on the bed. You suddenly felt sweaty with hair plastered against your forehead.
"Dr. Sloan, I may know what's wrong?" Karev jogged in, out of breath, "I heard the news about (Y/F/N). Three of the peds kids just came down with the flu. All three kids were your patients that you've been dealing with during this double shift. And with you being so overworked, your immune system was weaker, so combined with the dehydration, you got sick."
"Well shit."
"Looks like I have my diagnoses," Mark replied, and you just glared at him.
"I hate you right now."
"I know."
"Wait a minute?" Karev questioned, stepping in the room and shutting the door, "Sloan's your secret boyfriend?!"
"You tell anybody, I will kill you. You understand me Alex? I will make sure every girl in this hospital knows what a man whore you are and you will never get laid again. Got it?"
"Yeah yeah, calm your panties. I'll let Bailey know you're so sick with the flu that you can't drive and that I asked Dr. Sloan to take care of you since he's already been exposed. Okay?"
"Thank you Alex."
"Yeah whatever."
***
You laid on the couch with Mark, all cuddled up in sweats and his shirt. While you were hot to the touch, you yourself were feeling cold. Your body ached and your head was still throbbing. You rested your head in his lap while he played with your hair soothingly.
"How are you feeling babe?" he asked, looking down at you.
"Like shit," you admitted, making him chuckle.
"Well you still look cute if that makes you feel any better."
"A little."
"Mark please. You shouldn't see me like this. We've only been together for three months."
"(Y/F/N), we slept together before we started dating and on the first date we talked about our deep dark issues. I think it's okay if I see you with the flu. Now let me please be there for you."
"Fair point."
Anytime you felt you were going to be sick, he was there, holding your hair back and assuring you soothingly. Anything he could do to help you, he wanted to.
Mark held your hair back as another round came up. God this was hell. Physical and emotional hell. When he walked out to go grab something, you laid down on the cool tile. He came back in with a water bottle and some crackers along with a smile.
"What? The tile is nice and cold."
He helped pull you up so you were sitting up against the cabinets, "You know you need to drink to re-hydrate. And these crackers might help."
Your hair was a mess as he brushed it out and sat beside you. He rubbed your back lovingly until your eyes felt heavy and all you wanted to do was sleep.
"Alright. Lets get you to bed," he spoke, sweeping you into his arms.
He placed you into bed and disappeared before coming back with a fresh garbage can. After placing it beside the bed, he climbed in next to you.
"Mark, you don't have to stay with me. You could get sick and-"
"I'm not leaving unless you need me to get something."
"What about work?"
"I'll call in. You're more important."
A smile crossed your face as you rolled over, resting your head on his chest. His arm snaked around you, one around your waist and the other stroked your hair. Finally, you were feeling a little bit better.
"Try to sleep. I'll still be here."
"Thank you," you mumbled sleepily, "I love you."
"I love you too."
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Getting in trouble
Summary: you expect your day to go peacefully with your crew arriving to a new village until some boy with a straw hat messes your day.
Pairing: Monkey d. Luffy x reader
Warning: robbing a bank?
Masterlist
The sun was shinning and the ocean was calm, thats how you started the day, optimist and peacefully... right now, you are running from the marines with a strange boy with a strawhat.
"Ahhhh, this is really fun, you should join my crew."
"What?! How can you be talking about that right now?! And beside i have my own crew."
His gum arm traps you and lifts you two in the air thru the buildings. You took that oportunity to start to shoot some of the marines, not deadly, of course. He got to the top of the bell tower of the village and finally put you down.
"I don't like being carried, less when it's like that."
"What did you mean when you said you had your crew?"
"I am a captain, i am (y/n), i have the same bounty as Boa Hancock, but because i don't look as pretty as her many people doesn't know me."
"You are more pretty than Boa," His face was absolutely clueless and that comment made you blush.
"Th-thanks, you are pretty handsome too,"
"Thanks, but i am not going to forgive you," you didn't understabd what he was talking about, "i wanted you on my crew... But i am a captain too and i know that a bond with your crew is unbreakable."
He sat on the ground making a sad face like a little child who cant have a candy, it's cute. You went to sit next to him.
"Today i thought It would be a normal day, enjoying the new village my ship arrived to, buying new things, eating food... and instead i ended up involved on a fight with the marines thanks to your appetite and your lack of money," he let out a little laugh at your tale of the day, "at least tell me your name."
"Oh, right, i'm Mugiwara Luffy, the next pirate king."
"Ooohhh, you are that Mugiwara, that's awesome, but i must say that i am going to be the pirate queen, maybe we can get to an agreement where we can both be pirate royalty."
It looked like he didn't like that idea but he didn't say anything to complain. Some time later the marines abandoned the search of you two so you decided to go down.
"Well, i think i will go back to my crew, i think they will be searching for me, don't get in trouble without me, i hope we see again," and just like that Mugiwara runned away.
And then you thought, if you already had a chaotic morning then it would be worthy to have an equally chaotic afternoon.
-------------------------
Robbin the bank of the village with your second in command can be considered a risky move but you had all the adrenaline of the previous morning on your body and you needed to rush it out. It was really fun, running around with big bags full of berry and explosions behind. The ship was already visible, you ordered your crew to get going without you, to save time.
You saw a ship with the bow in shape of a lion or a sun, it's just running fast thru that ship and jump to yours, easy. You start to pass at high speed when you saw Mugiwara.
"(y/n)!? what!?" he had a piece of meat on his mouth.
"I was just robbing a bank, sorry to pass thru your ship and couldn't stop to take dinner," you did a goodbye sign and jumped to your ship.
"I thought you agreeded to not get in trouble without me," he shouted.
"I never said that, but maybe the next time, i am more than glad to renegotiate our deal about the pirate title."
"Never! that would only happen if we get married and i am not going to marry someone who doesn't wait for me to do trouble," that comment made you blush, officially he is completely clueless about compliments.
"We will see that Mugiwara, until our next meeting," you tried to sound fierce but the previous remark keeps repeating on your head.
"Count on it!!!!" you two didn't say it but you two hoped that encounter happens sooner that later.
#one piece x reader#one piece#one piece imagine#monkey d. luffy#luffy#one piece luffy#straw hat luffy#mokey d luffy x reader#monkey d luffy x you#monkey d. rufy#monkey d luffy#luffy x reader#luffy imagine#mugiwara no luffy#mugiwara luffy x reader#mugiwara luffy imagine#monkey d. luffy x reader#monkey d. luffy imagine#monkey d luffy imagine#monkey d luffy x reader#straw hat luffy x reader#straw hat luffy imagine
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heyyy, so i have a request cause i really love your amelia storys. So could you do a amelia one, where the reader is pregnant and amelia is scared to have sex. The reader goes to her best friend (maybe arizona or christina) for advise. Than the friend and the reader go to a sex shop and buy the readers first dildo. Later amelia finds the reader using the toy and the talk about amelia being scared to have sex while the reader is pregnant. And well smut at the end.
Xoxo
Can do! Hope you enjoy. :)
Playing It Safe
Amelia Shepherd x fem!reader Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI, NSFW, sex, fingering, oral, masturbation, toy usage, sex shop, squirting, language around genitalia, some explicit language, previous Amelia trauma, pregnancy times, established relationship (let me know if I've missed anything!) Word Count: 2.1k
Summary: You're needier than ever during your second trimester, but Amelia has some pregnancy trauma that's getting in the way. Thankfully, you've got people who are willing to help you get what you need.
“Amy,” you prompted as she circled your clit with her tongue. You gently pulled her head up, and she looked up at you expectantly with those beautiful, blue eyes. “I love your mouth, but I need you inside me.”
She furrowed her eyebrows. “I don’t know, babe.” She crossed her arms and rested her chin on your protruding stomach. “It doesn’t feel safe.”
You rolled your eyes. “Amelia, come on. We’ve been over this. Pregnancy sex is perfectly safe. If straight people do it, we can do it.”
“It just…” she stuttered, flopping onto the bed next to you. You sighed, your body drifting down, down from where it had tensed up. You weren’t going to get what you needed. Not today. “It makes me nervous.” She shrugged, and you cupped her face as she lay next to you. How could someone so smart be so stupid.
“You’re a doctor. You should know this. I know this.” Amelia never treated you differently because you were a nurse. You had a different skill set, that was all. But at a time like this, you didn’t mind emphasizing that, of the two of you, Amelia should absolutely be the more educated about pregnancy and safe sex.
Amelia was quiet for a while, looking down and avoiding your eyes. “I keep thinking about Christopher.”
Shit, you thought. It’s not that you’d forgotten about Amelia’s first child, the one who’d died in her arms mere minutes after he was born. Christopher was a part of her. But you sometimes forgot that the hopes and fears that surrounded your pregnancy were different for Amelia than they were for you. Amelia had experience. Not only that, she had trauma. Heart-wrenching, horrible trauma that she’d carry with her the rest of her life, even as she also got to carry and treasure this new child. It wasn’t fair to expect Amelia to be completely rational when it came to pregnancy safety.
You ran your thumb along her cheekbone, your voice soft. “Hey. That’s not gonna happen again. Our baby is perfectly healthy.”
“I just don’t want to take any risks,” Amelia whispered.
“Okay,” you sighed. “Okay. Whatever you need.”
Amelia started moving her hand down your body. “I mean, I can still…”
“It’s fine, Amy,” you said, hoisting yourself out of bed and kissing her on the forehead. “I gotta go to work anyway.”
You felt bad for your patients that night at Grey-Sloan. It wasn’t their fault you were sexually frustrated. You slumped into a rolling chair at the nurse’s station, groaning, and laid your head on the desk.
“Wow.”
You looked up and smiled wryly. It was Arizona–Dr. Robbins, as her patients would call her. For a little while, you and her had been the only out lesbians on the peds floor, so you’d become fast friends. Never dated–you weren’t each other’s type–but you were excellent wingwomen for one another. In fact, it was Arizona who had set you up with Amelia.
She leaned over conspiratorially, so that the people around you wouldn’t overhear your conversation. “That’s a sad lesbian sigh if I’ve ever heard one.”
You shrugged.
“What’s going on?” she prompted. “Trouble in paradise?”
You leaned closer, trying to keep your voice low. “She won’t sleep with me.”
Arizona looked genuinely shocked. “Like, at all!?”
“I mean, she won’t go inside me.”
You had never seen Arizona look more confused. “...Why?”
“She’s afraid it’ll hurt the baby.”
Arizona sat down next to you, rolling close to continue the conversation. “There’s no fucking way she really believes that. She’s a surgeon.”
“I don’t think she really does. She’s just…” You sighed and groaned. “She’s got some trauma.”
Arizona shrugged and mumbled. “I mean, if you really need to, you could just use the strap on yourself.”
You blushed. “We don’t use a strap.”
“Ever?!”
“I don’t know… it just hasn’t come up, I guess.”
She seemed to think deeply about this. “Well, do you have a vibrator or a dildo or anything?”
“No,” you answered quietly, your face getting redder by the minute.
Arizona looked at you like you were an infant, smiling, like you were something cute and tiny. “Aw, you’re just a baby.”
“Shut up. Just because I’m younger than you doesn’t make me a baby.”
“No, you’re right,” she nodded, smirking. “Not owning any sex toys makes you a baby.”
You rolled your eyes.
“What time are you off today?” she said, glancing at her watch.
“7:00,” you answered.
“Me too! It’s a date then.”
“Wait, what?” She’d lost you somewhere along the way.
Arizona squeezed your shoulder. “We’re gonna find you something to put inside yourself.”
You’d never felt more out of your element in your life than you did standing in front of a wall of fake penises with Arizona.
She smiled at your horrified face.
“Little much?” she asked.
You nodded. “I don’t know, Arizona. These all seem way too… real.” You eyed a particularly girthy, veiny dildo and grimaced.
Arizona leaned on your shoulder. “They’re better when they’re attached to boobs,” she admitted. “Here, come here.”
She led you to another aisle where the toys were similar in shape, but much less realistic looking. They were almost futuristic. Sleeker, smaller, more your speed. But there were so many of them.
“I’m feeling overwhelmed,” you told her, staring at all the options.
“You want my advice?” she asked.
You shrugged and nodded.
She pulled a toy down and handed it to you. It was blue and small and bent and there were buttons. You felt like you were in Star Trek. “I’d start with this*,” she explained. “It’s relatively small. It bends, so it can mimic the feeling of fingers.” She looked pointedly at you. “Since that’s what you’re used to.”
You nodded, looking at it. “Yeah, okay. I’ll try it anyway. I just…” You sighed. “It’s not as good, is it?”
“As a partner?!” Arizona shook her head. “But it’ll do the job.”
An hour later, you were sitting in bed, the package opened in front of you, reading the little instruction manual. Sixteen settings. An app!? You just weren’t sure about it. And you felt a little bad for even wanting to use it. You knew you weren’t cheating on Amelia by masturbating. You both did it, you both knew you both did it. You worked long hours, sometimes things just didn’t line up. But this felt different somehow. Illicit.
But, god, you needed it. You’d needed it since last night. Since last week, even, when you’d started to show and Amelia had started treating you like you were made of glass.
You took a deep breath and leaned back against the pillows you’d stacked against the headboard, trying to think sexy thoughts. Amelia thoughts. You thought of her body against yours, the taste of her, her curves you loved to trace.
Your breath started to grow rhythmic, ragged, and you circled your fingers gently over your clit. After a few minutes, your arousal started to pool, and you spread it around, taking a deep breath and grabbing the toy. You looked at it suspiciously, as if it was an alien. It wasn’t Amelia. It didn’t look like Amelia. But, then maybe, like Arizona had said, it would get the job done.
You pressed one of the buttons, choosing a vibration pattern at random, and slowly slid the toy inside of you. You moaned at how good it felt to have something inside you, to once again feel something pressed against your fluttering walls. And while, no, it didn’t feel as good as Amelia’s fingers would, it was new and exciting to be able to control everything, all of it, the whole experience. The speed, the depth, the direction, to cater to your every want and move because it was you on both sides.
You continued stroking your clit as you thrust the toy in and out of you, shaking around it. God, you’d needed this.
When Amelia burst into the bedroom, still in her scrubs, you froze, face beet red, hands between your legs. She wasn't supposed to be home. Not this early.
She stared at you in shock, and neither of you spoke for a moment.
“What are you doing!?” she said, sounding somewhere between sad and angry. It was pretty clear exactly what you were doing.
“Amy, I–”
She shook her head in frustration, sitting on the edge of the bed. You tossed the toy aside and covered yourself with the sheets, feeling more self-conscious than you ever had around her.
You felt like crying. All you’d been trying to do was meet your own needs, so that Amelia wouldn’t have to. You didn’t want to make her any more anxious than she already was, but it seemed like you’d done just that.
She looked in your direction, but not in your eyes, and you saw that hers were full of tears.
“Amy…” you breathed, moving toward her.
“I’m sorry,” she said, wiping tears from underneath her eyelids. “I know it’s safe. In my head, I know it, but I’m just–” She sucked in a shuddering breath. “I’m so scared, all the time. And I know you need me, and I’m just–I’m sorry.”
“Hey,” you said, drawing close and wiping a tear from her cheek. “It’s okay. I’m sorry. I should have been better about telling you what I needed and, well, what I was doing to get it.”
She breathed deeply, seeming to calm down a bit, as she looked you over.
“Did you finish?” she asked, smiling slightly.
“What?”
“Just now. Did you finish?”
“Uh… no. No, but that’s oka–”
Amelia’s lips crashed into yours, hot and salty from her tears, and you pulled away a bit, surprised.
“Amy, it’s okay,” you assured her, holding her face in your hands. “You don’t have to.”
“I want to,” she said, her voice rough with lust and emotion. “I’m so tired of being scared.”
You looked into her eyes as she pushed you down on your back. They were lustful, determined, and just a little bit sorry. You brushed a strand of her hair behind her ear, running a thumb along her brow bone.
“Everything’s gonna be okay, honey,” you told her, quietly. “The baby’s safe and healthy.”
“I know,” she said, pressing her lips to yours and slipping her tongue into your mouth, her hands squeezing your hips.
And she didn’t look away. She kept her eyes–so beautiful, so brave–on yours as she pressed her fingers inside of you. You gasped, arching your back into her, so happy, so relieved to have her inside you again. The toy was just that–a toy, a tool. Amelia was a goddess.
Amelia whined, too, planting sloppy kisses all over your neck, your collarbone, your chest. “I missed this,” Amelia huffed, high on the way your body pulsed around her, tight and desperate and already so close to the edge. “I missed you.” Her breath was hot on your skin, her lips red and puffy from colliding with yours so furiously.
You felt yourself barrelling toward the cliff of an orgasm and grabbed her arms for dear life. “Amy,” you moaned. “Amy, I’m gonna–”
She grinned as you fell apart, quaking and throbbing around her, your hips thrusting, back arching. But, then–something neither of you had expected or experienced before–a tiny stream of fluid, flooding out of your body. You cried out, coming harder than you’d ever come in your life, way too far gone, too lost in your orgasm, to think about what the hell was going on down there.
When you finally came down, Amelia stared at you, gaping–her face a mixture of shock, self-satisfaction, and pure, dumb happiness.
“Holy shit,” she said, biting her lip and bouncing a little.
You propped yourself up, alarmed at how wet the bed was. “Did I–”
“Yeah,” Amelia laughed, running her hands through her hair. “You sure did, baby. Holy shit.”
You stared at the wet spot. That had never happened before. You weren’t sure you liked it.
“Jesus,” you said, your eyebrows furrowed. “I–”
Amelia crashed her mouth into yours, wrapping her arms around your neck.
“Never,” she said, pulling away breathlessly, “let me say I’m too afraid to fuck you again. Never.”
“It’s okay if you are,” you assured her, running your hands up and down her back.
“Nope,” she argued, shaking her head. “If that’s on the table, trauma can suck it.”
You laughed and kissed her again, happy to have her body close to yours–with no inhibitions–once more.
*This is the toy, in case you’re wondering. 😉
#amelia shepherd#amelia shepherd x reader#amelia shepherd x fem!reader#amelia shepherd smut#amelia shepherd fluff#amelia shepherd drabble#amelia shepherd fanfic#grey's anatomy#grey's anatomy fanfic
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...with the big iron on his hip
↻ ◁ II ▷ ↺ now playing: marty robbins - "big iron"
summary: he's not the first to go after the crystal-eyed bandit, but something tells you that this one will keep his promise to buy you a drink when the hunting is done. (cowboy!suguru x you)
wc: 2.47k
cw/tags: western!au, implied fem!reader but gn pronouns used, reader is called pretty and darlin', strangers to lovers (??), descriptions of alcohol, drinking, and general lawlessness
note: yayy another @ficsforgaza installation, this time for @strawberrystepmom <33 thank you so much for donating to help palestinians, i know i went WAY over the word count but i hope you enjoy this anyway!
likes, reblogs, and replies are appreciated!
“You heard about Death riding in this morning?”
“I was told he got back from the east a few days ago. Some business with the big banks,” you reply, your voice a careful volume. Your effort is hardly needed, though, as the saloon was reaching its rowdiest hours of the evening; the smell of chewing tobacco and questionable choices was enough of an indicator. As the bar girls’ heels click-clack on the stage, you wipe the dust off a clean glass and pour its whiskey without another thought, sliding it across the bar.
“Oh, rest assured he did,” says the other bartender, Davey, a jolly-mustached man of about 60 who’d run this saloon since before your parents settled in this town. “But, word is there’s another outlaw loose and runnin’ now. Rode in on a big, black stallion, he did. Old Man Leonard swears the sun done shrunk away from rising.” You roll your eyes with patient affection, listening diligently to Davey ramble on about the rumors surrounding the newcomer. “I’m serious! ‘Stallion black as death,’ that’s what old Lenny said. You trust my word or not?”
“I believe you, I believe you. Though, you did spout a lot of nonsense ‘bout the window creeper last week, too,” you chuckle, holding up your palms in surrender. Davey tuts with a pout, muttering something about you never listening to his warnings anymore. “I wasn’t aware you were cautioning me of anything, Davey. It’s not like I’m gonna go looking for the guy.” You knew the town was a familiar stomping ground for all sorts of no-good creatures, jail breakers and tax collectors and bounty hunters alike. Word of your saloon’s neutrality spread among the underground because of its ‘whiskey or weapons’ policy where no man could carry a firearm through the batwing doors and still be served a drink. Hence, as volatile as the patrons were, honor among thieves guaranteed the saloon the ideal place for meetings and deals. Davey, relishing in the booming business it brought in, didn’t seem to mind the reputation.
“You best believe I’m cautioning you,” he insists, waggling a finger. “Whether you like it or not, you always seem to attract the eye of the most vile manner of people.”
“I do not–” A drunken shout cuts your indignance short, a slurred exclamation of Who the Devil is that!
As if on cue, the saloon falls into silence broken only by the sound of creaking floorboards. The girls on stage crowd up the staircase, hiding in the shadows; a stack of poker chips topples over at a corner table.
“When have you known me to be wrong,” Davey mutters, his question becoming more of a statement as the wood continues to groan under the steps of the interloper. Knowing that the saloon guests would be looking to him to react, his tense demeanor is replaced by warmth before you can blink. “What happened to the music, boys? The night’s just beginning!” He calls out to the band, who immediately begin plucking their banjos and dancing across the keys of the out-of-tune upright piano. Normal cacophony continues with an uproar, drowning out the sound of approaching boots until he’s right in front of you.
“You got a beer, darlin’?” For a moment, you’re a rabbit with its foot caught as a coyote stalks closer. His cowboy hat casts the upper half of his face in shadow, revealing nothing but a poisonously sweet mouth. You can feel his eyes analyze you, though, and it takes a few seconds and a deep breath to remember who’d been in this town longer. Outlaw or not, you had the high ground in this saloon.
“No sir, not a good one,” you admit. “All the best’s kept in the cellar where it can stay cold and I ain’t going down there this time of night. Davey’s old wife haunts it after the sun goes down.”
“You afraid of ghosts?”
“Oh, no sir,” you correct him quickly and his eyes narrow, ever so slightly. “She’s very much alive, which I am of the opinion is scarier than if she was trapped in a different realm.” Your quip has amused him, enough for his gaze to soften and the corner of his mouth to turn up. He lifts his head and you’re introduced to a pair of dark eyes, framed by equally dark hair that you guess falls just above his shoulder blades. The man is devilishly handsome, and a voice in the back of your mind that suspiciously sounds like Davey issues more warnings than you can fathom. You ignore them on account of wanting to figure out what about this man made the saloon of outlaws, even for a second, fearful. “Somethin’ else I can get you?”
“Bourbon’ll do.” You pour it mechanically, watching him out of the corner of your eye. Something stops you before you slide it over to him, something akin to instinct. His face remains unchanged as you hold his glass hostage, looking at him expectantly with an open palm.
“You got payment for me, cowboy?”
“This work for payment? Also, not a cowboy.” He fishes something from his pants, flashing a silver star that you know all too well is the symbol of a ranger. “If not, I’ll be happy to take out a loan. I’ll pay it off before I leave in a few days, anyhow.” He’s of the law, then, you think to yourself with raised eyebrows, remembering the fact that he was hiding the authority in his pocket. Well, as much as you can be in these parts. Must need to dirty his hands a little bit to get his work done. You pretend to appraise the badge before nodding, handing him the drink. He takes a sip and triumphantly inspects the liquor swirling.
“Up to your standards?”
“I believe it’s not the drink but rather who pours it,” he drawls with a smirk. “What’s a pretty thing like you doing in a place like this?”
“I could ask the same thing of you,” you counter, matching his cunning smile. “I’m assuming you’re the stranger who rode in on Death’s horse early this morning?”
“The horse’s name is Wormy.” You snort unexpectedly and he huffs out a quiet laugh before continuing. “But, yes. That was me this morning. Like I said, I don’t plan on staying a while, and I believe you could help me with that.” A ranger in your town scaring everyone half to death. Pieces click together in your head and it’s not long before you realize his mission. Who else would he be here for?
“You want the crystal-eyed bandit.”
“You know him as a bandit, I know him as a kid whose corrupt family successfully tainted his mind. I’m here to get him out–”
“Or die trying?”
“Definitely not the plan,” he says with a shake of his head. “If he doesn’t come willingly, I’ll kill him. Plain and simple.” You admired his earnestness, but also allowed the skepticism to show on your face, something that the stranger takes note of. “You think I won’t be able to get him.”
“You’re not the first one to come through town on a hunt and I’m sure you won’t be the last,” you state with complete honesty. “20 men have tried and failed. Who’s to say you won’t become number 21?”
“I’m talkin’ to you and that’s a better start than any of the other guys had.”
“How so?”
“Something tells me that you’ve been wanting out of here for a long time, now,” he assumes and it’s your turn for your eyes to narrow.
“You don’t know anything about me, cowboy.”
“Not a cowboy,” he replies automatically, quickly getting back on track lest he lose your precious attention. “See, I don’t know much about you, but I do know that our bandit can’t resist pulling others into his schemes, especially ones who aren’t too sore on the eyes.” In any other scenario, such overt flirtation would result in his immediate expulsion from the premises, but you find yourself intrigued by what he has to offer you.
“You think I’m in leagues with outlaws because of how I look?”
“I think you’re forced into said leagues because of your position of employment,” the ranger says. “You’re his ears, aren’t you? You’re the reason he knows the dirt on the residents in this town, because you receive that dirt and relay it to him. It’s also,” his voice drops to a dangerous octave, “why he isn’t here right now…at this bar…in this seat.” You meet the challenge in his eyes, neither confirming nor denying what he’d declared was true. By some way or another, he knew much more than he let on. He knew you lied to Davey about not seeing him ride in early this morning; he knew you promptly told the bandit of a newcomer in town who could rival his control; he could tell you hesitated to slide the bourbon over to him because it was the wrong body on the stool.
“When’d you gather all this information if you’d just rode in this morning?” He lifts his eyebrows expectantly, like you knew the answer to your own question. Your mouth opens slightly in realization and you whistle in admiration. “That was you giving us a fright last week? The monster creeping around the windows that everyone swears they saw but didn’t have proof? Your reconnaissance methods became a tall tale around here.” The ranger hums, taking another sip from his glass. “So, what’s my part to play in your plans? I tell you where he is, you go in and shoot him, I stay put and keep my mouth shut?”
“Nope, I want you to bring him a message.”
“That being…?”
“An old friend wants to duel,” he says cryptically. “Tomorrow at dawn. Do that for me,” he continues, “and I’ll give you half the bounty.” Your eyes grow larger than the wagon wheels outside. Half the bounty was more than you made in three months and would be more than enough to get you out of this town of scum for good. Before you let your hopes run too rampant, a lingering question pushes itself to the forefront of your mind.
“Why do you need my help to do this? Why not just ambush him?”
“I’d like to take him out fairly, let it be a true show of who’s stronger.” The man continues to sense your hesitation and another question appears.
“I don’t even know your name,” you point out.
“Call me Suguru. Ranger only in name, not practice. My superiors would be disappointed if they knew half of my bounty suddenly disappeared in the hands of the pretty bartender at the saloon.” He thinks I’m pretty? Before thinking twice, you nod in understanding and he flashes a grin, standing up to leave. “We have a deal?”
“I’ll do it,” you begin, “but that’s all assuming you’re successful, cowboy.” The ranger’s face becomes even more satisfied, like returning to you was the easiest part of his challenge.
“Not a cowboy, and just trust me,” Suguru responds confidently. “Both our futures are riding on this, so I’d be damned if I screwed it up!”
—
“You’re late,” you deadpan to the approaching footsteps in front of you. You’re holding the lead of Suguru’s black stallion and your new Pinto, a parting gift from Davey for all your years of service. Get the hell out of here, he’d said through fatherly tears, an affectionate hand on your shoulder. Find a new life and a new adventure with that ranger of yours.
“My apologies,” he drawls, stepping into the dim light of your oil lamp. “Couldn’t find my ranger badge.”
“Did it turn up?” He shakes his head, unexpectedly unbothered. “You don’t seem in anguish over it.”
“Mmm, far from it. I don’t plan on wearing it again once I turn in these, anyway,” Suguru says, holding up the small burlap sack containing two crystal-blue eyeballs. ���That’s what I wanted to discuss with you, before we left. I was working up the courage while I was rummaging around for the star.” You hum thoughtfully, adjusting one more strap on the saddle before sticking the front of your foot in the stirrup. You accept Suguru’s hand of assistance and mount your horse with ease. Beneath you, he gazes up like he was staring at a bright full moon.
“Can we discuss as we ride out of here? I’m itching to get a move on.” He accepts your request without another word and swings himself onto his horse, following your pace as you trot slowly down the empty street. Just a day ago, this very street was where the notorious crystal-eyed bandit was shot down in a duel with the man riding beside you. His swiftness left you awestruck and you heard the shot before registering that he’d pulled his gun, the bandit’s body falling into the dust. “How many days’ ride is it to where you collect the bounty?”
“We can get there in three if the weather is agreeable.” Your conversation falls silent, both of you formulating questions and answers and waiting for the other to make the first move. Swallowing his pride and clearing his throat, Suguru decides to act first. “You wanna ask why I’m not wearing the badge after this bounty.”
“That a statement or a question, cowboy?”
“Not a cowboy, but it’s a fact and whatever you make of it,” he shrugs. “Truth is, I’m not really sure what I’m going to do now that I’ve completed the only hunt I really cared about.” You nod, encouraging him to continue as he shifts awkwardly in his saddle. “So, if you’d let me…would you let me keep you under my protection, wherever the wind takes you?”
“You want to stay…with me?” You echo his proposition with a flutter in your stomach and a racing heart. “Wherever the wind takes me, you wanna be there with me,” you reiterate, seeking confirmation that he gives wholeheartedly.
“A ranger’s name can still have some standing,” he explains, incorrectly believing that you still need convincing. “And the darker circles I’m in respect me as a bounty hunter, so I can get you to basically wherever you want to go–” You pull your horse around perpendicular to his, stopping you both in your tracks.
“I already agreed to your proposition, Geto Suguru, so stop talkin’ before I change my mind,” you tease, unable to wipe the smile from your face. He hits you with that poisonously sweet grin again, looking at you like you hung the stars in the sky.
“If I may,” Suguru says as the sun starts to peek over the desert landscape, “your cowboy would like to know where it is he’ll be escorting you next.”
if you enjoy my writing and would like to support me, you can buy me a coffee on my ko-fi! you can also check out my full masterlist here :)
#fics for gaza#geto x you#geto x reader#geto x y/n#suguru x you#suguru x reader#suguru x y/n#geto suguru x you#geto suguru x reader#geto suguru x y/n#suguru geto x you#suguru geto x reader#suguru geto x y/n#jjk x you#jjk x reader#jjk x y/n#jjk fluff#jjk angst#jjk au#jjk western!au
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Echoes Under the Stars
Word Count: 891 words
Summary: Late one night, Arthur Morgan and the reader sit under a blanket of stars, enjoying a rare moment of peace. As the stars illuminate the darkness, Arthur opens up about his past, sharing stories of his youth, his regrets, and the path that shaped him into the man he is. The quiet night allows him to shed some of the weight he carries and find a small measure of peace.
Warnings: Mentions of violence, references to loss and regret, mild language, and some heavy themes.
Authors note: this is the fic I made from the thing you guys could choose which fic I made!😊
It was the kind of quiet that felt rare, like a gift. The camp had gone silent for the night, the fire crackling down to embers as everyone retreated to bed. You sat on the outskirts of the camp, a blanket wrapped around your shoulders, your eyes lost in the sprawl of stars above. The soft crunch of footsteps broke the silence, and you glanced over to see Arthur approaching, his silhouette dark against the silver-dusted plains.
He paused when he reached you, giving a nod, and settled himself on the rock beside you, pulling his hat low over his eyes. For a moment, the two of you just sat in silence, watching the stars glimmer. Then, Arthur cleared his throat.
“Ever just sit here, under all this… and wonder what it’s all for?” he asked, his voice quiet.
You turned to look at him, surprised by the thoughtfulness of the question. Arthur rarely shared his deeper thoughts. “Yeah, sometimes,” you replied softly. “Sometimes it makes me feel small… but sometimes it’s comforting too. Like there’s something bigger out there.”
Arthur gave a small nod, his gaze still on the stars. He seemed lost in thought, absently running his thumb over the brim of his hat. After a long pause, he finally spoke again, his voice low and rough.
“Ya know, I don’t talk about where I came from much,” he said, almost to himself. “But I reckon… maybe it’s time I did.”
You stayed silent, giving him the space to say what he needed. He leaned back slightly, his gaze distant as he began to speak.
“Grew up with nothin’ much. My pa… well, he was a mean bastard. Couldn’t hold down a job, spent whatever money he got on drink, and when that wasn’t enough, he’d take whatever he could by force,” Arthur said, bitterness clear in his tone. “Ma tried to keep us afloat, but she was… well, broken, I guess. She didn’t have the strength to stand up to him.”
He paused, glancing at you almost apologetically, but you just nodded, letting him know you were listening.
“One night, he took me out with him,” he continued, his voice lowering even more. “Said he was gonna teach me how to fend for myself. We ended up robbin’ some poor soul on the road. Man begged for his life. I remember watchin’ it all and feelin’… I dunno. Angry. But helpless too.”
He let out a dark chuckle, shaking his head. “Funny thing is, I didn’t hate him for it, not back then. He was my pa, and I thought… that’s just how things were. But I hated myself for a long time after that.”
You reached over, placing a gentle hand on his arm. He glanced down, surprised, then gave you a small, grateful nod before continuing.
“When he got himself killed, I was about fourteen. Thought it’d be different without him, but it just got harder. Ran into Dutch and Hosea not long after, and for the first time… I felt like I had somethin’ like a family,” he said, a faint smile crossing his face. “Dutch had all these ideas, all this… talk of freedom and loyalty. Thought I finally found my place, ya know?”
Arthur’s voice softened, the weight of his memories heavy in the night air.
“I did things I ain’t proud of. Took from people who didn’t have much to begin with. Thought I was helpin’ folks, but mostly… I was just survivin’. Ain’t right, but it’s what I knew,” he said, his tone laced with regret. “Lost a lot, too. Friends, people I cared about… things I’ll never get back.”
He stopped, his eyes fixed on a distant star, his expression unreadable. “And sometimes, sittin’ out here like this… it all just feels like… like it don’t mean much. Like we’re all just a flicker in somethin’ bigger.”
You gave his arm a gentle squeeze, hoping to convey the comfort you couldn’t put into words. Arthur looked down at you, a faint glimmer of warmth in his eyes, and you could see the trace of a smile tugging at his lips.
“You got a funny way of listenin’,” he murmured, tipping his hat slightly. “Most folks just wanna hear the good parts. Ain’t many out there willing to sit through the rest.”
“I don’t mind the rest,” you replied softly, smiling up at him. “Makes the good parts mean more.”
Arthur nodded, his gaze softening as he looked back up at the sky. For a while, neither of you spoke, letting the silence settle comfortably between you. And under the vast blanket of stars, Arthur seemed almost at peace, his past laid bare but lessened, if only slightly, by the calm night around you both.
#rdr2 fics#arthur morgan#rdr2#rdr2 arthur morgan#red dead redemption 2#fluff#rdr2 arthur#rdr2 community
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What kind of Music do they Listen to 🎵 🎧
Masterlist | Rules
Content: Headcanons
Warning: None
Pairing(s): None
Character(s): Percy, Jason, Frank, Leo, Nico, Annabeth, Piper
Percy Jackson
Let’s be realistic here
Percy is a kid from New York
I know nothing about New York expect it was stolen from my ancestors and that it had some crazy shit happening in the 70s
And whatever was in Hamilton
I feel like Percy would listen to a mix of rap and mainstream music
He would listen to Kendrick Lamar, Lil Mabu, Eminem, Kanye (I know he’s a weird and bad guy), and Tyler, the Cartor
He thinks he can rap
He can not
But will try for anyone who lets him
Jason Grace
2000s white girl songs
Rihanna, Fergie, Kesha, you know the classics
Who doesn’t love that genre of white girl music
It happy and classic
But also a huge fan of the Fleet Foxes
And that of course means he loves father john misty and Lana Del rey
Frank Zhang
I just know Frank listens to Canadian artists
Like everything from Nickelback to The Tragically Hip
But also bands like Mother Mother
And the Weekend
And Drake
And Justin Bieber
But his music taste isn’t limited to Canadian classics
He loves ambiance music/Brown noise
Sometimes, he just wants to listen to nothing but something
Leo Valdez
Country
Not like “I hate my wife” Country
Let’s not forget Leo is from Taxes
He obviously loves the classic like Marty Robbins
But I see him listening to Zach Bryne, Dolly Parton, and Carrie Underwood
You can’t convenience me that he doesn’t love the song “Before He Cheats”
That shit was blasting when Argo II was being built
He gets into the music
Like screams it while it plays
Doesn’t matter if he is with other people
I also get the vibe he would listen to some Spanish artists
Like oldies. Stuff his grandfather and mother would have listened to
Because the people you grow up with influence your music
Artist like: Chavela Vargas, Jeanette, and Eydi Gormé
Nico Di Angelo
Old man Nico would listen to Italian music
But as he gets older I see him listening to artists like Radiohead or The Smiths
Because he is a bit of a sad boy
Maybe even some more modern Italian musicians like Fiordaliso or
Would also get into Ska Music
Specially 2 tone Ska
I see him liking The Specials, Prince Buster, and Madness
He would also love Amy Winehouse
Annabeth Chase
Movie/TV soundtracks
Loves the song where it’s all instrumental
I think she would be a huge fan of Bear McCreary, Ramin Djawadi, and Hans Zimmer
She wouldn’t even watch the show the songs are in
She just enjoys the sound of music
When she does eventually watch movies, you know the Prince of Egypt soundtrack took her out
Piper Mclean
I think she would be a HUGE Dido, Kate Bush, Cranberries fan
Would also be the type to have their music influenced by Tiktok
Nothing wrong with that
It happens to me
The top song is Grafton Street by Dido
Loves Fleetwood Mac
And Florance & the Mechian
#percy pjo#percy jackson#percy jackson headcanon#percy jackson x reader#jason grace headcanon#jason grace#jason grace x you#frank zhang headcanons#frank zhang x reader#frank zhang#leo valdez x reader#leo valdez#nico di angelo#annabeth chase headcanon#piper mclean x reader#piper mclean#annabeth pjo#anabeth chase#annabeth chase#annabeth chase x reader
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A Superstar with a Scalpel
Pairing: Callie Torres (ofc) x fem!reader
Summary: Callie and reader are in a serious relationship the ortho superstar and a surgeon goddess, things are great until a case brings someone back from Callie’s past. Are you going to withstand her past relationships?
********************************************************
“Ugh” you groaned pulling your scrub mask down and untying the long gown letting it hang off of your features.
“Great job Dr. Sharpe.” One of the techs said exiting the room one after the other with congratulations after a very long and hard surgery. You smiled and thanked them, internally you were screaming though, your muscles were so tense they burned in pain, 21 hours ago you started one of the most complicated surgeries of your career. Andre one of the nurses that had come to check on the patient was exiting when you stopped him, “Can you page Dr. Torres for me?”
“Sure thing, I’ll go do it now.”
“Thank you.” You spoke softly. Within 10 minutes your wife was knocking on the door.
“Y/N?” She asked softly before stepping into the scrub room. She gently opened the door stepping towards you placing a gently hand to your lower back letting you know she was there.
“Callie…” you said, you reached back guiding her hand, “it hurts, please, it hurts.”
“okay, okay I’m right here.” She said gently, placing both hands on your lower back, her fingers were magic as they skillfully moved across locked muscles, firm yet soft. You leaned forward, taking in shaky breaths as tears rolled down your cheeks.
“Are you okay?” She asked.
“Mmhmm…” you replied trying not to completely sob at how sore you were.
“okay, let me take you home.” She said moving up you back to your shoulders, feeling the tension start to ease.
“no, I’m okay…”
“Baby, you’re hurting, you need to rest, on a good mattress and let your muscles relax. 21 hours is a record setting time and you didn’t leave to sit down but once, you need to rest.”
“But…”
“No you have a huge surgery coming up tomorrow and you need to rest today was intense.” She insisted and you nodded in response knowing that no matter how hard you tried you didn’t have the energy to out stubborn her. “So, go change and I’m taking you home…”
“what about your cases?”
“I’m on backup call, they only page me in an emergency.”
“you did that on purpose.” You said relief washing over you.
“maybe…” she said slyly breath against you next as she placed kisses, “Let’s just worry about you getting some rest.”
“if that’s what they call it…” you trailed.
——— time jump———
The next morning you found you self at the height of your cases, saving lives left and right, you were in the zone. You were Trauma/General/Cardio… you were triple board certified and amazingly good at what you did.
Your had just finished a 16 hour surgery when you were met with smiling faces in the hallway, after talking to the parents and some congratulations you were a little overwhelmed and so you went outside, you watched as ambulances stocked up and rolled out, it was trauma but it was peace to you, your place your arena.
you took a deep breath breathing in the fresh air, but it didn’t last long before a dark suv quickly rushed into the bay, a dad jumped out carrying his daughter who was unconscious. You got her on a gurney and rushed her into the ER, assessing her while getting info from dad.
“Someone page PEDS NOW, I have a 16 year old female multiple abrasions and unknown cause of loss of consciousness.”
10 hours later and you were leaving an operating room with Dr. Robbins who had assisted. You were filling paperwork out at the nurses station when you felt a hand on your shoulder.
“Hey great job in there today.” You turned to be greeted with the brightest smile.
“Oh uh thanks.”
“Are you always a goddess with a scalpel?” Was she flirtng with you, does she know you’re married?
“I uh…”
“Omg Y/N there you are…” Here was Callie, your dirty hot wife, knight in shining armor, before you could say anything she pulled you in for a kiss.
“Mm hey baby.” You whispered putting a hand to her chest and letting your head fall onto her shoulder.
“Wait, Callie… you’re married to…” Arizona put the pieces together.
“Uh yea going on two years here soon.” She said slyly a smirk covering her features.
“I had no idea…”
“well we kept it under wraps for awhile, we don’t shout it out, and yet most people who find her attractive still know to stay away from my wife.” She said passive aggressively.
“I’m sorry, I’m leaving..” she said turning heel to head the other direction.
“So ex-wife… I see the appeal.” You smirked, letting exhaustion finally take over.
“Yea well she cheated and then blames me for the plane crash and her leg so… not much I can say.”
“you don’t need to, that’s why you have me.” You leaned into her letting your eyes drift closed as you stood in the hall, letting your other sense take over.
“Forever, you are my love.” She said before escorting you home after a long day of surgeries.
#x yn#greys anatomy#x reader#greys abc#callie torres#callie torres x reader#calliope#orthopedics#trauma#surgeon#hospital
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We are very saddened by the loss of Carrie Robbins, beloved costume designer and friend to RARE. She has been such an inspiration, and a large part of RARE's journey. We thank her for her time with us; all of her support and kindness helped us to continue to do what we do. Our thoughts go out to her friends and family.
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